I am a Canadian, free to speak without fear, free to worship in my own way, free to stand for what I think right, free to oppose what I believe wrong, or free to choose those who shall govern my country. This heritage of freedom I pledge to uphold for myself and all mankind.
Yesterday, I rode my bike downtown to check out the Canada Day celebrations.
I took some pictures to share with you. Also, I would like to wish all my fellow Canadians a very Happy Canada Day. We live in a beautiful country and I feel so blessed to be Canadian.
The old picket fence and beautiful wild rose bush outside my front door
I had to get off my bike on Stephen Avenue due to high pedestrian traffic.
An Aboriginal man sketches the couple seated in the chairs.
They graciously let me take their picture.
I asked Jake if I could take his pic and he said sure!
Jake, originally from BC, is “breaking in on the busking scene,” he told me.
St. Patrick Island is my favourite cycling destination this summer.
If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’
When I moved to Calgary in 1990, I accepted a housekeeping job at a hospital.
I was so embarrassed by this job, when people asked what I did, I said I was an environmental engineer, which is what they called my position, and then quickly changed the subject before they could ask what that was.
I hated working there, so I cut corners and consistently scored low when my employer did surprise quality control checks.
But I started to feel guilty. So I decided to be grateful that I had a job, many did not, and I cleaned each room as if the next patient was Jesus.
A funny thing happened.
I began to take pride in my work.
I did little extras for patients.
I consistently scored 100% when my employer did surprise quality control checks.
Winter makes me question all sorts of choices I’ve made. It passes slowly, each day seemingly the same as the one before. The alarm goes off while it’s still dark out. I drink coffee, shower, dress, get in my car and go to work. I come home, eat, watch some TV, go to bed, maybe read a chapter or two. The alarm goes off while it’s still dark out.
It’s a low time for me, a time when nature sleeps beneath the snow. I reflect on the past. I think about the things I could have, should have done differently. I mourn what is lost. I let go of things I can’t change, things that aren’t important. I re-prioritize. It’s a time when I feel as though something is missing. A time when I long for something else, when I long for summer.
But this year before the spring, in January and February when it felt like I could not take the dark, stillness and cold anymore, or the day-in, day-out sameness, it occurred to me that maybe that’s the way it’s meant to be. Maybe it’s what allows me to start again with a fresh perspective.
It’s nature’s lent. A time of rest and reflection and yes, a time of maddening boredom too. A time to long for the sun’s warmth, and yet, somehow, the perfect springboard to an all-the-more enjoyable summer.
And I do love summer. And this past Sunday’s afternoon bike ride was well worth the long wait!
Cyclists took advantage of the new cycle track on 12 Ave. SW
A few months back I read that Calgary surpassed Ottawa in population and became Canada’s third largest city with a population of 1.4 million people.
It’s hard to believe that when I first moved to Calgary in 1990, its population was 625,000. It was a different city then. People said hello, people who you’d never met actually said hello to you on the street, in the parks, in the malls. It seemed a friendlier place back then. There was a real sense of community – it was a city with a village feel and I felt safe, even in the wee hours of the night.
Calgary has grown quite a bit since then, having more than doubled its population. And it feels different, it feels colder somehow. People don’t say hello like they used to. They seem more caught up with their electronics; cell phones glued to the sides of their faces or held out up front while chasing down Pokémon, earbuds embedded deep into their heads while they blow by you, barely noticing you on the street, in the parks, in the malls.
People just seem to care less…
at least that’s the impression I had up until early Saturday morning when I got a call from my landlord. It turned out that my neighbor across the hall interrupted a would-be thief while he was breaking into my car. Ron, my neighbor chased him off in the early hours of the morning and called the police.
Now I’m no stranger to having my car broken into.
I mean one comes to even expect it at some level when living in a big city. Over the years and after several break-ins, I have learned not to leave anything valuable in my car, so aside from having had to put all my highway emergency items that had been strewn around the trunk of my car back into the kit, and having to clean up my car manual, a few odd cassette tapes and my vehicle upkeep and maintenance papers from the seat and floor on the passenger side of my car and put them back into my glove box, I came away from this event virtually unscathed.
