The Joy of Winter Running....or the Diary of a Madwoman....

It's winter! This past Fall I was determined to run outside all winter. If I let a little bit of snow or cold stop me, I would be confined to the indoor treadmill for six months. I used to do that in the winter. If it dropped below -15 Celcius, if there was a wind, if it was too dark (when isn't it dark in a Northern Alberta winter?), if it was snowing, I would head down to the basement, throw in a movie and run on the treadmill. Problem is I dislike running inside on a treadmill. I feel like some little gerbil in a cage and it just seems like time slows down when you run inside. Watching a movie is okay - that at least kept me entertained, but I had to have headphones on to listen. The headphones get REALLY sweaty. The headphones would have "salt" stains on the foam after using them several times and if you didn't air them properly they were still a little soggy the next morning - I KNOW - GROSS!!! And try sharing them with your spouse who sweats more than you -- YUCK! Yes, we did get separate sets of headphones, but even still, he had sweated all over the treadmill and just the thought of all that body fluid flung all over the room is enough to make you gag while running. I am sure it is my mindset (what isn't a product of my thoughts?), but it seemed harder to run on the treadmill and I would have to drag myself down to do my run. Because I was just running on the same spot over and over, it made it easier for me to end the run early justifying that I had put the speed up and worked harder.

Last winter I was inspired by my very good friend Cindy who became my running partner (before she moved away). Cindy had started running the year previously and was on a 3-4 day a week plan that suited her schedule well. We started running together in the mornings because my husband's knee had ended his running days with me. I loved the company, especially Cindy's wonderful listening skills. She is a thinker, needs time to absorb the conversation before she typically jumps in with thoughts of her own. That's a great running partner for someone who rarely thinks before they talk and likes to babble and hear themselves (that's me!). By the time Cindy was ready to say something I had filled in the silence with my ramblings and because she now had to think some more about what I just said, I could ramble on fairly non-stop for a full run. You have to love friends like that! I really looked forward to the mornings that I would meet Cindy and do our morning route. The time flew by. Cindy was bound and determined to get out no matter the weather and the year before had managed to do a run in -30. I figured if a "newbie" to running can suck it up and do that, I could after running for more than 10 years. So off to Mountain Equipment Co-Op I went last Fall. I invested in some good winter running clothing armed with the knowledge of the parts that I struggle with - my hands, my face, my feet. I bought a pair of mitts that haven't failed me yet, gators to go over my double socks to keep out the wet and cold and a full balaclava for my face. Depending on the weather I may wear a couple of layers for pants and tops, put on a neck warmer and hat with the balaclava and off I go on my run.

Being clothed properly for the weather conditions gave me a sense of hardiness and contributed to a new maverick personality. I "scoff" at the thought of not going out. Really, if you dress for the weather, there is no excuse. Again, all a mindset. I am not saying a very smart mindset, but setting my mind to the task has me outside in all kinds of weather. The hardest thing is getting the clothing right. If you dress too much and start warm, you will be boiling hot by the time you finish and risk sweating so much that it starts to freeze and give you a "chill". What a combination. I guess that really is my normal anyways - menopause! If you wear too little clothing then you start off cold and really never warm up. That can work in your favour if you want to run faster. Our outdoor thermometer helps me plan for the run but it misses the most crucial piece of the puzzle - what's the wind doing? If it is -25 without a wind I can wear the same clothing I wear when it is -15 with a strong wind. Wind is really what makes the difference, especially when you are heading against the wind. If I head out against the wind, yes it is a B*%^h, but coming home is pleasant because you are heated up now and you can go home without the wind cooling off all that sweat you have accumulated in your clothing. The worst days are the ones where there is a wind and you head out with the wind and come home against the wind. I struggle coming back home in that wind. It builds up icicles on my sweaty clothing and chills me to the bone. It's days like that when I feel like hitchhiking home.

And yes, you still will sweat when you run in the winter. Yesterday was a prime example. The temperature was hovering around -12 and it was snowing and blowing. The snowfall had happened overnight and the graders were out clearing the streets. This was a Saturday so they wouldn't be doing the trail for a while, priority goes to the roads. For the first stretch to the trail, I ran on the road trying to follow the car tracks. This is the treacherous part as the snow has built up over icy sections and you have to be careful you don't slip. Then I hit the sidewalk which hadn't been plowed and I started breaking trail. Breaking trail in the snow is hard work, especially when you have a foot or more of snow to plow through. I usually go up the hill to the cemetery (our only hill close to town with the best view) and down on a Saturday, ending at "Here's To Your Health" for a latte with the gang - because USUALLY at least 1 or 2 show up for a Saturday run together. I waited the obligatory 5 minutes to see if anyone would venture out with me. No such luck. I don't know what was stopping them - it was just a "few flakes".

Off I trudged on the trail but I only made it to the Highway 88 bend and had to turn back. It wasn't because I was cold or because it was too windy, it was because I was EXHAUSTED, gasping for air and dripping sweat from the effort of breaking trail. I admitted defeat, called Pat on the cell phone and told him to meet me early for that latte. Fortunately the weather hadn't deterred the staff person who opens up the shop. She greeted us with a warm smile and a warm drink.

For me, yesterday's run was another "notch" on my belt. This morning will be another (let's see if I can make it up the hill - the weather is still the same, just with more snow!). When I run in adverse weather I feel good. For someone who is never going to win a race, racing against myself and pushing to find my limits are win enough for me. I can proudly declare that I am a RUNNER, especially when I run through a Northern Alberta winter.

Happy Trails to you.

Best Split Pea Soup...Starting the New Year Right.

It's Sunday morning, Jan. 2, 2011 and I am off to a great start for the New Year. Sunday mornings are my favorite and what gets it off to a good start is a cup of coffee, the morning paper and reading the book reviews. What can make that even better? Getting a pot of homemade soup going so the aroma drifts through the house to mix with the rich smell of freshly ground coffee (one of my favorite smells). Making a pot of split pea soup with the leftover ham bone and stock from Christmas - even better. How much more Canadian can I get? I guess if I had a hockey game playing in the background that could up it a notch.

I love homemade soups and I love my Sundays to be relaxing. After working all week and doing something Friday and Saturday evenings, I need one day to unwind before I head back to work. Being of a certain age (over 40 and close to 50), working full-time consumes my energy. I remember how I worked full-time, raised a family, did my degree part-time, volunteered and I still had energy to spare. I think I used it all up back then because now I have to be in bed by 7 pm reading so I can fall asleep by 8 pm. I am an early morning riser, but even still, this seems to be a bit extreme.

I also live for routine. Control-freak comes to mind and I know that about myself, so keeping to routine keeps me balanced. I don't have to use much energy thinking about what to do, it is rote and it happens like clockwork every day. This leaves my energy to pour into the creative side I have (that is neat & tidy - that goes without saying) without it taking too much of my time. Patience may be a virtue, but it is one that has eluded me all my life. I also need to "check" things off that mental "to do" list I keep (in keeping with that control-freak nature I have) so it has to be something I can do in a relatively easy chunk of time and be complete. No masterpieces for me - good enough is what I strive for. While some people may search for just the right ingredients to put in a soup, I will find what I have, what I can buy in a small rural community, find a recipe I like and follow it loosely to create a great soup -- and get it all ready on the stove in under an hour. I maximize my energy. Being a natural morning person, I have to do all this when I get up and before I sit down to that first cup of coffee to read the morning paper (remember that mental "to do" list I need to check off). Yes I know, obsessive compulsive comes to mind, but it works for me.

And it works for my husband (most days). He gets great homemade soups that are nutritious and delicious. He also gets that same meal for several days. Fortunately for me, he is pretty easy-going about eating the same thing over and over. That is how I conserve my energy. A pot of soup will last us 3-4 meals making the evening supper during the week a snap. I get home from work, take the pot out of the fridge, put it back on the stove to heat up, make a quick salad or sandwiches and VOILA! supper served by 6 pm every day.

I have plenty of family and friends that think I have a "problem". They will laugh at my "quirks" and feel sorry for my husband. They can't imagine how structured I am or that it may be healthy for me, and even if they concede it works for me, they can't imagine living with me. I have to agree, living with me would be a challenge. I know, I have lived with myself for over 4 decades. It's taken me this long (and will take longer) to realize what works for me and what doesn't. When I am on the mountaintop of my life journey and can see for miles around, I am able to use my strengths (planning, organization, task completion, multi-tasking, efficiency, creativity, critical thinking, compassion) to serve others. When I am in the valleys of my journey with that myopic view these same strengths become my weaknesses (rigidity, narrowness, neediness) and it becomes all about me. I can be that self-centered monster in an instant.

