Marcum musings on life as an expat: December 2014

Our household is officially in week 2 of the battle against cold/fever/sinus hell and I'm getting grumpy about it. I'm the only one who ended up on antibiotics but those haven't prevented the hellish march of this virus/bacteria through our tiny apartment. Sleep has been disrupted, ribs are sore from coughing and I'm not OK with it. I mean, it's Christmastime - why is this time of year is ripe with sickness? So today, I've given myself permission to wallow for a brief time and then get over it. And I have to give my daughter huge props as she seems to be standing firm in her resistance to said bug. Lord I hope she knocks all its teeth out and avoids it altogether - I'll buy her a cupcake (or two). Perhaps the upside of this situation is that school's not out yet so maybe, just maybe, we'll all be restored to semi-good health by the time we're on break and can enjoy all this city has to offer in the way of nostalgic traditions. Dear God, hear my prayer.

In an effort to get over my wallowing in self-pity, which admittedly is as unattractive as the cold sore developing on the tip of my nose, I'm choosing to reflect on the days leading up to the crash into feverish oblivion for a pick me up. If you've not ever been to the west coast of Canada, you're missing out. We live at the beach here in Vancouver - not SC beaches, but beaches nonetheless. And in a 10 minute car ride + 8 minute gondola ride we find ourselves atop Grouse Mountain. It's pretty amazing. A couple of weekends ago, we decided to head up to Grouse to see how much snow had accumulated and we were in for a treat! Grouse is our default weekend runaway in the summer and winter - skiing all winter and hiking all summer. Add that to the movie theatre there and the Christmas experience they create each year and it's obvious that boredom isn't an option. This was our first year heading up for the Christmas experience and we weren't sure what to expect. As we offloaded the gondola it was clear we were in for a treat!

Welcome to Santa's Workshop and the North Pole!

Just your regular day igloo building

Grouse mascot :)

Snow angels!

We walked into the chalet and were greeted by a gospel choir lining the staircase singing Christmas carols. We grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed outside to the outdoor ice skating rink. As if an outdoor ice skating rink isn't cool enough, located on its side was a huge sign marking the North Pole and Santa's Workshop. As this is the first year that only half of the children in our house really gets into Santa, it was a *joy* to see them both peering in the workshop's window to catch a glimpse of the jolly old elf himself. The kids enjoyed skating while Philip and I huddled by the fire pit. Once their ankles had had their workout, we headed to see the two reindeer Santa had brought for the day to Grouse. Vixen and Dancer were making our mountain their home for the season and it was pretty amazing to see live reindeer gnawing on hay. We visited with them a bit and then joined the queue for our turn to see Santa. Lydia was chomping at the bit.

The choir singing Christmas carols

Vixen & Dancer

Our turn came, an elf opened the workshop door and we were ushered into the warmth inside. The kids dutifully took their spot on Santa's lap and introduced themselves. Lydia went into explicit detail as to her Christmas list and Henry went through his - making clear it was for his sister's benefit. Then, the hilarious happened - suddenly, without explanation, Santa began engaging the kids in conversation and decided that our son's name was actually Paul. We like the name Paul. We really do. But our son's name is Henry and our Henry shot me a look that, if it had included words, would have sounded something like, "Are you kidding me? How did he get to PAUL from HENRY?" It took every ounce of self control I had not to lose it. The funnier part was that Santa was making an obvious effort to use their names repeatedly in conversation so they knew he knew their names - some sort of nice-list-confirmation-tactic. When we exited the workshop, Henry turned to me and asked [dripping with incredulous sarcasm], "WHY did he keep calling me PAUL?" And then I lost it - that kind of laughter that makes you snort - lost it.

Santa, Lydia & Henry/Paul

It was a great day - and I'm grateful we had an early experience of Christmas spirit to carry us through this latest battle of the germs. We made our way back to the chalet and visited the gingerbread village and listened to a few more carols before making our way back down in the gondola. It was near-perfect - aside from the name snafu. Alas - I wouldn't be surprised if a few gifts for Paul found their way into our apartment in a few days...we shall see. Onward and upward we climb dear friends - past the clogged noses and chest rattling coughs - and hope to find that Christmas sparkle again. Wallowing is now over - getting over it commenced - watching for magic the new focus. Merry Christmas - bumps and all...