Places to Go

Clever.

On their way through Saskatchewan, some good friends texted this hilarious t-shirt design, lol. Well done Tourism Saskatchewan. 

These friends are currently moving home to Nova Scotia after 30 years employed in Alberta. Working for decades in the Canadian West is a familiar story for those of us born out of the province, but especially those from the stunning Maritime provinces: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and Newfoundland. I'm sad to see them go, but we will visit them someday soon. I'm also a bit jealous of their cross-Canada travels, a dream many of us Canadians possess although the east west trip alone is about 8000 kilometers. (This reminds me dear Canadian friends, did you know you can now buy Terry Fox's shoes?!!)

Their trip is more necessity than tourism, but like many Canadians choosing not to travel to the US this year, it's an opportunity and the right time to explore a corner or two of Canada's 10 million square kilometers. This summer, our new federal government initiated the Canada Strong Pass, so Canadians (especially young Canadians) can experience our country by rail. There's so much to marvel at here at home. 

For US friends interested in visiting "The [Forever] True North Strong and Free" this summer, there are many wonderful places to see and experience. And if you find yourself in Saskatchewan, you must get the t-shirt, AND if you want a unique, some-say-weird, one-of-a-kind experience, visit my favourite Saskatchewan oddity. If you dare. ;)

Things that deserve the stink-eye?

Our lovely river curves like a smile (and a wink). 

What's it like living in Northern Canada?

1. Cool winds are not unusual, even in May. Canadians know that if you wait for shorts weather, your patience will wither. (Just roll with it.) 

2. In 19/20 Canadian locations, the wilderness is rarely more than a five minute walk, in any direction. (Just get your boots on.)

3. Like all the countries I've visited (Italy, Greece, Scotland, and Ireland, to name a few), Northern Canada is just as beautiful as anywhere else in the world, but admittedly, a little rustic here and there. Example? Although our river is currently high enough to hide it, there's an old van (yes, a van*) under those ripples. (Just don't look too closely.) 

(Fl)awesomeness beats perfection. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

*Thankfully, no one was hurt.

Nows

That forest-canopy feeling should be 
experienced every once in a now.

From a conversation I had today...

Her face puzzled, she asked, "don't you mean once in a while?"

Curious, I replied, "what did I say?"

"You said once in a now." 

I smiled, "that's actually better. Why wait?"

Sometimes malapropisms improve on the original. And then later today, while walking, I remembered something poet-marvel Emily Dickinson wrote: "forever is composed of nows." 

Wise words, indeed.  

So friends, what might you stop waiting for and enjoy every once in a now? 

Don't forget.

October 2024, Northern Canada

 Decades ago when we bought our home, I noticed something that made me love it even more: walking up the staircase, we have a window from the main floor to the ceiling. It's like having a skylight visible from the lower floor. As I walk up the stairs, there's a fairly clear view of the sky and occasionally, the northern lights are framed there above me like garments of light. 

As a northern Canadian, I can't imagine a sky without them. Years ago, while traveling in Scotland, locals told us how they longed to visit Canada someday to see the Rocky Mountains and the northern lights. The Scots helped me understand that we Canadians—even though we've literally grown up with them—must avoid taking the northern lights for granted. 

As a young boy (when seatbelts barely existed), I recall lying across the backseat of the family car staring up through the rear window at the northern lights, my Mom driving us home from somewhere. I recall telling her that I thought the northern lights "might be the bottoms of God's curtains?" 

Even as a preoccupied teenager, I remember driving on backroads with my friends, pulling over, all us jumping around like Walt Whitman, "yawping" into the night sky as it shimmied like a woman dancing, her colourful dress twirling in slow-motion. 

And as a parent, I never missed an opportunity to point them out to my children, to teach them to wonder, to awe.  

Our modern world boils over with distractions and strife (there's a sort-of numbing creeping into life), but the northern lights remind us we are alive and more in sync than we realize. Mary Oliver said it better: the northern lights remind us to pay attention, be astonished, and tell others. 

