Track cycling, you say?
Monday nights at 6:30 pm and Saturday mornings at 9:30 am?
All outdoors, at a reasonable price, including track bike rental?
Convieniently timed as to not interrupt the family schedule?
What could be better?
New cycling shoes, you say?
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Sunday, June 15, 2003
Father's Day has come and gone so my yearly golf game is over. My dad is definitely slowing down - I think 9 holes was the limit for his endurance.
Some idle chit-chat was exchanged, the weather was beautiful and fathers (both mine and Jenn's, whom my brother and I invited along) were honored and treated to an on-the-course-beer.
I got to enjoy a bit of time just being a father, as I took my two daughters to a pool and splashed, played and wrestled with them a bit. I'm looking forward to the next few years as my daughters turn into teenagers. Some might question my sanity at this comment (heck, *I* might even question it in a few years), but I am enjoying the increasingly intelligent conversations and relavations regarding their existence that Banana and McMonk share with me from time to time.
Some idle chit-chat was exchanged, the weather was beautiful and fathers (both mine and Jenn's, whom my brother and I invited along) were honored and treated to an on-the-course-beer.
I got to enjoy a bit of time just being a father, as I took my two daughters to a pool and splashed, played and wrestled with them a bit. I'm looking forward to the next few years as my daughters turn into teenagers. Some might question my sanity at this comment (heck, *I* might even question it in a few years), but I am enjoying the increasingly intelligent conversations and relavations regarding their existence that Banana and McMonk share with me from time to time.
Saturday, June 14, 2003
McMonk has stumbled upon a new source of revenue. She has always been envious of her sister's apparent ability to produce spending money (the trick, of course, is that Banana, after producing the money, decides not to spend any). The meager allowance she receives from her parents is greatly outstripped by the commercialistic monster inside her, fueled by the twenty second gotta-have-it breaks between her favorite TV shows. This has lead to her new past time - tooth self-extraction.
McMonk is fully aware who exactly the tooth fairy is. She steadfastly sticks to referring to them in the third person when talking to me or Jenn. She has been getting two dollars per tooth since the first one was lovingly stuck under her pillow. Late in the evening after the first post-Tooth-Fairy-Talk tooth loss, a very solemn, serious and long-faced McMonk came up to my bedroom after we had all gone to bed. With her angelic, big, brown, unblinking eyes on full power, she came close and said to me, "Dad, even though I know who the Tooth Fairy is, I still think it would be really, really nice if he came tonight." Then she came and hugged me and skittered off to bed. Being the soft-headedhearted dad that I am, I decided to go and give her two bucks for her tooth.
Well, a precedent had then been set.
That was at least a year ago. Now, back to the present day. For the past two weeks, we have had reports at the breakfast and dinner table as to which of her teeth is wriggly, along with wriggle-o-meter ratings. "See this one?" she asks, doing her best Elvis-like snarl, assisted by a pinky pulling back one corner of her mouth. "It's getting really loose. It should be out tonight." Then, sometime before bed, she skips upstairs from her room with tooth in hand to show us that there will be a payload under the pillow this evening.
Tonight is the second night in a row that there's been a tooth extraction. She seems to think this is a great (and sure) way to make money. I'm worried that as her supply of wriggly baby teeth starts to dwindle, I'm going to find her down in her bedroom with a figure skate and a rock, doing her imitation of Tom Hanks in Castaway.
McMonk is fully aware who exactly the tooth fairy is. She steadfastly sticks to referring to them in the third person when talking to me or Jenn. She has been getting two dollars per tooth since the first one was lovingly stuck under her pillow. Late in the evening after the first post-Tooth-Fairy-Talk tooth loss, a very solemn, serious and long-faced McMonk came up to my bedroom after we had all gone to bed. With her angelic, big, brown, unblinking eyes on full power, she came close and said to me, "Dad, even though I know who the Tooth Fairy is, I still think it would be really, really nice if he came tonight." Then she came and hugged me and skittered off to bed. Being the soft-
Well, a precedent had then been set.
That was at least a year ago. Now, back to the present day. For the past two weeks, we have had reports at the breakfast and dinner table as to which of her teeth is wriggly, along with wriggle-o-meter ratings. "See this one?" she asks, doing her best Elvis-like snarl, assisted by a pinky pulling back one corner of her mouth. "It's getting really loose. It should be out tonight." Then, sometime before bed, she skips upstairs from her room with tooth in hand to show us that there will be a payload under the pillow this evening.
Tonight is the second night in a row that there's been a tooth extraction. She seems to think this is a great (and sure) way to make money. I'm worried that as her supply of wriggly baby teeth starts to dwindle, I'm going to find her down in her bedroom with a figure skate and a rock, doing her imitation of Tom Hanks in Castaway.