That's what's great about being married. Over the years we have tempered each other's weaknesses, have mirrored each other to ourselves so we can see the beauty and the flaws we bring to the relationship. My husband broadens my view and helps me see that I can rise above the "weakest" link I have, that I can climb back up the chain to its source of love and light. He isn't just my life partner, he is my learning partner, collaborating with me to make life's lessons fruitful. I love that about him, he never thinks that you "can't teach an old dog new tricks". He knows that while it may take a lifetime for me to learn, it will be a lifetime full of great moments learning together. In the end he knows, "it takes a community to raise a child" and being children of God we express that community to each other in the most intimate way. It helps us remember to be that community for others and to support the learning that brings life to our community.

So we started with split pea soup and ended with relationships. Sounds like a great start to the New Year. Wishing you all a wonderful New Year - full of learning, joy, peace and LOVE.

For those who want a good recipe to follow for split pea soup - I got this one out of the food section in the Edmonton Journal about a year ago.

Ron's Pea Soup (from Edmonton Journal Food Section, around February 2010)

2 cups whole dried yellow peas soaked overnight (I couldn't find these so used 2 cups of dried navy beans and then put in 1 cup of yellow split peas on the day of cooking) 1 tbsp vegetable oil 8 oz double-smoked slab bacon, diced just over 1/4 inch or 2 cups diced cooked ham (I used the double-smoked slab bacon -- great!) 1 large cooking onion, diced 1 large carrot, peeled and diced 3 stalks celery, chopped (sometimes I use diced cabbage if I don't have celery) 2 cloves garlic, minced 3 medium-large russet potatoes, peeled and diced 1 meaty ham bone and/or split pig’s trotter or other soup bones, if handy (used a good meaty ham bone — wonderful) 7 cups chicken stock (if using the boxed stuff get low sodium) 1 rind (skin) Parmesan cheese about 4 inches square (if you have it) -- I didn’t have this so didn’t use 1 bay leaf 2 sprigs fresh rosemary 1/2 tbsp dried thyme 1 tsp dried savoury 10 grinds black peppercorns (I ground mine 10 times — that’s how I interpreted this) 1 bundle Italian parsley tied with butcher’s twine (I couldn’t find Italian so used regular parsley) 1 tsp dried herbs de Provence mixture (I couldn’t find this so didn’t add — just used a little more thyme and savoury)

In a large pot, heat oil on high and saute diced ham/slab bacon, then add onion, carrot, celery and saute until onion is translucent, but not browned. Add garlic and saute another minute, then add potatoes, drained soaked peas (and I added the split peas here), ham bone and cover with chicken stock. Add cheese rind, if using, bay leaf, rosemary, thyme, savoury, groud pepper, parsley bundle and herbs de Provence.

Bring to boil, reduce heat and gently simmer, covered, 2 or 3 hours, or until tender, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon to avoid sticking/scorching. When done, remove and discard bone, 2 sticks from rosemary sprigs, parsley bundle, bay leaf; taste and adjust seasonings with salt and pepper, if necessary. (I didn’t do this next step, but if you like it smoother you might want to — I like my soups chunky). Using an immersion blender, puree soup in the pot just enough to thicken mixture while still leaving at least half not blended for texture. Gently simmer completed soup, covered and stirring occasionally, until serving.

Counting Our Blessings...2010

I read an article this morning about a mother who is coming to Edmonton to visit her daughter. Her daughter emigrated to Canada from Ireland a year ago. This mother was talking about how Ireland is loving Canada right now, how their young people are considering moving here so they can find work. With the big crash in Ireland, Canada is seen as an ideal destination for the young and unemployed of Ireland. This mother (and father) were traveling to Edmonton this Christmas to celebrate the season with their (much loved) daughter.

I could relate. I may not have come from Ireland, but I came from Southern Ontario all the way out west to Alberta and have lived here for more than 29 years. While my reasons for coming are different, my reasons for staying were motivated by the fact that I had made a life here - raised a family, had a good job and made incredible friends in the community. Like all other immigrants to Canada, you left another life behind and forged ahead to create a new life in a new land. The pull of "home" is always tugging at us because family is family. Blood ties run deep and you hang on to the lifeline it is, knowing that you share deep roots. At the same time you start to grow new roots that sprout all over and spread in this new soil of opportunity. Some of the shoots will grow big and strong and others will whither and die as you negotiate the journey that is your life. Throughout it all you will realize that you create community wherever you go, that you will be blessed with friends that are the "family you choose or family that chooses you". Some friends will last a lifetime, others will be there only briefly and some will not seem friendly at all - but they are all part of your family, the human family, and each and every one of them will help you on your way.

In 2009-2010 we found out how deep our roots were as our family was challenged with life-altering events. It seemed to start with the death of my father, Jim Mackenzie, on November 19, 2009, but in truth, it always starts with life - a life we were all blessed to have been a part of and now were being called to celebrate and commune with in a new way. While dad's physical body was dead, his spirit lived on and gave us all strength to continue on our journey. Mom's declining memory and the need to bring her home to Alberta for six months allowed us to discover the beautiful person Alda is at every stage of her journey. She brought us great joy in her daily laughter and incredible capacity for enjoying the moments of life that really are worth living for - the sunset, the moon in the night sky, the birds in the backyard, the children playing across the street, the blow-by-blow details of our neighbour's comings and goings, the excitement of seeing spring arriving, the hearing of the dogs barking, the simple pleasure of ice cream for dessert, the smile of greeting for our arrivals and the newness of every moment, every day. It was like living the movie "Groundhog Day" and getting to do the same day over and over until we got it right - it is being there for others that really brings us great joy and peace.

Seeing our children for brief or prolonged periods were special. Joey when he came to celebrate grampa's life at his funeral, Denise when we could make it to the city or she returned home for breaks from her nursing program at the U of A and Robert in the summer when he came from Munich, Germany to share in the burying of dad's ashes on a beautiful August summer day. We were reminded that our love for our children is never-ending no matter how old they become (Denise - 21, Joey - 29, Robert - 31). While some of our children struggled with illness this past year we realized that sometimes all we can do is pray and know that God walks with them every step of the way.

And ultimately that's what we learned this past year. God walks with us every step of the way in the many encounters with God's family (all of creation) that we had. Our immediate family were there to lend a hand, to hold on to each other and to send encouraging words. Our extended families provided us with connections to our past, our present and our future - opening up their homes for visits, sending memories/stories of our parents and keeping us connected when we so needed to be. Our friends were the glue we needed when our lives were spread so thin. They chipped in where they could, gave us much needed opportunities for social gatherings, helped us laugh at ourselves and let us cry when we needed. Life as usual goes on and we know that we are not alone, that we are being lovingly embraced along the way.

We quit counting our blessings this past year because we couldn't count that high. We are infinitely blessed not just in the day-to-day - good jobs, warm shelter, good food - but in the most important aspect of life - LOVE. Every moment was filled with it and we hope that you can FEEL THE LOVE, now and forever.

The very best to you - a part of our family - the human family - may you find peace, joy and LOVE today.

Easy Vinatarta....not like mom's...

This December I tackled them all, vinatarta, kúrenukökur and lastly pönnukökur - all Icelandic baking that my mother did at Christmas time. As a child we watched her do this every year, maybe not the pönnukökur's, but for sure the vinatarta and kúrenukökur. We had images of licking the bowl and getting a "taste" of the goodies. You would think after age 10 we would know better and quit hoping.

How to explain....my mother is a perfectionist and a "tad" on the obsessive compulsive side of the spectrum. What maybe we took for perfectionism was probably more her inability to let things go until it was done "just so". Baking was no exception and let's just say that what was left in the bowl after she was finished mixing the batter was "even too small for a mouse". There are four of us children - divide that up and you can see a little disappointment creeping in. Add in that mom grew up on a farm outside Gimli, Manitoba during the depression and then you will know that she was only baking once for the Christmas season. That meant no tasting of the goodies until Christmas time. She packaged that baking so it could survive a nuclear attack and then hid the goodies until Christmas. The "sneaky" ones in the family found her spots and stole the baking at their peril (I wasn't one of them). In our adult years, mom had her "stashes", which our sister-in-law "found" and raided. Because we were no longer home and she baked well before Christmas and she had that habit of not bringing out the goodies until a certain time, she would forget that the baking was there and you would be eating stale kúrenukökur's by the time you found them. That's how desperate we are, better stale than none.