Dear friends, notice, celebrate, share. Don't forget. There's a comraderie in any sky: whether it's a lingering sunset, a shooting star, or a sheer-costumed sky, these experiences mean more collectively. The northern lights are unifying, and today, for me, there's a longing in them too, a longing for those no longer here to share the sky—those good friends who forgot or those whose pain was too overwhelming to remember how we celebrated being alive, together, astonished, our feet on the ground, looking up, clapping, whooping, laughing, loving this one short, extraordinary life. 

Things one should never outgrow:

gallivanting. 

That Time

source

Thinking about Jasper. 

Shedding some tears. 

I love that corner of the world. It's special. Nestled in Canada's Rocky Mountains, reports say the wildfires destroyed almost 30% of the town yesterday, a one-of-a-kind community so beloved to Albertans and visitors from around the world. And it's still burning. 

It's probably insensitive to say I know how Jasper's residents are feeling, because I've never lost a home and community to fire, but there are growing numbers of Albertans who have been terrorized by wildfires, me included. 

A few Junes ago, I recall taking video of everything in our home before we flew to a celebration in Montreal. Why? For insurance purposes, I needed a video record of our dwelling contents; there was a definite possibility our home could be ash when we returned. Then we packed our most important keepsakes into our vehicle and drove it to another community to park in a friend's yard, outside the evacuation alert zone.

Amongst all your cherished possessions (knowing you cannot take them all), contemplate having a few hours to decide which ones are the most important to save. You can take as many as will fit in your vehicle. Which ones would you be okay with never seeing again? 

That was a tough month. Unlike many Albertans who've lost homes and businesses, we were spared. That time. 

Our family has collected so many happy memories visiting Jasper. It's difficult to summarize why they are so special, so I won't try. If you'd like to read about a few of them click here, or here, or here, or here. 

But one other memory keeps bubbling up, one I didn't write about. It brings tears; it shouldn't but it does. After skiing all day, just the four of us visited Jasper's movie theatre. The crowd was small and our kids were a little young for Blades of Glory but happy-tired from all the fresh air and mountain scenery, we settled in with popcorn and candy like that movie was made for us. It was. We laughed the loudest and longest, all at the same time. We were that family. Hilarity filled us to the brim and we watched until the very end of the credits, basking in the "Iron Lotus" induced endorphins, bahahahlalahaha. Remember that film?! "Spandex. Glitter. Egos. Ice blows." Clever satire, top tier improv, and goofy characters.   

I don't know why but this memory feels so poignant today. It doesn't make sense. But what does in a world where one of the four seasons is now fire season? 

And where next?

Things one should never outgrow:

a large dipped cone from Dairy Queen (especially when the temp is 36 degrees). 

Word-of-the-Day

Although apropos, my word-of-the-day calendar seems out of sync with this particular Western-Canadian Winter: it was +4 C today. Climate change much? Yikes. 

And our December thus far? Mostly above zero temps without much snow. So...no skiing. No sledding. No snowmobiling. No fun. 

Yet. 

So are we Canadians bummed without snow in the Winter? Kind of. However, there's always something to celebrate. For example, those bastards commonly known as Canadian geese are still gone for the Winter whatever the temperature. Thumbs way up. That perk, my friends, is brumal. 

Seeds

Pádraic

This past July, I fell in love with Galway—an ancient arts and festival city on Ireland's west coast. 

Our walking tour guide began Galway's history with a special nod to Pádraic Ó Conaire—born in Galway in 1882—a writer and ally of the Irish language and independence. His statue is situated in the main square; due to politics, it has been revered and ridiculed, moved several times, and once beheaded. Despite everything it has overcome since its establishment the statue has persevered. Like Ireland itself, Pádraic has endured a lot, yet remains robust and undefeated.  

Speaking of enduring individuals, while we traveled in Ireland, Sinead O'Connor died. Coincidentally, I was listening to her memoir in her own voice: this experience felt so bittersweet, like a surprise gift I didn't deserve, and a poignant reminder of how much art means to me personally but also stirs and sustains us all. 

