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)

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.

“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!

Although I know that place names don’t necessarily match the place itself and are sometimes a ploy to trick people (think Greenland), I was looking forward to my visit to Paradise.  As you’ve seen with previous posts about Newfoundland, it truly is a wondrous place with breathtaking views. But what about Paradise itself?

Paradise has been in the news lately thanks to the most recent municipal elections where Kurtis Coombs beat Ralph Wiseman by three votes. After a couple of recounts, it ended in a tie that was broken by a draw from a hat – literally. This put Coombs at the losing end, but had he won, he would’ve been the youngest mayor in Canada’s history.

But more about the town itself, Paradise is the fastest growing town/city in Atlantic Canada, and construction crews have a hard time keeping up with laying roads and building houses. With this explosion of suburbia, the locals are calling it Paradise Lost.

Below is a built-up area next to Adam’s Pond. There are houses and roads all around this pond now which don’t  show up on Google maps yet.

We went down to Vancouver a few years ago to meet up with Dave’s brother who was visiting from South Korea. We decided to take a little side trip to Victoria to visit this fine city and meet up with some of my old work colleagues at the Canoe Brewpub. This place has their own idea of blending quirkiness, artsiness, practicality, and innovativeness…in the washroom. The handwashing facilities consist of a long trough that is shared by both the men’s and ladies’ washroom. A mirrored wall extends down far enough into the trough that you can’t see the other side, except perhaps soap-lathered hands from the other side (though in truth, I don’t remember if you could actually see hands on the other side). It was kind of weird and fun at the same time.

On our most recent trip to Ontario, I found other examples of things that are uncommon:

I had a bite in well-known pub called D’Arcy McGee’s. In the ladies’ washroom was a commercial flat iron, and I couldn’t resist taking a picture despite the embarassment of knowing that people might see the flash going off. The washroom door had an opaque window pane.

In another public washroom was a hand-dryer from the future. The air coming out of this thing was so powerful that your hands literally dried in seconds.

Okay, maybe by now you’re thinking that I’m the quirky one for taking these photos. Well, it runs in the family. Here’s a picture of my sister’s idea of tools for removing the cover on a computer’s power supply.

And if you’re trying to find parking in St. John’s, NFLD and don’t speak English Newfounese, no worries. A picture is worth a thousand words, as they say.

Of course with different climate come different warnings. This one’s for Baino. These signs were on the doors of most businesses.

From a courthouse in Ottawa (Ontario Court House). Who woulda thunk putting rocks in the side of a building? I wonder if this was a statement linked with the intended use of the building.

Ever get those e-mails where there’s a joke and then you have to scroll down…scroll down…keep scrolling? This last picture is boingboing worthy. We got off the highway to make a phone call and came across the following. I’ll leave it up to you to come up with a title for the billboard.

Do you remember playing Pong back when video games first came out? Change it to three players instead of two, forming a triangle. There’s what my summer in Ontario was like.

To put it in perspective, we logged in almost 16 000 km on the truck, and add to that another 4200km by plane from Toronto to St.John’s, Newfoundland. All of that and we didn’t even get to visit another country. Though if this same trip would have taken place around the time my mother was born, then our trip to Newfoundland would have constituted international travel.

I’ll stop there though, since my hunny has already painstakingly figured it all out.

Despite the fact that we missed all the beautiful weather Yukoners were subjected to (sheesh!), it was really nice to spend time with family. We laughed, we cried, we talked, we hugged…a summer filled with stories to tell, some of which I’ll share over the next little while. For others, however, you’ll have to check out Dave’s blog.

In an effort to train my dog to stop jumping on people, running after joggers, and chasing other dogs, we enrolled ourselves in dog obedience training a while back. She’s made some progress, but the biggest challenge has been keeping her from pulling on the leash. It seems like she always wants to be in the lead. I try and try, and I just can’t manage to make her stay behind me.

Suddenly, the light bulb came on, and I got a bright idea. Since she wants to pull so badly, why not give her the opportunity? On a recent training session on the ski trail, the trainer suggested I try it.

Off I went to Duffy’s Pets to get her fitted for a harness. Reggie, the store-owner, was extremely helpful. She spent time asking questions about my intentions, about my dog, and offered valuable tips about Dos and Don’ts. I couldn’t wait to get Smidgen into her harness to see how she would react.

The next morning, I hook her up, get onto my bike, and voilà! The dog’s a natural. It only took her a few minutes to figure out what I wanted and that it was okay to pull. Wow! I was so pleased.

This morning was her third time out with the harness, and she pulled like a pro. Fortunately, there’s no turning required on the pathway we’ve been taking, but the next step will be teaching her “Gee” and “Haw” (right and left).

In a recent conversation with an acquaintance who is originally from Quebec, the topic of married names vs. maiden names came up.

You see, in Quebec, women keep their maiden name and hyphenate it with their husband’s name. They use this compound name socially, but legally, their name is made up of their maiden name only.

In Ontario, where I’m from, and here in the Yukon (and I believe the rest of Canada), women have the choice of keeping their maiden name or taking on the married name on their big day.

In our conversation she mentioned that this mentality in Quebec is a result of gender equality. This may be the belief, but I am left to wonder how on earth, when a woman doesn’t have the choice in which name she wishes to adopt upon marriage, it can be construed as equal.

In the past, it was due to the church’s influence that women took their husband’s name. Today, it’s the law that forces Quebec women to keep their maiden name. The pendulum has swung, but what’s the difference?

How can women in Quebec think they’re further ahead in terms of gender equality when, unlike the rest of Canada, they don’t have a choice in which name they will adopt if they marry. Actually, they do have a choice, except that changing their name incurs a cost. In the rest of Canada, there is no cost associated with either name. In one case I know in Ontario, it was the husband who took his wife’s name.

My husband and I are as different from one another as they come:

• I can be loud and boisterous; he’s quiet and soft-spoken.
• I grew up in a French-Canadian Catholic household; he grew up in an Anglican household.
• Cooked cabbage is a delicacy in my family: soups, stews, cabbage rolls; cooked cabbage is considered a filler and therefore for people of lesser means.
• His favourite clothing store is L.L. Bean. ‘Nuf said!
• Talking about feelings is a must as you can’t deal with it unless you get it out in the open; for him, feelings and emotions must be kept out of sight and under control.
• And here’s the kicker: my dad would often eat dinner shirtless (gasp!) in the summertime; unheard of in the Hubby’s household.
• The last two points are considered rude and ill-mannered by WASPs, though that last one is not something even I would want to see. Ever. Again.
• Oh! And apparently WASPs are considered to be uptight. This one’s straight from the WASP’s mouth.

So, what does the acronym stand for? White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. I never knew there was a name for my vespine husband. So, what does that make me? If I was one of them, I would be: