Yukon Chatter Bug

Yesterday, our school had the privilege of having a guest speak to students about her experience as an Olympic athlete, and she exemplifies the true spirit that seems to be lacking in this year’s Olympic Games so far. Lucy Steele, the first Yukon athlete to compete in Olympic Games, participated as a cross-country skier in 1992. Of course, one of the questions that students asked was, “Did you win a medal?”

So she answers, “No, but how many athletes do you think participated in my category?”

The answer? About 90. “And how many medals are given?”

“Three,” many students answer.

She pulls out a medal and says, “I didn’t win one of those three, but this medal is one that is given to all Olympic athletes for participating in the Olympics. We become part of a big family, and in my case, I did win in a way, because I beat my own international record. I was also the first woman from here to participate in the Olympics.” (So far, only three Yukonners are Olympians.)

I may not have gotten all the details straight, but that was the gist of it. Lucy Steele truly embodies the true spirit of the Games. This was refreshing considering that twice, so far, I have heard in the news how a Canadian athlete “just” got the silver. I’m tired of this lack of appreciation not only from the media, but from some of the athletes themselves.

It’s not just a silver people! I wonder what percentage of the world population Olympic athletes represent. What a privilege it is, indeed, just to participate!

Thank you, Lucy.

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day, and yes, I’m alone. So why do I feel so lucky?

Dave has been away to tend to his gravely ill father, and sadly, my father-in-law, Henry Rogers (Hank), passed away on February 2nd. Dave is still there to help with things, and I’m here, back at work.

This past week, I was in Toronto to attend my father-in-law’s funeral, and I can’t begin to explain how much of a rich experience this has been for me. You see, Hank and his spouse, Dennis, have a close-knit community of friends, acquaintances, and church members. To hear people talk about their memories of Hank — his laughter, his unassuming ways, his curiosity with language, his great intellect — reminded me of how lucky I am to have been part of his life. Listening to people talk about how much Dave reminds them of Hank, even in his voice, mannerisms, and humour also helped me to gain a deeper appreciation for my husband. His father’s legacy lives on through his sons, his family, and his friends.

And then the eulogies. Dave told stories of his father that made everyone laugh…like how his father was always losing his billfold (wallet) despite the fact that it was usually in his pocket, not remembering where he parked a borrowed car and being unable to remember the the make or colour. “You’re on your own,” the lot attendant told him. He talked about how his father was a teacher, not only in his profession, but in all aspects of life. Among other things, Dave’s brother, Iain, talked about how lucky he felt because, even though they lost their father, they still have another one.

And through all of these years, Hank, Dennis, and Dave’s mom, Dorothy, always maintained a close friendship, even getting together for Christmas dinner when Iain flew from South Korea and we from the Yukon for the holidays. A comment from someone at the reception after the funeral was, “Families have squabbled and broken up over lesser things.” Love and respect for each other is what kept the family unit tight.

And on this Valentine’s Day, even though physically I am alone, I know I can pick up the phone and talk to my hunny, a luxury that not everyone has, I know, and one that I cherish. On this Valentine’s Day, I am surrounded by family on both sides who not only understand and value love and respect, but live it. On my side of the family, I have a sister and a brother, a mother and a father, nephews and a niece, and Grandma. On Dave’s side, I have Mum, a brother, and another father. It is appropriate, therefore, that I include these words that were said at the funeral:

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails….And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:1-8a, 13)

We purchased a bell prepaid calling card last summer during our travels across Canada. When we tried to add money on it using their online site, our PIN, for some reason, would not be recognized as valid. We called the toll-free number on the back of the card, were told that the glitch was fixed, and added money to the card while we were on the phone.

Just a couple of weeks ago, we tried again to add money to the card online (even though it still had a $9 balance) and ran into the same problem as before, so again, I called the toll-free number. After explaining the problem:

Lady: Did you try closing and re-opening your browser?

Me: The problem isn’t with my browser but with your online system because we’ve had the same problem before using a different computer.

Lady: Is your card expired?

Me: I doubt it because I just checked the balance by calling your other toll-free number and I still have a $9 balance.

Snotty Lady: That’s not what I asked Ma’am. Is your card expired?

Me: (hair starts to stand on back of neck; turns card upside-down, inside-out) I don’t see an expiry date anywhere on the card.

Snotty Lady: No Ma’am, I’m the one who has to check to see if your card is expired.

Me: (Thinking, So why the hell are you asking ME if the card is expired? Idiot! TWICE! GGRRR…) Okay, so is my card expired? I hope not as I still have a balance on it. (Now I’m starting to get annoyed with her snotty attitude.)

Lady: No, your card’s not expired. Let me just check something…..no, everything looks fine with your PIN. I don’t know why you can’t use our online system. I can do this over the telephone for you.

