Letting Go…

 Well it looks like 593 Discovery Trail will eventually be going on the market and I am gearing up for the mother of all yard sales   Here’s my perspective on letting go ..,

While browsing Facebook recently I saw a post of someone looking to find anyone who might care about another man’s memorabilia.  He had bought a storage unit and its contents and thought someone might be interested in the military memorabilia that he’d found.  My first thought was, “Buddy, if that stuff was in a storage locker, guess what? No one wanted it when it went in there and no one will want it now!”  Cynical? Just a bit.  But sometimes reality hits you like that.  

When JT passed away there was a LOT of things left to deal with.  Actual, tangible, pick up and move things.  After a colossal yard sale, the things that were culled by the kids before the sale and much of what was left unsold came into the basement for safe keeping.  You know… just until the kids got their own places and came running back exultant that all these things could be repatriated, displayed and viewed lovingly until the end of time.  (Yes that was me being cynical again).  But to be fair to them I know it took time and distance to give them perspective on what was worth keeping and what they’d really want to carry forward into their lives. At 18 and 22 no one has the emotional maturity to deal with such a colossal loss AND the aftermath of dealing with his estate and huge collection of belongings.  And I was more than happy to help them in any way I could. Space in the basement was the very least I could do.  But it was foreshadowing of what was yet to come!

When P moved here he brought everything from his place AND emptied out the basement of a friend who had been kind enough to let him store things there.  He had moved several times and had reduced his belongings each time but with three children and a full apartment… there was a lot of things. Some of his furniture displaced some of mine.  And all of that went into… you guessed it… the basement.  

Not a year later Mom passed away unexpectedly.  By now you know the drill.  The basement.  

There are photos here somewhere (maybe in the basement?) of what a state it was down there. Boxes.  Rubbermaid totes, bags, shelves overflowing, furniture heaped up.  Slowly but surely over the following years most of it got sorted.  Some of it found new homes as I had hoped.  There were a few yard sales and a few truck loads went off to the thrift stores.  We moved a lot of stuff to Inuvik at the GNWT’s expense and it was all sold or donated when we left to come home.  And sadly a lot of what was in the basement inevitably went to the landfill.  

The basement space is now functional… barely.  

Yet there is still a ton of things in this house that as I age I wonder what will become of it all.  My grandmother’s teapot … she died in 1931 so quite possibly it could be 100 years old.  The lovely little cup and saucer that the ladies of Jamestown gave my dad when he joined the army in 1950. My Willow Tree collection not nearly as old, but well loved.  The toys I kept for 30 years so that my grandchildren could play with them, not to mention JT’s childhood toys, 60+ years old AND some old toys that are guaranteed to date back to the 1930’s.  My sewing room chock full of fabric, patterns… machines. And don’t get me started on the china, bric a brac, framed pictures, books and photo albums.  That nobody wants.  

Yes I have a lot if stuff.  But the point is I am setting the scene for you of what everyone of us will go through as we age.  Some will have far more than me and others will have less.  But  all of us will have to either whittle down our own possessions before moving into senior accommodations or we will leave one heck of a mess for others to deal with once we are gone.  

I started to try and give away a few things recently and overwhelmingly the response was NO THANKS we have enough. And who am I to say, “No dear, you really must take possession of these things.” These mementos. These treasures… these family heirlooms… this junk.  So I am left with two choices, donate or toss.  Sad.  But whom am I to expect my family to become keepers of the past? Why should anyone clutter up their homes to appease my sense of nostalgia? And WHY do I find it so hard to let it go?   

Our parents’ generation knew hardships, shortages and economic woes.  My mom told me of the time her stepfather took the moulding off the kitchen floor because he remembered dropping a nickel there and he needed to post a letter.  A dear friend of mine tells the story that when his family was being resettled from the islands in Bonavista Bay during the ‘60’s how his job as an eight year old was to straighten out the nails that his father had pulled out of the walls as he dismantled their house to move it as a pile of lumber to its new home.  My grandmother turned coats. Took coats apart seam by seam, stitch by stitch. Turned the fabric over where it was less worn, less knobby and re-sewed the coat so that another child in the family could get another year’s wear from it.  Flour sacks were recycled into dish towels.  Plastic bags were kept and washed and dried for re-use.  Every family and I mean EVERY FAMILY grew, gathered, raised, fished and hunted their own food to the full extent that they were capable of doing.  Every home had a junk drawer full of bits and bobs… just in case it might be needed and nothing was ever thrown away. Did their forced frugality get passed down to us through their stories, our observations or through our shared experiences? Is that why we cling to our possessions? Is that why there’s a little hoarder living inside most of us? 

