After Philip read my last post he asked me how I could have forgotten about some other little vacation gems - they had to be documented for future use in our family and so I share them here. Oh - and I added a story about a dead bird - it has completely nothing to do with our vacation but bears recording as I'm sure it'll come up in a therapy session one day.
The forgotten stories:
One of the tricky parts about travelling from one country to another is how our banking systems talk (or don't talk) to one another. Fortunately, despite our bank's non-conversant cards with American ATMs, they've got a partnership with Bank of America. That means that any Bank of America ATM will do when we're in the USA and since Canadian currency isn't very helpful in the US, it was important for us to find a BOA ATM shortly after we arrived in California. We were prepared - we had scouted out ATM locations in relation to our hotel and finding the closest one was our first order of business when we awoke on our first morning in Long Beach. We got to the ATM after a brief search, entered our info, requested our cash, heard it dispense, BUT IT NEVER CAME OUT. Seriously. We heard the bills shuffling inside the machine, the receipt said we'd withdrawn a chunk of change but there was NO cash to show for the transaction. Immediately we put our card back in, checked the balance and it showed we had completed the transaction. Mild panic ensued as we called the number on the machine and stood around it like armed guards in the event it decided to spit out our money. Thankfully the person on the phone said they showed there was a machine error and had fixed the accounting so our balance was correct. Then we had to find a second machine...we hoofed it and, of all things, Hooters was our landmark by which we'd find the next ATM. We got there, it worked fine and our balance was correct. Order had been restored and heart function was back to normal within a couple of hours.
Fast forward to the evening of our first full day on the ship - if you've been on a cruise before you know that there's one or two nights during your voyage that are designated 'elegant' evenings. Now - elegant is clearly a broad term as you see everything from knit mini dresses to prom gowns. Not that I usually report my wardrobe choices, but it bears noting in this situation - I had taken white dress pants (forgive me for the heresy against the Southern rule about not wearing white pants before Easter - we were in the Mexican Riviera and Easter's late this year) and a deep purple shirt/pancho ensemble. We'll come back to this picture in a moment. Naturally - the idea of dressing up fancy (read - shirt with a collar that you tuck in and wear with khaki shorts/belt or a sun dress with leather not plastic flip flops) was of no interest to our children. And part of why we chose a cruise was the kids' programming, so it was up to them to whether to eat in the dining room or with camp friends every night except Philip's birthday night - that would be our family dinner night. And we had breakfast and lunch together daily so it wasn't like we weren't seeing each other. Around 930 that evening we picked up the kids and were on our way back to our rooms.
Here's the point where I mention that we know Lydia gets airsick - found that out the hard way the first time we flew to Vancouver and we have an oh-so-lovely-bought-at-the-only-store-open-before-a-midnight-red-eye hot pink LA t-shirt to prove it. This was our second cruise - there had been no signs of seasickness on either and she's spent time on smaller boats with no symptoms.
Our rooms were in the middle of the ship and we were at the far end of the hallway leading to them. Lydia proclaims, "I think I'm going to throw up," just in time for me to look at her and for Philip to grab her camp art projects and then the heaving began. And now here's the point where I remind you of my wardrobe choice...and of the fact that my motherly instinct when faced with a sick child is to reach for them to catch them - or whatever they're throwing my way. And I caught it - and had to carry it to the middle of the ship before disposing of it - at which point Lydia proclaimed, "I feel sooooo much better!" That was definitely a relief but my pants thought otherwise. And I learned about the beauty of the onboard laundry facilities and thanked the good Lord above for whoever was smart enough to make that a possibility and for the fact that we had actually brought laundry detergent with us just in case.
Switching gears a bit (you're welcome) I've always wanted to see whales in the water doing their dance and by some sort of miracle, all four of us happened to be looking out the window in one of our rooms when a whale breached! We saw the spray from its blowhole, the curve of its back and its tail as it returned to the depths of the sea. We stayed glued to the spot and saw that same whale do its thing 4 or 5 times and it was amazing. I told Philip we'll have to book a whale watching excursion in Vancouver during migration season because they really are amazing animals and they weren't the only wildlife we encountered. We saw a dolphin swimming next to the ship, we saw the sea lions AND the kids held an iguana and a macaw! We don't need to stinkin' zoo! It was a hoot.
From one animal experience to another, however. This isn't vacation related, but we've talked so very much about this story that I've got to record it so as never to forget it. We were walking home from school with friends about a week or so before we left for vacation and walked past a dead bird. When you have a 13 year old, 9 year old, a seven year old and 6 year old with you, a dead bird incites quite a reaction. There was no simple acknowledgement of its presence and a quite moving on from its carcass - oh no, there were screams, groans and several sets of legs running away. We avoided this route to/from school for the next couple of days. However, about 3 days later I needed to stop at our bank's ATM for field trip money or something and there's an ATM in 7-11 on the corner of Robson and Cardero Streets - and the bird had been seen on Cardero. We got the money, and I had assured the kids that the bird would certainly be gone by now - confident that some eater of dead things had carted it away. No sooner that Henry said, "Oh it is gone - it was right there," did the bone of a bird leg with the TALON STILL ATTACHED fall right in front of us. This time, I screamed - as did the kids - and I'm pretty sure we each had a minor cardiac moment. It was disgusting, creepy and bizarre all at the same time. As luck would have it, though, we walked that same route home that afternoon with the same friends with whom we'd first discovered said dead bird, and that bony talon was still there and the reaction was no less disappointing than the first time we'd come across the rest of that bird's body - God rest its soul. We walk that route still, and every so often one of the kids brings up, "Remember that time we saw that dead bird???," and we all shudder, walk a little quicker and laugh at how we were almost beaned in the head with a bloody bone...who'd a thunk?
Moving back to the land of the living...our trip ended on a lovely note - we spent our final night in Los Angeles and I like to think that Henry was dreaming of the fun he'd had because just before I fell asleep I heard him laugh his indelible, belly laugh in his sleep. That, my friends, I pray is the soundtrack to every life experience we have as a family and every one my children have independent of Philip and me. It was beautiful.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Friday, March 28, 2014
Vacation - Griswold vs. Norman Rockwell
It's been awhile since I've embraced my muse and it seems only appropriate that I dig back in after our latest family vacation. It is, after all, time to get back to normal - whatever that is. I've called out Norman Rockwell on a fairly regular basis - asserting that his pictures of perfect life situations inspire a completely unrealistic expectation of how life actually works. I still stand by that, sort of. I had to eat crow a little bit when it dawned on me that I, too, paint pictures of perfection when recalling family events; case in point - the retelling of our latest vacation stories to kind friends who asked how it went. In reality, we resembled more closely the Griswolds of the famous 'Vacation' movies. However, when people asked how our trip went, I always led with, "It was great!, "We had a ball!" DOH! I'd become my own version of Norman Rockwell's paintings. While our trip was great and we did have a ball, it turns out that I always report the 'highlight reel' to folks and neglect to mention the 'outtakes' of which there are more than a few - and they're often more priceless than the highlights. This is my attempt to tell the whole story - warts and all - and it's going to be lengthy.
We drove to Seattle to fly to LA on a Thursday - stopping at the outlet mall in Tulalip to buy new tennis shoes for Henry along the way. He blows through tennis shoes at lightening speed so I have heartburn buying the ones that aren't on sale. I thought we'd hit a gold mine on this Thursday morning - Lydia and I popped in on the father/son bonding at the sporting goods store and everything appeared to be perfect. The on-sale $40 Under Armour shoes looked great, apparently felt great AND were water resistant - a bonus when you live in Vancouver. So we girls headed next door to get sandals since Lydia had none that fit; we were shocked when the boys joined us wearing scowls. Long story short (and after a refusal to eat lunch by one 9 year old) - the shoes were blue and he didn't have enough blue clothes to go with them and was MAD that these were the ones he was 'forced' to buy and wear out of the store (rendering the return policy void). Ahhhh - vacation - it sounds so carefree! Once the crisis was averted, or at least mitigated, we got back on the road. We drove to Centry Link Field and Safeco Field for up-close looks and then headed to the airport. Philip was so excited because he was finally able to share with us his favorite fish and chips restaurant in the world. I know, I know - favorite fish and chips in an airport? We snagged a table and settled in as we discovered upon our arrival at the airport that our flight had been delayed, so instead of being 2.5 hours early, we were 5 hours early. Our server was kind and didn't rush us and the fish and chips were, oh-my-word delicious. The batter wasn't too thick, they were crunchy without being greasy and paired nicely with a cold beer. Things were looking up.
We boarded the plane after the kids had done great waiting the extra time and we were off. Next stop - LAX. The pilot made up as much time as he could and we landed around 10:15PM. Our luggage was some of the first off the plane and we got a taxi in no time - headed to Long Beach. Our cabbie, it turned out, was from Georgia so we had lots to talk about. The kids were kind of nodding off as we drove the 25 minutes or so to our hotel and then we ended up at the Long Beach port - not the cruise ship terminal area, the container ship port. The poor cabbie got supremely flustered, called dispatch for more precise directions and turned off the meter - we were that lost. Philip Google-mapped the hotel's location (thank God for smart phones) and our phone navigation system led us straight to the hotel - much more effectively than the cab's navigation system. Hotel Maya was a lovely property - our room looked out over the water and the Queen Mary and by midnight we were all asleep. Vacation had now begun for real. The morning brought a beautiful sunrise without a cloud in the sky - a morning we'd not seen in awhile here in Vancouver. We fixed our K-cup coffee and sat on the balcony listening to birds chatter and watching water lap against the boats in the harbor. We checked in with family to let them know we were safe and sound and set out to explore. The Queen Mary is lovely - she's a hotel now - and supposedly haunted. We walked to the stop for the free shuttle and wandered to downtown Long Beach. It's a lovely area and we walked all over the town. We've gotten so accustomed to walking that we felt atrophied from a day sitting in the airport. We even made a pilgrimage to Wal-Mart - not because I like Wal-Mart but because sunscreen, makeup brushes, hairspray and the like are infinitely cheaper in the States than in Canada. Shortly thereafter we were on our way - with a couple of not-so-happy-campers because we hadn't purchased any plastic toy-type items while we were in the superstore. Lydia got to pick lunch since she snapped out of her funk the quickest and we headed to Alondra's Wings (I think that was the name) and it was DE-LISH! Then we headed back to the hotel for a swim and dinner and an early bedtime.