I feel compelled to share something from her memoir, Rememberings. She explained that when her career ended after SNL, she felt free! The music industry suppressed that she was a protest singer so they could market her as a pop star. She aimed to use her unparalleled voice to spread light through songs, but also shed light on darkness—a darkness she experienced personally as did so many in Ireland but a darkness no one wanted to acknowledge at the time—abuse, racism, greed. Her words: “They broke my heart and they killed me, but I didn't die. They tried to bury me, they didn't realize I was a seed.” Indeed.

Inn't?

My spouse and I tend to travel all over the world then return with photos of trees. (I recommend this practice.) These beauts are in Ireland's Blarney Gardens (which are sublime). 

Ireland is charming and friendly and indefatigable. I recommend its trees, its cliffs, its trails, its music, its dancing, its textiles, its Guinness, its cider, its stew, its fish, its friendly folks..."very good very good it's wicked inn't?"

In the Field

A farmer friend turned 50 last week and to minimize interrupting his ongoing harvesting, we and some friends surprised him and joined his family to have supper in the field. We sat in lawn chairs next to a folding table situated among the razed straw and chaff at our feet. Nearby the combine waited, its hopper overflowing with grain, a bountiful yield this year. On one side of our "dining room" the yellow straw stubble twisted around curves snaking up along the tree-lined field into the horizon, and behind us stretched a wide valley filled with poplars, their yellow and orange leaves falling silently. Scented like ripened barley, the air smelled as pleasing as our friend's chocolate birthday pie. 

The experience conjured some long-ago memories of my brothers, my parents, and my grandparents—all farmers—during those early years on fields I haven't visited for decades, among people long gone. As the youngest child, I had few duties on those busy and oftentimes chaotic Fall days and evenings, yet (like always) I observed and I listened and learned the meaning of physical labour, the satisfaction of hard-earned accomplishment, the patient ache of waiting for the weather to change, and how to put my needs second. While we ate in those fields of my youth (my father's one eye on the sunset), it often felt like something I did not know how to name then: appreciation. 

Friends, if you can, thank a farmer. 

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Uh this signal is, indeed, unknown. 

While walking to work the other day, I noticed this random marker...um, are the kids from Stranger Things meeting here at some point? Because, I am absolutely in favour of that. 

Things one should never outgrow:

I own a snowmobile now. WHAT?

For Christmas—I'm still flabbergasted—my wife surprised me with a GD snowmobile! I literally bawled. It's a dream come true.

It's used. It's not fancy. It has duct-tape on the seat. It's the skidoo brand, and yellow, but I forget the number, or whatever? My son explained it all but, shrug, unlike him, I can't seem to store vehicle information in my brain. Anyway, it's perfect. 

This particular dream come true was never expected to happen. Growing up in rural Saskatchewan, we had old "putt-putt" snowmobiles which my Dad mostly obtained through bartering over unpaid mechanics bills. This coupled with 1970s-style adult supervision—aka absolutely none—my childhood obsession was born. (Read here for an example of no supervision whatsoever style snowmobiling.) Later, my Dad gave my young son a miniature snowmobile which kickstarted his obsession, and now he has his own. Sure, we borrowed snowmobiles from family members over the years and made some great memories, yet own one? That seemed like a complete luxury; I could never seem to justify spending the money (or even have the cash). Admittedly, my vibe is 100% cheap bastard. (My wife's vibe is 100% not.)

Bitterly cold in Alberta this December/January, my son and I finally spent last Saturday zipping along the local river up and down the trails and hills and through the thick spruce trees and swamps. (Insert contented sigh here.) Afterwards, my son and I were talking. 

I asked him, "What does snowmobiling feel like for you?"

"Freedom. Happiness. How would you describe it?"

I had not stopped smiling the entire trip; I thought back to the constant elevation changes, squeezing through narrow tree-lined trails, getting stuck on the side of a hill that felt like about 110 degrees (my son knew what to do), admiring my son's intentional launch stunts, and likewise all my unintentional launches...I replied,

"In the best possible way, it feels like being a ball gently tossed back and forth, but you're not just the ball, you're also the person tossing." 