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
I went to Walmart last night.
I was taken there to look at patio furniture.
I walked into the store and was instantly taken with these.
Because it was my birthday, I decided Geek and Co. needed a pair of them for "diagnostic purposes".
That is why they don't give credit cards to kids.
I was taken there to look at patio furniture.
I walked into the store and was instantly taken with these.
Because it was my birthday, I decided Geek and Co. needed a pair of them for "diagnostic purposes".
That is why they don't give credit cards to kids.
Monday, June 09, 2003
On the evening of my thirty-eighth birthday, I want to give thanks for the best and most special birthday present I received this year - time.
Having personal time has allowed me to rediscover fitness; a love of mine that I've been away from for years. When I had kids, I pretty much (like so many others) threw myself into parenting to the determent of all other parts of my life. For the longest time I felt out of balance, but the time spent with my kids held so much benefit for them and me. As Banana and McMonk grew older and more independent, I no longer needed to be within arm's reach anymore. It was important to be around, but it was more of a "hanging around and waiting for something to happen" kind of parenting.
So that's when I saw my opportunity to request more time to do my own thing and ... I got it. I started swimming more regularly and made some good friends in the process. With established training buddies, swimming led to some cycling, then some running. The more I did, the better it felt. I was getting fit and suddenly, I was needing about two and a half hours a day to get to my workout, do the deed and then get back. I am very lucky that both my family and my job have allowed me to have time to do what I love to do. Jenn and the kids have been great - I've abandoned them for regular Monday and Wednesday evening swim sessions and some Friday and Sunday rides and runs. On Tuesday and Thursdays I've skipped out of work as I've been allowed to stretch my three-and-a-half paid days over four days, punching a long, long lunch break into the middle of two afternoons.
Having this time means that Jenn doesn't get as much help with keeping the house running or as much attention from me as she's used to. It also means the kids lose their biggest playmate, story-reader and a disciplinarian for two nights a week. It also means that others have had to step in and pick up the slack with kids and chores when I'm not around - my mom, my mother-in-law, my co-workers, ... many others. But having this time for me has been a great gift. I feel so much better about myself and have more energy and stamina to do what needs to be done. It's also meant that there's about 11% less of me to start this 38th year than there was starting the 37th. That's substantial.
So, thanks to everyone who's given me a bit of time this year. I've made good use of it.
Having personal time has allowed me to rediscover fitness; a love of mine that I've been away from for years. When I had kids, I pretty much (like so many others) threw myself into parenting to the determent of all other parts of my life. For the longest time I felt out of balance, but the time spent with my kids held so much benefit for them and me. As Banana and McMonk grew older and more independent, I no longer needed to be within arm's reach anymore. It was important to be around, but it was more of a "hanging around and waiting for something to happen" kind of parenting.
So that's when I saw my opportunity to request more time to do my own thing and ... I got it. I started swimming more regularly and made some good friends in the process. With established training buddies, swimming led to some cycling, then some running. The more I did, the better it felt. I was getting fit and suddenly, I was needing about two and a half hours a day to get to my workout, do the deed and then get back. I am very lucky that both my family and my job have allowed me to have time to do what I love to do. Jenn and the kids have been great - I've abandoned them for regular Monday and Wednesday evening swim sessions and some Friday and Sunday rides and runs. On Tuesday and Thursdays I've skipped out of work as I've been allowed to stretch my three-and-a-half paid days over four days, punching a long, long lunch break into the middle of two afternoons.
Having this time means that Jenn doesn't get as much help with keeping the house running or as much attention from me as she's used to. It also means the kids lose their biggest playmate, story-reader and a disciplinarian for two nights a week. It also means that others have had to step in and pick up the slack with kids and chores when I'm not around - my mom, my mother-in-law, my co-workers, ... many others. But having this time for me has been a great gift. I feel so much better about myself and have more energy and stamina to do what needs to be done. It's also meant that there's about 11% less of me to start this 38th year than there was starting the 37th. That's substantial.
So, thanks to everyone who's given me a bit of time this year. I've made good use of it.
Sunday, June 08, 2003
My aunt died of cervical cancer this week. It's the same aunt that visits my grandmother on a regular basis. I feel a twinge of responsibility to be more attentive to my grandmother now.
The many tassles of responsibility that edge my blanket of life remained while I tried to figure out why I felt so guilty about not needing to say goodbye to a woman who didn't like me or make any attempt to build a friendship. I lived in the same city as this woman for over six years and only saw her twice - both times due to an accidental meeting. I spent some time away from work figuring out what I needed to do to help those who were grieving. Then I carried on with my life.