Embarkation on the cruise ship was as simple as possible with 2000 people trying to move through a couple of lines. We got to our rooms (the kids got their own this time - which I highly recommend), changed into swimsuits and headed to the Lido Deck for lunch and swimming. Success! We were on the boat, children were sunscreen'd and swimsuited and we were having lunch before we hit a blood sugar 'issue'. We were excited, relaxed, laughing and having fun. The kids were excited about camp and Philip and I were excited about having some date time. And - we were on a ship - no one could get off, cell phones were rendered useless and emails were left to their own devices. Life was good.
We enjoyed 36 hours on the boat before docking in Cabo San Lucas for the first of two days there. It was overwhelming to debark and be immediately greeted by countless offers for the 'best price' on tours, boat excursions and such. My Southern self grew tired of saying, "No, thank you," but my manners were about ready to fly out the window by the time we reached the shopping district. We took our voucher into Royal International Jewelers or something so the kids could get their free 'starburst charms' - Lydia was thrilled and Henry not so much. But we were cooking with gas. We stopped in the little shops, bargaining a bit with the shop-owners - Lydia wanted a strapless dress (naturally) and Henry wanted a Barcelona soccer jersey. So began the spiral - this was the beginning of our on-shore activities and we mean parents said we weren't buying souvenirs until we headed back toward the boat. This did not go over well...as disappointment comingling with hunger pangs never ends well in our house. Thus began the pouting by our eldest...and in his defense I must admit that he's doing this pre-puberty thing so there are hormones involved and we, his parents, are growing stupider by the minute. Nevertheless, we simply replied, "I'm sorry you're frustrated, but that's how it is. We're here to have fun and go have lunch. We hope you have fun too." And off we went. It only made tourist sense to have lunch in Cabo at Cabo Wabo and that's just what we did. Yummy mahi tacos, quesadillas, burritos and beef tacos at our table...and then we headed in search of a boat tour of the Cabo peninsula. We had been advised by experienced friends to choose from the plethora of tour operators on the pier and landed in the vessel "Poolito" - a glass bottom boat - for the price of $20 for our entire family's tour. We donned our lifevests and taxied out to the open water - passing sea lions, pelicans and plenty of seagulls. The water was choppy and the boat was akin to a souped up john boat - the glass bottom conveniently had a little wall surrounding it which Henry held onto for dear life. But we saw some beautiful fish, were treated to sights of renowned rock formations, a colony of sea lions the Cabo Arch, Lovers' Beach and Divorce Beach. Folks were jumping off of tall rocks into the crystal blue water and it was lovely. About halfway through our tour I noticed our brave captain sipping cervesa from his Styrofoam cup and smoking cigarettes. I chose not to worry as surely he knew that smoking that close to a gas tank/motor wasn't entirely safe and he'd been at this long enough to know to keep his distance. That $20 was some of the best money we spent - and we had an hour's tour of the southernmost tip of the Baja Peninsula. It was great and we headed back to shore to get onto the big ship. Day one in Cabo had been quite the success.
Day Two - we headed back to the tour operator who had put us on "Poolito" and he put us on "Claudia" today - captained by Alejandro and his first mate by Luis. At 8:30AM they dropped us at Lover's Beach (and by dropped, I mean we literally jumped off the boat into 3 feet of water and waded to shore) and assured us they'd be back by 11:30AM to pick us up. We were among the first to arrive and it was gorgeous. We donned our snorkeling gear and played in the clear water among the pretty fish. We reapplied sunscreen dutifully and played in the waves and walked over to Divorce Beach. You can't swim there - the water's current is too strong and dangerous. I'm pleased to report that Philip and I returned from Divorce Beach unscathed and we spent the rest of our time on Lover's Beach playing as a family. Around 11:15AM I saw Luis and Alejandro picking up other folks and just double checked that they'd be coming back...we weren't entirely sure...but there were enough tour operators in the area that we knew we could get back no matter what. But Luis and Alejandro returned for us, took us back to the marina and we saw more sea lions and pelicans and seagulls. It was time for a snack - so, naturally, we chose Senor Frogs because it looked so inviting with its cute little frog on the roof and festive music playing. And - it was on our way back to the ship so it was perfect! Enter parental fail #1 - turns out Senor Frogs was having a beer funneling contest among the spring breakers who were there (and anyone willing to funnel a beer, actually). As we were just beginning to eat our nachos and were bumping up against a blood sugar issue with hungry children, we were trapped. So, as the server stood on the 2nd floor balcony and poured beer into the clear tubing for the person sitting RIGHT NEXT TO OUR TABLE to guzzle, we found ourselves explaining the science of funneling and its stupidity to our children. Take that Norman Rockwell. After that - it was definitely time to get back onto the ship.
We awoke the next morning in beautiful Puerto Vallarta - and I woke up the kids singing an original song that they've made me vow never to sing again. And I dutifully proclaimed as we hopped off the boat, "De plane, de plane," which my kids totally didn't get. Ahhh - I must work on that as a parent. We were greeted in the shore excursion line by our 'personal pirate' for the day - Spider. He led us to our pirate ship - supposedly a perfect replica of 1492's famous Santa Maria (the shark mouth urinals and skeleton head toilets notwithstanding). Spider led us to our seats which we shared with Henry's new buddy Nicholas and his family, and the fun began! The pirates of our ship led us in dances that were worthy of a Montreat youth conference - we were dancing back and forth with complete strangers on our quest for a private island that promised great snorkeling, kayaking and banana boating. Then - in a serendipitous turn of fate, Henry was invited to participate in the pirate show. He even had a speaking part! We relinquished the care of our child into that of pirates - namely a most voluptuous (perhaps artificially so) female pirate in a spandex skirt, leather bustier and fish net stockings. I had no idea that pirates had spandex and fish nets...much less leather bustiers. Henry was transformed into "Billy Bones" - son of the captain of our ship and through a series of dramatic twists and turns Henry was proclaimed the next captain of our vessel! It was great and he had a ball.
Then we got to our 'snorkeling site' - and I use quotation marks because I think they were using the term snorkeling in the loosest possible sense. We got into our little tender boat in our life jackets and they told us we were required to wear them while we snorkeled. Um, what? Basically they stopped the boat and said, "Jump in! Quickly - jump in! We have 20 minutes to snorkel". And they started throwing fish parts into the water to attract the myriad of beautiful fish we were supposedly going to observe. This was all fine and good, but the water was cold and murky. It took several attempts to convince Lydia to jump from the boat. She immediately freaked out upon being in the water due to a BBC movie we'd seen in 4D at the Vancouver Aquarium and refused to stay in the water. I wore my mask and my life vest meant for a person 8' tall for about 47 seconds and saw 3 blurry fish before it was clear that we needed to just get back on the boat. I swam with Lydia to the boat, they put out a little ladder and we climbed aboard to observe people who were observing fish while floating unnaturally with their heads thrown back due to the life vests they were required to wear. Then it was time to head to the beach. Relief. The sand was rocky and almost painful to walk on but the beach was beautiful. I dropped Henry's new tennis shoe in the ocean (since he wouldn't wear his water shoes because they had sand in them) - yep - the new tennis shoes that had gotten our trip off to a grand start. My cover up got wet as I lifted our beach bag overhead so our towels would stay dry as I hopped into the water from the tender boat again. And Philip fell out of the boat into the ocean with his whole self and snorkel gear. Good thing we all had on our life vests!
The 'pirates' started messing with Lydia - playing with her really, but it was clear that she was uncomfortable with the language barrier. She immediately got into her Kuk Sool stance and raised her fists in front of her face to defend herself and proclaimed defiantly, "STOP! I am not afraid to go back home, get my julbongs (nunchuks) and come back here and kick all your dumb butts!" I was proud and mortified at the same time and breathed a sigh of relief because my girl was going to be just fine in this life. She went on a treasure hunt and helped discover chocolate coins while Henry rode the banana boat with his buddy Nicholas. Then it was time to head back to the pirate ship. This meant another ride on our tender boat. Considering our last dismount hadn't been so graceful, I was a little anxious. We put our giant life vests back on (it came down to my mid-thigh - I'm not joking) and had to gauge our timing carefully as the ocean would push the boat onto the sand just before yanking it back toward the sea - you didn't want to find yourself halfway in the boat when it reversed its direction! I got in OK and helped pull the kids on board. Philip was next and we all got on fine but the boat made a sudden movement and nailed Philip's chins as he tried to adjust our gear. Suffice it to say, we made it on the boat and were grateful for easily accessible steps up to the pirate ship. Once we were back on board we enjoyed a nice lunch, more dances and a victory margarita. Two hours later we were back on land and ready for showers - with an official pirate for a son.
Our trip ended with two days at sea before pulling back into Long Beach. The kids were happy to be back in camp with their friends and by mid-morning of the second day Philip and I were both bored. We chalked this up to a vacation success and also looked forward to getting back home and re-establishing routine. Our final afternoon on the boat, Lydia reminded us that she was going to be performing in the camp talent show! Originally, she and a friend were going to do a ballet routine, but Lydia changed her mind and the friend bailed, so she channeled her inner Katy Perry and sang 'Roar'. She was great! Right there in front of a good 40 people or so, she belted out the lyrics with absolutely no fear - she even delivered her performance on her tip toes because she wanted to be as close to the mic as possible. [I'm trying to post the video...but there's a problem...will keep trying] It was clear we're raising two hams - and I'm grateful they are willing/able to be in front of crowds with such confidence. It's pretty amazing to watch.
We headed from Santa Monica to Beverly Hills and walked a bit on Rodeo Drive - and, of course, we stopped in the Beverly Wilshire for some photos and Henry saw George Paul...he's a very, very tall man! We tried to exit at the hotel's side entrance but weren't allowed to - turns out Joe Biden was in town so security was tight! Then we moved on driving down Sunset Boulevard stopping at Garmin's Chinese Theater, Dolby Theater and the walk of fame. I saw Kermit's star! Lydia saw Tinker Bell's! We saw Bing Crosby's autograph - it was superb. So began the most epic parent fail on our trip... We met back up with our tour bus operator after about 20 minutes of exploration (not nearly enough - I can't wait to go back) and no sooner than Lydia's caboose hit the seat did she proclaim, "Mom - I have to go to the washroom" [washroom is Canadian for bathroom]. I calmly explained we'd take her when we got to the next stop, but after heralding the sight of the Hollywood sign our bus driver informed us that the next stop would be the airport. This would be fine, but it's about 5PM in LA and traffic is jammed and we're nowhere near the airport. I considered asking the driver to stop so I could run her into a hotel or something, but he had launched into the explanation that we had a Brazilian couple on board who needed to make a 6:30PM flight to Japan. It's 5PM. There was no way I could convince those folks to stop for my six year old to go to the bathroom. Then the tears started...she was in pain. I tried to keep her calm - assuring her we'd be there as soon as possible - she didn't buy it.