And then there’s the part of us that detests the materialistic society we have become.  Every year we decry the senseless spending to fill the living room with brightly coloured packages full of plastic at Christmas.  We spend thousands on bikes that are hardly ridden, swingsets that the neighbour’s kids enjoy more than our own do, the latest video games, Tonkas ( are they a thing anymore!?) collections of the latest doll craze, Barbie dream houses, iPhones and tablets … and on and on it goes!  Seems like collectively our motto has become, “Bigger, Better and Out Buy the Next Guy”.   

If you were born between 1955 and 1965 you were born at the end of the Baby Boom and we are referred to as the Jones Generation.  You know… keeping up with the Joneses; born well after the WW2 ended we don’t know a world without TV, electricity and central heating, we don’t know what rationing is, and during our childhood there were no health emergencies such as polio or TB like other generations before us had endured.  Golden we were.  Until the 70’s and 80’s hit.  Inflation, wage and price controls, job cuts, oil shortages , decades of stagnant wages and sky high interest rates.  Just as we were finishing school it started and followed us as we bought homes, started families and got established in our careers.  And in Newfoundland  just as the economy started to improve elsewhere the fishery collapsed throwing thousands of people out of work and we have spent the last 30 years trying to keep home and hearth together.  

What did all this do to our psyches? Hard to say with any definite answers, but is it possible that we thought that buying things for our children was proof we were providing them with security?  The TV in the bedroom, latest game consoles, the quad by the door, brand name clothing…  And is it possible we are perpetuating this longing for our golden childhood even into our grandchildren’s lives?   And let’s face it, as much as we might try and limit our spending, social media is in our faces each and every day reminding us that there are people we know, taking the trips, building the houses, buying the cars and doing so much “better” than we are.  Even if you’re inclined to live a simplistic lifestyle your use of any form of media… social or mass …bombards you with how the rest of the world is “getting by”.   What’s that saying? We buy things we don’t need with money we don’t have to impress people we don’t like… ouch.  

Life has taught me many lessons. But it has also left me questioning so much of what I thought was important in life; rules I thought I had to follow and what happiness was made of.  I now know it wasn’t the shoes of every colour to match the dresses we had to have.  It wasn’t the steady parade of furniture, wallpaper and decorating changes.  Nor was it piles of gifts surrounding the Christmas tree.  Oh to be able to do it all over again, knowing then what I know now!

A few years ago I showed E the real estate listing of a completely renovated  house just a few doors down from her house in CB.   She handed it back to me and said, “You like shiny.  I don’t.” When I grow up I want to be just like her.  And that’s not cynical… not one little bit.  

So as the season of yard sales starts to shift into high gear, I wish you well in your quest to de-clutter AND try and resist the urge to buy more.  Your children will thank you for it!  And in the meantime I will be here with all my stuff and lots of Love in Lethbridge!

Puppy Dog Tales

I am a dog lover. I have a dog. I have had a dog off and on since graduation from university. I have a dog now. I have loved and cared for 7 dogs in my adulthood. But let me tell you that having a dog today and having one 40 years ago has certainly changed! Actually dog  ( and I hesitate to use the word "ownership" because of social media pressure) ... ownership has changed since we got Finn in 2005. Wow has it ever changed.





I joined several social media groups when we started talking about getting a new puppy when we returned from Inuvik in 2014. Windy Meadows, because obviously I wanted to see the other gorgeous doggies and then later to post photos of our own Mr. Sailor Boy for others to admire. And there there were a few others that kept cropping up in my news feed and I joined. They will remain nameless. But here's what I have learned and observed in the past 19 months of doggy OWNERSHIP... yes there it is I will take OWNERSHIP of the word. I own it. I use it. I am it. I am a dog owner. Not his Mom. Not his rescuer. Not his adoptive parent. His owner.


Well, back to the lessons learned and the observations made:




Doggy Daycare
... yup a real thing and not to be confused with boarding kennels for overnight stays.  Apparently the best dog parents thoroughly research the best daycares and will drive miles across town and risk being late for work to make sure Doggy Junior socializes with the best doggies and are cared for by the best daycare workers. And this is done not because the dog has issues and they want someone else to work with them, but because they don't want to leave them alone during the day when master and/or mastress are working.  Are you effing kidding me? It's a dog. I don't agree with tying a dog by its neck in the backyard but I shudder to think of the costs. Shudder. Student loan repayment, anyone?





                                                                         Dog Food


Then there is the whole dog food debate. Raw versus Vet food versus Home cooked versus Gourmet versus... shudder, gasp, horror, GROCERY store brands. I know that there are terrible dog foods out there, but seriously? Upwards to 100.00 for a bag of food? I want my dog to be well fed and I certainly want him to have a healthy shiny coat. But do I really want to spend one of my pension cheques each year on overpriced dog kibble? And should I be judged if I decide that the food I choose to feed my dog isn't up to YOUR standards?