I knew very little about the person that she was and how she touched others with her life. I don't think it would be fair and productive for others who are counting me if I were to focus on learning about this relative post-humously. My attention and effort needs to be elsewhere.
The many tassles of responsibility that edge my blanket of life remained while I tried to figure out why I felt so guilty about not needing to say goodbye to a woman who didn't like me or make any attempt to build a friendship. I lived in the same city as this woman for over six years and only saw her twice - both times due to an accidental meeting. I spent some time away from work figuring out what I needed to do to help those who were grieving. Then I carried on with my life.
I knew very little about the person that she was and how she touched others with her life. I don't think it would be fair and productive for others who are counting me if I were to focus on learning about this relative post-humously. My attention and effort needs to be elsewhere.
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
Holy crap. The results were just posted for the triathlon I did on Saturday. I finished fifth in my age category and EIGHTH overall. Out of two hundred people. I'm in shock.
Just for the record, I was doing 1:37 per 100m in the swim, 36.8 km/hr on the bike, and 4:57 per kilometre in the run. Freakin' fantastic!
Just for the record, I was doing 1:37 per 100m in the swim, 36.8 km/hr on the bike, and 4:57 per kilometre in the run. Freakin' fantastic!
Monday, June 02, 2003
Confession time.
Civilization has done a fine job on me. I use the proper cutlery when I eat. I cover my mouth when I cough. I shower and shampoo at least once (often twice) a day. My dirty dishes go in the sink or the dishwasher almost immediately after I leave the table. I hold doors for complete strangers when I'm entering or exiting a store. But ...
One thing I've caught myself doing is burping. Loud, volumous burps. Drawn-out, from-the-diaphragm, ring-in-your-ears kind of burps. I find myself doing it in supposedly private places, like when I'm alone in elevators, in the car, and lately in the shower. The shower at the place where I exercise is the best place to burp. The floors, walls and ceiling are tiled so even skinny little gastronomic noises carry and resonate well. I was surprised this evening, showering and scrubbing myself off after everyone else had left the facility for the day when I let one rip and turned around to rinse my back and found that I wasn't as alone as I thought I was.
An older gentlemen had just come into the shower room. I was embarrassed and didn't know what to say. The man didn't seem to make any remark about the noise, but he obviously heard me as he looked right at me when he came in, but kept a perfectly straight face. It would have been easier establish a rapport with him if he had said, "Nice one," or "Holy shit," or "Good dinner?" but he chose to remain silent. Excusing myself for my indiscretion seemed silly, as it had been a few seconds since the horn had sounded - it would look pretty obvious that I would be feigning politeness for his benefit. Apologizing might look kind of gallant or femmy, which is an awkward thing to do when you standing naked and soapy just a few feet from another man who is naked and soapy, too. I tried to casually glance over and gauge his reaction, but he was moving and lathering and I didn't want to appear to be checking him out*, so I just pretended it wasn't big deal and carried on.
What an awkward situation to be in. I've got to be more careful about where I practice my Neanderthal indulgences.
*Normally, appearing to be gay isn't something that bothers me, but
it just didn't feel appropriate in the shower at that time.
it just didn't feel appropriate in the shower at that time.
Sunday, June 01, 2003
Tonight I donned spandex and a leather jacket.
Tonight I had long, flowing black hair.
Tonight I snarled for the camera.
Tonight I flirted with women I had no hope or intention of ever going further than flirting with.
Tonight I sang along with songs by the Commitments.
Tonight I drank to Cacomixl's good health and birthday.
Tonight I saw Cindi Lauper incarnate.
Tonight I was told why Boise, Idaho is a good place to visit.
Tonight I learned that the hiking trail at Yamnuska is a busy place.
Tonight I purposely drank beer that had been in someone else's mouth.
Tonight I worked very, very hard to be a good listener.
Tonight I pulled from reserves of energy that I had forgotten were there.
I am grateful for my friends.
Tonight I had long, flowing black hair.
Tonight I snarled for the camera.
Tonight I flirted with women I had no hope or intention of ever going further than flirting with.
Tonight I sang along with songs by the Commitments.
Tonight I drank to Cacomixl's good health and birthday.
Tonight I saw Cindi Lauper incarnate.
Tonight I was told why Boise, Idaho is a good place to visit.
Tonight I learned that the hiking trail at Yamnuska is a busy place.
Tonight I purposely drank beer that had been in someone else's mouth.
Tonight I worked very, very hard to be a good listener.
Tonight I pulled from reserves of energy that I had forgotten were there.
I am grateful for my friends.
