Yukon Chatter Bug

Not long ago I attended a mish-mash of storytelling and music at the Yukon Arts Centre, and what drew me there was my favourite storyteller, Ivan E. Coyote, about whom I’ve written before.

At the show, I got my hands on her latest collection of short stories, Missed Her, and as is the usual habit when reading her books, I couldn’t put it down.

Try saying the title out loud, and you’ll soon discover that it sounds like “mister”, which continues with her theme dealing with “fluidity in gender and sexuality, much like Coyote’s previous work.”*

The thread of her stories have a serious message with cringe moments scattered here and there, and they either leave you chuckling or pondering. Or both. Beautiful. Powerful.

And to give you just a little taste of her writing, here are some bits and pieces of language that left imprints for me:

“Ever heard of a place called Pink Mountain? [...] You can get a tire fixed and buy an Alaska Highway hunting knife with a fake bone handle made right there in China…”

“…a narrow hallway humbly covered in decades-old carpet hammered down by thousands of work boots and dress shoes, a worn-out roadmap that directed me to a doorway.”

“The midnight sun stretched the light so far and long that dusk was bent over backward enough to bump into the next day.”

“He was wearing brand new sneakers, so white they caught the sunlight and bounced it right back, bleaching the backs of my eyelids when I closed them.”

“She blurted out her words like machine gun bullets, like she had been rehearsing them for a while, her mouth pursed in a determined little raisin.”

“…trying not to let the tears spill over my bottom lids…”

“I needed a barber. A good, old-fashioned, wait-your-turn-twelve-bucks-take-a-little-off-the-top kind of guy…”

“Their chubby knees scrubbed and squishing out of the tops of sparkling white knee socks.”

And one powerful quote reminded me of a young fella in a school where I subbed a few years ago. He had been teased mercilessly about his gender. And I happened to notice he was in the audience that night:

“I hoped that the new pride he held in his shoulders wasn’t going to be pounded out of him in gym class, or while he tried to learn trigonomometry. I felt sad, but mostly I felt rage. Rage that we are beginning the second decade of the twenty-first century in what is supposed to be one of the most liberal and progressive countries in the world and still we haven’t made our schools safe for kids like him. That something as vital to his future as his education happens in a culture of fear and under the threat of violence.”

Situation #1

To turn left onto Hamilton Blvd. from Falcon Dr. (near the French school), there is a lane for traffic to turn into before merging into the regular lane. Although there isn’t one of these if you’re turning left onto Hamilton from McIntyre Dr. (where the Race Trac gas station is), there is a Left-Turning Lane to Nowhere if you happen to be driving on Hamilton coming from Two Mile Hill as you approach the Race Trac gas station (see below). Simply moving the median over one lane would solve both problems at once.

View Larger Map

Situation#2

When I worked at a school in the north end of town, my morning drive consisted of signalling and merging at most intersections on the Alaska HWY even though I was the one in the through-way lane. Shouldn’t the drivers who are turning onto or off the highway be the ones having to change lanes and signal? In one spot, before approaching the intersection I had to signal and move to the outer lane, which was the throughway, but as soon as I’d hit the other side of the intersection, I’d end up in the turning lane. So I had to quickly signal and move back the to next lane. Confusing you say? Try driving here!

My rant for the day.

In last week’s Whitehorse Star, there was a short article advising campers that “Environment Yukon has banned tents at the Million Dollar Falls campground.” Why? An incident involving a bear tearing open a tent.

Being a tenter myself, my biggest pet peeve when using campgrounds is the lack of bear-awareness that people camping seem to have. I find this especially true with people in hard-top campers, trailers, and RVs. With only a thin piece nylon material separating me from bear claws in my two-man tent, I feel somewhat vulnerable,  like  a piece of fresh meat neatly packaged up in nylon instead of plastic wrap, ready for a bear to dig its teeth in.