Vet Visits

Next up? The overly neurotic dog owners who are constantly posting photos of fly bites, skin tags and such on social media. Vet visit? Should I call the emergency line NOW? Blows my mind. If these people have or will have children can you imagine what the MCP costs are/ are going to be if they are like minded with their children!? A dog throws up and it is an emergency?  Runny poops and there's a call into the weekend vet? Settle down people.  Vets are absolutely wonderful. And God bless them for being there when our pets need them but take a chill pill ( owners not the dogs)... Unless there are serious behavioural things going on wait a few hours. If it isn't bothering the dog, then it probably isn't vet visit worthy.  I can't help but think about our thirteen year old, Tara the Schnauzer, who developed a lump on her side and it was there for over a year, not bothering her at all. For some unexplainable reason we thought she should have it removed. Bad move. It was cancer and after the surgery it raced through her body like wildfire. Three months later she was dead. Leave well enough alone? A list of pros and cons when considering surgery is certainly in order. And wait until morning to see if the fly bites have faded a bit. You think?





Dog Sitting
 I understand this one maybe better than most. For awhile we were dog sitting three dogs at a kennel. A neurotic schnauzer, a quiet Sheltie puppy and our lovable old Brady. You don't want to leave your dog with just anyone. You want them to be safe and you want them to be reasonably happy when you're away from home. Sailor is moping around here today like he has lost his best friend. He has no idea that Paul is just gone to the airport to pick someone up and will be back in due course. He is miserable. But he will eat his kibble later tonight and he will sleep through the night. He will wake up and be happy to see me in the morning, just as he would have been happy to wake up and see the lady at the kennel if I had decided to go with Paul. There is so much written these days about socializing your dog... Ok you neurotic doggy owners,  choose a kennel, build a rapport with the kennel people, drive off with good thoughts in your mind. Because most of the dog's anxiety and issues are just that... IN YOUR MIND. Should you return and the dog is cowering in his kennel or starving, or has bruises...then you have a real issue. But the likelihood of that happening with a reputable kennel? Infinitesimal. Negligible. Minuscule. Not big. Get over it.




Rescue versus Purebred
Now this is one that really gets people riled up. Personally I think the designer dogs that fetch a huge price is a bigger issue. Porkie anyone? But the rescue versus purebred issue is a big one for a lot of people. And I see the merits of both sides. By taking a rescue into your home, you are providing a home for a dog who doesn't have one instead of adding to the overpopulation of pets. Good solid argument. Except in Newfoundland where trying to find a suitable rescue isn't always as easy as it sounds. I won't even plead my case on our decision to go purebred ... suffice it to say I love my Sheltie. Love him to bits. Would I love him as much if he was a Heinz 57? Possibly.  I prefer to fall back on this: Live and Let Live. I am not asking you to pay the bill for my dog, so let me choose what type of dog I want. Maybe that is a little blunt, but its my blog and I am a little cranky so that's it.

And just one more closing thought: 
 Paul and I recently experienced our first instance of ageism. During a visit with a dog trainer, the trainer made three references to our age and their perceived level of our fitness in our abilities to deal with some behaviours in our 18 month old Sheltie. Sailor gets very excited in the car, overstimulated and very vocal.  We left the visit with a very, very sour taste in our mouths; discouraged and demoralized. We had a two hour drive to home and we talked about it the whole way home. Besides feeling cheated out  of our money, we did a lot of soul searching as to what we as "old, fat people" could do to change Sailor's behaviours in the car. We followed some of the trainer's suggestions and no, we do not walk him for 3-4 hours a day to get his energy expended but we do expect more of him and of ourselves. He is settling. He is more responsive to us and our commands. For his safety and ours he is now making long drives in a kennel.  And he will be attending obedience classes to help us build on his emerging skills. Ryan, just home from Africa after 11 months has remarked several times how settled Sailor is and what a nice dog he has become.  

Dog ownership is a very serious matter. No one should enter into it lightly, but when someone reaches out for advice and you feel you have some to offer can we please offer it with kindness and compassion? I am so tired of seeing people being torn apart because they are seeking help. You want to vent? Start a blog and rant all you want. ( I did and it is amazing!)

Until next time, Sailor and I are sending lots of LOVE FROM LETHBRIDGE!  

Christmas Spirit - Past and Present!

I taught school for 30 years. And for each and everyone of those years the smiling faces of the little children on Christmas Concert night was the one thing bound to awaken in me the Christmas spirit.

For sure there were other festive things that did the same thing - my own children's excitement, Christmas lights, decorating the tree - but Concert night cemented it for me. Their sweet voices some melodic and sweet, others brash and bold singing their songs; the pretty dresses and special hair-dos for the girls and buttoned shirts, ties and slicked back hair for the boys; the smiles and applause of the audience members... Who could be a Grinch or a Scrooge after a night like that!?

