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.

“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.”

The headline in this morning’s Globe & Mail caught my attention and got me thinking about our own airline. It’s a story about WestJet and SouthWest, both discount airlines, agreeing to sell seats on each other’s flights. To read the above headline in our local paper would be, to say the least, a dream come true. Why? Immediately, I can think of at least of three advantages to this kind of arrangement.

For starters, with one phone call, or one click, you could book your trip across North America.

Imagine being able to go to Air North’s website, and book a flight to, say, Halifax, Thunder Bay, or Regina, with just one click. Of course, it’s still possible to do so with services like Expedia [Expedia doesn't list Air North as an option] or through a travel agent, but I’m not a business traveller, and prefer to book my own flights.

Also, an agreement between airlines has the advantage that their connections would be better synced.

When booking a flight out of Whitehorse and across the country, the problem usually encountered involves connections and wait times. It’s easy enough to get to Vancouver, Edmonton, or Calgary with our beloved airline, but, unless you only have one connection, (i.e. travelling to a major city centre), it’s next to impossible to connect to WestJet without spending a night en route. Air North doesn’t get to Edmonton and Calgary until late in the evening.

Maybe it’s just my problem, because I usually have to connect at least twice to travel home. Plus, the only airlines that travel south from my hometown (Timmins) are Air Canada (to Toronto) and Bearskin Airlines (to Thunder Bay). Last year, when I travelled to Thunder Bay to visit relatives, I had to go through Toronto on the way there (further east) and had a 9hr wait on the way back in Edmonton. I ended up going to THE Mall for a bit and visited a friend, but it still was a long wait.

Finally, an agreement between airlines would surely include the service of baggage transfer.

When booking my mom’s and mother-in-law’s flight to Whitehorse for my graduation this past June, I booked with Air North for the YVR-YXY portion of the flight. Little did I know that Air Canada recently pulled out of the agreement between the two airlines to transfer luggage (shame on them). For most travellers, it’s an inconvenience to have to leave the secure area to get your luggage and check-in again. Plus, you have to allocate more time between connections to do this. I hadn’t considered this when scheduling connections and thinking about wait times, because I was under the impression that the luggage would be transferred by the airlines. As a result, I ended up sending her luggage home on Greyhound to avoid the hassle. This is the only issue I’ve ever had with Air North, as I felt that these new requirements (updated link June ‘09–They’ve revamped the page, and I’m pleased to see the information more clearly laid out.) for travellers to transfer their own luggage (when connecting to AC) wasn’t made clear enough when booking the flights.

I HAVE A DREAM!

Blowing my nose, coughin’, spittin’ and sneezin’, are from an old song, one that describes my current condition. Those words are pretty slang for any French-speaker, but they sure get the point across.

I grew up in Northern Ontario, where a lot of people are bilingual. I went to French school as a kid and spoke French at home and English on the streets. As a result, I’m fluent in both languages, both written and spoken — a blessing nowadays.

In my experience, French people in Northern Ontario are just, well, people. They don’t care where you’re from: Québec, the Maritimes, Manitoba, or Europe. French is French, some people just have different pronunciations or expressions, that’s all. Who cares? As long as you can communicate with each other, all is good.

It wasn’t until I moved to Toronto, and later Whitehorse, did I realize that there’s a whole hierarchy in the French-speaking world. You may disagree with me, but here’s how it goes:

Highest on the ladder: Parisians, then other Europeans, then Québecois, and then the rest of us in no particular order: Franco-Ontarians, Maritimers, pods of Francophones in the prairies, Louisiana, Haiti, etc…

Every time I have had the privilege of working with Parisians, it seemed like they always felt the need to correct me. I don’t mind if I ask, but in regular conversation, it can get annoying very quickly. I must say though, that any French person from other parts of France that I have worked with are far more laid back, and don’t have this annoying habit.

As for Québécois, I love the place and it’s people. Growing up a short drive from it’s border, I spent much time in “La belle province.” In terms of the hierarchy, however, here’s a little story:

I worked as a teller in a local bank, and one client had a very thick French accent. So, I reverted to French. She was pleased and quite impressed, so much so, that she thought I was from Québec. She asked: “What part of Québec are you from?”

“I’m not from Québec.”

“Really?” Wide-eyed, she responded, “I never would’ve known. Where are you from?”

“Northern Ontario…Timmins…across the border from l’Abitibi-Témiscamingue, if you know where that is.”

“Oh, so you’re not really French-Canadian then.”

I wanted to knock her out, but instead, I counted her bills, smiled, and said, “Having gone to French school all my life and spoken nothing but French at home, I wonder what more I need to be considered French-Canadian. What do you think?.” We both knew what she was thinking.

In Arizona, a 13-year-old boy was suspended for for drawing — on paper — a gun on his homework. In 2000, four kindergarten boys were playing cops and robbers at recess using their fingers as “guns”; they were subsequently suspended for three days. These and other stories have led me to wonder whether things are any different in the Yukon. So, I decided to pay a visit to a local school to see for myself.