As an adult I had made kúrenukökur's (currant sugar cookies) for Christmas and realized how easy they were. You mixed up the batter, rolled it out, cut the cookies, baked and voila! kúrenukökur's! What I had never attempted was vinatarta and there was a good reason for that. As a child, I had watched mom make vinatarta and it was a three-day process - yes! 3 days! She started with the prune mixture. She bought prunes with the pits still in them because she didn't trust that "pitted" prunes would really have all the pits taken out. Pitting one pound of prunes = 1 hour of work. Add in pitting "Alda" style and you could double that time. After that, she boiled them and then had an old-fashioned meat grinder that she hooked up to the kitchen sink and ground the prunes. The meat grinder is probably 60 years old and it still looks brand new. How is that possible?, you may ask. Because mom meticulously cleaned it after the once per year use for grinding the prunes. The cleaning process took a minimum of 1 hour, and that was just the washing of the parts. She then dried each part with a tea towel, carefully laid each part out on top of the stove to completely dry, wrapped each piece carefully in brown paper, put elastics around to hold the paper close to the grinder for a snug fit and then put all of that into at least 2 or 3 plastic bags to seal it tight. You can see how a whole afternoon could be used up just in the cleaning process alone.

Was she done? Absolutely not! After the prune mixture was ground, she put it back on the stove to add the sugar and cook until dissolved. From there she put the mixture into a container in the fridge and just scraping every bit of the mixture from the pot to the container took a minimum of a 1/2 hour. Again, no "licking" of the pot or spoon -- what was left over was "even too small for a mouse" - certainly too small for four children to share.

Next process - the dough for the layers of the cake. Vinatarta is a 6 layered cake with prune filling between the layers topped off with a butter cream icing. The cake layer is really a sugar cookie dough thinly rolled and cut into rounds (or square). You use a round cake pan to go by and cut the layers out and bake. Here is where mom's obsessive compulsiveness really shone. Each layer had to be exactly the same thickness and perfectly round. If you left the kitchen during this stage and came back a 1/2 hour later you would find her still working on the first cutout. After she was done and a whole day was gone, the layers would be cooled completely, stored and put away for the next day of putting it all together.

Putting the cake together was a sight to behold. Each layer was examined to find the one that was the least perfect which would be used on the bottom. Cue the magnifying glass to find the imperfection! The first layer had to be placed "just so", which took about 15 minutes and then the prune mixture put on. This required precise measurement because every layer had to have the same amount of prune mixture. From there she spread the prune mixture over the first layer and it had to be the same thickness right across and go to the very edge without going over. Another 15-30 minutes for that. Next came an examination of the other layers to pick the next one to fit on top. She would hover the 2nd layer over the first turning it round and round to try and line it up so it would fit perfectly. That layer could hover for about 15 minutes before being put on and then she had to examine the fit to make sure it was right. She would repeat this all day until all 6 layers were put together. Now she wrapped the cake like it was going to be shipped overseas by boat in a hurricane and still get there in perfect shape. And she still hadn't iced the top!

So is it any wonder that it took me until my 40's to attempt baking vinatarta? For many years I didn't think I had the time required or the skill set to achieve the desired results. When I finally decided it was time to take the plunge I was surprised by how easy vinatarta is to make. While I may be like my mom in many ways, especially in the obsessive compulsive department, I am different in one very unique way. I don't have the patience of a saint. In fact, I inherited my dad's patience - NONE! I do like things to be neat and tidy without the work of getting it that way. That's why I don't have "stuff". You can be neat and tidy with minimal effort when you don't have a lot of things requiring cleaning and moving. That's also how I like to bake/cook - I am always trying to make good food with minimal effort.

As long as you can settle for "good enough", which I can, you can make vinatarta in 1.5 hours of effort. Buy pitted prunes, throw into a crockpot with water, turn on and leave overnight. In the morning take out, put into a food processor with the sugar and mix. Dump into a container and put in the fridge if you aren't ready to make the layers. Don't worry about getting every last drop out and throw the parts of the food processor in the dishwasher to do all the work. When ready to do the layers, mix the dough, slap on the counter, roll out quickly and eyeball the thickness, cut the rounds and bake. Let them cool. In between have a glass of wine and read a good book. When layers are cool pick the first one that is closest and spread the prune mixture. If it drips over the side it will give your vinatarta some "character". When done, wrap once because you will be eating it soon! If you have left-over dough, which I always do, make cookies and use left-over prune mixture to make "vinatarta cookies" - a big hit with the crowds that want a taste NOW!

Did mom's vinatarta look better - YOU BET! Does mine taste as good, I like to think so. Maybe next year I will try "turducken" and see if I can simplify that process as well.

Merry Christmas - enjoy!

I always wanted to be a witch...

I know. "Aren't you already?" Ha, ha. Now that you got that out of your system, let me explain what I mean.

I grew up reading. I could spend hours curled up with a good book. Our house had a good assortment of books and I definitely had my favourite ones. The first book that I truly loved was, "Go Dog Go" by Dr. Seuss. The story was simple and funny and the illustrations grabbed me. I wanted to be at the dog party in the tree at the end of the book. I wanted to be with the dogs in the house by the beach. I wanted to be the dogs driving those cool cars and I really wanted to be the dog who kept wearing more and more elaborate hats and asking, "Do you like my hat?" It was a place that was full of excitement, fun and interesting characters. As a child (and still as an adult), I lived in my head creating elaborate places where I could go and be anyone I wanted to be. When life was challenging or boring I could always go there in my mind and have it exactly the way I wanted it to be. If I created something that wasn't quite right, I could change it in an instant. I had total control (I know, still sounds like me).

I had a great big story book - "Cinderella" and that was another one that I loved to read and look at. It was the transformation from the little cinder girl to the princess that grabbed me. The illustrator had done a phenomenal job of the dresses she wore to the ball and then ultimately to her wedding. I dreamed of being her, of having that dress and living with the handsome prince. At the time I thought we would just play together forever. Now I know better, the fairy tale ends and real life begins with children, dishes, housecleaning, appointments -- all the mundane that weaves together a rich life with someone. And the "playing" together often goes on the back-burner to give priority to sleep. Who would have known in our teenage years that sleep would have been more important than staying out all night partying and having a good time with that good-looking fellow you picked up!

I read lots of the standard books, "Little Women" (loved it and still do), "Heidi" (loved it and want to do a "Heidi" walking trip in Switzerland someday - anyone care to join me?), "Dear God, it's me Margaret" (okay, you had to be a girl for this one) and a host of others.

But it was a book called "The Little Broomstick" by Mary Stewart that got me into the world of magic and opened up a whole new set of possibilities for my imagination. When I googled this book and found out it was by Mary Stewart, the author of the Merlin Trilogy I adore as an adult, it made sense why I had become transformed by this book. Getting to her website and finding the novel (published in 1972, probably the year I received it), with that same cover brought back a flood of memories for me. That book grabbed me and swallowed me completely. I was the little girl "Mary" finding that broomstick and flying into a magical world full of adventure. The book was real to me. As I devoured that book I never wanted it to end. I wanted to stay in this place and really fly on a broomstick. That's why I love the Harry Potter books, it takes me to a place that is full of adventure and magic. And it's magic that opens up possibilities where in real life you sometimes can't see them. It's magic that lets you suspend beliefs and see things from a different perspective. It's magic that stirs the imagination and creates a new reality. It's magic that lets you try a different approach and be a different person.

That's the fine line I tread in life and why I sometimes need a "break" from adult fiction (especially Canadian adult fiction!). Yes they have great stories to tell but they can be awfully depressing and too "real". It's like we forget our childhood of possibilities and find ourselves stuck in this mess of emotional tragedy. I don't want to read a book and say at the end, "well at least my life isn't as f&%@ed up as that person's life." I want to get to the end and feel like there is another possibility for the outcome. I want to be excited about living, about striving, about dreaming, about being and sometimes I need that escape into a different world where anything goes. And that is the fine line, I have to stay grounded here and not live in the escape but find the balance that brings joy, health and love to my life and others.

So I want to be a witch. I want to go on that grand adventure and conjure magical spells to create a world of possibilities. I want to see that every great fantasy novel is a metaphor for life: a journey of hills and valleys, of great joy and great sorrow, of incredible strength and incredible cowardice, of good and evil, of having companions and going it alone and finding that this is our internal journey of being fully human. We will stumble and fall, we will face our inner demons, we will meet a host of characters who help us on the way, and we will find that we are never alone on the journey, that God has equipped us with God's love and light - our magical powers to be the best we can be.

I am heading off on my broomstick right now....hope to see you on my journey.

I want to be more like Iko...

Tiana at Peggy's June 14, 2010 and Iceland trip June 15-23 255_2

My friend's husband recently got a new truck. One of the features is the navigation system. A friendly voice maps out the route and tells him where he needs to turn. My friend calls the navigation system voice, "Iko". It's funny to want to be more like a "digital voice" but after what my friend told me, I realized that's exactly who I aspire to be.