For example, on an early morning walk around Liard Hotsprings campground last summer, there were garbage bags (with garbage, of course) hanging on the side of some campers nearby and a couple of picnic tables not cleaned up from the previous night’s meal. Incidentally, one of the hotspring pools at Liard is closed every August partly because of increased bear activity.  There was even a fatal mauling by a black bear several years back. I can’t help but to wonder if the increased bear activity is linked to a general decrease in bear-awareness at local parks.

Liard Hotsprings

Not only does this lack of proper garbage and food storage/disposal put humans at risk, but these scavenger bears end up having to be destroyed.

Regardless of your mode of camping, please keep your campsite clean. The bears and I thank you!

This one’s for Average Mom.

Les jours de la semaine

On more than one occasion, I’ve heard comments from people saying that they’re not worried about losing their mother tongue because they learned it as a kid and still use it. And that’s the key to keeping their language: they still use it.

I grew up in a French-Canadian household, and unless we had English-speaking guests, we always spoke French at home. Plus, I went to French school most of my life. Still, having grown up in Ontario, I became fluent in English at a very young age. Eventually, I married a Québécois and we moved to Toronto where I worked in a customer call centre for a mutual fund company answering incoming calls on their French line. So, as an adult, I continued to hone my French-speaking skills. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for callers from Québec to ask which part of their province I was from.

Fast forward to my move to Whitehorse where, despite the ease with which a person can live in French thanks to the surprisingly large francophone community, I mostly worked and lived in English. I also went back to school where everything was in English, and I am happily re-married to a WASP. So until recently, I only used my French on occasion. With what result?

It got to the point where, when speaking French, it seemed like I had to search for my words. I felt like I was forgetting expressions that I had always used. And the part that bothered me the most? I was developing an English accent when speaking French. This drove me insane! But more importantly, it drove home the fact that yes, it is very possible to lose your language.

Fortunately, I have had the opportunity to use and improve my French with my current job, and I am more aware of the danger of losing my language. I have never been political about such things as most franco-Ontarians aren’t, but I have a better awareness of how fast I can lose what I have if I don’t take care of it.

To use an old saying: Use it, or lose it.

Therefore, although I didn’t use my French much when I first moved to Whitehorse, I am grateful that I have many opportunities to do so. Because of the push for French language within and outside of Québec’s border, I can order French books, I can work in a French environment, and I can request French services. I don’t usually push this last one, but I do use them when they’re there. For example, when doing my First Aid – CPR courses or when I wrote my GED at Yukon College, I did them in French. For practicums in my studies to become a teacher, twice I applied to work in a French environment and was accepted both times. I figure if I don’t use these services, someday they may not be available to use because of lack of demand. But the most important reason to use your language? Ask any First Nations person in the Yukon, and they’ll tell you that yes, loss of language is very real.

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.

“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!

I’ve always struggled with my weight. The problem started when I paid my doctor a visit in my mid teens for a regular check-up. He decided that I should follow a strict 1000 calorie-a-day diet. The sad part is that I don’t remember asking him for any help; I was there for a regular check-up. I didn’t perceive myself as being overweight, or at least not enough to warrant a doctor’s visit, and now that I look back, I know I was fine.

When I got off of this ridiculous starvation diet a couple of months later, of course I put all the weight back on and then some. That was the beginning of my yo-yo dieting. Try something, fail, put the weight back on and more. Cleaning out my closet was a tough job. It was hard getting rid of clothes that didn’t fit me anymore.

This went on until I hit my early 30s when I decided NO MORE. No more diets. No more closet cleaning. This is who I am, I will never be pencil thin, and that’s okay. When I finally accepted this, there was such a sense of relief. It’s not that I was all mopey or anything about my weight, but it had always been in the back of my mind.

Seeing my 40th birthday creeping up on me, I wanted to do something to improve my health, and that’s when I decided to set a goal for myself to lose 30lbs. Well, the big day came and went and I’m happy to say that I did reach my goal. I joined Weight Watchers, started cross-country skiing last winter, and generally increased my physical activity level.

Once I got back from my trip this summer, I was very excited to learn that I didn’t put the weight back on. I’m very happy where I am, but at the same time, I figure if I lost 30lbs, I could probably keep going. So, I’m setting a new goal before the new decade hits us: another 20lbs.