No, a car break-in doesn’t really cause a ripple in my world.
What really stands out to me is that Ron, the man who lives across the hall in my apartment building, was awoken when he heard clanging and banging from his bedroom window and went out into the parking lot to investigate. And this same man, Ron had the courage and took the time to protect my property – if that isn’t a good neighbor, I don’t know what is.
Maybe Calgary really isn’t all that different from back then after all.
~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~
Thanks Ron, for reminding me that there are still good people in this world, people who care about other people, even in big cities.
Do you ever wonder where your physical traits come from? I sure do.
I mean I can look at my parents and see where my blue eyes come from and whose teeth I have and so on, but I’ve always wondered about my weird-looking chubby knees that seem to be prevalent on my mom’s side of the family.
‘Unique knees,’ an old boyfriend tactfully called them once.
“They look like they bend backwards when you’re standing, like you’re double-jointed,” my friend Helga once said.
Outside of mom’s family, I have never seen anyone with legs like mine. Well once I did. I was in the Dominican Republic with Mom and there was a family there; a mom and dad with two teenagers and they ALL had legs like mine! They were from Norway or Finland or Iceland or something.
They were tall, blond, blue-eyed and looked like Vikings! But it was their legs that caught my attention!
Look Mom! They have legs like us!
Are they the descendants of Vikings, I wondered? Am I a descendant of Vikings? It would sure explain a lot about parts of my personality!
I know my grandmother’s family came from Sweden, so maybe, right? Anyway, I got it in my head that I’m a Viking ever since I saw that family in the DR.
So I finally broke down and ordered a DNA kit from 23 and me.
What’s your best guess on my ethnicity?
I can’t wait to find out if I’m a Viking or not.
And I will keep you posted!
~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~
Have you ever sent away for a DNA kit? Do you know where your ancestors came from? If so, let me know in the comment section!
This hard-working Leprechaun and lovely gentleman and lady graciously allowed me to snap their picture on 17th Avenue SW, Calgary, Alberta, Canada
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields
and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
I never knew her name, even though she was my neighbour.
I wrote about her once here. For the most part though, I never paid much attention to her. Sure, I saw her out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye. I even pitied her. And if I am to be completely honest, I felt guilty when I saw her. Guilty because she reminded me that there are many elderly people who are all alone in this world.
Another neighbour who lives a couple of houses to the right stopped to talk to me this past Saturday. She asked me if it was true that the bird lady had passed away. I looked to the left, a couple of buildings over, to the bird lady’s balcony and noticed that her balcony had been cleared of her belongings. To be honest I’ve been wondering if something happened to her. I hadn’t seen her drive slowly around the block or feed the birds in quite some time.
I told my neighbor that once in late summer, I had walked past her balcony to see if I could see a sign of her. I did not. And there was no management phone number on the apartment building that I could call to inquire about her.
So I did nothing.
Me.
The person who goes on and on about the importance of community…
I wonder why I didn’t reach out to her. Well actually, I think I know why.
I was afraid that she might take up a lot of my time.
That there would be things I couldn’t do, if I was involved with her. Things that I would miss. That I would have to give up.
And on a more personal level, I was afraid that I might one day be in her situation. That was something I definitely did not want to think about.
~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~
I never knew her name and I don’t know what happened to her. But I do know that I don’t want to be someone who sees people out of the corner of my eye…
I won’t be bringing a book, or note pad to go sit on a bench in the park to read or write while sipping a Grande half-sweet white chocolate mocha any day soon. And it will be months before I’ll be jumping on my bike to ride Calgary’s pathways.
There’s no more denying it.
There’s no more deciding not to wear socks, or not to dress in layers, or wear a warm coat. Winter is here and there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to put on my big-girl-snow-pants, lean into the north wind, grit my teeth and plow through it. I don’t have a choice.
Yeah, yeah, I know some of you are excited about winter. You’ve been looking forward to sledding, skiing, snowshoeing, igloo building, icicle licking and whatever else you do in winter.