When they go for a drive, Iko patiently tells the driver where to turn based on the route that has been mapped. If a "mistake" is made and you miss turning where you are supposed to, Iko comes on in a pleasant voice saying, "Re-calculating route." That's it! Not, "You idiot - how many times did I tell you the turn off was coming up and you missed it - are you blind?" No coming in with past grievances like, "You did this the last time we had to go here, how can you get it wrong every time." No taking advantage of the situation to add insult to injury by saying, "Men really can't multi-task. I knew that chewing gum would distract you."

It's really quite amazing. Iko doesn't get personal. In fact, she makes it sound like missing the turn-off is a good thing. "Let's re-calculate the route and go on an adventure together." There isn't a frantic search for the map with two people screaming at each other blaming the other for missing the turn-off - "YOU were supposed to be looking, I'm driving!" Iko doesn't get flustered because you are already late for your engagement, she calmly lets you know that in fact, there is another route to be taken. You can hear her soothing voice implying that it's okay, you are in good hands and you will get there. Don't worry, be happy!

Maybe this is sounding a little too much like the "Stepford Wives", but I have to admit, I would like to be able to react like this more often. It doesn't make sense to take these things personally and start an argument over them. I think Iko is on to something. Why am I bringing in the past into a present situation? Why am I not seeing the opportunity for discovery in going a different way? Why am I not finding the joy in the gift of the journey and instead focusing on the destination? Why am I in such a hurry, because as a famous song says, "all we really have to do is live and die".

About four weeks ago I went for a run on the trail. All the leaves on the trees had died and fallen off and we had already had a light snowfall that had come and melted. As I ran I came across one tree with all its' withered, dried, dead leaves still clinging to the branches. I had to stop and take a picture. I realized that it was telling me something very important. The tree wouldn't let go of the leaves even though they were dead and no longer viable. High winds, cold, rain, frost and snow had been unable to dislodge these leaves from the tree even though the tree was exposed to all the elements. I wondered about that as I continued my run. Why hadn't the leaves fallen? What was keeping them attached to the tree after they were no longer useful? Why weren't they decaying on the ground and providing nourishment for the soil or protection for small bugs and rodents? I wondered at how much energy the tree needed to use to "hold" on to these dead leaves. I wondered if the leaves had died with some kind of "scar tissue" that attached itself to the tree and the tree just couldn't shed them. I wondered if that would affect the tree's ability to survive the winter, if this energy used to keep the leaves would compromise the tree's immune system.

As I pondered this I realized that it was sending me a message about my life. How much energy am I using holding on to past hurts and slights to my ego? Why wasn't I letting them go? What kind of a hold did they have on me or was I the one holding on? How was it compromising my ability to let my inner light of God shine? How do I relate to those I love while holding on to all of these "dead" issues?

I do want to be more like Iko. I want to embrace the moment and see the moment as the best place to be, full of hope, full of possibilities, full of light, full of adventure, full of love. I want to re-calculate the route when things go off course and together find a new path that opens up our eyes to the beauty life has to offer. I want to meet each moment with "new" eyes, ones that aren't holding on to past hurts. It won't be without challenges, but as Iko expresses, we can face these challenges, find a new route to discover and let life unfold in all its splendour.

Things I Learned From My Dad...

November 19, 2009 was the day my dad died. We weren't expecting it that soon and thought we would have more time to be with him and more time to sort some things out. Fortunately for dad, he died before he got really sick from his cancer and true to form, he left some things undone. So in tribute to my dad today, here are a few things I have learned from him:

1. Leave it to the last minute. If you are lucky, someone else will have to come along and deal with all that CRAP! (Thank you dad!)

2. Being late, really LATE makes sure that you will be noticed and remembered.

3. Marry someone who will clean up after you, raise your children for you, find things for you and give you the freedom to do exactly what you want to do and when you want to do it. (Thank you mom!)

4. Be very opinionated and if logic doesn't serve you well in the discussion, throw in irrelevant and extreme views that will leave people completely dumbfounded so they won't have anything left to say.

5. Say exactly what you are thinking out loud at all times to save energy. You won't have to remember what kind of a "spin" you put on things when you follow this one and if a few people don't talk to you again, oh well, less energy spent in trying to maintain too many relationships. Better yet, be oblivious to any offence you might have given and you can treat everyone as a friend.

Last but not least, the real lessons I learned:

1. Laugh easily with others and at yourself. Bring a sense of humour to lighten the load for everyone. Know how to tell a good story to put people at ease and help them enjoy the moments you share together.

2. Serve others and know how to be in communion with others wherever you go.

3. Put your best effort into everything you do.

4. Stand up for what you believe in that will make things better for your community, your country and the world. Make sure your voice and actions contribute to making the world a better place for all of creation.

5. LIVE life fully. LOVE freely. Be THANKFUL for all you have.

Thank you Dad. I love you and know that your love is with me still, guiding me in everything I do. Here's to you today!

Remembrance Day - Is it enough?

I have to admit that I have a hard time with Remembrance Day and wearing a poppy. Before you jump to any conclusions, hear me out on this one.

I am not a believer in violence to solve our problems. I don't think it has ever served us well or really solved anything. It has caused a lot of destruction and death while making some people richer (the arms industry, among others) and a lot of people poorer. Most reasons for going to war have little to do with making life better for the common person and more to do with gaining power for the few. The few that gain are not usually the ones that go to war and "sacrifice" themselves for the greater good,

I know that it is easy to philosophize about this when I have never faced a real "threat" to my freedom or safety. What would I do and what would I think if it was real? I don't know. What I do know is that war is more than just the battle and those who died. War infects an entire generation and those who come after. There is nothing "glorious" about war. Heroic efforts are made and the real "cost" of those efforts lasts a lifetime. It doesn't just affect the soldier, it affects their family, friends, communities and that is what I truly want to remember and discuss.

Because if we are not prepared to pay the full "cost", why do we participate? The cost of war/missions are not only in the equipment needed, the administration to deploy or the wages to the military. That is just the beginning. The aftermath of deployment is where the true "cost" appears in soldiers coming home injured physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. While we may do a good job in helping the injured recover, those whose wounds go deeper or who are permanently disabled, we are ill prepared to deal with. Add in family, friends and communities that are left to cope and you can see how widespread it becomes in trying to "treat" someone. And then add in that some injuries won't appear until many years later - side-effects from chemicals used, brain damage not discovered, mental/emotional illness that slowly takes a hold, addictions that develop as a way to self-medicate -- it becomes even more challenging to deal with the true "cost" of war.

AND do we really want to pay? I don't think so (by we I mean our society as a whole, not the wonderful individuals that do help & support). We could blame Veterans Affairs Canada, the current and past governments for not doing more. But we really have to look at ourselves. Once a year we "remember", wear a poppy, go to the local ceremony, listen to the songs, choose "Like" on our Facebook page and think that is enough. What we don't do is support increased taxes to pay for benefits and programs that will really help returning veterans. What we don't do is write letters in support of these programs and benefits. What we don't do is recognize that returning veterans who have wounds that are deep and difficult to heal are NOT liabilities. What we don't do is reach out to those individuals/families who are barely holding on. We see the "drunk", the "homeless", the "drug addict" and we say they are to blame for their condition, not knowing what led them to this state. We stumble through conversations with their families providing sympathy and want to move on as quickly as possible. We don't want to acknowledge the "elephant" in the room.

AND we don't consider the cost to the country where the conflict took place, the many casualties that we left behind who are mostly civilian - children, women and the elderly. What would it really take to help them? Where would we even start?

So really, what are we remembering on November 11th? What does that poppy really mean? How do we make it meaningful and not a once a year salute to our veterans? How do we have meaningful discussion without labeling someone as "not supporting the troops" when they question, and keep the conversation open? How do we listen to each other's points of views? And most importantly how do we do all of this in a way that takes action now, that doesn't leave those suffering behind while we comfortably discuss the issues?

I don't know about you but I know this Remembrance Day has got me thinking and questioning. I know that I am part of the problem, that I am not doing enough to support. I know that I need to speak up and whether I agree with our "mission" in Afghanistan or not, I belong to this country and I need to let our government know that if we send people to "war/conflicts", we need to pay the "true cost" of that deployment, even if it takes a 100 years to pay off the debt. Bringing them home isn't enough. Leaving the country and the chaos behind is immoral. Forgetting that people are human beings in relationships that will be impacted is unethical. Trying to "balance budgets" without taking care of our responsibilities to individuals, families, communities and countries is unconscionable.

It is time to stand up and remember what war really is and how much devastation it causes and to act now to prevent further conflicts and to "pay" for the aftermath of the ones we have participated in. Two minutes of silence and a wreath laid is not enough.

No Sexy Lingerie for me....

It was a few years ago when I heard a knock on the door after work and I went to answer it only to open the door to MJ who then doubled over and burst out laughing -- at ME! Needless to say, I wanted to slam the door in her face. I remembered my manners in the knick of time and invited her in. What could have made her laugh at me like that?