Me: Okay, except that I’d really like to eventually be able to do it online. Is there any way you can contact your techie people?

Snotty Lady: (interrupts) Ma’am it’s 10pm here (or whatever time it was), there are no other people…

Me: (interrupts) I don’t mean right this minute. Could you arrange to let them know, at your convenience?…there may be others with the same problem.

Snotty Lady: (starts rattling off another toll-free number for ME to call during their techie people’s business hours)

Me: No, I’m asking if YOU could somehow let them know there’s a problem here.

Snotty Lady: There’s no way I can do that…

Me: (Incredulous) You mean you don’t have access, even by e-mail, to your techie people?

Snotty Lady: No Ma’am, I mean that you’re the one who has to call…

I hung up.

I’m tired Bell. I’m just tired of your crappy service. Kind of like when you inform me through a text message on my cell phone that I’m eligible for a credit to be used toward a new mobile phone. Curious, I called and learned that I have a $200 credit that I can use toward a new phone and plan.

I go to one of the Bell distributors (right term?) in town with a techie friend and yup, I have a $200 credit. After inquiring about the i-Phone with all its bells and whistles, I ask how much.

$200 for the cost of the phone (reduced from $500-600 – can’t remember the ridiculous amount).

Okay, so I’m ready to jump on when I confirm with the girl that, after using my $200 credit, then I don’t have to pay anything upfront for the phone right?

“No Ma’am, you still have to pay $200 (actually, I think it was $199) for the cost of the phone.”

Me: What about my $200 credit?

Lady: You’re already getting  a reduced rate for the phone. Its full cost is $some ridiculous amount.

We learn that the so-called reduced rate I’m being offered is the same one offered to new Bell customers. I was under the impression that my $200 credit had to do with customer loyalty. I have had a cell phone plan for several years now with a contract that has long expired. They want to keep this Bell customer, they want this Bell customer to get into another 3 or 4 year contract, so they offer this Bell customer a credit toward a new phone (and contract). Clever!

Except when this Bell customer decides to use her $200 credit, it completely disappears. WTF?

Thank you Bell. I’ll leave you to what you do best, and I’ll be on my way.

What do French toast, waffles, deviled eggs, smoked salmon artichoke dip, apple cider, moose juice, crackers, French bread, and fried sausage have in common? (Oops, I forgot the delicious baked beans and the marshmallow desserts.)

Five bloggers (Michael’s Meanderings, Fawnahareo’s Place, Yukon Jen, What He Said, and moi), two sweet peas (Jade and Halia), two papas, and a mama at the Urban Yukon Bloggy Brunch!

Thank you, Yukon Jen, for organizing this year’s brunch. It was nice to meet new faces and share some good food. I guess next time it’ll be our turn to host.

Quick Update: I linked the recipe I used for the dip.

It’s c-c-c-cold these days, but the mutt still needs her regular exercise (as I do). Last spring, I purchased a harness for us to try bikejoring, which Smidgen seemed to take to quite naturally, so I thought I’d try it with my skis.

I’m not yet stable on my skis (aka falling a lot), so I decided to start out at Chadburn Lake where there are one-way trails and less people to run into (aka injure).

As you know, daylight time is short at this time of year in the Great White North, so if I don’t get off my butt early enough, I miss the window of opportunity. Because I didn’t get going until 1 or 1:30 yesterday, I couldn’t venture too far and ended up in the subdivision being built next to Arkell, a place that used to be part of a beautiful trail where I walked my dog.

Oh, and did I mention that it’s much more fun on skis?

Although the sky was cloudy, you could still get a glimpse of Grey Mountain in the distance. Of course, Smidgen kept wanting to go toward Dave who was taking the photos:

“Are you a sleeper?” Michael Kersterton asked this question in his column of the December 31st Globe and Mail, Should You Be Out? He was referring to how people chime in the New Year.

You see, this New Year’s Eve, I sat at home curled up next to my hubby watching episodes of 30 Rock, a nightly ritual of ours. I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to do the countdown, so we went to bed and turned on the radio to hear the sketch comedy The Irrelevant Show where I just couldn’t keep up despite its hilarious description:

…You’ll hear the National Pronunciation Bee, which is much easier than the spelling bee, but just as dramatic. Plus a helpline for people who can’t stop imitating William Shatner and George Takei, and a relaxation cd that screams at you…

Needless to say, I went to sleep only to rouse for the last three numbers of the countdown, gave my hunny a quick NYE kiss, and was konked out before the end of Auld Lang Syne. A sign of hitting my 40th this past year?

That article I mentioned from The Globe?

Tonight, some Canadians will be sound asleep while others are out celebrating midnight and the start of a new year. When should you be ready to admit to middle age and join the sleepers? …

Blerg!