They say necessity is the mother of invention and I've got to say that as a mama I've encountered more instances of 'necessity' than I ever dreamed possible, but this was a new one. Finally, I remembered her fleece jacket and the unique absorbency qualities of said fabric. I wadded it up, sat her on it strategically and poof! we had our very own porta-potty. This, friends, I'm confident would never been the scene depicted in a Rockwell painting, but I'm confident we could convince "Vacation" writers to include this in their next installment. The look of relief that spread over my daughter's face was worth every ounce of embarrassment my invention could have caused. And I have to give a shout-out to Old Navy fleece jackets for their multitude of uses and their extreme absorbency - ShamWow has nothing on them. While I'll never know, but will always doubt, if the couple made their flight to Japan, I rest easy that on that tour bus my daughter witnessed problem solving at its finest. With a little wipe of the seat where she was sitting and careful carrying of an unnoticeably wet jacket, we got off the bus and every sign of our little trick was removed. And, thanks be to God, the hotel had a laundry facility for guests (which I had to wrestle from someone trying to use all of the washers at once - but a quick explanation of why I needed a machine and they conceded).
We boarded our 6:45AM flight the following morning with bleary eyes and tired bones and were ever-grateful to firmly plant ourselves on our sofa after the drive back from Seattle. Home is good and we were glad to be back. Our adventures were grand - the highlight reel and the outtakes - and I now eat my words of criticism for Norman Rockwell. For I've decided that his adventures had to be at least as unpredictable as ours, but he chose to embrace the highlights and focus on the positive. I think I'll buy into his reality - for it's made even sweeter knowing what the outtakes are and how they make the highlights even richer. Here's to a vacation we'll never forget.
We drove to Seattle to fly to LA on a Thursday - stopping at the outlet mall in Tulalip to buy new tennis shoes for Henry along the way. He blows through tennis shoes at lightening speed so I have heartburn buying the ones that aren't on sale. I thought we'd hit a gold mine on this Thursday morning - Lydia and I popped in on the father/son bonding at the sporting goods store and everything appeared to be perfect. The on-sale $40 Under Armour shoes looked great, apparently felt great AND were water resistant - a bonus when you live in Vancouver. So we girls headed next door to get sandals since Lydia had none that fit; we were shocked when the boys joined us wearing scowls. Long story short (and after a refusal to eat lunch by one 9 year old) - the shoes were blue and he didn't have enough blue clothes to go with them and was MAD that these were the ones he was 'forced' to buy and wear out of the store (rendering the return policy void). Ahhhh - vacation - it sounds so carefree! Once the crisis was averted, or at least mitigated, we got back on the road. We drove to Centry Link Field and Safeco Field for up-close looks and then headed to the airport. Philip was so excited because he was finally able to share with us his favorite fish and chips restaurant in the world. I know, I know - favorite fish and chips in an airport? We snagged a table and settled in as we discovered upon our arrival at the airport that our flight had been delayed, so instead of being 2.5 hours early, we were 5 hours early. Our server was kind and didn't rush us and the fish and chips were, oh-my-word delicious. The batter wasn't too thick, they were crunchy without being greasy and paired nicely with a cold beer. Things were looking up.
Century Link Field - home of Super Bowl champions Seattle Seahawks!
We boarded the plane after the kids had done great waiting the extra time and we were off. Next stop - LAX. The pilot made up as much time as he could and we landed around 10:15PM. Our luggage was some of the first off the plane and we got a taxi in no time - headed to Long Beach. Our cabbie, it turned out, was from Georgia so we had lots to talk about. The kids were kind of nodding off as we drove the 25 minutes or so to our hotel and then we ended up at the Long Beach port - not the cruise ship terminal area, the container ship port. The poor cabbie got supremely flustered, called dispatch for more precise directions and turned off the meter - we were that lost. Philip Google-mapped the hotel's location (thank God for smart phones) and our phone navigation system led us straight to the hotel - much more effectively than the cab's navigation system. Hotel Maya was a lovely property - our room looked out over the water and the Queen Mary and by midnight we were all asleep. Vacation had now begun for real. The morning brought a beautiful sunrise without a cloud in the sky - a morning we'd not seen in awhile here in Vancouver. We fixed our K-cup coffee and sat on the balcony listening to birds chatter and watching water lap against the boats in the harbor. We checked in with family to let them know we were safe and sound and set out to explore. The Queen Mary is lovely - she's a hotel now - and supposedly haunted. We walked to the stop for the free shuttle and wandered to downtown Long Beach. It's a lovely area and we walked all over the town. We've gotten so accustomed to walking that we felt atrophied from a day sitting in the airport. We even made a pilgrimage to Wal-Mart - not because I like Wal-Mart but because sunscreen, makeup brushes, hairspray and the like are infinitely cheaper in the States than in Canada. Shortly thereafter we were on our way - with a couple of not-so-happy-campers because we hadn't purchased any plastic toy-type items while we were in the superstore. Lydia got to pick lunch since she snapped out of her funk the quickest and we headed to Alondra's Wings (I think that was the name) and it was DE-LISH! Then we headed back to the hotel for a swim and dinner and an early bedtime.
Sunset view from our room
The Queen Mary
Embarkation on the cruise ship was as simple as possible with 2000 people trying to move through a couple of lines. We got to our rooms (the kids got their own this time - which I highly recommend), changed into swimsuits and headed to the Lido Deck for lunch and swimming. Success! We were on the boat, children were sunscreen'd and swimsuited and we were having lunch before we hit a blood sugar 'issue'. We were excited, relaxed, laughing and having fun. The kids were excited about camp and Philip and I were excited about having some date time. And - we were on a ship - no one could get off, cell phones were rendered useless and emails were left to their own devices. Life was good.
Towel animals were a hit!
We enjoyed 36 hours on the boat before docking in Cabo San Lucas for the first of two days there. It was overwhelming to debark and be immediately greeted by countless offers for the 'best price' on tours, boat excursions and such. My Southern self grew tired of saying, "No, thank you," but my manners were about ready to fly out the window by the time we reached the shopping district. We took our voucher into Royal International Jewelers or something so the kids could get their free 'starburst charms' - Lydia was thrilled and Henry not so much. But we were cooking with gas. We stopped in the little shops, bargaining a bit with the shop-owners - Lydia wanted a strapless dress (naturally) and Henry wanted a Barcelona soccer jersey. So began the spiral - this was the beginning of our on-shore activities and we mean parents said we weren't buying souvenirs until we headed back toward the boat. This did not go over well...as disappointment comingling with hunger pangs never ends well in our house. Thus began the pouting by our eldest...and in his defense I must admit that he's doing this pre-puberty thing so there are hormones involved and we, his parents, are growing stupider by the minute. Nevertheless, we simply replied, "I'm sorry you're frustrated, but that's how it is. We're here to have fun and go have lunch. We hope you have fun too." And off we went. It only made tourist sense to have lunch in Cabo at Cabo Wabo and that's just what we did. Yummy mahi tacos, quesadillas, burritos and beef tacos at our table...and then we headed in search of a boat tour of the Cabo peninsula. We had been advised by experienced friends to choose from the plethora of tour operators on the pier and landed in the vessel "Poolito" - a glass bottom boat - for the price of $20 for our entire family's tour. We donned our lifevests and taxied out to the open water - passing sea lions, pelicans and plenty of seagulls. The water was choppy and the boat was akin to a souped up john boat - the glass bottom conveniently had a little wall surrounding it which Henry held onto for dear life. But we saw some beautiful fish, were treated to sights of renowned rock formations, a colony of sea lions the Cabo Arch, Lovers' Beach and Divorce Beach. Folks were jumping off of tall rocks into the crystal blue water and it was lovely. About halfway through our tour I noticed our brave captain sipping cervesa from his Styrofoam cup and smoking cigarettes. I chose not to worry as surely he knew that smoking that close to a gas tank/motor wasn't entirely safe and he'd been at this long enough to know to keep his distance. That $20 was some of the best money we spent - and we had an hour's tour of the southernmost tip of the Baja Peninsula. It was great and we headed back to shore to get onto the big ship. Day one in Cabo had been quite the success.
Seeing fish from our boat - they were much more colorful in person :)
I think these folks are nuts - but it was fun to watch...
The Arch
Boat fun - beautiful weather...
Day Two - we headed back to the tour operator who had put us on "Poolito" and he put us on "Claudia" today - captained by Alejandro and his first mate by Luis. At 8:30AM they dropped us at Lover's Beach (and by dropped, I mean we literally jumped off the boat into 3 feet of water and waded to shore) and assured us they'd be back by 11:30AM to pick us up. We were among the first to arrive and it was gorgeous. We donned our snorkeling gear and played in the clear water among the pretty fish. We reapplied sunscreen dutifully and played in the waves and walked over to Divorce Beach. You can't swim there - the water's current is too strong and dangerous. I'm pleased to report that Philip and I returned from Divorce Beach unscathed and we spent the rest of our time on Lover's Beach playing as a family. Around 11:15AM I saw Luis and Alejandro picking up other folks and just double checked that they'd be coming back...we weren't entirely sure...but there were enough tour operators in the area that we knew we could get back no matter what. But Luis and Alejandro returned for us, took us back to the marina and we saw more sea lions and pelicans and seagulls. It was time for a snack - so, naturally, we chose Senor Frogs because it looked so inviting with its cute little frog on the roof and festive music playing. And - it was on our way back to the ship so it was perfect! Enter parental fail #1 - turns out Senor Frogs was having a beer funneling contest among the spring breakers who were there (and anyone willing to funnel a beer, actually). As we were just beginning to eat our nachos and were bumping up against a blood sugar issue with hungry children, we were trapped. So, as the server stood on the 2nd floor balcony and poured beer into the clear tubing for the person sitting RIGHT NEXT TO OUR TABLE to guzzle, we found ourselves explaining the science of funneling and its stupidity to our children. Take that Norman Rockwell. After that - it was definitely time to get back onto the ship.