Well what do you get when you combine an obsessive compulsive early riser of Scottish/Icelandic descent raised by two parents who lived through the depression on the Prairies?

Me in my full body fleece pajamas!

Thanks to my friend Ronda and her AWESOME Christmas gift, keeping the thermostat at 14 Celsius was fine with me. As soon as I get home I change into my comfy, cosy pj's and relax for the night. I admit, I do get a twinge (a slight twinge) of guilt when Pat puts on his toque to go down to the basement to carve. But really, you just have to dress for the weather (okay so it's indoors weather), and you will be fine. I have to find him a set of those fingerless gloves because he has been complaining about his cold hands.

Without children at home and every one of our friends knowing not to call after 8 pm, I make supper for 6, eat, clean up the dishes and then hop into bed by 7 or 7:30 pm to read my book almost every weekday night. Having fleece sheets really helps for keeping toasty warm. I don't know why Pat doesn't want to join me - I thought these jammies looked pretty sexy and hey, the foreplay lasts a little longer trying to get me out of them.

When Pat and I got married I only ever made one demand (okay, I have added to that one over the years). The demand was that he keep me warm in bed. I found that he wasn't always up to the challenge, often coming in with cold feet and trying to cosy up to me. Well now I don't worry, these fleece pajamas keep me warm no matter how cold he is when he comes to bed.

So what if I am not going to be the Cover Girl for La Senza or Victoria's Secret - I will be warm and comfortable and that's good enough for me. So I can be frugal, environmentally friendly and HOT at the same time! Pat....it's time for bed!

Paths and Hoar Frost....

I have been taking my camera with me on my runs, runs that used to go by in a blur of frenzied thought. With my running partner moved to Kelowna and going solo again, my mind is keeping me company. For a "head case" like me this isn't a good thing. I can keep myself distracted in thought and only "see" when my mind takes a brief and short breath. What most people find peaceful and serene, I find boring. "Talking" to myself makes the time go by.

This could be a good thing if I was coming up with cures for diseases or solutions to bring about world peace. That's what I would like you to think about me, somebody whose mind is focused on serving. Hah!, wouldn't you be surprised if you could hear my chatter. It always amazes me how self-absorbed I really am. I could fill a whole run on a beautiful day with dreams of grandeur, petty grievances against others, monotonous soap operas of my day-to-day drama and what I am going to do with those millions Pat is sure to win one of these days.

When Cindy ran with me we shared our lives, gave each other a listening ear (okay, Cindy listened more than I did), gave each other support and found out that two heads really are better than one, that community (communion) is what makes us human. We laughed together, we cried together, we let our anger out and let the peace in, we shared our hopes for our families, our dreams for ourselves, we talked things through and found that it was safe to just be. We held each other accountable and gave each other a break. We gave each other perspective and most importantly, we gave and received friendship - a friendship based on mutual respect and great love for the other. With Cindy, I could be the person I wanted to be. She made me want to be a better human being.

But now I am on my own again and oh how far I have fallen. I have found that being alone has made me insular, petty and small. The world has retreated to revolve around me and my view is very narrow. Reason is gone, replaced with that spiteful little "me" who always wants to be heard and noticed. You know it is bad when you just want yourself to shut up and get a life.

And where did I get that life from - from my wonderful husband Pat. His gift of a camera for my trip to Iceland has opened up a whole new world to me on my runs. At first I started taking the camera because the swans were migrating - my favorite time of year in the North. I love to watch the flocks and flocks of swans fly overhead and this year I wanted to get a picture. The camera is small and I can easily carry it while running, and that's when my eyes opened.

That run in the first snowfall of the year is what started it for me. I immediately was entranced by the beauty on the trail. What I normally would have found a few moments to be absorbed in became a picture I wanted to share with Pat, with Cindy, with my children, with my mom, with friends, with colleagues, with anyone who appreciates the wonder of God's handiwork. I stopped to take that first picture and I was hooked. Every step I took brought a new scene into view, one that was breathtaking and inspiring. A new angle, a bit of colour, a bird in a tree, a snowflake fluttering in the wind - it was so beautiful and I wanted to share this moment with everyone.

Paths started to appear and my eyes were drawn to them. What have always been there on my running route were suddenly revealing themselves to me. I wanted to capture the entrance and discover the secrets those paths led to. I wanted to be a part of their mystery.

I have been carrying my camera ever since on my runs. I run the same route almost every day and yet each day brings a whole new world. The light has changed, more leaves have fallen, the sky is a different colour, the trees are swaying differently, a branch has fallen, the birds are calling - it is new every day and my eyes are "seeing" for the first time. I am totally absorbed in the beauty of it all and the world is expanding. My view is widening and my selfish chatter is floating away. I am falling into the peace and letting myself be embraced by the love of creation.

This morning my run was more like a run and stop. Every few steps I stopped to see the hoar frost on a leaf, a branch, a cluster of trees and I was dazzled by how much light was revealed even though it was a foggy and grey morning. The hoar frost danced in the emerging sunlight knowing that it would soon die. It didn't care about that future. It only lived in the now and let its whole being shine.

My little "i" is still with me, clamoring to be noticed. But the bigger "I", the one that is a part of creation is finding a way to just be. Thank you paths, hoar frost and Pat for opening up the world again. I still miss you Cindy but now I know you are here because you are a part of creation and you are with me every step of the way.

Live, laugh, love and run.....

CBC Radio, Mary Hynes and the Best Christmas Present Ever...

I'll start by saying, except for all those great Christmas presents my children have given me over the years and from my husband of course….

Now on to my amazing Christmas present – 3 months early. First I have to set the scene. I grew up on CBC Radio. Mom had the radio on all day and she only listened to CBC. It was in the background as she did her chores in the house and I never really paid attention to it, it was more like white noise. In the car the station was often on CBC Radio given that my parents controlled the selections. It wasn't until we were teenagers with driver's license in hand that we got to turn that radio knob and choose our listening pleasure. I was a teenager in the mid to late 70's, and like everyone else we listened to the Rock stations blaring out (I hate to say it), disco music and then later we could find stations playing punk rock music. I had a clock radio in my room and I closed the door and turned on the radio and listened to what most other teenagers were listening to. Given a choice, CBC Radio would have been the last station I would have turned to.

Fast forward to today and CBC is now the ONLY radio station I listen to. I admit, I am older than 16 now by 31 years, and fortunately I have had time to mature (I can hear my husband laughing at that one). So what changed? Living in Slave Lake, Alberta (29 years and counting) and driving 2.5 to 3 hours to get to Edmonton, growing up in Southern Ontario and NOT listening to country music and finding that CBC really was the only choice. I was a reluctant listener at first. In my early 20s I found myself questioning what the heck I was doing listening to my “parent's” radio station. How far had I descended down that hole of “becoming my parents”? Given that I had a child and children bring out those traits quickly, I was already at the bottom, I might as well enjoy it there.

I came to terms with listening to CBC Radio quickly and embraced the station wholeheartedly. It was what kept me awake and engaged as I made that trip to Edmonton numerous times. Long trips became bearable knowing that I would have CBC as my “friend” for the trip with people like Bill Richardson, Sheila Rogers, Peter Gzowski, the Dead Dog Cafe gang, the Edmonton/Calgary group who led the morning, noon and afternoon shows, Jonathan Goldstein and so many more. The shows and hosts were eclectic, exposing me to ideas, new music, old music, new people, new places, good books, hot topics, and different viewpoints. I was hooked. And history repeated itself, my children were now “stuck” listening to CBC.

I looked forward to trips on Sundays (I only listen to radio when traveling), and coming home at 4:00 pm when “Tapestry” came on with Mary Hynes. I loved her show about faith and spirituality. If we had to stop to get gas, I would delay as long as I could so I wouldn't miss a moment of the show. I would get home and write down the people she had interviewed and often get their books to read. It was so fascinating and touched my soul. One year I did the MS 150 (two days of riding a bike for 185 kms from Leduc to Camrose and back to raise money for MS) and my friend loaded “Tapestry” podcasts on her I-pod and lent it to me for the event. It was the most enjoyable trip ever. The dreaded bike ride became bearable with my “friend” Mary Hynes along for the ride. Her soothing voice, amazing guests and soul-searching topics kept me riveted over two days.

So it was a great surprise to find out my sister Peggy knew Mary Hynes. Peggy works with Mary's husband Randy at the Toronto Star. I had been in Toronto for a few days visiting my mother in her new place at the retirement home and staying with my sister Peggy and her family. Sunday night Peggy was taking me out for supper, just the two us, for some much needed sister time. Her husband Jeff was going to drop us off but first we had to stop at a friend's house and pick something up – something heavy that required my help. We stopped in a quaint Toronto neighbourhood, went to the door and a lovely woman answered. Peggy greeted her and then said, “this is your Christmas present from Jeff, this is Mary Hynes”. I was stunned! I was meeting Mary Hynes in person and not only that, she was inviting Peggy and me in for a drink before we went out for supper together! This was like meeting a rock star and finding out they lived close by and did pretty well the same things you did.

