tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65866071185250884752024-03-04T10:55:51.399-08:00McMurray MusingsIt's time for Fort McMurray residents to tell their own stories. For many years we allowed those from other places to tell our story, and we often found those stories did not reflect who we truly are. This blog is my attempt to tell my own story of life in this community, and to share my story with the world.Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.comBlogger1021125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-85876914114186713342024-02-18T10:42:00.000-08:002024-02-18T11:00:39.335-08:00Greb Glides Away<p style="text-align: justify;"> A quick scan of my Facebook feed and I see it; a heartbreaking post sharing the news that Greb, Fort McMurray's canine superstar, has been found by his equally locally beloved owner Sandy under the deck when he came home. But Greb was not asleep. He was gone.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNjfuzsXGCv0XecV77ri19EHk6qs8FAay3jA4rMHFv2pHW_PpeuJxgOSVeMgPeCYofmEbxMDglhgn0gKUeagu30r-dGTwVOwrOW4pAeD676hCs8wGLETE4NwIS3CoSSej9B27bihdjNyPN8rEllFw5h5qlLCz1E7EPOMDhFxgq2-nXIG7Uhn60A1qre4-/s1080/20690195_10155301078385743_1788795196382464850_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNjfuzsXGCv0XecV77ri19EHk6qs8FAay3jA4rMHFv2pHW_PpeuJxgOSVeMgPeCYofmEbxMDglhgn0gKUeagu30r-dGTwVOwrOW4pAeD676hCs8wGLETE4NwIS3CoSSej9B27bihdjNyPN8rEllFw5h5qlLCz1E7EPOMDhFxgq2-nXIG7Uhn60A1qre4-/s320/20690195_10155301078385743_1788795196382464850_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I can’t even quite believe what I’m reading. The death of Winky several years ago was a hard blow at a time when we really didn’t need any more of those hard blows. It was the fall of 2016 when Winky passed away, and part of a year that was deeply troubling for anybody who experienced it. The death of Winky felt like just another punch in the gut after the wildfire and the evacuation and everything that came after it, and of course the biggest punch of all was felt by Sandy, who had loved Winky in the deepest way.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I feel a flash of anger as I read the post, as how unfair it is for Sandy to once again feel this pain after losing Winky. Not right, not fair, not even the slightest bit expected; sort of the way you know life is when you are old enough to have been through more than a couple of these unfair experiences.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">How is it that one man and two dogs have had such a profound influence on an entire community? it can only be because that one man is remarkable and special. And somehow he managed to find not one but two dogs who shared those qualities</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Whether they were out zooming around on the motorcycle for which they became known or whether they were raising funds in the community for the local SPCA or other causes, Sandy and his companions showcased the best of us. It was quintessential Fort McMurray really, a little bit quirky, and a little bit unusual, and a whole lot of compassion and driven by love for each other and this place.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRNZeK3JexmMFZD1zV_TwCLYgn7qVP4mElvzDC1bOBVg503TpHKacPfDt-HVeVBPWa9J0PO-nWHBiRMesMJyIunX8qb26aHC8Wl1yxMveLCQSC7EWOOyO4W1vYSe85i5huGzsvsRtr6toxR1uy5k58LhZjziC6YGgBY55C2KD-UtwYQDMLgEaYJctagyg/s1080/428635483_10160944373140743_6607601019146646985_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRNZeK3JexmMFZD1zV_TwCLYgn7qVP4mElvzDC1bOBVg503TpHKacPfDt-HVeVBPWa9J0PO-nWHBiRMesMJyIunX8qb26aHC8Wl1yxMveLCQSC7EWOOyO4W1vYSe85i5huGzsvsRtr6toxR1uy5k58LhZjziC6YGgBY55C2KD-UtwYQDMLgEaYJctagyg/s320/428635483_10160944373140743_6607601019146646985_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I had often described Winky as a elder statesman while Greb was a bit more charming ruffian. Regardless, they both somehow had that ridiculous smile and an amazing way of connecting with everyone. You could say that’s genetics or the breed but I think that it was Sandy. I think it’s the way that he raised them and the way that he treated them and how they were truly his best friend. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">And so Sandy has lost his best friend. Again.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">A friend recently told me that they didn’t think they could have pets because they didn’t think they could handle the loss. I understand this, because the hardest part of loving an animal is that their lifespan is so much shorter than our own. But can you imagine what you would miss by not having them in your life? Can you imagine missing the joy and the craziness and the love and the occasional goofiness, and sometimes even the frustration? I cannot, and so I balance the loss with the joy, and the scale weighs more heavily in favor of joy every time. And I do so knowing that one day, I too will feel this pain once again too.