I will never forget the feeling of relief when the last strains of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" faded. Neither will I forget some very memorable events like watching a Kindergarten student stuff all of her very voluminous dress into her tights as Mr. King delivered his closing remarks. Hey! Who could blame her, he did have a tendency to be longwinded when he had a captive audience! Oh the memories!

Since my retirement - it has been 8 Christmases since my Kindergarten class sang "Christmas in the Harbour" - finding the Christmas spirit has been a hit or miss each year. My precious babies have grown up and become world travellers. British Columbia, Ontario, Alberta, England, France, India, Nepal, China, Ethiopia have all been home for one or the other for Christmas morning.  And to paraphrase Simani, "Christmas is not Christmas if the family's not here!"

Well this year was looking pretty bleak, Ryan and Raisa in Ethiopia, Erin and Liam (and their one day off) in China, Mark and Des in Jamaica, Matthew, Mel, Natalie and Agathy in Alberta. Bleak indeed. Despite the outside lights and the decorating inside I was having a very hard time finding the ho ho, jing, jing jingling, bells on bobtail ring feelings. I even tried baking!  Ate the entire cake... Nothing.
I pinterested the heck into my Christmas decorating... Zilch. I dug out my 34 year old elf and perched him on the mantle... Na-da.  Bleak, bleak, bleak.

Last night we had tickets for Celtic Christmas. And upon arrival in the centre I realized I had bought those damn awful floor seats FF and not row F. Grumble, grumble ( me, not Paul) ... Not a great start to the night. Tight seating and neck strain, not good.  Then something magical happened. One of the first songs of the night was a song Arthur wrote about Christmas at Uncle Joe's. I didn't have the pleasure of meeting my father-in-law but through Paul's stories  and photos and clips of his appearances on "Land and Sea", I feel like I have known him all my life. And that's who the song is about. I have heard it before, own the CD even, but last night it did what our primary school children did for me for so many years. Now as most of you well know, Con and Arthur O'Brien are as far from cherubic school children as anyone can possibly be, but that song oiled the rusty hinges and before the night was over the gates swung wide open. I sat there and listened to Con's magnificent rendition of "Oh Holy Night" and was transported back in time to the Christmas Eve service when 9 year old Erin melted our hearts with her performance of the same. Fred Jorgenson's song of Christmas on the Burin Peninsula, took me back to the very few but precious Christmases I spent with my grandparents before my grandmother's dementia tore our world apart. And then Con sang the song that made me tear up... Yeah I admit it ... I bawled... "Heading Home for Christmas".

And I realized how lucky I am to have these wandering children of mine. How truly fortunate I am that they are happy and healthy even if they are far from home for yet another Christmas. Maybe there will be a year when with babes of their own, they head home for Christmas. After all, isn't that what Christmas is all about? Hope for the future, thankfulness for the past and pure enjoyment of the here and now.

It's here folks! It's here! It will soon be Christmas and the spirit of Christmas is alive and well in my heart! Thank you Con, Arthur, Fred and your sidekicks! Drop by the trailer next summer! I own you one!

Now I think I had better go make another cake... Might even enjoy this one!

Lots of Love From Lethbridge... Drop in for some of that cake before it's all gone!

Sheltie Love

It has been many years since I fell in love with Lassie.  Lassie - the books, the TV show, the movie... the dog. What a beautiful dog. Then 30 or so years later when I met my husband to be he told me that around the very time that a whole generation of kids were begging their parents for a Collie, his dad came home with a beautiful Collie pup. Right at the peak of Trudeau mania,  there was no other choice... the dog was named Trudeau.  I kinda hated Paul for a minute... you know that flash of red hot envy that streaks through you when someone tells you they had something that you had set your heart's desire on? Yeah that was me.

But as dogs often do, Trudeau met an untimely, tragic end ...but I still have my  89 cent hardcover novels from W.W. Young and Sons General Store!

And all Paul has are a few blurry photos and many, many years of wonderful collie dog memories. Take that O'Brien! (Lame, I know.)

Well my love of Collies stayed with me, through a dogless childhood, into the ownership of a cute little Beagle, a Blue Belton Setter, and two miniature Schnauzers.  All loved. All cute. But not a Collie. Then somewhere during my early adult years I met a Sheltie. He was a sweet little thing, tiny and just a little bit yappy and just so pretty. And I knew then that I would never own a Collie. I would  someday own a Sheltie. Or what's probably more accurate, a Sheltie would one day own me. And I grimace just a little when someone calls a Sheltie, a Miniature Collie... because seriously? They aren't!