We came in for a wonderful drink, met her charming teenage daughter who didn't believe that her mother's presence could be anyone's Christmas present. Another reason to feel at home with Mary. Her teenager was like mine, so unimpressed by what we do thinking their parents are so ordinary and boring. After a drink we walked up the street to a wonderful Italian restaurant and spent the next few hours eating, drinking and talking. After a few drinks I was probably talking more than I should and completely enjoying every moment. Pictures were taken, numerous stories told and I was more hooked than ever.

Why do I like CBC so much? Because of hosts like Mary. These are people who are intelligent, fun, interesting and who are like you and me. They invite us into their “home” on radio and you pull up a chair at the kitchen table, have a cup of tea or a glass of wine and enjoy the conversation. They talk about things that you want to hear about and give you perspectives that make you think. You are engaged and know that you are welcome to stay all day if you can or just pop in for a minute or two.

So thank you Peggy (and Jeff), this really was a great Christmas present for me. And THANK YOU Mary for being as warm, intelligent, interesting, charming, fun and welcoming in person as you are on radio. If you notice buses going by your house, don't worry, it will just be me leading groups on a tour of CBC radio host's homes. Merry Christmas.

Rant or Zen? Ohmmmmm, I think I'm going for Zen...

A week's worth of reading newspapers, clipping articles for “material” and I had a whole whack of ranting to do. I was sure that yesterday I would make some time to do that ranting online with my blog. I was sure everyone else would want to hear “my opinion” on politics and other world events. At the very least, I would get some of it out of my system, clear my mind and get ready for another week's onslaught of things to rant about.

The universe had something else in store for me. After reading the newspaper, starting the split pea soup simmering on the stove, I put on my running shoes and headed out for a run. Up to the top of the cemetery is my favorite run and that's where I was headed. The day was beautiful, a hot sun shining and temperatures that let me go in shorts. I was absorbed in my internal “ranting” until slowly the rest of the world slipped away and I was transported to “heaven on earth”. Fall in Slave Lake on a nice day is a beautiful thing to behold and at the top of the hill it is stunning.

I stood at the top, could see Dog Island in the distance, Marten Mountain standing tall and the colour everywhere. Coming from Southern Ontario, I miss this time of year, especially the reds and oranges, but we still have a beautiful array of colours here in Northern Alberta. Slowly, all the worries, concerns, rants, minor irritations dropped off my shoulders and I breathed in the peace.

I headed down the hill refreshed, ready to meet Pat for a tea and just be happy with life right now. We enjoyed each other's company, went up the hill and took some photos and I went home ready to just be in the day. I didn't have the energy for my rant anymore, the creative juices were flowing and I started going through pictures to make some photo albums as gifts. Life is good.

Yesterday was a good day, today will be one too, I just have to let go and let creation seep into my very soul. I am looking for that sorrowful joy and joyful sorrow – a reminder that every moment is full of all and just letting it be and being in the moment will be enough.

Ohmmmmmmm, may you be embraced by the peace that is you today.

Nurse Edith......NOT!

Day 1 after Pat's gallbladder surgery and I am being the caregiver. What does that really mean? It sure doesn't mean that I am nursing him back to health. I am taking extra care of him and getting that glass of orange juice, reminding him about taking his medication, making the odd piece of toast, doing the chores he usually does and can't right now, helping him up when he needs a hand, checking to see how he is feeling and giving lots of smiles. Oooh, this sounds like a lot of work and I am not sure I can sustain this to Day 2.

Yesterday when he was in recovery after the surgery he got up to go to the bathroom and trailed blood on the floor. I was ready to phone for Home Care after that. There is a reason why I am not in the health care field. I don't do well with other people's bodily fluids and even the thought of wounds. I am getting nauseous just writing about this. When the nurse came to check his dressings and see how he was doing, I had to look the other way.

A few years ago Pat had another surgical procedure, closer to a part of his body where the sun doesn't shine too much. Afterwards the doctor explained how he would need his wife to change the dressing every day OR he could come to the hospital every morning and have a nurse do it. Pat chose the hospital and it was a WISE CHOICE. I still haven't looked at that part of his body and it is only a faded scar and the memory of the young nurse who had the task of asking Pat to put his feet up in the stirrups so she could change the dressing one day. I am sure that moment scarred her more than Pat.

So here I am, home with Pat for the day doing my wifely caregiver duties. Is there a limit? You bet! If he needs a dressing change, I can drive him to the hospital. If all he needs is a little extra care and attention, I can handle that….for a day or two. I can hear Cindy in the background already, “This isn't about YOU Edith.” You are right, it's about Pat getting the best care and I can arrange for that. Because when it comes to looking after my man, I want to make sure he does get the best care. You can pay for that or use the services that used to be part and parcel of our healthcare system. There was a reason why people recuperated in hospital – they were looked after by people trained to do the job.

I am not a nurse, I am the spouse. I love him and know that what I offer is care, concern, warmth, gentle nudging to follow doctor's orders, hot meals, clean clothes, clean house and to recognize when the professionals need to be called in to do the job. So don't worry…..he's in good hands.

Run Edith Run...

Sounds like Forrest Gump but this wasn't a movie, this was real life. The memory came back to me yesterday on my lunch hour run. It's Fall in Slave Lake and when I run in daylight I forget my fears and head out to my favorite spot, up to the cemetery. That sounds kind of creepy but it's the only hill we have and the best view of the town, Dog Island, the lake and Marten Mountain. I love running up there in every season and it gives me the best workout in a quick run.

The hill has three parts. The first part is paved up to the T-intersection. Here you can keep going up on the gravel road as far as Flatop which is 20 km away. That's a little too far for me and you are getting into serious bush country/forest. In the spring, summer and fall I don't feel comfortable going by myself into the bush, I am not what you would call a “Forest” person or “bush woman”. Many of my friends are, like MJ who is a Forest Educator. They feel confident walking about in the bush, knowing what to do when they come across a large animal. Me, I am a bit more wary.

But that was the problem, I wasn't wary yesterday. It was noon, the sun was up and it was a cool Fall day. I wasn't worried about any animals, thinking I was safe in broad daylight and not heading into the bush. I was just going to be skirting the edge because at the top of the paved part, I turn right and go up a little hill and follow the road up the last steep hill to the cemetery. The bush is there, but on the edge and there is enough traffic on the road during the day with teenagers zooming up in their cars and zooming back down again. I never quite know what the attraction is, but it seems to be “the” place to go at noon if you have a car. I worry more about those cars because they are full of kids trying to race each other up and down the hill and they don't notice the lonely runner on the road.

So there I was, just hitting the gravel part of the road at the top of the first hill, doing some fancy footwork (really – I was doing side running), not paying any attention to what was ahead and when I finally looked up, there he/she was, no more than 150 feet away from me, a big black bear lumbering across the road and heading into the bush, going the direction I was turning. The bear would be traveling parallel to me if I went up the next part of the road. It took me a few moments to figure out what I was seeing and then the shock, the fear and the part of me wanting to turn and run FAST kicked in! Thanks to MJ's training, I knew what to do, slowly put my hands up in the air, walked backwards and started talking loudly, saying things like, “It's okay Mr. Bear, I am just going to go back down the hill and not bother you anymore” and so on. The Bear? He/she (I didn't stop to check), couldn't have cared less, it lumbered across into the bush and didn't even look up at me. It did what most bears do especially when they are well fed, it went on with its business. We really aren't their meal of choice.

And that brings me back to my memory of another Fall day, very early in the morning (like 5 am), many years ago. I was running with Pat on the trails and we had just entered the part where it is bush by the creek. We were talking to each other, not paying attention when all of a sudden we hear this crashing in the bush right beside us. We couldn't see what it was because it was so dark, but it sounded BIG. This was no beaver that we occasionally saw on the trail and it seemed bigger than a deer. That left a moose, which I have never seen in town or a BEAR. We had surprised whatever it was and it was facing the same direction we were so that when it started running it was going the same way we were running. I can still hear Pat yelling, Run Edith Run!, and I did. I think I would have broken records that day with my run, the adrenaline kicked in and I ran faster than I ever have before or since. I could hear Pat behind me still yelling to run and I kept going till we couldn't hear the crashing anymore. I am sure we scared that animal just as much as were scared and he is probably telling the same stories to his friends. That's why I now run on the road if I go in the mornings in the Fall. We usually have a few bears that come into town along the trail this time of year, looking for berries and other food, loading up for hibernation.