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Whenever we experience a loss, I think it’s a reminder to tell those around us how we feel about them. None of us know how long we have here. We don’t know how long anyone else has either and that includes our beloved furry friends and so on days like today it is a chance to express how we feel. It’s a chance for us to say I love you. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">And that is why today I just want to say I love you to Greb and Winky and Sandy. I want to thank them for all they have given to us over the years - and by "us" I mean all of us, this entire community who benefited from the amazing partnership between a man and two dogs. In so many ways it feels like Greb, and Winky before, belonged to all of us in some way, and that is because Sandy so generously shared them with us, and he bravely shared their entire journey together, including this very sad end of yet another incredible story.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">One man, two dogs. And yet these three captured the hearts and minds of tens of thousands of people, including my own. That's one helluva legacy. I have had the honour of writing about Sandy, and Winky, and Greb, and so their stories have interwoven into my own. What a privilege it is to know them; what an honour is to be able to remember them and their impact.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My heart hurts for Sandy as he navigates a new journey of grief. I know that Greb has gone to join Winky for a thrilling ride in the sky, somewhere over the rainbow bridge and a place where every day is perfect weather for taking out the motorcycle and hitting the road. Wherever they are, I know they are loved, not just by one man alone, but by all of us.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>You can donate to the Fort McMurray SPCA in Greb's memory here: <a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x1ejq31n xd10rxx x1sy0etr x17r0tee x972fbf xcfux6l x1qhh985 xm0m39n x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1fey0fg" href="https://www.canadahelps.org/en/dn/96979?fbclid=IwAR22yRax8FWIhXQpGw84-U04Ek9HrSI5AgELzkRSDUOH3I0tG_cqhShp5fA" rel="nofollow" role="link" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; border-style: none; border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; list-style: none; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration-line: none; text-decoration: none; touch-action: manipulation; white-space-collapse: preserve;" tabindex="0" target="_blank">https://www.canadahelps.org/en/dn/96979</a></b></i></p>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-56823509058610947662024-01-04T14:43:00.000-08:002024-01-04T14:43:52.672-08:00Why I Stopped Musing<p>My contributions to this blog have been sporadic - at best - in recent years. There have been fits and starts, brief moments when I felt inspired and pushed something out into the universe, and moments when I withdrew again into silence.</p><p>There were a lot of reasons, I thought:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The world has moved towards visuals, not words, and with the rise of platforms like Tik Tok the written word almost seems antiquated and heavy, and our attention span seems shortened</li><li>The pandemic blew in like a hurricane and while bowling us over with the winds of fear quietly stole joy and with it some of the motivation to write, well, anything</li><li>Fort McMurray has changed so much over the years, and so many of those I wrote to and for have moved on, calling new places home</li><li>Topics seemed elusive as the world centered around the pandemic and the impacts</li></ul><div>The world has normalized for the most part now, the pandemic becoming part of our history rather than our present. As time has elapsed and I still did not put pen to paper (or in this case fingers to keyboard) I realized a truth. None of those are the real reasons I stopped musing. I stopped musing because I stopped seeing the value in being vulnerable.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I first started writing I did so with some tremendous naivete. I thought I would write some things, have some opinions, and both they and I would be respected even if not agreed with. The truth though is that when you share who you are or what you think, you are taking a risk because the world is not always kinds to those willing to be vulnerable. It has taken me some time to recognize that and then to move past it, to decide that being vulnerable is actually how I arrived at where I am. </div><div><br /></div><div>However there have been many times I have sat at the keyboard and stared at it intently. Have you ever gone to start your car and you hear the small whirring noise of <i>something </i>but whatever it is doesn't quite click and the car doesn't start? This is what not writing feels like, too. <i>Something </i>is happening and the desire is there, but for some reason it just doesn't...start.