Wednesday, May 28, 2003
I promised I wouldn't say anything until after she has shown all of her buddies. This is one of the remnants of Banana's haircut this weekend. She went from having hair past the shoulders to hair above the ears within about twenty minutes. The hair stylist was pretty nervous about taking off so much in one go, but Banana new exactly what she wanted. It's a radical change and she seems to be enjoying the shock effect the new look has on everyone.
This week has also been a week of change in her motivation levels, especially when it comes to independent action. Banana negotiated with Jenn and I that she could do whatever she wanted in the morning with her time as long as she was dressed, had breakfast, had hair and teeth brushed, lunch in her backpack and all last-minute duties done, too. This evening, she told us she was starting (tomorrow morning) to make her own lunch.
I'll let you know what's causing the big shift as soon as I find out myself.
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
The Dangers of Instant Messaging
About four weeks ago, I was sitting at my computer when a notice popped up from Instant Messenger. It said that surfer_chic92 had asked to add me to (I'm assuming) her IM list, and was this alright?
My first thought was, "This is one of my relatives (I have lots of nieces) or one of my daughter's friends. Sure, let her see when I sign in or out. Maybe she'll even send me a message."
I've noticed as Surfer Chic has logged in and out (about three times a week, usually after suppertime in Calgary) for the past little while. I never heard a word from her. Finally, curiosity got the best of me. This evening when a message popped up that she had just logged in, I decided I was going to find out who she was. Here's a transcript of our session.
Sean says:
hey, surfer chic
Surfer Chic says:
hey
Sean says:
This is Banana and McMonk's dad. Who is this?
Surfer Chic says:
Kaylee
Sean says:
do you know banana or mcmonk?
Surfer Chic says:
noooooooo
Sean says:
William Reid school or Banff Trail school? Ringette, maybe?
Surfer Chic says:
noooooooo
Sean says:
Hmmm, very strange. I wonder how I got on your list. Are you in Calgary? (last personal question, I promise).
Surfer Chic says:
nooooo and don't worry about the questions they are not that personal
Sean says:
This isn't Kristin, my niece, is it?
Surfer Chic says:
noooo
Sean says:
OK. Well, if you're not in Calgary and you don't know my daughters (and you're a school aged girl, I'm assuming from your e-mail address), then we probably shouldn't be on each others' lists.
Sean says:
correct?
Surfer Chic says:
i don't know
Sean says:
Did you ask to be on my Instant Messenger list?
Surfer Chic says:
i'm really not sure I am kind of confused right now
Sean says:
Yep, me too. Check on your instant messenger list, and see if you have a contact named "Sean".
Sean says:
Do you use Instant Messenger a lot?
Surfer Chic says:
yes I am on a lot.
Surfer Chic says:
and i can see a sean
Sean says:
do you have any friends named Sean?
Surfer Chic says:
noooooo
Surfer Chic says:
ok i am very lost!
Sean says:
I got a message about four weeks ago saying you wanted to add me to your Instant Messenger list. I said OK, because I thought you were one of my daughter's friends (using a weird e-mail address).
Sean says:
I added you, thinking I'd figure out who you were sooner or later.
Surfer Chic says:
ok
Sean says:
You may have been looking for someone else and added me by mistake.
Surfer Chic says:
ok
Surfer Chic says:
i get what you are saying
Sean says:
Good.
Sean says:
You gotta be careful. I could have been a nut.
Surfer Chic says:
hahahahahahah lol
Sean says:
You can visit my blog at http://www.nuther.com/blog/ . I try to be funny. It's definitely rated "General", even though I swear sometimes.
Sean says:
Have a nice life, Surfer Chic, and browse carefully. Write me an e-mail if you'd like.
Surfer Chic says:
ok bye
So, I got to type to a sweet young innocent thing in some far away land.
No danger to me. Big danger to her. I really could have been a nut (some may argue that I am, but only dangerous to myself). I could have done more social engineering and picked up a whole lot of info about surfer chic. It could have led to all kinds of trouble. Stalking, a house break-in (if I figured out where she was and when she wasn't at home), identity theft, ... who knows? I wish her well in her use of the Internet, but this experience has made me wonder what my own daughters are experiencing as they surf, IM around, join Internet-based contests and subscribe to stuff on websites and services.
The moral of this episode is everyone needs to be careful about adding people to their IM list.
I should have been, but for the sake of this lesson, I'm glad I didn't.
About four weeks ago, I was sitting at my computer when a notice popped up from Instant Messenger. It said that surfer_chic92 had asked to add me to (I'm assuming) her IM list, and was this alright?
My first thought was, "This is one of my relatives (I have lots of nieces) or one of my daughter's friends. Sure, let her see when I sign in or out. Maybe she'll even send me a message."