We awoke the next morning in beautiful Puerto Vallarta - and I woke up the kids singing an original song that they've made me vow never to sing again. And I dutifully proclaimed as we hopped off the boat, "De plane, de plane," which my kids totally didn't get. Ahhh - I must work on that as a parent. We were greeted in the shore excursion line by our 'personal pirate' for the day - Spider. He led us to our pirate ship - supposedly a perfect replica of 1492's famous Santa Maria (the shark mouth urinals and skeleton head toilets notwithstanding). Spider led us to our seats which we shared with Henry's new buddy Nicholas and his family, and the fun began! The pirates of our ship led us in dances that were worthy of a Montreat youth conference - we were dancing back and forth with complete strangers on our quest for a private island that promised great snorkeling, kayaking and banana boating. Then - in a serendipitous turn of fate, Henry was invited to participate in the pirate show. He even had a speaking part! We relinquished the care of our child into that of pirates - namely a most voluptuous (perhaps artificially so) female pirate in a spandex skirt, leather bustier and fish net stockings. I had no idea that pirates had spandex and fish nets...much less leather bustiers. Henry was transformed into "Billy Bones" - son of the captain of our ship and through a series of dramatic twists and turns Henry was proclaimed the next captain of our vessel! It was great and he had a ball.
Pirate Ship - hoping not to walk the plank
Drumming before setting sail
Time for hair and makeup before the big show
Billy Bones' debut - in the care of his pirate-ess...
Billy Bones is the new captain!
Our sweet girl declaring "Land ho!"
Then we got to our 'snorkeling site' - and I use quotation marks because I think they were using the term snorkeling in the loosest possible sense. We got into our little tender boat in our life jackets and they told us we were required to wear them while we snorkeled. Um, what? Basically they stopped the boat and said, "Jump in! Quickly - jump in! We have 20 minutes to snorkel". And they started throwing fish parts into the water to attract the myriad of beautiful fish we were supposedly going to observe. This was all fine and good, but the water was cold and murky. It took several attempts to convince Lydia to jump from the boat. She immediately freaked out upon being in the water due to a BBC movie we'd seen in 4D at the Vancouver Aquarium and refused to stay in the water. I wore my mask and my life vest meant for a person 8' tall for about 47 seconds and saw 3 blurry fish before it was clear that we needed to just get back on the boat. I swam with Lydia to the boat, they put out a little ladder and we climbed aboard to observe people who were observing fish while floating unnaturally with their heads thrown back due to the life vests they were required to wear. Then it was time to head to the beach. Relief. The sand was rocky and almost painful to walk on but the beach was beautiful. I dropped Henry's new tennis shoe in the ocean (since he wouldn't wear his water shoes because they had sand in them) - yep - the new tennis shoes that had gotten our trip off to a grand start. My cover up got wet as I lifted our beach bag overhead so our towels would stay dry as I hopped into the water from the tender boat again. And Philip fell out of the boat into the ocean with his whole self and snorkel gear. Good thing we all had on our life vests!
The 'pirates' started messing with Lydia - playing with her really, but it was clear that she was uncomfortable with the language barrier. She immediately got into her Kuk Sool stance and raised her fists in front of her face to defend herself and proclaimed defiantly, "STOP! I am not afraid to go back home, get my julbongs (nunchuks) and come back here and kick all your dumb butts!" I was proud and mortified at the same time and breathed a sigh of relief because my girl was going to be just fine in this life. She went on a treasure hunt and helped discover chocolate coins while Henry rode the banana boat with his buddy Nicholas. Then it was time to head back to the pirate ship. This meant another ride on our tender boat. Considering our last dismount hadn't been so graceful, I was a little anxious. We put our giant life vests back on (it came down to my mid-thigh - I'm not joking) and had to gauge our timing carefully as the ocean would push the boat onto the sand just before yanking it back toward the sea - you didn't want to find yourself halfway in the boat when it reversed its direction! I got in OK and helped pull the kids on board. Philip was next and we all got on fine but the boat made a sudden movement and nailed Philip's chins as he tried to adjust our gear. Suffice it to say, we made it on the boat and were grateful for easily accessible steps up to the pirate ship. Once we were back on board we enjoyed a nice lunch, more dances and a victory margarita. Two hours later we were back on land and ready for showers - with an official pirate for a son.
Our trip ended with two days at sea before pulling back into Long Beach. The kids were happy to be back in camp with their friends and by mid-morning of the second day Philip and I were both bored. We chalked this up to a vacation success and also looked forward to getting back home and re-establishing routine. Our final afternoon on the boat, Lydia reminded us that she was going to be performing in the camp talent show! Originally, she and a friend were going to do a ballet routine, but Lydia changed her mind and the friend bailed, so she channeled her inner Katy Perry and sang 'Roar'. She was great! Right there in front of a good 40 people or so, she belted out the lyrics with absolutely no fear - she even delivered her performance on her tip toes because she wanted to be as close to the mic as possible. [I'm trying to post the video...but there's a problem...will keep trying] It was clear we're raising two hams - and I'm grateful they are willing/able to be in front of crowds with such confidence. It's pretty amazing to watch.
We pulled back into Long Beach, ate a late breakfast and played cards and tic tac toe until it was our turn to get off the ship. We were fortunate to have just as easy a time getting off the ship as we did getting on and were in a cab heading to LA within 20 minutes. We got to our hotel, inquired about a tour that would show us all the 'high holies' of LA and 30 minutes later found ourselves on a tour bus heading for Venice Beach. We hopped out (having been warned of the alternative options that Venice Beach offered) and Henry was immediately uncomfortable. I found it to remind me of Myrtle Beach with + pot but the beach itself was lovely. We hopped back on the bus after buying hot dogs from a street vendor and headed for Santa Monica. I channeled my inner Three's Company cast member as we drove down streets where the show's intro had been filmed. The Santa Monica pier was very cool - and we gazed down on the beach where Baywatch was filmed...and then kept walking along the pier. That's when our luck changed. I've heard that what happened next is actually good luck, but in the thick of it, I didn't feel lucky at all. A seagull managed to hit Henry and Lydia and me - I bore the brunt of its expulsion of excrement, but the kids were none too pleased to have been pooped upon. Thank heavens we were close to bathrooms and could clean ourselves up as best as possible before heading back to the bus. Sadly, I'd have to wait to get back to the hotel to wash my hair...
Santa Monica Pier
On our way to the pier
Evidence of the seagull attack
We headed from Santa Monica to Beverly Hills and walked a bit on Rodeo Drive - and, of course, we stopped in the Beverly Wilshire for some photos and Henry saw George Paul...he's a very, very tall man! We tried to exit at the hotel's side entrance but weren't allowed to - turns out Joe Biden was in town so security was tight! Then we moved on driving down Sunset Boulevard stopping at Garmin's Chinese Theater, Dolby Theater and the walk of fame. I saw Kermit's star! Lydia saw Tinker Bell's! We saw Bing Crosby's autograph - it was superb. So began the most epic parent fail on our trip... We met back up with our tour bus operator after about 20 minutes of exploration (not nearly enough - I can't wait to go back) and no sooner than Lydia's caboose hit the seat did she proclaim, "Mom - I have to go to the washroom" [washroom is Canadian for bathroom]. I calmly explained we'd take her when we got to the next stop, but after heralding the sight of the Hollywood sign our bus driver informed us that the next stop would be the airport. This would be fine, but it's about 5PM in LA and traffic is jammed and we're nowhere near the airport. I considered asking the driver to stop so I could run her into a hotel or something, but he had launched into the explanation that we had a Brazilian couple on board who needed to make a 6:30PM flight to Japan. It's 5PM. There was no way I could convince those folks to stop for my six year old to go to the bathroom. Then the tears started...she was in pain. I tried to keep her calm - assuring her we'd be there as soon as possible - she didn't buy it.
Dolby Theater - hello Mr. Oscar
They say necessity is the mother of invention and I've got to say that as a mama I've encountered more instances of 'necessity' than I ever dreamed possible, but this was a new one. Finally, I remembered her fleece jacket and the unique absorbency qualities of said fabric. I wadded it up, sat her on it strategically and poof! we had our very own porta-potty. This, friends, I'm confident would never been the scene depicted in a Rockwell painting, but I'm confident we could convince "Vacation" writers to include this in their next installment. The look of relief that spread over my daughter's face was worth every ounce of embarrassment my invention could have caused. And I have to give a shout-out to Old Navy fleece jackets for their multitude of uses and their extreme absorbency - ShamWow has nothing on them. While I'll never know, but will always doubt, if the couple made their flight to Japan, I rest easy that on that tour bus my daughter witnessed problem solving at its finest. With a little wipe of the seat where she was sitting and careful carrying of an unnoticeably wet jacket, we got off the bus and every sign of our little trick was removed. And, thanks be to God, the hotel had a laundry facility for guests (which I had to wrestle from someone trying to use all of the washers at once - but a quick explanation of why I needed a machine and they conceded).
We boarded our 6:45AM flight the following morning with bleary eyes and tired bones and were ever-grateful to firmly plant ourselves on our sofa after the drive back from Seattle. Home is good and we were glad to be back. Our adventures were grand - the highlight reel and the outtakes - and I now eat my words of criticism for Norman Rockwell. For I've decided that his adventures had to be at least as unpredictable as ours, but he chose to embrace the highlights and focus on the positive. I think I'll buy into his reality - for it's made even sweeter knowing what the outtakes are and how they make the highlights even richer. Here's to a vacation we'll never forget.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Family Day
This post is a bit delayed as I had crafted paragraphs of thoughts and my opinions on Valentine's Day but then chose not to post it. I suppose my opinions on the matter of the pink/red/flower laden day are actually inconsequential, so I decided I'd just leave it with the hope that the world could choose a moment every day to pause and be loving. Seems to me that if we practiced loving and adding love to the world on a daily basis that the world may become more loving and kind. The one piece from that unpublished post that I'll reserve to pull out another time is the encounter I had with my seventh grade math teacher who belittled flowers I received one Valentine's Day...I'll save that story. For surely, there will be a time that's it's applicable again... All that to say, I'm playing catch up - refocusing on the intent of this blog - chronicling our time here in Canada as honestly as I can.