My pie crust turned out perfect! It was light, crispy, and flaky, and the whole tourtière was very tasty. I know I’m tooting my own horn here, but I’m so happy that I managed to do it myself.

Part of the fun in cooking is also the giving. I brought a pie down to a friend, and he was ecstatic.

Also notice the huge rolling pin I received as a gift from my in-laws. It’s a bit hard to judge the size in the picture, but it works like a charm. I swear, I’ll never go back to a regular-sized rolling pin again.

Traditions are especially important during the holiday season in my French-Canadian family, but not having relatives close by or children of my own, I needed to find a way to connect with my heritage this season. So, I decided to make tourtières.

People, including French-Canadians, have different ideas of what a tourtière is. Is it the kind that looks like a pie filled with ground meat? Or does it have potatoes, carrots, and meat covered with a thick crust?

The answer to those questions depends on where you’re from. If you’re of the  Saguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean region in Québec, the former is a pâté à viande and the latter a tourtière. Everywhere else in French Canada, as far as I know, a tourtière is a meatpie, with nothing but ground meat (usually beef, pork and/or veal), onions, salt and pepper, and maybe a couple of herbs. These are the meatpies I made yesterday. Here in the North, however, many substitute the beef for caribou or moose meat. I’m anxiously waiting for a friend of mine to drop off some moose meat.

I’ve only made tourtières a couple of times before, and each time I had the help of a seasoned cook. This time I was on my own. Of course I had to make the necessary phone calls to my mother and grandma to make sure I had things right.

Judging by fluffiness and flakiness of the small pastries* made with the leftover dough, I succeeded with my pie crusts; actually, I think it’s the best crust I’ve made yet. The meat mixture was also quite tasty, so I’m guessing that my tourtières will turn out to be good, but only at dinnertime tonight will I know for sure.

*When I’m done with pie crust pastry, I roll out the leftover dough, brush on some butter, and spread brown sugar, (you can add cinnamon and nuts if you like.) then roll it up, cut it up, and bake it. Nothing is wasted!

Looking out onto Lake Ontario from my father-in-law’s backyard at the top of the Scarborough Bluffs, I had no idea what surprises were hidden at the bottom of these cliffs. Coming from the north, I was awestruck by the lush greenery on either side of me and was curious about the area below where few people could be spotted walking along the gravel road.

Overlooking the Bluffs

Lush greenery surrounding us

After inquiring about ways of getting to the bottom of the Bluffs, we walked down a sloped trail at the base of which was a metal sculpture by artist Doris McCarthy which resembles the ribs of a canoe or a fish. More information about the dates etched at the base of each rib and the interpretation of the piece can be found by clicking on the image.

Passage by Doris McCarthy

It’s almost unbelievable that an area surrounded by millions of people can be so deserted: we met a couple walking their dogs and a trio of kids on bikes scrounging for metal by the look of the copper pipes poking crookedly out of their backpacks.

The length of shore we strolled along seems to have been the recipient of scraps from demolished buildings. Perhaps this mixture of concrete, glass, and other debris were dumped there to help the breakwaters. There are also stories floating around that tell of the  ship Alexandria that sunk in 1915 near the Scarborough Bluffs and the possibility that some of the bits from the ship has washed up.

If I lived in the area, I would be the first to haul back scrap from the beach. There are pieces of eroded bricks, some that still have porcelain or ceramic tiles still attached to them which would make great conversation pieces. There are also rust-coloured egg-shaped rocks, obviously eroded red bricks (unfortunately I didn’t get any photos of them). I pictured a bed of this red stone/brick on a landscaped surface under green shrubs or bordering a flower bed.

Since bringing rocks back over 5500 km didn’t seem like a smart idea, I opted for a smaller kind of treasure: beach glass.

An ex-boyfriend turned me on to beach glass hunting where salt water meets the rocky shores of the Bras D’Or in Cape Breton. Since then, I’ve spent countless hours walking along rocky beaches from Haines, Alaska, to St. John’s, Newfoundland, looking for these little treasures polished by the waves’ action.

There are many, many pieces you have to throw back into the water to let Mother Nature continue her work, and it can take hours to find only a few bits worthy of pocketing. But here on this empty shoreline with nothing more than a few ducks nearby and flocks of geese overhead, it only took a few minutes before I spotted my first keeper. After searching for less than a couple of hours, I walked away with a handful of glittering glass. I felt like I had found the motherlode.

Sure you can buy the sandblasted kind by the bag, and they’re everywhere in custom jewellery shops, but in my eyes, these man-made replicas are comparable to plastic rings found at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box.

Where are these tiny colourful gems from? How long have they been in the water? There’s so much mystery around each piece of glass. Oh, one can speculate, but you never really know: broken bottles, glass from ships, garbage dumped? Regardless, they’re my little treasures now to do with as I wish.