I've noticed as Surfer Chic has logged in and out (about three times a week, usually after suppertime in Calgary) for the past little while. I never heard a word from her. Finally, curiosity got the best of me. This evening when a message popped up that she had just logged in, I decided I was going to find out who she was. Here's a transcript of our session.
Sean says:
hey, surfer chic
Surfer Chic says:
hey
Sean says:
This is Banana and McMonk's dad. Who is this?
Surfer Chic says:
Kaylee
Sean says:
do you know banana or mcmonk?
Surfer Chic says:
noooooooo
Sean says:
William Reid school or Banff Trail school? Ringette, maybe?
Surfer Chic says:
noooooooo
Sean says:
Hmmm, very strange. I wonder how I got on your list. Are you in Calgary? (last personal question, I promise).
Surfer Chic says:
nooooo and don't worry about the questions they are not that personal
Sean says:
This isn't Kristin, my niece, is it?
Surfer Chic says:
noooo
Sean says:
OK. Well, if you're not in Calgary and you don't know my daughters (and you're a school aged girl, I'm assuming from your e-mail address), then we probably shouldn't be on each others' lists.
Sean says:
correct?
Surfer Chic says:
i don't know
Sean says:
Did you ask to be on my Instant Messenger list?
Surfer Chic says:
i'm really not sure I am kind of confused right now
Sean says:
Yep, me too. Check on your instant messenger list, and see if you have a contact named "Sean".
Sean says:
Do you use Instant Messenger a lot?
Surfer Chic says:
yes I am on a lot.
Surfer Chic says:
and i can see a sean
Sean says:
do you have any friends named Sean?
Surfer Chic says:
noooooo
Surfer Chic says:
ok i am very lost!
Sean says:
I got a message about four weeks ago saying you wanted to add me to your Instant Messenger list. I said OK, because I thought you were one of my daughter's friends (using a weird e-mail address).
Sean says:
I added you, thinking I'd figure out who you were sooner or later.
Surfer Chic says:
ok
Sean says:
You may have been looking for someone else and added me by mistake.
Surfer Chic says:
ok
Surfer Chic says:
i get what you are saying
Sean says:
Good.
Sean says:
You gotta be careful. I could have been a nut.
Surfer Chic says:
hahahahahahah lol
Sean says:
You can visit my blog at http://www.nuther.com/blog/ . I try to be funny. It's definitely rated "General", even though I swear sometimes.
Sean says:
Have a nice life, Surfer Chic, and browse carefully. Write me an e-mail if you'd like.
Surfer Chic says:
ok bye
So, I got to type to a sweet young innocent thing in some far away land.
No danger to me. Big danger to her. I really could have been a nut (some may argue that I am, but only dangerous to myself). I could have done more social engineering and picked up a whole lot of info about surfer chic. It could have led to all kinds of trouble. Stalking, a house break-in (if I figured out where she was and when she wasn't at home), identity theft, ... who knows? I wish her well in her use of the Internet, but this experience has made me wonder what my own daughters are experiencing as they surf, IM around, join Internet-based contests and subscribe to stuff on websites and services.
The moral of this episode is everyone needs to be careful about adding people to their IM list.
I should have been, but for the sake of this lesson, I'm glad I didn't.
Sunday, May 25, 2003
I am getting ready for what's sure to be the busiest seven days of my life. Sheets of 3/4 inch plywood are going up on the windows, sandbags are being placed around doors and ground-level windows, provisions that keep well without electricity have been purchased, that sort of thing. I have Geek clients that have been beating a path to my door (due to no encouragement by me); I have SIX new staff starting on Monday, servers to purchase and set up, workstations to put the finishing touches on, a phone system to connect to the real world, a tech support gig at an international conference (really!) and a Triathlon - if I have some extra time Saturday afternoon.
And how IS the triathlon training going? In a word, great.
I haven't felt this alive and full of energy since my early twenties. I am swimming better than I have for fifteen years, I'm back on my bike doing road rides (amazing in the fact that I've found time to do it) and I've lost over twenty pounds since Christmas. I've found some excellent training buddies and an fully enjoying getting together with them to work out. One bad thing is that I feel lethargic and drained if I miss a workout. I might be addicted!
And how IS the triathlon training going? In a word, great.
I haven't felt this alive and full of energy since my early twenties. I am swimming better than I have for fifteen years, I'm back on my bike doing road rides (amazing in the fact that I've found time to do it) and I've lost over twenty pounds since Christmas. I've found some excellent training buddies and an fully enjoying getting together with them to work out. One bad thing is that I feel lethargic and drained if I miss a workout. I might be addicted!