I’ve never had so much fun cleaning out my closet.

Tantalus School, Carmacks, Yukon

In trying to reach my goal of losing 30lbs before my 40th birthday, I joined Weight Watchers and increased the amount of physical activity I do. One of those activities costs nothing, needs no specialized equipment, and can be done anywhere: jogging.

The school in Carmacks hosts the annual Tantalus Ridge Run, and other Yukon schools are invited to take part. There’s a 3k portion for the younger ones and a 5k for the older kids.

The two wonderful teachers in grade 7/8 at our school invited me along with their class to join them in the run. Because I was always busy teaching while groups of kids trained for the run, it was up to me to train on my own time.

I didn’t expect to run the whole race since I hadn’t quite worked myself up to 5k’s by today, the day of the run. But I got three girls in my truck, and while they took care of the tunes, I sipped my coffee and bopped along with them as we drove the North Klondike Highway two hours north, stopping to gawk at members of the Braeburn Elk Herd basking on a hillside along the way. (I love the Yukon!)

It was sweltering hot, but my water bottle kept me hydrated as I started off after the starting signal. The race started on a wooden boardwalk along the Yukon River, then edged its way left on a refreshing trail in the woods where not all the snow had melted yet. The coolness was a welcome sensation halfway through the run. (Another reason to love the Yukon!) Then came the ridge with the hot sun beating down on us. That was the hard part. While someone offered water about halfway, the sun offered my first sunburn of the year.

I’m proud to say that I managed to run the whole race (except for a short hill that was so slippery with mud that I had to hold on to trees to keep from sliding back down).

The most exhilirating part, of course, was near the end hearing my name shouted as I ran across the water-logged lawn to the finish line. I don’t know what my time was, nor do I care. I’m happy I did it! YEAH! The great people of Carmacks had water jugs full and huge bowls of orange wedges waiting for runners finishing the race.

Oh, and did I tell you I’m down 20 lbs?

I’ve always wanted to attend the annual Yukon International Storytelling Festival, but it seemed like every year I had other commitments. This year, I decided to play hookey from working at school over the weekend and attended the festival on Saturday.

I was very impressed with the storytellers, and my favourite was Ivan E. Coyote. Ivan is originally from Whitehorse and now resides in Vancouver or thereabouts. Her short stories are funny, candid, and usually relate to her own life experiences.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m referring to Ivan using feminine pronouns, but if you read her writing, some of her stories revolve around her experiences growing up and feeling like she didn’t quite fit into the gender box. She eventually changed her name, and in one of her most recent stories I read, she explains how being referred to in either gender doesn’t quite fit, so she usually lets people decide for themselves how to address her.

We live in such a gender-specific society that leaves no room for even the slightest deviance of the pendulum from either extreme, that I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for people who feel they don’t quite fit on either side completely.

A student at a local high school where I subbed was faced with the same dilemma. My heart went out to him when, while doing attendance, a couple of other students taunted him by using the female version of his name. I have to admit that I wouldn’t have known his gender just by looking at him. A little later, one of the students walked over to him and started taunting him more. Keep in mind that as a substitute teacher, kids don’t really take you seriously, and there’s lots of stupidity and horsing around. I had a “chat” with the kid doing the taunting, but what did he care? I don’t know if I got across to him; I can only hope so.

One saving grace was that I knew that authors were coming to the school to spend time with students, and Ivan was one of them. I only hope that somehow, that student (taunted one) was able to find solace in knowing that he wasn’t alone.

Going to the festival also gave me the opportunity to pick up Ivan’s latest book The Slow Fix. I’ve already read most of the stories with only 20 pages left to read. “In the title story [The Slow Fix], she does her best to fix what’s wrong in the world by telling the homophobe in the barber’s seat next to hers to shut up” (Arsenal Pulp Press). Her stories are eye-openers about how we take gender and identity for granted. It’s kind of like being left-handed in a world where everything’s geared to right-handedness.

This little post is my contribution to “the slow fix.”