Yesterday reminded me that we live close to the bush and that wild animals are a part of our environment. We need to pay attention and remember that this is their territory too and if we take precautions (make noise and leave the area where they are), we can co-exist. And I wouldn't want it any other way because at the end of the day, it's pretty cool that you get a glimpse of these amazing animals in their habitat.

I'm still running…

7723_186683391829_722621829_4269781_1119522_n

"Big Brother" for the Elderly...It's Here!

Recently we had an incident with our aging mother who had gone for a walk, leaving the retirement residence that she lived in. This would have been fine if mom's memory was good, but it isn't. At the time, I joked that we needed a “Marauder's Map” like they have in the Harry Potter books. You would be able to see wherever mom was wandering in the building and in its immediate vicinity. While I joked about this, I was sure that with the GPS technology they have, it would only be a matter of time before they had something like this for senior's residences.

Well, I was too late with this idea, they already have something like this and more. My sister sent me the article from the Toronto Star in their Living Section, “Checking up on Mom from a distance, Remote monitoring technology aims to keep seniors in their houses and out of nursing homes.”

The “Marauder's Map” idea seems quite juvenile compared to what they have come up with. They have shoes with GPS tracking on them – good idea for mom, but I bet we won't find a pair in her width (she has a quadruple A width which is very, very narrow, picture skis for feet). They have systems you can put in the senior's home that monitors movement, blood pressure, weight, you name it. In the article they have interviewed a woman whose daughter phoned to ask what her mother had been doing because she could see that her mother had gained 5 pounds – how intrusive is that! And you know they have monitors in the one place I always worry there will be in public places – the bathroom. I can hear that phone call right now, “For God sakes Ruthie, I was just sitting down and having a crap!”

For those of you who don't have parents at this stage yet, you might think this is too interfering. For the rest who have struggled with caring for their aging parents while keeping your own life going, you are probably wondering when you can sign up. And I have to admit, I was thinking the same, sounds like a good idea. But it all seems a little overboard when you think about it. Our society has been slowly eroding privacy for what we think are legitimate reasons – the care and protection of our loved ones. It started with our children (think helicopter parents) and now we are doing it to our aging parents.

We North Americans want to avoid all risk and we will pour lots of money into doing so or at least to give us the illusion that we are risk-free. Companies that can give us that illusion are going to make big money in the next decade with “protecting” your aging parents.

The question we have to stop and ask, is it worth it? Some of you may say that if we save one person, then yes and if it was my mother being saved, who knows what I would think. But that's the whole point. That's how they sell it to us, they personalize the fear and you open up your wallet.

But is our society safer? Are your loved ones really safer? And what about quality of life? And what happens when we pour this money into this one area and not others (like financing the whole system of quality care for the elderly, not just the rich elderly)? I think about how much money we have poured into security at airports after 9–11 and wonder has it made us safer? Was this the best use of our resources (time and money)? What if they had poured that money into making our highways safer – would we have “saved” more lives? What if they had poured that money into programs targeting peace relations, would we have a “safer” world right now? I don't know. I just know that we need to keep questioning. What seems like a good idea can just be a way to dull our fears.

When it comes right down to it, that's what we really need to address – our fears. Let's bring them into the light of day and examine them, are they real, are they accurate, and really how big are they? We say we are the intelligent species, then let's act like that and quit having that instinctive response to everything that goes bump in the night – let's really think….together, and expose our deepest fears to scrutiny. We may find that our fears are the “monsters under our bed”, scary but a product of our imagination not our reality.

Or we may find out that the real things we should fear – poverty, socio-economic gaps, climate change, over-consumption, greed, racism/prejudice (and more) are complex and we don't have an easy answer and so it is easier to insulate ourselves and give in to the fears that we know we can manage.

At the end of the day, I know that keeping mom safe isn't the same as keeping mom happy. We have to balance the two and do it for mom, not for our “peace of mind”. We can pay for the risk-free environment with mom but it leaves her frightened and confused because she is “locked up”. We can “hover” over her every move but it gives us a sense that we have the “right” to know everything about mom, that she no longer has the right to privacy. And we can do all this under the guise of “love”. And it is out of love, a love that is mixed in with our fears, fears that we never knew we had and aren't really sure what they are and where they came from.

These are all things I am grappling with and questioning. I don't have easy answers. I just know that in the end it is me, it is you, it is all of us who are “Big Brother”. Is that what we really want?….

To Denise, with love....

It's Day 1 without Denise. Our youngest (baby) is back in the city getting ready for her final year in nursing and the house has been reclaimed. Vaccuming done, bedsheets changed, furniture re-arranged, laundry done, dusting done, bathroom tidied and here I am singing the blues.

Anyone who has ever had adult children come back for spring/summer after university knows what I am talking about. You spend eight months missing them, have them home for a week and you are tearing your hair out. Who knew that the independent young adult you raised would come home and in a matter of hours you would be back to being the nagging parent and they would be the demanding child, except that they are an adult now and your expectations have changed. Guess what – so have theirs. Problem is your pattern of relating to each other hasn't changed.

You spend an entire summer in some freakish live human experiment where you are sure someone is setting up the whole thing to see how you react to your environment. I picture a lab full of white coats who have put me in a maze and every time I get close to mastering it they throw in a barrier to see what I will do. “Cue menopause!”

So what are you to do? You take it day by day, you live, you learn and most of all you love. Last night we were at a friend's 80th birthday party. What struck me was when his daughter got up to talk about her dad. She told some funny stories and made reference to her dad's “quirks” (what parent doesn't have them?). At the end she told the whole room, what was really special about her dad was that no matter what, she knew that he always loved her, he had unconditional love for her and her siblings. She knew she could count on her dad for that love and really that's all that matters.

In the end I hope that's what our daughter knows. No matter how “crazy” I am, how over-protective, how difficult, how demanding, how annoying, how anal, how hormonal, how tired, how angry, that ultimately I love her no matter what. I know she wishes I would “grow up” faster and be the parent she wants me to be – easy-going, calm, charming, funny, quick to forgive and forget, less intrusive, more interesting, patient and a better listener. And I want to be that parent too, it's just that wanting and being are two different things. After failing my fourth Summer Session of “Relating to Your Adult Child and Being an Adult While Doing It 101”, I know that I received top marks in, “Loving Your Daughter with All Your Heart and Soul” and will continue to every single moment of my life.

Have a great year Denise. I love YOU!

My nightmare, my reality......cleaning out my parent's house...

It's been nine months since dad died and I think I am ready to talk about what for our generation (the 40 to 60 crowd) is terrorizing them in their sleep. If you still have parents alive and they grew up during the depression (or close to it), every time you visit you notice it….and you sweat about it….you know this monster is going to keep growing and one day it is going to get you. Some of you may ignore it because you have a sibling that will take care of it – you aren't going to give it another thought. The optimistic amongst you think that your parents will get around to taming the beast. But for those of you like me, the ones that know this isn't going away, you are getting cold shivers down your spine as I talk about this.

Yes, it is your nightmare – cleaning out your parent's house. How much stuff can people collect in 52 years of marriage, 79 and 77 years of life collectively? You don't even want to know. How long will it take you to clean this out? Six weeks of 12 hour days without stopping for a meal until supper time. What will you do with it all? Shred 48 banker boxes, fill one industrial size dumpster to the absolute top (thank you Robin/Howie!), take 24 full car loads to the Goodwill, take 2 full loads to the electronic waste disposal, put out junk by the side of the road and watch people actually stop and take it, sort the recyclables and find a friend to take 3 truckloads full to the depot, put the garbage out every week and PRAY that they will take it all. And you still won't be done.

Who knew that the generation that never wanted to waste anything would end up being so wasteful. And who knew that when they said to you in your younger years, “One day this will all be yours,” they were serious! They just didn't add, “this will all be your……problem.”

I can tell you that there was one happy angel hovering over me the whole time. I could hear dad saying, “thank god I didn't have to clean up that mess”, a mess he created. What do you get when you combine two hoarders with one of them being obsessive compulsive? You get one f*&*ing FULL house, with everything neatly stored in cupboards, drawers, closets, underneath beds, corners – every available space used to maximum capacity. And I mean maximum. My mother is the queen of folding and reducing things to the tiniest possible size for storage. What one person fits in ten drawers, mom could fit in one.

It's amazing how after nine months I can still bring up the event like it is still happening. That's because it still haunts me. Minimalist me has always dreaded that I would have to deal with someone's else's stuff. I can't just throw it away – my parents brought me up with the value that you don't waste. So there I am sorting through things, finding the stuff that can be given away and recycling when possible. At the same time you have to read enough to know whether this can be recycled or should it be shredded for privacy sake.