Thursday, May 22, 2003
That's twice now in the last five minutes that I've heard the word "porn" associated with our photo collections.
Betcha can't wait for our next catalog, huh?
Betcha can't wait for our next catalog, huh?
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
Cacomixl bandied a good question around the Treehouse today. I pass it on to you because I had a really, really tough time thinking of an answer that suited me.
If you could only eat one dish, over and over, for the rest of your life, what would that one dish be?Don't answer right away - think on it for a while. You have to consider nutrition, texture, seasonal appropriateness and of course, taste to name a few factors. When you've chewed on this for a while, come back and add your answer to the comments.
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
Got a note from an old school chum today. It prompted me to follow a link to his blog, which I find very full of words. Obviously, he has too much time on his hands. If you find yourself with this strange affliction, you too can visit his ramble-a-thon. Especially if you've never been to China.
Without further ado, I give you Tall Caucasian with Overly Hearty Laugh in the Land of Short Polite People.
In other news, I found out one of the flowergirls from my wedding is getting married. I hope she has time to get into some good arguments before the big day.
Without further ado, I give you Tall Caucasian with Overly Hearty Laugh in the Land of Short Polite People.
In other news, I found out one of the flowergirls from my wedding is getting married. I hope she has time to get into some good arguments before the big day.
Sunday, May 18, 2003
One of my favorite children's authors (Dav Pilkey) has a killer website. Full of good content and hardly commercialized at all.
- thanks to Jay for finding it and passing it along
- thanks to Jay for finding it and passing it along
Saturday, May 17, 2003
Seen at the Drugstore Checkout:
A short man in a oil company jacket and a bad combover buying two large bottles of Maalox, a kingsize package of Strawberry Twizzlers, a card that said "We're So Sorry to Hear of Your Loss" and a "punching nun" puppet.
I wonder if his blind date was waiting in the car or he was on his way to pick her up.
A short man in a oil company jacket and a bad combover buying two large bottles of Maalox, a kingsize package of Strawberry Twizzlers, a card that said "We're So Sorry to Hear of Your Loss" and a "punching nun" puppet.
I wonder if his blind date was waiting in the car or he was on his way to pick her up.
Last night I dreamt I was trying to hail a cab in a Mediterranean coastal village - I think it was Spain. The sun was hot, the buildings were all made out of sand-colored brick and the locals wore white cotton loose-fitting clothing. I was in a residential area and although I was on vacation (or in backpacker mode) there was some sort of urgency to my needing to get transporation out of this town.
It wasn't fear, just a need to get moving. Restlessness, perhaps.
It wasn't fear, just a need to get moving. Restlessness, perhaps.
Friday, May 16, 2003
Coaching McMonk's team is proving more of a challenge than I originally thought it was going to be. The challenge isn't getting the girls to do the drills - it's keeping my cool.
I am working hard to learn the girls names in practice. We've had only three practices due to crappy weather, so I haven't had as much time as I'd like to learn who's who. In our first game on Thursday, I ended up shouting at one of my players to come off for a line change. Only problem was that I was calling one player (who I thought was not hearing me), raising my voice louder and louder, while the whole time I was using the name of a player I had just sent on. To avoid having too many players on the field, Maggie, the person who's name I'd been using, came off the field and quickly burst into tears as soon as she was on the sidelines.
I felt terrible about it and quickly apologized, then got back to watching the game (I'm supposed to be coaching, after all). My intensity and eagerness to do a good job are getting ahead of my sensitivity to do a good job as a coach.
Next practice, I'll need to spend some extra time with Maggie.
I am working hard to learn the girls names in practice. We've had only three practices due to crappy weather, so I haven't had as much time as I'd like to learn who's who. In our first game on Thursday, I ended up shouting at one of my players to come off for a line change. Only problem was that I was calling one player (who I thought was not hearing me), raising my voice louder and louder, while the whole time I was using the name of a player I had just sent on. To avoid having too many players on the field, Maggie, the person who's name I'd been using, came off the field and quickly burst into tears as soon as she was on the sidelines.
I felt terrible about it and quickly apologized, then got back to watching the game (I'm supposed to be coaching, after all). My intensity and eagerness to do a good job are getting ahead of my sensitivity to do a good job as a coach.
Next practice, I'll need to spend some extra time with Maggie.
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
Without even trying I've collected an obscene amount of Canadian Tire money in my wallet.
Time to go buy some gardening supplies.
Time to go buy some gardening supplies.
Sunday, May 11, 2003
The sun is shining as I pull into the parking lot, and I'd rather be doing other things. Tradition dictates that I make this annual trek, so I put on my best happy face and prepare for what seems like a pointless duty.