As for me… should you need me, I’ll be indoors, wrapped in a cozy blanket on my favourite chair, sipping hot chocolate and watching reruns of Island Life.
Enough to provide a safe and sober Oxford home for two individuals for more than a year!
The energy and support at King’s Head Pub on Sunday, October 16th for YYC Rocks for Recovery was palpable.
Personally, and as a representative of Oxford House, I am so grateful to the TLB Group and its many volunteers who manned the door, sold wares, ran the auction, emceed the event, and who knows what else; King’s Head Pub, who provided all the food for volunteers; the Twenty-eight super talented bands who rocked the house down all afternoon and into the early hours of the morning; the amazing sponsors, the silent auction donors, and those who attended.
What a night!
I mean, how often can you get to see such high quality talent from so many musicians for $10 at the door these days? And each and every band played for free, played for Oxford House, played for the love of their craft – many sticking around after their set to support their fellow musicians.
Tracey, my coworker and I volunteered for a shift at the door early in the afternoon. The TLB volunteers were so welcoming and took the time to explain what we needed to do. It didn’t take me long to hand over the cover-charge-taking and tracking duties to Tracey who is the Financial Coordinator at Oxford House and way more proficient at these things than I am. That left me free to do the hand stamping, free haircut coupon distribution and the directing of musicians and volunteers to where they needed to go. The volunteer door shift was a blast. One could feel the good vibes that came in with attendees.
Much to my pleasant surprise, my long-time friend Carmen whom I ran into by chance the day before on 17th Avenue, showed up with her niece Stephanie to support the event. Carmen bid on several auction items, the last of which lit her face up like a Christmas tree when she won it. She can’t wait to take her friend from Montana on a guided fly fishing tour on the Bow River.
Mike Robertson, who donated the package for the auction stopped by to chat with us and was thrilled that Carmen was so happy about her upcoming fishing adventure. “I’ve been in recovery for thirteen years,” Mike told us. “And when I heard about YYC Rocks for Recovery I just had to do my little part.”
And that same spirit of generosity permeated the entire event. I was so blown away by everyone involved – it was ‘community in action’, coming together as one to rock the world of individuals in recovery.
Enjoy the photo gallery below
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And now a little taste of the stage and people thoroughly enjoying themselves on the dance floor…
Just how great was Thanksgiving in Rosalind, Alberta?
Glad you asked!
I have to admit that I was a bit nervous about driving to Rosalind by myself on Saturday because many of the roads I needed to travel on are so barren and have no cell service. But in spite of the cold, fog with iffy visibility and snow, it was a rather pleasant drive.
Seeing as this was my first visit there, Michaela met me at the Rosalind School parking lot so I could follow her on the gravel secondary highway eight-hundred-and-something to hers and Werner’s long driveway about 1 kilometer from the school.
We turned the corner on the driveway at around 4:30PM revealing the cutest little farm-house and property. It really is too bad that it got cold and snowed so early this year, I would have loved to have walked around the property a bit. But it was that wet kind of cold, you know? The kind that chills you to the bone in just minutes.
Anyway, after settling in, enjoying a nice cup of coffee and playing a few rounds of Macke Been, Werner drove us to the Brew House in Camrose for dinner. After dinner, we headed back to the farm-house, played a few more games, chatted about this and that and turned in early. I slept like a baby!
The next morning, Michaela made us a wonderful breakfast before starting all the food prep and cooking for the Thanksgiving dinner. We all helped out here and there, but for the most part, Michaela had it all under control. There would be five for dinner. Me, Michaela, Werner and his mom and dad, Claudia and Manfred, who I would be meeting for the first time.
It was fun.
Lots of laughter, lots of story-sharing and playful banter.
And what a feast it was, especially since this was the very first dinner party, Michaela had ever hosted!
So just how great was Thanksgiving in Rosalind, Alberta?
it was so great that I forgot to take pictures!
~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~
And how did you spend Thanksgiving? And what did you non-Canadians do this past weekend?