Fast forward to 2005. My 47th birthday and I "just happened" to wander into Pet City and into the dog section ( Thankfully pet stores no longer sell puppies and I agree wholeheartedly with this decision).  In one of their glass fronted kennels I came face to face with the dog. Gangly, 4 month old mahogany sable Sheltie. I smiled and walked away. Then walked back. He was lying on his side, long legs extended and his eyes staring off into space. I shook my head, told myself that he was too old and too set in his ways, too broken  AND we already had two dogs at home. Then the back door of the kennel opened and they put a little Jack Russell terrier in with him and he came ALIVE! He was a different dog! Playful and happy and curious.  I looked at Erin. Erin looked at me and I took out my cell phone and called Paul. And the rest they say is history. Insanity's finest hour

And what a history it was. He was year old before he could jump up on a sofa. He barely mastered the three steps between the two levels of the house. Sometimes it took him five or six tries to get up the steps into the trailer. He was a BIG Sheltie standing almost 20 inches at his withers and weighing close to 40lbs.. ( anything over 16" for a Sheltie is oversized). The other two dogs barely tolerated him despite his best efforts to be included.  And he was a timid dog. SO timid. 

Yet he had SO many good points that he left a mark on our hearts that will be there forever. He loved kids and kids loved him. If he got out through the gate of the yard, you only had to look at the front door of the house to find him, lying there waiting to get in.

He scared away every crow that flew in the sky, every squirrel that dared climb a tree and his efforts to keep the driveway next door free of cars could only be described as heroic. He chased each and every car up and down that driveway and I tell ya, if that fence hadn't separated him from the drivers, he would have licked them to death!  When someone tells you that a Sheltie can be territorial, believe them!  Finn took his territory very seriously, A very meek and mild Sheltie would be let in through the front door and he would go directly to the back door to be let out. And then he would put on a show - racing from one corner to the other, his tail a flag blowing in the wind. His head held high as surveyed  the sky searching for any bird that dared invade his airspace. King Finnigan!

He loved his hikes on the East Coast Trail and went for miles dragging his leash behind him, constantly looking behind him to see if we were keeping up and circling back to round us up in good Sheltie style before heading on down the path always a few steps ahead of us.

Finnigan  (and Gus) outlived Brady, the apricot poodle-terrier mix  that came to live with us when my ex-husband got sick. And then Finn outlived Gus, the schnauzer who had cancer and crossed Rainbow Bridge  15 months before Finnigan did. Finn was 7 when his seizures of two years became unmanageable and began to cause damage to his sight, his balance and his hearing. The charts that I was keeping showed more frequent, longer and more violent seizures. I was a nervous wreck, listening through the night for the telltale noises of yet another bout of seizures that would sometimes come in threes and fours and leave him exhausted and disoriented for hours.  And we asked ourselves if we were being cruel to keep him with us.  I read everything I could on seizures in dogs. I joined internet groups devoted to seizuring dogs, kept every vet appointment and advocated for drug changes and cooked good wholesome food for him.  And then I found this:

"When our pets are suffering, they don’t reflect on all the great days they have had before, or ponder what the future will bring. All they know is how they feel today. By considering this perspective, we can see the world more clearly through their eyes. And their eyes are what matter."  

Well, Finn's eyes were clouded that Sunday morning when I called the vet. He growled at me as I approached him on the deck but then he recognized my voice and  as I sat down at his level he nuzzled my face and licked my cheek just as he had done a million times before. 

After a pet dies, one of three things is likely to happen.  You get another pet immediately. You swear off pets forever. Or you grieve and slowly heal and then consider getting another one. Well I was sure I was sworn off pets forever. Losing Gus and then my beautiful Finn in just 15 months was just too much. And I rationalized it so well in my mind. I could wear black again and sit on the sofa without getting covered in dog hair! I didn't have to worry about kennel cough and rabies vaccines and did I de-worm him yet this month? We could just pick up and go anywhere without kennel costs, and people who didn't like dogs could come to our house. The freedom was infinite! And the hole left was immense.

Our time in Inuvik came just 6 months after Finn's passing. I had told Paul that I would go anywhere with him as long as we could drive and take Finn with us. So Inuvik was a long ways away? No problem. He would go ahead and find a pet friendly apartment. He'd fly home and we'd drive up in June when the roads opened up. Easy. But Finn died before then and the next 22 months was a healing time for me. And two weeks after arriving home in June of 2014, I made the call and had a lovely chat with the man behind Windy Meadows and the most beautiful Shelties I have ever seen.

But we still weren't decided. I wrote the deposit cheque but didn't mail it. And we discussed all summer the pros and cons of putting the deposit down on another puppy. This one from a superb breeder right here in the province. A tiny, perfect puppy with none of Finnigan's issues of being so old when he was adopted. Then Paul decided for us with just five little words, "I miss having a dog." The day after Labour Day we drove to Branch and saw the prospective mommies and the beautiful daddy to be.  And  I left the cheque.  