We're known for having 'family days' - days that aren't planned beyond the fact that the four of us will venture out together and greet whatever crosses our path. I love these days and some of my favorite memories have been born on these kinds of days. Needless to say, I was thrilled to learn that British Columbia actually has a Family Day provincial holiday - brilliant! So - Monday before last the kids were out of school and Philip didn't have to work and we embraced our first Canadian Family Day by celebrating all weekend! We took our time leaving the house on Saturday - a beautiful albeit cold day - and we wandered down the street for smoothies on our way to the aquabus. We boarded the pontoon boat for the brief ride across False Creek to Granville Island so the kids could serve as tour guides to Philip. The three of us had made this same trip while he was in Atlanta for a wedding back in November and Henry and Lydia had quite a time showing him around Kids Mart. We ducked in and out of stores none of us had visited and went back to the restaurant where we'd eaten without Philip so he could be included in our conversations having had the experience with us. We wandered for a couple of hours and then hopped the boat back across the waterway and began our walk home. We took a circuitous route - crossing in front of the Vancouver Art Gallery and checking out the giant rocking horse proclaiming the arrival of the Year of the Horse as part of lunar new year celebrations. We stopped at the kids' favorite restaurant for poutine (a truly Canadian delicacy of French Fries doused with gravy and topped with cheese curds...which really should be a Southern dish - it would fit right in). We wound down to the convention center area to see projected photos as the sun went down over the water. The fifty winning photos (out of 28,000+ entries) caught moments of extreme sports and were truly amazing. We wandered past the Olympic torch and headed home. It was a lovely day - wonderful to be outside in the sunshine - and it was a day that made me laugh out loud. Never, not in a million years, had I imagined the term 'aquabus' in my personal vocabulary and it certainly didn't occur to me that we'd be semi-regular patrons. 'Hopping the creek' wasn't new to me - after all, Philip and I met while living in Charleston on the SC coast...the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and now we claim the Pacific Ocean as home. This time last year saw me functioning as a single parent mostly with several part time jobs, weekly dance classes for Lydia, basketball and martial arts for Henry and more grey hairs than I'd ever had before. So on this sunny Saturday before Family Day, I laughed.
But Saturday's laughter didn't hold a candle to the laughter brewing in response to Sunday and Monday. We went to our version of Academy Sports called Sport Chek in search of one thing - and honestly I don't even remember what the one thing was. What we found were several racks of used ski and snowboard gear on sale at huge discounts. And we left with a lot more than one thing. This, you see, is also hilarious to me. When we visited last year and meandered up to Whistler for skiing fun, it was obvious very quickly that I preferred to serve as the family cheerleader when it comes to this sport. The kids, however, spent the rest of last winter asking when we'd be skiing again and Philip wanted to conquer skiing himself. So - here we are - this Southern girl now lives in a home that boasts 2 sets of skis, 1 snowboard and all the 'stuff' that comes with these activities. I did invest in my own snow pants and ski jacket just so I could look the part as I cheer on my family - however, I really intend to get some quality time in front of a fireplace somewhere with a good book and a good cup of coffee while my family hits the slopes. Turns out, our coastal home here in Vancouver [where we're enjoying a milder winter than my SC family and friends] is a mere 15 minute drive from its closest ski area! We knew Grouse Mountain was the closest peak, but we had no idea how easy it is to access. On our first visit we rode up the Skyride to the plateau, hiked in the snow, threw snowballs and explored the restaurants. Then we rode the tractor-pulled sleigh up to the peak flats where we scouted out where to buy hot cocoa and where to practice snow skills. We left with a 'Local's Pass' up the mountain for a year and 3 out of 4 of us left with an appetite to hit the mountain donning skis or snowboard. And I laughed again...louder this time. We hadn't even made it to Monday.
You can't get new sporting equipment and not want to put it to use, so this was our aim for the official Family Day. We stopped back by Sport Chek to pick up the skis since the bindings had been added and headed for the hills. Everyone was suited up, except me, which turned out to be OK but I briefly worried a little, having not thought through my attire completely, since I was sidetracked by thinking through our children's attire. My anxiety was high - hoping the kids would remember what they'd learned in their lessons last season and realizing that I had NO advice to offer Henry as he strapped on his snowboard for the first time. We got all our equipment hauled up to the Skyride, bought our lift tickets and we were off. We got up to the mountain, disembarked the gondola and it was time for rubber to meet the road - or fiberglass to meet the snow as was the case. Though I had brought my book with me, it stayed firmly planted in our bag as I became the chief snowboard strapper and ski seater for the kids. Lydia and Philip took off to practice skiing while I hung out with Henry. This all seemed absolutely smart until I got him all strapped onto the board and looked into his blue eyes and said, "I have no idea what to tell you other than GO. So...GO!" And he went. And he fell. And I strapped him back in and told him to go again. He did great for his first time out - especially with the high quality instruction he received. We all got quite the workout - I did more consecutive squats on that Monday than I've ever done in my life - clearly my decision to climb the 9 flights of stairs to our apartment each day has come in handy. As the sun started dropping in the sky and lights started coming on on the slopes, I laughed again. You see, the one thing I had [tried to] adamantly proclaim was that we needed to be home at a reasonable time because Monday is an actual school night and we didn't need the kids going to school exhausted. Ha! As we boarded the Skyride back to the parking lot it was dark as pitch and regular bedtimes had flown out the window. We grabbed a pizza from our favorite spot here in town and headed home - and at this moment I missed the convenience of simply heading back to our hotel room as we did in Whistler last year.
Alas - our first official Family Day is in the books. And ski/snowboard equipment is stored throughout our apartment and lessons are booked for this coming weekend. I'll have a book in my bag again on Saturday but will also be suited up in my snow gear because I get to accompany the kids on their lessons. Fear not, the camera will be in hand and I look forward to embracing my role as Marcum Family Sports Photographer. Philip will ski and I'll continue to laugh at the irony of my SC self now having a 'Local's Pass' to a ski resort - life is a funny animal full of twists and turns. Lucky for me the twists and turns are ever so entertaining and my travelling companions are pretty darn fun; this Canadian life is a good one indeed.
We're known for having 'family days' - days that aren't planned beyond the fact that the four of us will venture out together and greet whatever crosses our path. I love these days and some of my favorite memories have been born on these kinds of days. Needless to say, I was thrilled to learn that British Columbia actually has a Family Day provincial holiday - brilliant! So - Monday before last the kids were out of school and Philip didn't have to work and we embraced our first Canadian Family Day by celebrating all weekend! We took our time leaving the house on Saturday - a beautiful albeit cold day - and we wandered down the street for smoothies on our way to the aquabus. We boarded the pontoon boat for the brief ride across False Creek to Granville Island so the kids could serve as tour guides to Philip. The three of us had made this same trip while he was in Atlanta for a wedding back in November and Henry and Lydia had quite a time showing him around Kids Mart. We ducked in and out of stores none of us had visited and went back to the restaurant where we'd eaten without Philip so he could be included in our conversations having had the experience with us. We wandered for a couple of hours and then hopped the boat back across the waterway and began our walk home. We took a circuitous route - crossing in front of the Vancouver Art Gallery and checking out the giant rocking horse proclaiming the arrival of the Year of the Horse as part of lunar new year celebrations. We stopped at the kids' favorite restaurant for poutine (a truly Canadian delicacy of French Fries doused with gravy and topped with cheese curds...which really should be a Southern dish - it would fit right in). We wound down to the convention center area to see projected photos as the sun went down over the water. The fifty winning photos (out of 28,000+ entries) caught moments of extreme sports and were truly amazing. We wandered past the Olympic torch and headed home. It was a lovely day - wonderful to be outside in the sunshine - and it was a day that made me laugh out loud. Never, not in a million years, had I imagined the term 'aquabus' in my personal vocabulary and it certainly didn't occur to me that we'd be semi-regular patrons. 'Hopping the creek' wasn't new to me - after all, Philip and I met while living in Charleston on the SC coast...the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and now we claim the Pacific Ocean as home. This time last year saw me functioning as a single parent mostly with several part time jobs, weekly dance classes for Lydia, basketball and martial arts for Henry and more grey hairs than I'd ever had before. So on this sunny Saturday before Family Day, I laughed.
Outdoor Photography exhibit - the only one where I took a pic, naturally, it's a Storm Trooper...sort of extreme sport enthusiast, right?
Happy Year of the Horse!
4 years ago right now the Olympics were HERE and this torch was burning
But Saturday's laughter didn't hold a candle to the laughter brewing in response to Sunday and Monday. We went to our version of Academy Sports called Sport Chek in search of one thing - and honestly I don't even remember what the one thing was. What we found were several racks of used ski and snowboard gear on sale at huge discounts. And we left with a lot more than one thing. This, you see, is also hilarious to me. When we visited last year and meandered up to Whistler for skiing fun, it was obvious very quickly that I preferred to serve as the family cheerleader when it comes to this sport. The kids, however, spent the rest of last winter asking when we'd be skiing again and Philip wanted to conquer skiing himself. So - here we are - this Southern girl now lives in a home that boasts 2 sets of skis, 1 snowboard and all the 'stuff' that comes with these activities. I did invest in my own snow pants and ski jacket just so I could look the part as I cheer on my family - however, I really intend to get some quality time in front of a fireplace somewhere with a good book and a good cup of coffee while my family hits the slopes. Turns out, our coastal home here in Vancouver [where we're enjoying a milder winter than my SC family and friends] is a mere 15 minute drive from its closest ski area! We knew Grouse Mountain was the closest peak, but we had no idea how easy it is to access. On our first visit we rode up the Skyride to the plateau, hiked in the snow, threw snowballs and explored the restaurants. Then we rode the tractor-pulled sleigh up to the peak flats where we scouted out where to buy hot cocoa and where to practice snow skills. We left with a 'Local's Pass' up the mountain for a year and 3 out of 4 of us left with an appetite to hit the mountain donning skis or snowboard. And I laughed again...louder this time. We hadn't even made it to Monday.