Here's some advice – sort/shred now! Your children don't need to know that much about you, nor do you want your children to know that much about you, unless you know a therapist that needs some business sent their way. Just make sure you leave the name of the therapist in an easy to find location.

How do you get through this? You wake up every morning, smile, pretend you are an archaeologist at a major dig, roll up your sleeves and get to work, have a system for sorting and clear out the sorted items each day. That's the practical. What really helps you get through this is that big glass of wine every night and the fact that you are so physically exhausted you will sleep like a baby.

I can look back at this now and realize that this would make a great reality show. It could be a spin-off from Hoarders. If any of you know someone in the tv show business that I could pitch this to, let me know. I could even host the show and maybe call it the “Junk Whisperer”. Who knows, maybe I could save someone from this fate. In the meantime if you are in this boat and need some concrete advice, let me know, I am happy to share my knowledge or at least a glass of wine.

Good luck!

Am I Hip or What?

Okay, probably not if I am still using the word “hip”. I am up-to-date in what's the rage in reading with the younger crowd. I finished my book yesterday and picked up the next one on my shelf. It was “Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins. According to the Edmonton Journal in their A & E Section on Wednesday, Aug. 25, 2010, about the latest release of “Mockingjay”, the final volume of the Hunger Games trilogy, “This is going to be probably the biggest YA (young adult) book of the season.” And that's not all — Wednesday morning was the day I picked up the book to read. How is that for a coincidence?

Why do I have “Hunger Games” on my shelf? Well, I love to read, but don't necessarily like to be depressed. Adult fiction, and let's face it, Canadian adult fiction, can be pretty depressing. I have found over the years with my children that a lot of fiction geared to teens is very good. I just never know what to choose. That's when I found Greenwood's Bookstore in Edmonton. They have great staff in their Children's book section who have read many of the books on their shelves. I go in, tell them what I like in fiction and they go through the books with me pointing out the ones that they think would suit my tastes. They have always given good recommendations.

Some of my favorites are the “Wee Free Men” by Terry Pratchett (funny!), Phillip Pullman's Dark Materials Trilogy (The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, The Amber Spyglass), “After Hamelin” by Bill Richardson, Scott Westerfeld's trilogy – “The Uglies, The Pretties, and The Specials”, Lois Lowry's trilogy – “The Giver, Gathering Blue and Messenger” and YES, I am a “Harry Potter” fan. I still fantasize about going to school at Hogwarts. I am sure there are lots more but these are the ones that easily come to mind (and it isn't that easy having things come to mind anymore!).

So far, so GREAT, reading this book. I am giving it a good thumbs up and if you need a break from what's on your bookshelf, get this book. It does have a dark theme but young adult fiction manages to do dark in a captivating way. Enjoy!

A Great Read - The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I picked up “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett a week ago and I have been absorbed in it ever since. You know it is a good book when you get totally wrapped up in the characters and their stories, feeling their anxiety, fear, joy and learning along with them. I won't tell you about the book, you can read that for yourself. What I will tell you is what I learned. I have been questioning the same things they have, who have I judged, who have I not seen, who have I dismissed as unimportant, who am I prejudiced against, who do I take for granted, who do I think I am being kind to but in a way that keeps them down and because of all of this, what opportunities have I missed for making connections with others?

This self-examination is hard. I waffle between the characters and plead ignorance, upbringing, culture, norms, fear of other people's judgments and just plain lack of attention to others and my self-absorption (like right now). I have missed so many moments to be “changed”. This book is helping me drop the veil from my eyes and see the world in a different way. In the biggest way it helped me see myself even though the story was set in another place, a different time with different values. It helped me see that we aren't removed from racism/prejudice, we have just cleaned it up a bit. We still have a ways to go and the first place we need to change is our own mindset, to question our day-to-day actions and biases, to really see the other and know that we are seeing ourselves. In the most fundamental ways, we are all human and our differences are the icing. The cake is still the same and it is the icing that makes it interesting.

In the end this book let me see that we are alone on our journey. Yes, we all have other people who join us for a leg or two, some who constantly criss-cross on our path, some who light a torch when we need it, some who steer us off or back on, some who put up roadblocks, some who have the lemonade stand on the side and some who leave their footprints for us to follow a ways. And each and every one of those people is important on our journey. They are our guides for a spell. Ultimately we are still alone. Ultimately we are the only one that starts and finishes on this path. A good friend helps us to keep trudging along and what we find out is that we have to be a good friend to ourselves, to know when to question our judgment, know when to give a pep talk, know when to open our eyes, know when to take a rest, know when to listen and know when to apply first aid.

That's why faith is so powerful. Whatever we call it, God, the creator, Spirit, Universe, All – we want to know that in our aloneness there is something bigger than the tiny person we are, someone that walks with us, someone we can talk to along the way, someone who will be there with us every step of the way, someone who embraces us in our darkest moments, someone who has an eternal beacon of light shining for us, someone who helps us find our way home. And that is our ultimate journey – to find our way home where we are one with all, that this separation is the illusion. Our reality is infinitely more.

That's what I call a great read, one that captivates me from beginning to end and brings “me” (the little “i” and the big “I”) into the story. It was entertaining and really made me think. Hope you pick up a copy and read it for yourself.

Icelandic Food - Just for Karina

I grew up spending many summers in Gimli, Manitoba, home of the Icelandic Canadians. My mother was of Icelandic descent and we had many Icelandic dishes when we visited and at Christmas when mom would do some special baking. Here are a few of my favorite desserts. I have used a Five Star Rating.

Vinatarta – The Canadian version is a five to six layer cake made with a stewed prune filling. Each cake layer is more like a sugar cookie with the prune filling inbetween. The top usually has a thin layer of butter icing. This was a specialty that I didn't try making until a few years ago. I blame my mother (who doesn't blame their mother for everything). I thought it was a very complicated thing to make because it took mom three days to make it. Little did I know then, what I now know about my mother (and her sisters and now us), they aren't complicated people, they are just fussy! Never take cooking lessons from an obsessive compulsive (we called her anal-retentive). When I finally tried it I was surprised at how simple it really was to make the cake. ***** (Five Stars)

Pönnukökur – This is a very thin crepe made in a special Pönnukökur pan. When the Pönnukökur is done, they are set aside. A mixture of brown sugar and cinnamon is spread over each one and then rolled up tightly. In Iceland they put whipping cream in the middle. Yum, yum…. ***** (Five Stars)

Kleinur – This is a cake donut that is rolled, cut into diamond shapes with a slit in the middle. One end is pulled through the slit to form a knot and then it is deep-fried. What is there not to like about anything deep-fried. You have to be careful you don't eat a whole plate full. ***** (Five Stars)

Skyr – This is pronounced scare and when we were kids, that's what I thought about it, SCARY. I wouldn't eat it, didn't like the taste. As an adult, I have acquired the taste and quite enjoy it. I have also started making my own when I found out how easy it is to make (my aunt's version). Skyr is like yogurt but technically it is a very soft cheese. The version I make is using 2 litres of 3.25% buttermilk (if you can find it), leaving it overnight in the oven after heating it to 200 degrees for 5 minutes and then just leaving the light in the oven on. You take it out and drain it through a cloth for the day and whip it. Most Icelanders add sugar/honey/syrup to this and then use it like yogurt. *** (Three Stars)

Those are the basic desserts that we grew up with and loved. Rhubarb is another staple in both Canada and Iceland. They stew rhubarb and make jam out of rhubarb – all yummy. As for main meals, the Icleanders are of Scandinavian stock and live on an island. The first Icelanders to come to Canada settled on the shores of Lake Winnipeg. As a result, fish is a staple. Lamb/mutton is a common meat and true to the “old world” cured meat is traditional fare, either smoked, dried or made into sausage. Some we liked, others we didn't. The less we knew about how it was made, the easier it was to eat. Even then, some of the meats were hard to stomach (mainly because they were made out of stomachs and other organs of the animal). Some common food are: Harðfiskur (dried fish), Hangikjöt (smoked lamb or mutton), and Rullupylsa (lamb flanks rolled in spices served on Icelandic brown bread).

Cultures revolve around the food – food is a big part of who you are and where you come from. Memories of time spent together revolve around the meals you share with others. I have a Pavlovian response to going to Gimli, my mouth waters as I anticipate the meals/goodies that await me. My aunt Dilla phones me ahead of time to let me know when she is preparing my favorite fish dinner – nothing fancy, boiled sunfish, boiled potatoes, boiled carrots, and green tomato relish – but it is the meal that means Gimli to me and what makes it special is that it is made with love each and every time.

What is the secret ingredient in Icelandic food that makes it so good? What it is in every culture, people. Especially people who take the time to keep the tradition alive, to pass it on to others, to prepare the food with love and to share their food with family/friends/newcomers. Bon Appetit!