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:

Turning XL

I know I’m turning 40 because:

1. My bedtime is now around 9:30 – 10:00. That used to be the time I left the house to go out.
2. I can wake up at 6am. Without help. Sometimes.
3. I no longer could work a graveyard shift, stay up all day, and function.
4. I take naps with increasing frequency. Didn’t use to do that. Nope.
5. A few lines are starting to appear on my face. Yikes!
6. Dying my hair is no longer a personal choice.
7. I start my day off with a morning coffee. (Actually, I thought mornings were a figment of people’s imagination.)
8. I get hangovers if I have 3 drinks or more. (Okay, that’s a good one, because it’s an incentive to stop after two.)
9. When I look at my naked self, I notice things starting to hang that didn’t before
10. I consider leg hair to be an extra layer of warmth in the winter

But on the more serious side of things, I feel pretty satisfied with what I’ve accomplished so far. Although I was a late starter, I can turn 40 and honestly feel contented. I say late starter because most of the things I’ve done in the last ten years are things people usually do before they turn 30. I guess it’s never too late. For example, in the last ten years I:

• Moved to another part of the country
• Finally got my post-secondary education
• Followed my dream of becoming a classroom teacher
• Found and married my soul mate

Actually, except for the moving bit, everything else was within the last few years.

I thought of waiting until my birthday in August to post this, but I decided to do it now. Why? So that all of this thinking and worrying could be done and over with by the time my birthday rolls around. Then I can sit on the beach at Sauble, wear my swimsuit, and not give a rat’s a$$ what anyone thinks. This is who I am, and I’m proud!

Newfoundland, that is. That will be after I lose 30 lbs and brown myself up a little on Sauble Beach.

For the past two months, I’ve been trying to figure out what to do to mark my 40th birthday as it’s coming up this summer. I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland, and I’ve always wanted to visit Newfoundland.

One of my good friends, Darlene, lives in St. John’s Paradise, Newfoundland. Imagine telling people you’re from Paradise. I love it! Anyway, after spending more time than what is healthy on the Aeroplan site, I ended up finding a great deal to travel across the country with a stop at another friend’s place (Sauble Beach).

I’ll be missing the George Street Festival, but I have no doubt that my trip will be a memorable one.

Hhhmmm…I wonder if I could turn 40 again next year.

It’s funny how kids really make you appreciate the simple but most meaningful things. At this time of year, people run around in a frenzy to get their shopping done. Stores get crowded, people get pissy, and tempers flare.

Meanwhile, kids are busy making their own Christmas cards and wrapping their own gifts. I know, because I received many last week.

In addition to these beautiful cards, I also received homemade cookies, bath bombs, and earrings (made by the kids themselves). Mind you, I still very much enjoyed biting into Purdy’s Sweet Georgia Brown chocolates (and others).

Earlier in the year, I thought of how nice it would be to give nothing but handmade gifts for Christmas. Of course, time flew right by, and before I knew it, my pre-Christmas me-days were numbered. However, I did find the time to go to a couple of craft fairs and picked up a few little things. Of course I can’t say just yet what they are. So, not all my gifts are handmade, but I’m making progress, I’m proud to say.

At this time of year, kids are extremely excited about Christmas. Of course, it’s next to impossible to to anything academically in the last week before the holidays. So, we played word games, sang songs, and read stories.
My challenge, since I teach almost all students in the school, is to have a little something for them on the last day. I’m not a fan of giving sugar to kids, but the only thing I could come up with (and afford) were candy canes. Of course, they all loved having them, but I’d like to plan something for next year or the end of this year. What though?

Something hand-made would be ideal, but it would have to be extremely simple, since I’d have almost 100 to do. I’m thinking painted bookmarks with their name on it.

Any suggestions are welcome.

I’ve been looking everywhere for the aforementioned black & white movie to show some of my students, and I can’t find it in any local library. Strange. I don’t have time to order it from Amazon, so if anyone in Whitehorse can lend me their copy, I would be forever grateful.

Coming out of a local electronics shop, I spot three old ladies making their way between the back of my truck and the front of a car in the parking lot. One bends down and picks pieces of something off the ground. The three of them keep shuffling forward toward the dollar store.

A funny thought strikes me: what if they hit the back of my truck when parking their car?

I quickly make my way over to where my Ranger is parked, and carefully inspect the ground where the grey-haired lady picked something up. I notice shards of dark plastic. My eyes wander over to the broken and cracked front grille of the car, then to my rear bumper, where more little pieces of the dark stuff sit.

Okay, now to find out if the ladies are the culprits.

I half run to the dollar store, fearful I might lose sight of them. I glance back to check out the colour of the car, whose top looks silver under the snow but whose body is hidden by other parked vehicles.

The bells on the door jingle as I open the door leading into the store. The three ladies are looking at some bric-à-brac items on a shelf. I approach them to ask if one of them are driving a silver car.

“No,” says one woman, probably the youngest. “We don’t own a silver car. Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure if the car is silver to be honest, but is it possible that one of you accidentally hit a truck while parking?”

“No, we didn’t hit nothing; what truck?” asks the same dyed-haired lady.

“It’s a red truck. Would you mind showing me where you’re parked? Because I think there might have been a little accident.”

“We don’t own no silver car,” she answers again.

Reluctantly, two of them decide to follow me to the parking spot only a few metres from the entrance. One says in a very low voice, “I didn’t mean to hit it; it was an accident.”

Ha ha! Gotcha!

In the end, all was okay, but I was miffed that they simply walked away. There was no damage to my rear bumper thanks to the hitch for my bike rack, but I was so afraid of losing sight of them, that I didn’t check before running in their direction.

The old woman felt really bad about the whole thing and was worried about her insurance. I told her not to worry about that as there was no damage to my truck but that she should find out how much her grille costs, as it might be to her advantage to simply have it replaced.

Lesson learned? Never trust little old ladies, at least the ones who drive Chrysler LeBarons.