You can't get new sporting equipment and not want to put it to use, so this was our aim for the official Family Day. We stopped back by Sport Chek to pick up the skis since the bindings had been added and headed for the hills. Everyone was suited up, except me, which turned out to be OK but I briefly worried a little, having not thought through my attire completely, since I was sidetracked by thinking through our children's attire. My anxiety was high - hoping the kids would remember what they'd learned in their lessons last season and realizing that I had NO advice to offer Henry as he strapped on his snowboard for the first time. We got all our equipment hauled up to the Skyride, bought our lift tickets and we were off. We got up to the mountain, disembarked the gondola and it was time for rubber to meet the road - or fiberglass to meet the snow as was the case. Though I had brought my book with me, it stayed firmly planted in our bag as I became the chief snowboard strapper and ski seater for the kids. Lydia and Philip took off to practice skiing while I hung out with Henry. This all seemed absolutely smart until I got him all strapped onto the board and looked into his blue eyes and said, "I have no idea what to tell you other than GO. So...GO!" And he went. And he fell. And I strapped him back in and told him to go again. He did great for his first time out - especially with the high quality instruction he received. We all got quite the workout - I did more consecutive squats on that Monday than I've ever done in my life - clearly my decision to climb the 9 flights of stairs to our apartment each day has come in handy. As the sun started dropping in the sky and lights started coming on on the slopes, I laughed again. You see, the one thing I had [tried to] adamantly proclaim was that we needed to be home at a reasonable time because Monday is an actual school night and we didn't need the kids going to school exhausted. Ha! As we boarded the Skyride back to the parking lot it was dark as pitch and regular bedtimes had flown out the window. We grabbed a pizza from our favorite spot here in town and headed home - and at this moment I missed the convenience of simply heading back to our hotel room as we did in Whistler last year.
Alas - our first official Family Day is in the books. And ski/snowboard equipment is stored throughout our apartment and lessons are booked for this coming weekend. I'll have a book in my bag again on Saturday but will also be suited up in my snow gear because I get to accompany the kids on their lessons. Fear not, the camera will be in hand and I look forward to embracing my role as Marcum Family Sports Photographer. Philip will ski and I'll continue to laugh at the irony of my SC self now having a 'Local's Pass' to a ski resort - life is a funny animal full of twists and turns. Lucky for me the twists and turns are ever so entertaining and my travelling companions are pretty darn fun; this Canadian life is a good one indeed.
Before...
Sleigh Ride!
Henry Snowboarding - he did GREAT!
Post skiing Snowman building
Post ski snack
Monday, February 3, 2014
Super Bowl Wallflowers?
If you've ever felt that two back to back experiences were separated by some cosmic divide then you know precisely how our evening played out yesterday. It was the 'big game' and we celebrated in grand football fan style - complete with friends, appetizers and even a cake that looked like a football field. We've been excited to be part of the Super Bowl frenzy as we've followed the Seahawks' road to the game more closely than usual since we're now west coast-ers [Go Hawks! Even though I really like Peyton Manning]. That being said, it was a notch below devastating when we learned Saturday (a mere 24 hours before kickoff) that we would NOT be able to see any of the US Super Bowl ads. This, for me, is the primary incentive to bother tuning into the game - I'm more of a college football fan and get irritated pretty quickly by the professional league and its obscene salaries. I was looking forward to cute puppies and Doritos cowboys - and I was bummed. Alas - we hosted some friends and the fellowship was quite fun; it was great to dust off and don our entertaining hats. The other bonus to watching the Super Bowl on the west coast is that the kids' bedtime was normal. Kickoff was at a most convenient 3:20PM and the game wrapped up by 8PM. We learned that tight space doesn't affect children's abilities to enjoy themselves and create new games while we parents enjoyed each other's company with the kiddos alongside us. I overcame my anxiety about entertaining in our little place and look forward to doing it more. It was a really fun evening.
Once our guests departed and our kids were settled in their beds, our evening took a serendipitous turn toward contrast. Philip pulled up the DVR queue and started the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It's a 2012 film that chronicles the senior year of a group of self-proclaimed 'wallflowers' and their integration of a new freshman into their cohort. The story is an important one - and a hard one. And I saw it through two different sets of eyes as we tuned in last night. First, I saw it as a parent and had to breathe deeply so as not to hyperventilate when I saw the drug and alcohol use and the physical nature of high school relationships that the movie portrays. It was a vivid reminder that this parenting gig is not easy and that in addition to establishing trust with our children, there's a lot of 'plugging in', loving despite unexpected realities and equipping required of us who've been trusted with these souls we nurture. I also saw myself in the film a little bit - high school for me was a fun time but I always knew in the midst of it that high school was not the pinnacle of my life. For that I'm grateful and, in truth, wouldn't go back to that era for anything. I was lucky to have my own cohort of supportive, accepting friends with whom I was safe to soul search and begin the process of my becoming. The group in the movie dealt with some hard, hard stuff - I won't go into detail as I don't want to blow the movie if you choose to watch it - and I'd highly recommend it.
After the movie ended, the contrast between the Super Bowl and Wallflower was stark. And it occurred to me that while a lot of people probably feel sorry for the world's 'wallflowers' and their inability to conform to the 'norm', I found myself feeling sorry for some of the guys who played in the Super Bowl. I know - that sounds utterly bizarre...they have their mega million dollar contracts, life in the fast lane and all. But, for the first time ever, it occurred to me that for some, if not many, of the folks on these professional fields, the identities they embraced in junior high and high school [that were affirmed by rising through the ranks of college and professional athletics] are the identities by which their entire lives have been defined. They've not had the opportunity or encouragement to consider the possibility of other passions - ones that may have been something other than the sport at which they most excel. They've been pigeonholed. The other piece I'd never considered was the fact that these guys may have never even had the chance to claim the freedom that comes with anonymity. That's sad to me. It seems so limiting and offers little opportunity to dig deep and explore within when you're under a constant looking glass.
As disjointed as it was, I'm glad it worked out that we watched these two broadcasts on the same night - and I'm glad that I've never found myself defined by only one ability/early identity/persona - and I'm glad that I've gotten to work on my 'junk' in pieces as I've grown through junior high/high school/college/etc. I'm still working on my own junk now, but because I was able to start that process early on, I now have tools to reason through it and work through it in a self-guided sort of way. I know who I can trust to help me walk through valleys, process my own growing edges and challenge me to continue in my becoming. And I have the luxury of enjoying my cocooning season when I can hole up into my own thoughts without some photographer taking my photo from behind a bush. Though I may not make millions by being a 'wallflower', I claim it as my rich life. And I hope that for at least a person or two in the world I can be part of their trusted cohort and help them as we all grow into ourselves. Here's to the wallflower in all of us - my prayer is that we always seek to surround ourselves with those who help us in our becoming and celebrate the value of true community. And I pray we raise children who seek to do the same.
Once our guests departed and our kids were settled in their beds, our evening took a serendipitous turn toward contrast. Philip pulled up the DVR queue and started the movie The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It's a 2012 film that chronicles the senior year of a group of self-proclaimed 'wallflowers' and their integration of a new freshman into their cohort. The story is an important one - and a hard one. And I saw it through two different sets of eyes as we tuned in last night. First, I saw it as a parent and had to breathe deeply so as not to hyperventilate when I saw the drug and alcohol use and the physical nature of high school relationships that the movie portrays. It was a vivid reminder that this parenting gig is not easy and that in addition to establishing trust with our children, there's a lot of 'plugging in', loving despite unexpected realities and equipping required of us who've been trusted with these souls we nurture. I also saw myself in the film a little bit - high school for me was a fun time but I always knew in the midst of it that high school was not the pinnacle of my life. For that I'm grateful and, in truth, wouldn't go back to that era for anything. I was lucky to have my own cohort of supportive, accepting friends with whom I was safe to soul search and begin the process of my becoming. The group in the movie dealt with some hard, hard stuff - I won't go into detail as I don't want to blow the movie if you choose to watch it - and I'd highly recommend it.
After the movie ended, the contrast between the Super Bowl and Wallflower was stark. And it occurred to me that while a lot of people probably feel sorry for the world's 'wallflowers' and their inability to conform to the 'norm', I found myself feeling sorry for some of the guys who played in the Super Bowl. I know - that sounds utterly bizarre...they have their mega million dollar contracts, life in the fast lane and all. But, for the first time ever, it occurred to me that for some, if not many, of the folks on these professional fields, the identities they embraced in junior high and high school [that were affirmed by rising through the ranks of college and professional athletics] are the identities by which their entire lives have been defined. They've not had the opportunity or encouragement to consider the possibility of other passions - ones that may have been something other than the sport at which they most excel. They've been pigeonholed. The other piece I'd never considered was the fact that these guys may have never even had the chance to claim the freedom that comes with anonymity. That's sad to me. It seems so limiting and offers little opportunity to dig deep and explore within when you're under a constant looking glass.
As disjointed as it was, I'm glad it worked out that we watched these two broadcasts on the same night - and I'm glad that I've never found myself defined by only one ability/early identity/persona - and I'm glad that I've gotten to work on my 'junk' in pieces as I've grown through junior high/high school/college/etc. I'm still working on my own junk now, but because I was able to start that process early on, I now have tools to reason through it and work through it in a self-guided sort of way. I know who I can trust to help me walk through valleys, process my own growing edges and challenge me to continue in my becoming. And I have the luxury of enjoying my cocooning season when I can hole up into my own thoughts without some photographer taking my photo from behind a bush. Though I may not make millions by being a 'wallflower', I claim it as my rich life. And I hope that for at least a person or two in the world I can be part of their trusted cohort and help them as we all grow into ourselves. Here's to the wallflower in all of us - my prayer is that we always seek to surround ourselves with those who help us in our becoming and celebrate the value of true community. And I pray we raise children who seek to do the same.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Canada Meets Grits
When we arrived in Clemson for the holidays, the first place we ate was Bojangles. It's rabidly unhealthy, but it's oh-so-yummy. The kids were excited to have real, Southern biscuits crafted out of flour and fat, brushed with melted butter and stuffed with fried chicken or country ham. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to this feast as well but there was one thing on their menu that excited me even more - GRITS. It had been four months since I'd eaten this personal delicacy and when I saw it on the menu I said to the cashier (without really thinking through it), "Ooohhh honey - you've got grits. I haven't had grits in four months and I want me some grits." The cashier had to step away from the register to recover her composure and I realized my Southern roots were healthy and whole. And so it was - my first meal back in the States was a country ham biscuit and grits. Heaven, with a little side of heart attack, on a plate. We were so busy on our trip home that we never got around to purchasing grits to bring back with us to Canada - and I was disappointed - they certainly can't be found here and frankly, there are many people who've never even heard of them. Needless to say, one of my first orders of business upon our return was to embark on a quest to bring grits to our Canadian menu.