We laughed, both recognizing the delightful chaos. And although my description was a bit silly, I later checked my iPhone's health app; despite little walking during our trip, my app indicated I had climbed 34 floors.

Friends, I wish for you all a dream come true (and a snowmobile ride here and there), plus, most importantly, a son or daughter or anyone really who loves what you love.

Low

I love this river. It's alive; it verbs its way into a new state each season, quite reliably. 

I have walked it thousands of times and this Fall it whispers "ice," yet it also says peace, and calm, and "pay attention." I know that it will be frozen soon, snow-covered, dreaming of Spring, hanging with saskatoon berries again.  

But this year, it's different. It's low. Like a new low. Almost everything is exposed and it invites me off the path to uncover new places and peculiar skeletons: a car battery, a radiator, a spoon. But also, children's names written in its sand. Here too are it's reliable stones, waiting to be overturned or skipped across what water remains.    

Its current state reminds me that I don't know everything about this river. Although I've been living next to it for over 30 years, it still holds some secrets, some surprises. It will be strong again; even when I am impatient, even when I worry, this river will do what it does. This river reminds me that lows are temporary. 

Fave Reads 2017

Working on another degree, I do a lot of reading. I love what I'm learning and it's rewiring my brain. But it's hard work. So it means I savour taking time away from academics just to read a few stories and inhabit some spaces that catch my eye. These are the ones I loved this year.

Terrific graphic novel.
This author loves words
and their many meanings.
Also goldfish.
And how deep a
well pain can be. 

Devoured this. Felt
stronger & more
hopeful. Felt like
resistance &
persistence. Everyone
should read this.

Illustrated philosophy.
A humble artist's voice
about how to be just
"half a shade braver."

Merricat is memorable.
And it's a little scary
to let her into your head.
She lingers, both heroic
and heinous. 

Scenes in this book
still resonate with me.
Dogs' inner narratives
reveal humanity. 

Lang May Yer Lum Reek.

The fireplace in The Great Hall at Edinburgh Castle, Scotland. 

We just watched fireworks in Northern Alberta. And it's -30 C! Two parts impressive and one part yikes. Various New Years Eve celebrations were scaled back or cancelled all across Canada this year. I also read that Scotland's weather interfered with Hogmanay. Yet, thankfully, good people all over the world find a way to celebrate all things hopeful. As they say in Scotland (definitely missing you right now), Lang may yer lum reek.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

A few days ago, I went to a team meeting away from my regular work-site and discovered when I arrived that I was wearing two different shoes. One gray. One black. One with a thicker heel than the other. Um....

What can you do but laugh? (I've actually done this before.) So I showed everyone at my meeting and we laughed and laughed. Did I mention I'm one of the older ones on our team? I really enjoy working with those toddlers though, so no big whoop.

Then...I texted my wife a photo and she laughed too.

Returning to work the following day, I made an usual discovery...first one co-worker...then another....then another...then another....

My sneaky wife! I felt a simultaneous aching sheepishness and utter love for those charming buggers I work with. What's better than that?

Past Imperfect

All summer, in a nod to Canada's 150th birthday, the Art Gallery of Alberta is featuring Canadian art, photography, and sculpture as well as Andy Warhol's Wayne Gretzky prints. Aptly titled Past Imperfect, visitors are invited to write postcards to mail or to add their voices to the exhibit for others to read. There's also a wall display of notes from Canadians describing what they love about Canada.

I was encouraged to read these postcards, these modern, inclusive, Canadian voices: a person offering support to LGBTQ Canadians, a writer questioning why some Canadian Indigenous communities don't have clean water, and an immigrant, who when questioned, described her Canadian boyfriend's ethnicity as "human."

Exactly: human aka humane aka benevolent.

Things one should never outgrow:

the view.

If one looks closely, it changes every day. And it leads somewhere new every time.

Go with it, and grow with it.

Things one should never outgrow:

The Works

artifice.

"Art is anything you can get away with." ~Marshall McLuhan