</div><div><br /></div><div>But here we are. Right at the start of 2024 and once again I am going to try to spark <i>something</i> here. There are things I want to say, even if I am the only person who reads them. Some are about Fort Mac, and some are not. But all of them are in some way relevant to me - and maybe to someone else.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so....here we go, again.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-23225815934861255292021-11-10T16:30:00.001-08:002021-11-10T16:30:00.148-08:00Go Fourth<p>Over the past year, I have posted in this blog exactly four times.</p><p>Four times in a year, for a blog I once posted in almost daily and which had a readership that astonished me on a regular basis.</p><p>Today, I had reason to go searching for an old blog post I had written, and tumbled down a rabbit hole of reading post after post from 8 years ago when I was younger and bolder and maybe (a lot) more naive.</p><p>How times have changed! Back in 2013 readers would spend a solid chunk of time reading words, while now even I find myself addicted to the short, sharp bursts of serotonin TikTok provides, all emotion and no need for thought.</p><p>I stopped writing for a very long time, at least writing anything of substance other than what was needed for work, and virtually nothing of a personal nature.</p><p>Why? Perhaps in the intervening years I drew inwards, more reluctant to be vulnerable as I began to understand how cruel the world can be to those who are vulnerable. Perhaps I lost faith that people would read my words, and perhaps I lost faith in my ability to write words worth reading. Perhaps I just got busy; or perhaps my focus slid elsewhere as it does when our life begins to fill with other things.</p><p>Recently though I felt the pull again, perhaps not to write the same kind of paragraphs long posts that I once did, but short "bursts" of thought, microblogs inspired by whatever caught my eye or my mind long enough to be remarked on.</p><p>And so, here I am. Will I blog more than four times next year? Will I even write again this year? Will anyone read it? Who knows, really. And does any of that matter, either?</p><p>No. In the end, I will write when the inspiration hits me, when I feel the words clambering to be released, when it feels good to tap my fingers on the keyboard. I will keep it short and simple and tight and true to the spirit of this blog, which was to always be honest, even if I wasn't always right.</p><p>It is time to go forth, and maybe this time around achieve more than four in a year.</p>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-67974258700889296562021-05-02T13:29:00.000-07:002021-05-02T13:29:04.782-07:00Put It In the Rear View Mirror<p>Perhaps it is just me who hesitates when it comes to touching a keyboard to write about May 3rd. </p><p>Maybe I am alone in this maelstrom of emotions as I try to figure out how I feel, exactly, about a life-altering, <i>community-altering,</i> event five years ago.</p><p>Sometimes I recount my story to people who weren't here five years ago, the tale of a day unlike any other I've ever experienced.</p><p>The beautifully warm and sunny morning, filling the dog's water bowl before work and thinking of the day ahead.</p><p>Settling in at work and sensing rising apprehension in those around me, but staying calm as staying calm is just what I do, even when I am not calm.</p><p>The moment when I saw flames rising from Abasand from my office window and knew.</p><p>The moment I stood in a field and watched the flames as I called my daughter in another city simply to tell her I love her.</p><p>The moment I drove back to my house and in thirty minutes packed an SUV full with a small suitcase, a mountain of pet supplies and some bewildered animals.</p><p>The moment I placed three cats and an elderly dog in my office, promising them I would figure out the next steps soon.</p><p>The moment the Premier announced the mass evacuation of my home.</p><p>The moment I loaded up three now completely flustered cats and one anxious dog for a trip down the highway that would last over 8 hours.</p><p>The moment I drove by Abasand hill and it was on fire. And so was the hill by Beacon Hill. </p><p>And so were the buildings.