Sailor was going to be Sailor whether male or female. Sailor Moon if it was a girl and Sailor Boy for the male. A good choice I think.  Sailor Boy has turned out in his three months with us to be a plucky little fellow. When he wanted to come into the house when he was a tiny little fellow, he would anchor his front paws over the doorstep as far as he could reach and scramble with the back ones to get himself inside. Plucky. He mastered the steep basement stairs in just two tries. He has been jumping on the sofa since he was three months old. He was SO easy to housebreak and stopped chewing on precious objects the day he got his last permanent tooth! He loves the car, visitors, cuddles and does tricks like they are going out of style. Rollover, fetch, bring it back, play dead, Sheltie bow, sit, high fives, give paw... a dog genius I am sure!

There are bound to be ups and downs in this dog loving process. And as sad as it will be when the day comes, I hope to outlive this little guy and cry over his passing 10-15 years down the road. Until then? Come visit us and get to know our little fellow. I promise you will leave here covered in dog fur and dog kisses... if you let him! 

And I am happy to say that it was great decision because there's a lot of puppy love... here in Lethbridge!

Inuvik Musings

Wow, it has been awhile.
I REALLY intended to continue my blog while I was in the North. You know, a hardcore assessment of living conditions, working conditions, food situation, and of course a brutally honest "only Lori could say it" commentary on the people I met along the way. I really, really did.

So what happened? A number of things actually...
1. Windows 8 stole my thunder and tried to suck the soul out of me. Nasty, nasty bug, that Windows 8.

2. Coming out of retirement after 5 years was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Just the getting out of bed in the cold, dark mornings and then later trying to sleep through the never-setting sun was really hard on me. Paul whistled as he walked to work. I trudged up that hill by the apartment like I was going to the guillotine. Writing was the last thing I wanted to do.

3. I knew I couldn't do a good job in my blog about Inuvik- the people or the conditions. I was too homesick to be fair.  My perceptions,  too slewed.  And the day I added my first Inuvik friends to Facebook I knew I couldn't ever write what I was feeling. And let me interject here that when I say Inuvik friends I include everyone I met while I was there... the folk from the south, newly arrived or firmly entrenched; the people born there and people who moved in from smaller communities outside of Inuvik - everyone no matter their birth place.  I knew that to them, I would come off as a mean-spirited southerner (everyone not from the Beaufort Delta is a southerner no matter where you come from).  My critiques and observances would be read as being criticism and vilification. And who knows, maybe they would have been correct in their critiques and observances.

4. It was a good point in my life to stop writing. That blasted novel all neatly typed and filed away on CD-Roms, went with me, but I knew it needed to sit for awhile before I could even begin to attempt the final copy. It still sits today. Probably should get back to it before the technology that reads CD-Roms becomes obsolete!

But I am back in the "south" again.  Every morning that there was light I exited our apartment building and looked to the southeast... to home. I think if we had been transported to a beautiful exotic place where all I had to do each day was relax and enjoy the pleasures of life, I would have still missed this rock. Wayne Chaulk says it best, "...this island that we cling to.."  I felt many times that I had to apologize to the people around me for not enjoying my Northern experience any more than I was. Recently I sat with friends who we met in Inuvik and tried to explain that it wasn't so much that I didn't like Inuvik, it was my overwhelming sense of having lost something very special that clouded my perceptions.


I will never forget the sunrises and sunsets of Inuvik and the days when the sky glowed brilliant pinks and reds and oranges from dawn to dusk. The children of East Three Elementary and their gift of laughter and smiles will always be mine to cherish. The friendships forged in Inuvik, through the daycare, the school and the hospital will last a lifetime. Each time CBC runs an item from Inuvik, I scan the faces to see if I can see a familiar elder who I had met or a child who I taught. I scan Facebook looking for stories from my teaching colleagues - those who are still there and the 7 of us who left the Delta last June. My day brightens immensely when Paul tells me that one of them  has asked for me and how I am doing. I still read Inuvik Rant and Rave and enjoy every picture that the school posts on their website. Inuvik touched me and it changed me.

 And I will forever be grateful for orange juice that doesn't cost 4.50 a litre.

So folks, I am home! And sending best wishes to all my Inuvik friends.... from Lethbridge with LOVE!

BLIZZARD! And not the DQ yummy kind.