Upon entering the school, I was immediately threatened by a black-masked figure with a flowing cape, brandishing a long rapier. He wasn’t packing heat, but I’ll bet he’ll be suspended.

Trying to find someone with authority to mete out the suspension, I barely escaped a beheading by a Knight Templar in the principal’s office.

Grateful that I had escaped with my life twice, I decided to stay away from the office and make my way down to the gym, where a flurry of activity got my attention.

Instead of being in class, students filled the gymnasium. In one corner, a crowd egged on two students going at each other with pillows. A bystander was recording the whole incident on his cell phone.

A few feet further, suction-cup guns were being aimed at a boy moving about in a cage-like enclosure. The target was the skull-shaped mask being worn by the kid.

In yet another area, students were wielding hunting rifles, trying for a “kill.” Farm animals were scattered about on a flat board and the ammunition was a coin rolling down a slot on a carved wooden hunting rifle. Thankfully there was a sheriff sitting nearby. Surely he had the authority to take care of these gun-toting kids. But wait! He was the one encouraging the whole thing. Isn’t there anyone in this school that sees this behaviour for what it is?

I’d had enough of this and made my way to the nearest exit, which meant going through the girls’ change room and out the other side. As I hurried through the door, I suddenly heard muffled screams. A grizzly discovery awaited me: the change room was a scene reminiscent of a chainsaw massacre. I found myself in the dark, where flashes of light illuminated walls, ceiling, and floors splattered with blood. Trying to paw my way out of there, something (or someone) jumped out at me from a dark corner. I finally managed to find the exit where I needed a moment to regain my composure. We’re way past suspensions now, expulsion is in order!

By the end of day, the school would have been emptied had suspensions been given out. Instead, everyone had a great time. Kids had been talking about this event from the beginning of school in August and couldn’t wait for this day of Hallowe’en festivities. I’m guessing they’ll be talking about it for a couple of months to come.

Funny thing, I didn’t see any kids fighting at recess, nor any punches thrown. What I did see was a group of kids working the whole day before to set up the gym, and working through recess and lunch the day after to clean up. They were scrubbing walls using lots of elbow grease, while chatting about the day before. Could it be that there is a healthy way of letting kids just be themselves and have a bit of fun? No one condones violence, but could it be that because of news headlines, we have pushed the pendulum to the extreme?

I recently came across a fellow blogger’s photograph of some of the garbage blown around near the Dawson City dump. This reminded me of articles I recently read in the Globe and Mail about a couple trying to go a month without producing any household trash; I was inspired. Of course I can’t claim to have come anywhere close to them, but their campaign made me more aware of just how much garbage we produce. Looking in my own trashcan, I realized that the largest portion of garbage turns out to be plastic: plastic wrap, plastic food containers/wrap (i.e. pasta), and the worst culprit, plastic shopping bags. Though I tried to re-use plastic shopping bags, they eventually tear and end up in the garbage. So I decided to buy canvas tote bags, as mentioned in a previous post.

These thoughts prompted a couple of questions:

• Why is it that grocery stores aren’t getting on board with this? Any kind of reusable tote bags are so expensive in grocery stores, that who would want to buy them? If they can charge for plastic grocery bags at no profit to themselves, they should be able to do the same with canvas tote bags. Make it easier for consumers to go green, not harder! (The same applies to all retail stores.)

• Everyone in Whitehorse knows, including store owners, that the city offers compost pick-up every two weeks. Why is it so difficult to find bio-degradable bags in local stores? I can see this being a problem in spring, when everybody’s cleaning their yards, but year-round? What local stores offer is inconsistent. And why on earth would I want to buy huge plastic orange and clear bags to pick up leaves and cuttings that are going to the compost? We need more bio-degradable bags!

Last night, I had the privilege of witnessing a friend of mine getting her head shaved to raise funds for someone who recently underwent cancer treatment. I’ve heard of people doing this, but have never seen it done.

While watching, I was thinking to myself what courage she has to part with her hair. I mean, it’s easy enough for men to go around with a bald head, or at least it’s more socially acceptable for men to be bald. For women, though, it’s another story. Not only is it less socially acceptable, but for those who have longer hair, it takes a long time to grow it back. (That’s why I think we should donate double the amount for women who do this.)

Okay, I know I’m starting to sound gender biased here: men have short hair, women have long hair, yadda yadda yadda. But if you look at it from the “socially acceptable” perspective, you might agree (or maybe not). Plus, women with super-short hair are often accused of being gay, or butch, or whatever term people like to use.

Regardless of all this, I realized that though it took courage for my friend to go bald, it took even more courage and strength for the cancer survivor to undergo her treatment and to keep fighting. I met her for the first time last night, and what a woman! She is beautiful inside and out, and had a smile on her face the whole time.