</p><p>The moment the fire was exceptionally close and I could feel the temperature rise, both physically and emotionally.</p><p>The moment during that trip I gave an interview to a radio station in New Zealand, at the same time figuring out if I had enough gas to make the next town, realizing I had failed to bring a coat, and that the dog was now at the howling stage of disapproval.</p><p>The heart-stopping moment when I cleared the edges of my beloved community, looked in the rear view mirror, and saw nothing but roiling black smoke.</p><p>I remember the entire day as clearly as if it were yesterday, and yet it seems as shrouded in smoke as that final view of what I was leaving behind.</p><p>Of the three days that followed I remember virtually nothing. I realize now I was in some form of shock. Like every other person on that day, mortality felt terribly close and for the first time in my life I wondered if I might die. </p><p>I spent those days in the limbo of not knowing what had happened to my home, my friends, my colleagues; a blur of check-in phone calls and tweets and pajama-clad visits to the front desk of the gracious hotel in which I was staying for milk and Coke Zero and Tylenol and human connection.</p><p>May 3rd changed my life. Forever.</p><p>There have now been four anniversaries of that date, the first and second and third and fourth. And each year I have grappled with the emotions, brushed up against the memories while trying to shove them further into the recesses of my mind as they hurt and burn and feel sharp and yet dull at the same time.</p><p>And this year, in another year unlike any other, a year in which mortality again felt far too close and the fear I felt seemed awfully familiar, I finally found some sort of peace.</p><p>And put it all in the rear view mirror.</p><p>The 2016 wildfire happened to me, but it doesn't define me. </p><p>And it doesn't define Fort McMurray.</p><p>I'm not going to lie. When people who didn't experience the fire begin to speak about it, I can feel myself bristle. It's the ultimate "unless you were there" experience, another time when we all experienced the same thing but with different impacts, so similar to our most recent global experience with the pandemic. </p><p>The 2016 wildfire is now five years behind us. It happened to us, but it isn't who we are. It's a small part of who we are, this community of "big" - big spirit, big oil, big energy, big visions, big community - and big fire. A big fire, perhaps, but a small part of us, because we are truly so much bigger than any fire.</p><p>Just as we each had a different experience during the fire, I am certain we are all at different points in our journey with it. Some probably can't even see it in their rear view mirror anymore, while some are still close enough to it to smell the smoke.</p><p>For me, though, year 5 feels a lot like that moment when I looked in my rear view mirror, and while I could still see the smoke what I mostly saw was bright blue sky.</p><p>2016 is in my rear view mirror now. And instead of looking back, I am looking at the road ahead. It looks like it's going to be another long drive, but you know what?</p><p>I like road trips.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uv5vyg1NOc57tRGVuw93Cx5LY4_H-eXJqrooCY4jwneE1DKVFiiXzNGuiDxRNojI73_Bpp3Brt3uODEtkd64mKwTc7HXrmJWCyLHBa8iVkgt2GxQII4RnPT-UUBDaFcp3WP9STdKWzeE/s1080/Rearview-Mirror-1080x675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uv5vyg1NOc57tRGVuw93Cx5LY4_H-eXJqrooCY4jwneE1DKVFiiXzNGuiDxRNojI73_Bpp3Brt3uODEtkd64mKwTc7HXrmJWCyLHBa8iVkgt2GxQII4RnPT-UUBDaFcp3WP9STdKWzeE/s320/Rearview-Mirror-1080x675.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-27574054036529235362021-02-09T16:34:00.002-08:002021-02-09T16:34:42.066-08:00Regional Mutiny of Wood Buffalo<p> Mutiny.</p><p>It's a bold word, one with a long history of ship crews overthrowing their masters to seize control. Undoubtedly, sometimes it was without cause, but often it was likely rooted in a determination to preserve the health and safety of the crew, which may have been of secondary concern for ship captains and owners more focused on profit than people.</p><p>Enter the recent debacle - or calamity as Mayor Don Scott has called it - regarding the determination of the current Alberta government in transitioning local emergency services dispatch to a centralized model. This is despite previous governments (four, in fact) suggesting the same strategy and backing down when confronted with the facts.</p><p>The truth is that our region is unique. When an emergency arises, it is as likely to occur on some unspecified point on Tower Road or some remote corner of the many rural spots in our region as it is in urban Fort McMurray. The difference is that local dispatchers know the region. They know the hidden spots, the nicknames, the best ways to get there from here...but a central dispatcher can never hold that information.