With the expansive options on the internet, one would expect the ordering of something as benign as ground corn to be an easy task. And one would be wrong. I immediately went to amazon.ca (note that you must search in the Canadian amazon store, not the US store) and hit the jack pot - or so I thought. I found grits - $4.50 CDN per 1 lb. bag. Yes - this is highway robbery. However, I was on a quest and willing to pay a premium. Premium, though, doesn't even begin to describe it. You see, as I tried to check out with my 2 bags of grits for $9 CDN before shipping, a little message popped up notifying me that these, actually, were considered an 'add on' item. Therefore, I had to spend $25 before the could be shipped to me. Nice. Being that I was mere seconds away from actually enjoying grits in my Vancouver apartment, however, I was unwilling to let $14 stand in my way and so I shopped for a couple of books to add to my cart as well. Success! For a mere $28 I had grits AND books coming my way. It was like waiting for Christmas morning.
Funny enough, no sooner than I'd written my last post about introspection and how the grey weather encourages self reflection and soul tending, we embarked upon a 10 day sunny streak. I paused my introspections to enjoy the sunshine - there's something about pretty weather that makes it hard for me to focus. We walked a lot, stayed on the playground after school for a couple of hours a day and rejoiced that days were getting longer. And then - the phone rang its funny ring when someone's outside our building buzzing up to get access to our floor and it was as if Santa himself came to my door - he was dressed in a FedEx uniform and handed Philip a box that carried our GRITS! For a moment, I think I heard a choir of angels actually start singing, but that may have been the Sudafed I was on for my sinus infection. Regardless, our grits had arrived - and the books, but that's neither here nor there. Hello grits! Welcome to Canada. Then I realized I had to figure out some sort of rationing system with this Southern staple - it's suddenly been elevated to a celebratory food that only makes appearances at certain times of the year. And so I decided then that grits were to be a Saturday food - a day when we can take our time and enjoy our breakfast (or supper as the case may be).
Grits arrived on Monday - by Wednesday we were playing outside daily, Lydia requested seaweed in her lunchbox as her daily snack, we were looking forward to her class field trip to the ice rink, and we were headed to a hockey game which the kids had both earned tickets to through a program at their school. We were in for a distinctly Canadian weekend - ice skating, hockey, more ice skating and GRITS. And that's just what we did - this January weekend saw the best union of our Southern roots and our Canadian life that we've experienced yet. Lydia was a natural on the ice - within ten minutes she was literally running across the rink in her rented skates and helmet. The hockey game was a blast - both kids sat with friends leaving Philip and me to enjoy a pseudo date night. Henry sat with most of the boys in his class and they all swung their shirts in the air after each of the 11 Vancouver Giants goals. We saw two fights on the ice and the kids quickly learned their way around Pacific Coliseum exercising their independence and reveling in their newfound friendships. We all slept in late on Saturday and enjoyed our cheese grits and bacon breakfast. And then we walked the 4 - 5 blocks to Robson Square and ice skated on the outdoor ice rink - where Henry hit the ice for the first time.
It was a weekend of relationship - with our 'then and now', with each other, with friends. It was fun. And now the fog has returned with its chilly dampness and naps are again even sweeter. Introspection time seems a more natural focus now, but I'm deeply grateful for a week of sunshine and world collisions. Life is good, indeed.
With the expansive options on the internet, one would expect the ordering of something as benign as ground corn to be an easy task. And one would be wrong. I immediately went to amazon.ca (note that you must search in the Canadian amazon store, not the US store) and hit the jack pot - or so I thought. I found grits - $4.50 CDN per 1 lb. bag. Yes - this is highway robbery. However, I was on a quest and willing to pay a premium. Premium, though, doesn't even begin to describe it. You see, as I tried to check out with my 2 bags of grits for $9 CDN before shipping, a little message popped up notifying me that these, actually, were considered an 'add on' item. Therefore, I had to spend $25 before the could be shipped to me. Nice. Being that I was mere seconds away from actually enjoying grits in my Vancouver apartment, however, I was unwilling to let $14 stand in my way and so I shopped for a couple of books to add to my cart as well. Success! For a mere $28 I had grits AND books coming my way. It was like waiting for Christmas morning.
Funny enough, no sooner than I'd written my last post about introspection and how the grey weather encourages self reflection and soul tending, we embarked upon a 10 day sunny streak. I paused my introspections to enjoy the sunshine - there's something about pretty weather that makes it hard for me to focus. We walked a lot, stayed on the playground after school for a couple of hours a day and rejoiced that days were getting longer. And then - the phone rang its funny ring when someone's outside our building buzzing up to get access to our floor and it was as if Santa himself came to my door - he was dressed in a FedEx uniform and handed Philip a box that carried our GRITS! For a moment, I think I heard a choir of angels actually start singing, but that may have been the Sudafed I was on for my sinus infection. Regardless, our grits had arrived - and the books, but that's neither here nor there. Hello grits! Welcome to Canada. Then I realized I had to figure out some sort of rationing system with this Southern staple - it's suddenly been elevated to a celebratory food that only makes appearances at certain times of the year. And so I decided then that grits were to be a Saturday food - a day when we can take our time and enjoy our breakfast (or supper as the case may be).
Grits arrived on Monday - by Wednesday we were playing outside daily, Lydia requested seaweed in her lunchbox as her daily snack, we were looking forward to her class field trip to the ice rink, and we were headed to a hockey game which the kids had both earned tickets to through a program at their school. We were in for a distinctly Canadian weekend - ice skating, hockey, more ice skating and GRITS. And that's just what we did - this January weekend saw the best union of our Southern roots and our Canadian life that we've experienced yet. Lydia was a natural on the ice - within ten minutes she was literally running across the rink in her rented skates and helmet. The hockey game was a blast - both kids sat with friends leaving Philip and me to enjoy a pseudo date night. Henry sat with most of the boys in his class and they all swung their shirts in the air after each of the 11 Vancouver Giants goals. We saw two fights on the ice and the kids quickly learned their way around Pacific Coliseum exercising their independence and reveling in their newfound friendships. We all slept in late on Saturday and enjoyed our cheese grits and bacon breakfast. And then we walked the 4 - 5 blocks to Robson Square and ice skated on the outdoor ice rink - where Henry hit the ice for the first time.
It was a weekend of relationship - with our 'then and now', with each other, with friends. It was fun. And now the fog has returned with its chilly dampness and naps are again even sweeter. Introspection time seems a more natural focus now, but I'm deeply grateful for a week of sunshine and world collisions. Life is good, indeed.
Holding onto the railing - just a tad excited...
10 minutes later - totally proud of herself and totally brave!
Henry coming off the ice for the first time - yes - he's in shorts! It's been lovely here :)
Friday, January 17, 2014
Dreams, Lifecycles & Lamentations
In my mind I'm an author - I picture myself leading the exotic life I associate with serious writers - sending myself on writing retreats, pondering the meaning of life and generally exuding an aura of zen. Yes - I know that this is unrealistic, but it's my dream so I'm going with it. I know serious writers - some really good ones - and they're normal and lead normal lives but I still see them as exotic because they're living one of my own personal dreams. That said - this blogging endeavor has become my outlet - it's not a novel, I realize, but it's my words and in some cases my heart on paper. And it's my sanity. Getting these words and thoughts out of my head keeps them from rolling around in there and creating all sorts of neuroses and this happens to be the time of year when I head toward introspection. It's part of my natural rhythm. I don't know if it's the shorter days or the grey days or the post holiday let down, but tis the season of personal soul searching. And I must warn all who've been reading - the coming posts may be short on photos and long on philosophy - so I'm not going to be insulted if you choose not to read. This is my therapy so I'm also not apologetic for turning inward for a bit to get a better hold of how to live into the coming year authentically. This is my cocooning season - the time when I hole up, dig deep and attempt to emerge with colorful wings and energy for new life ahead.
Life has been on my mind quite a bit this year as many friends have lost parents, spouses, relationships. And I've paid more attention to natural cycles since we now spend so much more time outside in 'just' nature - not at an event or ballpark and such. Funny thing is - everything has a lifecycle - and we get stuck on the birth and death parts somehow losing track of the importance of the in between times. As I've walked about these past few months I've seen many a city employee pruning, clearing out beds, raking leaves in preparation for the rains and the Spring. What a lesson this has become for me - I owe it to myself and to the people in my life who help give life to prune from within, to let go, to prepare for new life to grow. The rains have come to Vancouver and while the grey can get tiring, there's always a little glimmer of sun just when I seem to need it most, and there's never a day that's rainy all day - we're always able to take off our hoods, if only for a little while. And while the rain gets old and sometimes messy it does make our space feel cleaner, fresher, bathed - exposed even. With all the rain new perspectives are uncovered; as when water rushes over the same piece of land repeatedly. I'm personally challenged to find entertainment in new ways, to allow myself to get wet and embrace the nourishment. And just when it feels like I'm taking a turn from clean to mildewed, the sun peeks through with assurance that new life is around the corner.
As I walked for the first time since before Christmas around the seawall this week, the sun did her thing. She danced on the water - a reminder that new life is coming. There were even little sprouts of bulbs peeking at me around tree roots along the route back home. I pondered what I needed to clean out and prune in preparation for new growth - I remembered that everything has a life cycle. Not just people and plants, but relationships too, and that my challenge is in the letting go - the pruning if you will. I find myself wondering about friends from the past (some way past - high school and college) and sometimes feeling sad that we've lost touch instead of honoring those memories and accepting that those friendships have completed their lifecycle so that new ones in their infancy can be properly nurtured. I realize that I'm a mere infant in our family's new reality, a toddler by now maybe, and that I've so much to learn about myself, my family and my marriage. It's energizing really to accept that we're all somewhere in the midst of a cycle of life and it's daunting to think that pruning is a natural part of remaining healthy. And it gets confusing because maybe I'm supposed to be pruning in one area while feeding another and helping guide our children in their own development and shedding and it makes me tired sometimes. But the grey days that bring the rains serve as permissive encouragement to do just that. They tell me that now's the time to take stock, tend, trim and nourish - this is soul work. And they validate that this is tiring work and the rainy days make naps so very much sweeter - for this I'm grateful.