Like the rest of the east coast of Newfoundland I woke to the cheery news that Environment Canada had issued a weather advisory for the Bonavista and Avalon peninsulas for tonight and into tomorrow night. A blizzard. And to just make it clear just what we're talking about here, here's the link to the advisory : http://dd.weatheroffice.ec.gc.ca/bulletins/alphanumeric/20120203/WW/CWHX/09/WWCN16_CWHX_030900___60515    Scary stuff right?  Well, wikipedia defines a blizzard as this : A blizzard is a severe snowstorm characterized by strong winds. By definition, the difference between blizzard and a snowstorm is the strength of the wind. To be a blizzard, a snow storm must have sustained winds or frequent gusts that are greater than or equal to 56 km/h (35 mph) with blowing or drifting snow which reduces visibility to 400 meters or ¼ mile or less and must last for a prolonged period of time — typically three hours or more. Snowfall amounts do not have to be significant.

Gus, age 4 watching the snow fall!

 I am a big believer in Santa, unicorns and yes I'll admit it, I have even seen a UFO or two in my time... right Erin? But I am not a big believer in the forecasts issued for Newfoundland. Even the BEST meteorologists will tell you that there is just too many variables at play in our position out here in the North Atlantic to allow them to be perfectly accurate as to snowfall amounts, paths of the systems, wind speeds and durations of the storms.  We don't get upset. We just accept that they were wrong yet again, put on our big girl panties and drudge on. Now, despite their woefully inaccurate track record when the meteorologists issue a forecast for a blizzard a lot of people get really worked up. Not me. This is one retired school teacher who was disappointed a few too many times when my phone did NOT ring at 6:30 am with the joyous news of school closures.  Not getting ME again! I figure it will be windy tomorrow and we will get snow, but in the aftermath of the event, the reports will probably in all likelihood be that we were spared the brunt of the storm. Best case scenario.

I looked out at the brilliant sunshine today and wanted to scoff... I really did. I wanted to pretend that tomorrow was going to be a perfectly normal weekend Saturday morning. But alas, I failed miserably. I started to feel like maybe there might be something to this afterall. So off I went to the store and bought chocolate chips... gotta have a bit of chocolate during a BLIZZARD!  I stopped at Sears and picked up the bed skirt that I found that actually matches Ryan's bedroom (only been looking for 3  years!) and came home to settle in for the big event. Dusted, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom and then I spied the pretty new bed skirt.

Changing a bed skirt is freaking hard work. By yourself. Exhausting gut wrenching work. But my mind went on a rollercoaster ride like this: I want to reclaim the mattress that is on Ryan's queen sized bed, because it is so much more comfortable than the new one we bought for our bed three years ago, and if I am going to put on the bed skirt, now would be a great time to change the mattresses over and then I could change the sheets in our bed, because everyone knows rumpling up the clean sheets during a blizzard is a whole lot of fun, and if I am changing the sheets now would be a great time to switch out the mattress and even tho it will be hard work, if I wait for hubby to come home he will discourage me and say he'll do it tomorrow and by then the blizzard might be passed by and rumpling up the clean sheets is not nearly as much fun as it could have been in a blizzard, so I am going to do it NOW! PHEW. I was exhausted just thinking about it.

And these are the things I learned today:
 1. I am not nearly as strong as I was before I met my husband 8 years ago. OR... Mattresses have gotten a whole lot heavier in 8 years.
2. Queen sized mattresses need a lot of space and cannot occupy the same bedroom at the same time... Newton was right about that one!
3. Sliding Mattress A into the bathroom to avoid an encounter with Mattress B is in theory a good idea. But when Mattress A sort of collapses in the door way and gets jammed I am expressively happily overjoyed that
4. We just finished installing bathroom #2 in the basement.
5. And no matter HOW tired hubby is when he gets home on this Friday afternoon, he WILL be moving the mattresses the rest of the way into their final resting places. I am knackered.

SO happy blizzard weekend everyone! Hope you all have fun rumpling your sheets during the blizzard and if the blizzard just happens to pass you by? I hope you have fun rumpling your sheets.

Love from Lethbridge!


UPDATE: 3 pm the SAME day!

 I pushed through and got the mattresses moved! And I think the effort was TOTALLY worth it!! Any guesses how long it takes hubby before he notices  a) he's sleeping on a different mattress and b) the bedskirt now matches!???

Having a Blahy Time... The January Blahs

Well the good news is, they are about to end. It is, after all, the 27th of January as I write this and no matter how bad the month has been, there are only 4 days left to be " Blahy" !  Unfortunately next comes February with its usual snowstorms, winter colds, icy roads and even more blahy days. You will note that I did not use quotation marks on  "blahy" that time. I think we can all agree that it is a word that should work its way into our everyday lexicon. "How are you today?" could be the question, and this one word answer, "Blahy." would suffice, nay triumph! as the reply. No you aren't sick, no you aren't home hiding under the covers, but you're seriously not in sync with the weather, the boredom, the mindnumbing sameness of each day that is January and February in our fair land.