My grandfather married his second wife nearly ten years after the passing of my grandmother. I met Anne Walker (soon to be Anne Key) at the age of eleven, a time of awkward shyness for me. She, the new wife of my grandfather, was a schoolteacher living in rural Alberta - a forthright woman who had lived a demanding life. Age hadn't taken much from the striking beauty that Anne possessed. With grown children of her own, she had found a kindred spirit in the gentle man that was my granddad. Somehow, this short, balding, suspender-wearing man had managed to make his way through the seemingly impenetrable albeit polite shell that surrounded this impressive woman. Although not openly affectionate, an experienced eye could still see the love that flowed back and forth between these two.
Distance, age and rural-urban culture differences separated me from my new grandmother. Anne had been born and raised on a farm. She was now renting out the farmable portion of her 1/4 section of land to neighbors who were more than happy to include it in their planting and harvesting. Anne kept care of the house fulltime after retiring from her teaching position. My grandfather had sold his city house and moved in with her as soon as they were married and quickly adopted his new title of gentleman farmer and husband. Anne had run the place ever since her first husband (and then, eventually, her children) left the farm. I would accompany my parents when we went to visit, but there was always an uneasiness about being there. Years of dealing with four children by herself had taught her to be firm and an imposing figure when necessary. I never felt that I was able to get past the strict schoolteacher side that was always faced towards me.
Now, here I stand at the entrance to the nursing home. Anne, my step-grandmother, has become an aged woman. Multiple Sclerosis and eighty-some years meant that she needed constant attention - attention her children (with their own families and responsibilities) are unable to provide. Eight years ago she had left her family farm to come to this extended care facility in Calgary. Here, she is close to her youngest daughter who still visits regularly. Anne's memories are now elusive shadows. Names don't come easily to her - even those of her children and step-children. Grand- and even great-grandchildren are but pleasant faces that come and go in the immediacy of her present existence. You can tell that there is difficulty in comprehending and understanding who all these people are and what they are doing in the room with her.
I make my way down echoing, tiled hallways, past alcoves occasionally filled with bath-robed residents and sundy-best visitors having private conversations in loud voices. Two nursing stations' worth of directions later, I enter Anne's semi-private room and see her in the bed. A polite smile comes to her face as I enter and take her hand. She looks at me but I can tell she does not recognize my face. "Hello Anne," I say, "I'm Lester's grandson, Sean. How are you?" No recognition at all. She talks to me with gentle tones. I respond to her while I look at the guestbook her daughter has put in place to track the visitors. Most of her family are many hours of driving away. Looking through the pages show that sometimes weeks go by without a visitor. Living only minutes away, I try not to let guilt get the best of me.
I speak to her of trivialities that occuring in my life. I'll use names that she can't remember, speaking of places that she hasn't been. Certain words remind her of slippery memories and she speaks semi-coherently, putting into words what her inner eyes have seen. The names of people and places she asks me about are as confusing and unknown to me as mine are to her. I try to be supportive and answer with general replies but I doubt that I am reaching her. There is still a wall between us. More like stairs than a wall - stairs that can't be climbed up or down.
I get ready to go when, almost inperceptably, something about her look and voice changes.
"Can you take me home now?" she asks. Then, it hits me. Through the haze that is her present perception, she realizes that these people whom she cannot remember of the names and faces of, the people that now take care of her, are not her family. She no longer is able to pinpoint her location. She cannot place where this room she is in exists, but she somehow knows that the place where she spent most of her life is far away. Comfort of familiarity is what she is seeking. Through all the confusion and long days and nights, she has been patiently waiting for the fog to clear, the long dimly-lit dream to end and she expects to wake or be returned to her past life.
A deep, deep sadness comes over me. I go to her and gently wrap my arms around her thin, well-worn frame.
As I embrace her I softly say, "This is your home, Anne. We love you very much and you are dear to us. Happy Mother's Day. I need to go now, but I'll see you later." She accepts my answer and weakly hugs me back. At this moment I wish I was closer to her, a bigger part of her life so that my presence might be of more comfort to her.
I leave her sitting upright in her bed, supported by pillows in the dreaded industrial glow of the florescents. She looks away as I turn to go and I try to shake the heaviness in my heart and convince myself that my actions have made a difference.
My grandfather married his second wife nearly ten years after the passing of my grandmother. I met Anne Walker (soon to be Anne Key) at the age of eleven, a time of awkward shyness for me. She, the new wife of my grandfather, was a schoolteacher living in rural Alberta - a forthright woman who had lived a demanding life. Age hadn't taken much from the striking beauty that Anne possessed. With grown children of her own, she had found a kindred spirit in the gentle man that was my granddad. Somehow, this short, balding, suspender-wearing man had managed to make his way through the seemingly impenetrable albeit polite shell that surrounded this impressive woman. Although not openly affectionate, an experienced eye could still see the love that flowed back and forth between these two.