I've re read all of my blog posts to date in the past few days and that's been a fun walk through some of this cyclical life we've been leading. This year it's been incredibly tangible to see how we've tended ourselves, our relationships and our faith. We've done pretty well, I think - some areas we've tended better than others - but we've certainly done this thing with honesty and, I hope, authenticity. It's felt authentic. In reading those posts I've seen the themes of grief and gratitude repeatedly; those two descriptors speak to the tension in which I live walking through various stages of life. It's always a struggle to maintain balance and there's something about finding a balance between grief and gratitude that pushes me. I've lamented the loss of the normal we knew but am incredibly thankful for the normal we've now defined. I've lamented the loss of proximity to family but am thankful for technology that closes the spatial gap of miles and for people who function as family in this new place. Lamentations are normal - holy even - there's a whole book in the Old Testament of them and there are 60ish Psalms of lament. That must make them important too - necessary really. How can we actually celebrate gratitude in its most basic form if we don't have the perspective provided by lament? How can we find hope in the midst of dark, grief-stricken places if we don't know what it means to be truly grateful for life and its good gifts?
So here I sit - cocooning, reflecting, turning inward, allowing my introvert her time to blossom into her new self. And I grieve. And I hope. After all, I know that around the corner Spring is coming and that now is the time to prepare. Now is the time to make ready for new growth and let go of those places that have withered.
Life has been on my mind quite a bit this year as many friends have lost parents, spouses, relationships. And I've paid more attention to natural cycles since we now spend so much more time outside in 'just' nature - not at an event or ballpark and such. Funny thing is - everything has a lifecycle - and we get stuck on the birth and death parts somehow losing track of the importance of the in between times. As I've walked about these past few months I've seen many a city employee pruning, clearing out beds, raking leaves in preparation for the rains and the Spring. What a lesson this has become for me - I owe it to myself and to the people in my life who help give life to prune from within, to let go, to prepare for new life to grow. The rains have come to Vancouver and while the grey can get tiring, there's always a little glimmer of sun just when I seem to need it most, and there's never a day that's rainy all day - we're always able to take off our hoods, if only for a little while. And while the rain gets old and sometimes messy it does make our space feel cleaner, fresher, bathed - exposed even. With all the rain new perspectives are uncovered; as when water rushes over the same piece of land repeatedly. I'm personally challenged to find entertainment in new ways, to allow myself to get wet and embrace the nourishment. And just when it feels like I'm taking a turn from clean to mildewed, the sun peeks through with assurance that new life is around the corner.
As I walked for the first time since before Christmas around the seawall this week, the sun did her thing. She danced on the water - a reminder that new life is coming. There were even little sprouts of bulbs peeking at me around tree roots along the route back home. I pondered what I needed to clean out and prune in preparation for new growth - I remembered that everything has a life cycle. Not just people and plants, but relationships too, and that my challenge is in the letting go - the pruning if you will. I find myself wondering about friends from the past (some way past - high school and college) and sometimes feeling sad that we've lost touch instead of honoring those memories and accepting that those friendships have completed their lifecycle so that new ones in their infancy can be properly nurtured. I realize that I'm a mere infant in our family's new reality, a toddler by now maybe, and that I've so much to learn about myself, my family and my marriage. It's energizing really to accept that we're all somewhere in the midst of a cycle of life and it's daunting to think that pruning is a natural part of remaining healthy. And it gets confusing because maybe I'm supposed to be pruning in one area while feeding another and helping guide our children in their own development and shedding and it makes me tired sometimes. But the grey days that bring the rains serve as permissive encouragement to do just that. They tell me that now's the time to take stock, tend, trim and nourish - this is soul work. And they validate that this is tiring work and the rainy days make naps so very much sweeter - for this I'm grateful.
I've re read all of my blog posts to date in the past few days and that's been a fun walk through some of this cyclical life we've been leading. This year it's been incredibly tangible to see how we've tended ourselves, our relationships and our faith. We've done pretty well, I think - some areas we've tended better than others - but we've certainly done this thing with honesty and, I hope, authenticity. It's felt authentic. In reading those posts I've seen the themes of grief and gratitude repeatedly; those two descriptors speak to the tension in which I live walking through various stages of life. It's always a struggle to maintain balance and there's something about finding a balance between grief and gratitude that pushes me. I've lamented the loss of the normal we knew but am incredibly thankful for the normal we've now defined. I've lamented the loss of proximity to family but am thankful for technology that closes the spatial gap of miles and for people who function as family in this new place. Lamentations are normal - holy even - there's a whole book in the Old Testament of them and there are 60ish Psalms of lament. That must make them important too - necessary really. How can we actually celebrate gratitude in its most basic form if we don't have the perspective provided by lament? How can we find hope in the midst of dark, grief-stricken places if we don't know what it means to be truly grateful for life and its good gifts?
So here I sit - cocooning, reflecting, turning inward, allowing my introvert her time to blossom into her new self. And I grieve. And I hope. After all, I know that around the corner Spring is coming and that now is the time to prepare. Now is the time to make ready for new growth and let go of those places that have withered.
Friday, January 10, 2014
To be Known
I just re-read my post from August 26 titled 'Home' and I vividly remember typing those words from a Memphis hotel room on the night we left SC, bound for Vancouver for the first time. That was a hard day full of emotions and I now sit in our little apartment reflecting again about the word 'home'. You see we've done it again - not in the Britney Spears oops sort of way - but in a planned, intentional sort of way - we've left (after a full and wonderful visit). And it's different this time - we left our old home to come home to a place that it now familiar and dotted with memories - even after only being here four months. What a difference four months can make! Don't get me wrong - tears still welled in my eyes as I hugged my parents goodbye and I chose not to speak in the interest of preserving my eye makeup; heartstrings were plucked watching our children rekindle friendships that hadn't been tended daily. And I realized that when I wrote on that day in August from an impersonal hotel room that the tears and the sense of grief grew not only from leaving one physical home for another, but also from the longing to connect our two contexts to each other. We had a lovely time seeing friends and family in SC, NC & GA, and seeing our children jump back into friendships without missing a beat over the holidays. However, there was no way to adequately incorporate all that we've experienced since our move to Canada into conversation or explanation. While that's completely OK I wanted to be able to share with family and friends how much they'd enjoy knowing our new friends. I wanted to take them to the mall where I walk to buy groceries and I wanted them to be able to see the store we're referring to when we talk about the 'corner store'. And this - this disconnect of places that are home to me and my family - this is the source of grief. But it's also the source of great joy.
In the next week we're finalizing a target date for my parents to visit and I couldn't be more thrilled. I want them to come here so we can share with them our walk to school, the views from our windows and our new friends. Their visit will provide for us the first piece of connective tissue between the life we left in SC and the life we're building here in Canada, and that connection means more to me than words can express. After all - connection is a basic, primal privilege of being human. It's in our connectedness to people and places that we understand our own meaning and identity and that sense of being 'known' is truly a spark of the Divine.
It was my longing to be known that conjured tears when we left back in August - grieving the farewell to folks we'd interacted with day in and day out and wondering how long it would take to encounter new day to day folks. Today, with as sense of relief, I can report with confidence that good, kind, wonderful people have come into our lives. Our fabric of connection has grown stronger and has been a blanket of comfort as we endeavor to live authentically in our new reality. Again we are known - our identities affirmed by our connectedness to other people, cultures and places. And I look forward to sharing all that our lives have become with people who are dear to me outside of this place.
Our family is entering 2014 intentionally grateful - for places like Clemson, Athens, Montreat, Atlanta and Vancouver that feel like home. More importantly we're grateful for people who are home to us - from all over the world. And we're grateful for those who help us connect the dots between and among our life experiences. We also hold close to our hearts people for whom home may not be a safe place. My hope is that we all may know the contentment that comes from being known and accepted - warts and all. For this is how I have experienced 'home' and will endeavor to live it wherever life may take us and share it with whoever we may encounter along the way. And our family has chosen to respond with gratitude - for even in the midst of the grief and sadness that come with change, there are glimmers that sparkle in us an abiding sense of hope and when we focus on what/for whom/where we're grateful, life just seems a little bit better. In gratitude perspective and grace and sometimes even inspiration. There's not a single resolution I made this year - I've instead re-awakened to a call to live intentionally with a heightened awareness of how I'm connected to the world around me and how I can celebrate that. It doesn't take the turn of a calendar page to make this happen - instead, it takes an attitude shift on my part - to choose where I put my focus. And I choose to focus on life and its good gifts and try to be an agent of home for all I may encounter. Pollyanna? Maybe. Lifegiving? Absolutely. Happy New Year from our home to yours.
In the next week we're finalizing a target date for my parents to visit and I couldn't be more thrilled. I want them to come here so we can share with them our walk to school, the views from our windows and our new friends. Their visit will provide for us the first piece of connective tissue between the life we left in SC and the life we're building here in Canada, and that connection means more to me than words can express. After all - connection is a basic, primal privilege of being human. It's in our connectedness to people and places that we understand our own meaning and identity and that sense of being 'known' is truly a spark of the Divine.
It was my longing to be known that conjured tears when we left back in August - grieving the farewell to folks we'd interacted with day in and day out and wondering how long it would take to encounter new day to day folks. Today, with as sense of relief, I can report with confidence that good, kind, wonderful people have come into our lives. Our fabric of connection has grown stronger and has been a blanket of comfort as we endeavor to live authentically in our new reality. Again we are known - our identities affirmed by our connectedness to other people, cultures and places. And I look forward to sharing all that our lives have become with people who are dear to me outside of this place.
Our family is entering 2014 intentionally grateful - for places like Clemson, Athens, Montreat, Atlanta and Vancouver that feel like home. More importantly we're grateful for people who are home to us - from all over the world. And we're grateful for those who help us connect the dots between and among our life experiences. We also hold close to our hearts people for whom home may not be a safe place. My hope is that we all may know the contentment that comes from being known and accepted - warts and all. For this is how I have experienced 'home' and will endeavor to live it wherever life may take us and share it with whoever we may encounter along the way. And our family has chosen to respond with gratitude - for even in the midst of the grief and sadness that come with change, there are glimmers that sparkle in us an abiding sense of hope and when we focus on what/for whom/where we're grateful, life just seems a little bit better. In gratitude perspective and grace and sometimes even inspiration. There's not a single resolution I made this year - I've instead re-awakened to a call to live intentionally with a heightened awareness of how I'm connected to the world around me and how I can celebrate that. It doesn't take the turn of a calendar page to make this happen - instead, it takes an attitude shift on my part - to choose where I put my focus. And I choose to focus on life and its good gifts and try to be an agent of home for all I may encounter. Pollyanna? Maybe. Lifegiving? Absolutely. Happy New Year from our home to yours.
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