</p><p>So what does that mean for our region, our communities, our people?</p><p>Lives.</p><p>In an emergency, the adage that every second counts isn't just a saying. It's true. Every. single. second. </p><p>The difference between life and death hangs on if a dispatcher knows the region - or not.</p><p>For the last several months, RMWB Council has been trying to work with the province on this issue. Trying to show them the facts, how our dispatchers are faster than a centralized service, how this change will negatively impact our community...and how it will, eventually, cost lives.</p><p>All to no avail. The Government of Alberta has turned a deaf ear to us, not only suggesting our concerns were invalid but that we were in some way lying about the consequences.</p><p>And so, they moved ahead with the transition, without any consideration of our concerns and fears. Despite the offer from our municipal council to pay for the service, since our provincial government indicated cost was the issue (and one has to wonder if we were going to pay, was cost really the issue? Cue conspiracy theories here). Despite everything.</p><p>And we are already seeing the real cost, just days after the transition. Stories are already rapidly emerging about delays, about mis-steps, <a href="https://www.fortmcmurraytoday.com/news/anzac-fire-says-members-could-have-arrived-at-local-incidents-faster-disputing-ahs-claims">about tragedies in the making. </a></p><p>And still the province refuses to budge.</p><p>And so, mutiny.</p><p>Today, at their regular council meeting, RMWB Council voted unanimously to approve a motion that would see our local dispatchers refuse to transfer calls to the centralized dispatch.</p><p>Defiance, the same kind the province has exhibited, but defiance in support of saving lives by saving time for every emergency call requiring medical services.</p><p>It's perhaps the boldest move I have ever seen made by a municipal council. And I have never seen it more necessary, more courageous and more critical. And for this I say bravo to our council, bravo indeed. And brave, too.</p><p>In 2016, this region's determination was forged by fire, and this past year by flood. We have been going through an economic downtown (more than one, really) and a pandemic. And we remain resolute.</p><p>We are committed to each other, to our community, and to our safety - and ship captains focused on profit (because surely that plays some role in the provincial decision) be damned.</p><p>And so, Regional Mutiny of Wood Buffalo.</p><p>It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoje1eJmayzStDSGld9opRRcAQftYL8LIH3w4mBTb9wpU8URAg0Ac4dof5nXasA7Pjsf_ihnzbB6pR1M0g_U7bymQKTFzMD1mtzSRwx9xtvtNMES9-mhvGUfJsfgiIiyOo_UTkDmhnjWv6/s1180/flag-in-fort-mcmurray.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="1180" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoje1eJmayzStDSGld9opRRcAQftYL8LIH3w4mBTb9wpU8URAg0Ac4dof5nXasA7Pjsf_ihnzbB6pR1M0g_U7bymQKTFzMD1mtzSRwx9xtvtNMES9-mhvGUfJsfgiIiyOo_UTkDmhnjWv6/w436-h245/flag-in-fort-mcmurray.webp" width="436" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/edmonton/as-thousands-head-home-to-fort-mcmurray-hundreds-more-are-there-to-help-1.3610952" style="text-align: left;">Photo credit to CBC</a></div><div><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-79401440938208700172020-12-17T17:00:00.002-08:002020-12-17T18:38:42.595-08:00Vulnerability is 2020<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAz8W3oCqVv1blGwoK1uhysVeo8vLlz2zHB2zFiBANKl9GGcshpzBTJZ_dT15lWLO9OpXUgmM3e98wOkwdOk_twlensBIJsl-y4a3AvcX_MwPzYMIuOUMGuyK-OMqq2yg-K6uckj-ajV9/s391/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAz8W3oCqVv1blGwoK1uhysVeo8vLlz2zHB2zFiBANKl9GGcshpzBTJZ_dT15lWLO9OpXUgmM3e98wOkwdOk_twlensBIJsl-y4a3AvcX_MwPzYMIuOUMGuyK-OMqq2yg-K6uckj-ajV9/s320/download.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2020 has
been a year that has exposed some of the most fragile aspects of the human
psyche; fear, anger, disbelief. And for many of us it has exposed our
vulnerabilities in ways we never thought it would; the things that keep us
awake at night, staring into the dark as we play out myriad “what ifs” that
seem to pale as soon as the morning light hits our faces.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As a
writer, 2020 coincided with some events in my personal life that impacted my
confidence – and my comfort level with vulnerability.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When I
first began writing this blog, I never even thought about vulnerability. I just
wrote what I wrote, blissfully unaware or uncaring what anyone else thought.