Distance, age and rural-urban culture differences separated me from my new grandmother. Anne had been born and raised on a farm. She was now renting out the farmable portion of her 1/4 section of land to neighbors who were more than happy to include it in their planting and harvesting. Anne kept care of the house fulltime after retiring from her teaching position. My grandfather had sold his city house and moved in with her as soon as they were married and quickly adopted his new title of gentleman farmer and husband. Anne had run the place ever since her first husband (and then, eventually, her children) left the farm. I would accompany my parents when we went to visit, but there was always an uneasiness about being there. Years of dealing with four children by herself had taught her to be firm and an imposing figure when necessary. I never felt that I was able to get past the strict schoolteacher side that was always faced towards me.
Now, here I stand at the entrance to the nursing home. Anne, my step-grandmother, has become an aged woman. Multiple Sclerosis and eighty-some years meant that she needed constant attention - attention her children (with their own families and responsibilities) are unable to provide. Eight years ago she had left her family farm to come to this extended care facility in Calgary. Here, she is close to her youngest daughter who still visits regularly. Anne's memories are now elusive shadows. Names don't come easily to her - even those of her children and step-children. Grand- and even great-grandchildren are but pleasant faces that come and go in the immediacy of her present existence. You can tell that there is difficulty in comprehending and understanding who all these people are and what they are doing in the room with her.
I make my way down echoing, tiled hallways, past alcoves occasionally filled with bath-robed residents and sundy-best visitors having private conversations in loud voices. Two nursing stations' worth of directions later, I enter Anne's semi-private room and see her in the bed. A polite smile comes to her face as I enter and take her hand. She looks at me but I can tell she does not recognize my face. "Hello Anne," I say, "I'm Lester's grandson, Sean. How are you?" No recognition at all. She talks to me with gentle tones. I respond to her while I look at the guestbook her daughter has put in place to track the visitors. Most of her family are many hours of driving away. Looking through the pages show that sometimes weeks go by without a visitor. Living only minutes away, I try not to let guilt get the best of me.
I speak to her of trivialities that occuring in my life. I'll use names that she can't remember, speaking of places that she hasn't been. Certain words remind her of slippery memories and she speaks semi-coherently, putting into words what her inner eyes have seen. The names of people and places she asks me about are as confusing and unknown to me as mine are to her. I try to be supportive and answer with general replies but I doubt that I am reaching her. There is still a wall between us. More like stairs than a wall - stairs that can't be climbed up or down.
I get ready to go when, almost inperceptably, something about her look and voice changes.
"Can you take me home now?" she asks. Then, it hits me. Through the haze that is her present perception, she realizes that these people whom she cannot remember of the names and faces of, the people that now take care of her, are not her family. She no longer is able to pinpoint her location. She cannot place where this room she is in exists, but she somehow knows that the place where she spent most of her life is far away. Comfort of familiarity is what she is seeking. Through all the confusion and long days and nights, she has been patiently waiting for the fog to clear, the long dimly-lit dream to end and she expects to wake or be returned to her past life.
A deep, deep sadness comes over me. I go to her and gently wrap my arms around her thin, well-worn frame.
As I embrace her I softly say, "This is your home, Anne. We love you very much and you are dear to us. Happy Mother's Day. I need to go now, but I'll see you later." She accepts my answer and weakly hugs me back. At this moment I wish I was closer to her, a bigger part of her life so that my presence might be of more comfort to her.
I leave her sitting upright in her bed, supported by pillows in the dreaded industrial glow of the florescents. She looks away as I turn to go and I try to shake the heaviness in my heart and convince myself that my actions have made a difference.
Friday, May 09, 2003
Last weekend, 
was a swim meet weekend for me. The team went to Edmonton for an afternoon in a lukewarm pool with loose lane ropes and poor meet organization. The real purpose for the trip became apparent the next day, as I was dragged by six little kids (and two big kids) to the waterpark.
We all had a great time. I even got to try bungee jumping. 110 feet isn't bad for a first try.
was a swim meet weekend for me. The team went to Edmonton for an afternoon in a lukewarm pool with loose lane ropes and poor meet organization. The real purpose for the trip became apparent the next day, as I was dragged by six little kids (and two big kids) to the waterpark.
We all had a great time. I even got to try bungee jumping. 110 feet isn't bad for a first try.Friday, May 02, 2003
When I was bombing around in my rented Ford F150 yesterday, I felt like ... like ...
... an Albertan.
... an Albertan.