Now I can see people jumping up and down and shouting at their computer screens. There are those that enjoy winter (a shout-out to my stepson Mark here!) and are excited to see the snow fall and go to bed each night hoping for more! Alas I am not made of such fibers! I do enjoy a good snowshoeing venture on a sunny Saturday a couple of times a season, but beyond that winter just leaves me.... blahy.

Living next door to a Department of Highways depot can be blamed partially for this. Do you know that SALT and SAND are delivered in July!? For a week in July,  the trucks delivering the salt and sand to  the depot are non-stop. Their jake brakes and gears changing sing out to me, "Winter's coming! Winter's coming!" One memorable year, the boat must have been docked in Catalina (Bonavista?) and every single load of the traction giving substances was paraded along by our living room window. Fun. AND then when winter arrives every truck that leaves the depot and passes along by our house headed north, are still changing gears as they pass the window... How can you not notice?  Is there anything more blawy in the winter world than the sound of the plow blades clanging along as they wing back the snow after a huge snowfall? Probably not. While I am not driving in winter on snowy days, many of the people I love are... I can hear Ryan and Raisa chuckling all the way from the beaches in the Phillipines... and the thoughts of those people driving in winter...makes me SO blahy!

I hesitate bringing up the next blah-inducing item on my list. It is a touchy subject. Not with children... they love it. Not with teachers... they are thankful for it... But the rest of you out there? Probably not big fans. I'll whisper it quietly, SNOWDAYS,,,  So you're all thinking, but you were a teacher why are they blahy for you? WERE is the operative word here folks. Since retirement, I've tried to awaken and feel the same little lift on school closure days but I just can't muster it! The first year I followed the routine that 30 years of snow days had instilled in me... "Make this day COUNT!"  I would find a project that just couldn't be done after supper or was too messy to be handled on a weekend, and I would go to it! Closets got cleaned out, cupboards re-arranged, quilts got cut out and partially assembled, rooms got painted... not all on one day, but you get the drift.(Pardon my pun there)  Snow days were productive! Now I get 365 snow days a year. And I could be really really really productive, but instead snow days just remind me that  I am not as productive as I sh/could be. They tell me that I am aging and that things that I looked forward to with gusto, are now just a little too much for the old back to handle. ( Yes I meant to use "back" there... not "hack"... as many of you thought!) ... BLAH!

While we're on the topic of my back... let's trot out the next item. Limited mobility. There is NO one who will argue this one! Just the words can send shivers down my spine.  Limited mobility is a big reason that I am still on my weight loss journey. I don't want it. No way!  I want to give these hips and knees and my pretty little spine a fighting chance! Get that weight off. Stay active. Be flexible. MOVE! And along comes January. First Mr. January sends us a lovely coating of beautiful white fluffy stuff... and decides to wash it away. I'm with you so far, Mr. J. But wait! He doesn't wash all of it away, he leaves enough in the walkways and driveways that he then turns to solid sheets of ice. And then changes his mind once again, and sprinkles just enough white stuff to cover up the places where the ice is lurking below. Evil. Pure Evil.  Remember that snowshoeing I was talking about? Last Saturday we had enough snow to go for a little jaunt. Missy Erin skipped along on top of the snow like the little butterfly that she is. Her Mama and Step-Paul being twice her weight, had our snowshoes hit bottom every step... right to the ice that was EVERYWHERE on the trail. I fell twice... graceful backward tumbles that caused no damage, and I slipped forty or fifty times. You know those slips? One foot is firmly planted in the North snowbank and the other foot heads south faster than a plane full of Newfoundlanders headed to Cuba.  ( MY first analogy was a E/W one with a boatful of Tamil refugees but I thought this one was more politically correct). IN anycase, the splits are not on my list of approved stretches for the geriatric body. We headed home and built a snowman in the front yard. On the flat, in an area six feet away from the front step... safe territory for those with that damn limited mobility. BLAH!

So the blahs are here to stay... I will have my blahy days. Galaxy Radio is delivering at this very moment, Anne Murray's "Snowbird"... HONEST! I swear! And while the sentiments expressed in that classic song are so apt for a person of my ilk, "If I could you know that I would fly away with you..."
These lines will keep me here with my quilting, doll clothes and loving husband...limited mobility and all.
"Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean
The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green
The snowbird sings the song he always sings
And speaks to me of flowers that will bloom again in spring."

I hope Ryan and Raisa are enjoying their time in the hot sunny days of Manila! As for me? I don't necessarily love Lethbridge at this time of the year, but there is enough to love about Lethbridge the rest of the year to keep me smiling through the blahy days of winter!

Talk to you all later... I am off to shovel snow and daydream a little about those beautiful Lethbridge sunsets!