The freedom was exhilarating, but like many freedoms, it did not last.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over time I
began to pull myself closer in. And in the last couple of years wound it down
so tightly that I struggled to write because for me, writing is sharing. It is
the height of vulnerability.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Recently
someone posted something I had written a few years ago, with the intent to
point out how misguided I had been. I read my own words and saw that freedom I
once embraced. And I saw growth, and change.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Some of the
things I have written in the past I still believe to be true. Others I do not.
And thank goodness for that, because perhaps one of my only fears in life is
that I cease to grow and change, becoming stagnant over time as I grow too old –
or too stubborn – to change.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Someone who
was once a friend said, at the point where our friendship was seeing its timely
demise, that I had changed and was losing people who were once close to me as a
result. And I recall thinking what a tremendous relief that was, because it
meant that while they were once “my people” that I had changed, and for the better, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Change is
not bad and not good; change is inevitable, and whether it is good or bad is
often how we react to it rather than the actual nature of the change.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over the
course of the past year as I began to put pen to paper (or more accurately
fingers to keyboard) I have hesitated; and more often than not I walked away,
rejecting vulnerability and both the weight and the freedom it creates.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Until recently. I attended a course discussing vulnerability in leadership, and realized
that over the past three years while I had remained vulnerable in my
professional life I had moved away from doing so in my personal life; and with
that change went my desire, and even my ability, to write in the personal,
honest and vulnerable manner I have always done in this blog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Like many
people this year, I found myself in occasional dark spaces, not the physical kind
but the sort where everything you see seems a bit more opaque and darker than it
should be. And like many, I chose to seek some outside help to fight the
darkness and see colour again, reaching out to a therapist I have spoken to
before. Her suggestion?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Write
again. Write about shoes or cats or snow globes or whatever crazy ass thing you
want to write about, just write.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And so,
here I am. It’s hard to know what to write about, which is perhaps why I have
walked away so often. It is hard to know where to start again, and it makes me
take a short, sharp breath when I think about being vulnerable again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And yet
what I know is that who I am – what I have and where I find myself – is because
of writing with vulnerability. And I know that when my writing resonates with
someone else I have always found myself at peace with being vulnerable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">2020 has
been a blender. In our community – this place I love, this place that makes me
crazy, this place that has been the best thing that ever happened to me – the
challenges of 2020 have been compounded by a natural disaster and an economy
that looks very different from just a few short years ago. We are in a very
large blender, probably the Ninja kind with very sharp blades that whirl at
light speed and could chop your hand off. And we know a bit about blenders,
because many of us lived through May 2016, which was perhaps the most blenderizing
experience one could imagine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Which
brings me back to change, and vulnerability. We have been through change. We
have been vulnerable. We have seen the darkness, stared into the blackness and
thought “what if”.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And yet,
here we are. Shaken, but not broken. We have the chance to embrace
vulnerability – the fears, the what ifs, the honesty – and come out of the blender whole, not in pieces. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Perhaps, just perhaps, if there is a lesson to be learned in 2020, this is it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-10311786476073193892020-07-21T18:18:00.001-07:002020-07-21T18:28:16.112-07:00Where Do We Go From Here?<div style="text-align: justify;">In April of 2016, I made the decision to close this blog, posting a farewell message at the end of April.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mere days later, the devastating wildfire that changed our community forever struck.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In February of 2020, I embraced this blog once more, realizing I had missed writing about the community that has been in my heart for two decades.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mere weeks later, the pandemic that will change our world forever struck.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Coincidence? Absolutely, but it was enough to give me some pause when considering that this blog seems tied in some intimate way to these significant events.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since the beginning of March I have struggled, immensely, with writing in this blog. Like, what else could be said about this pandemic that wasn't already said, written, broadcast, Facebooked, podcasted?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, maybe nothing. I wrote a couple of heartfelt posts that I never published, not knowing quite why but knowing that I just didn't want to, perhaps because they felt too close and too vulnerable.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And maybe that's the point. Maybe the pandemic - like the wildfire, like the price of oil, like the flood this spring - made us feel vulnerable. Made me feel vulnerable, much like sharing my personal thoughts in a very public place do.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The older I get, the less I like feeling vulnerable. And the longer I am here, the less I like this community feeling vulnerable, too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fort McMurray has now officially been pummeled repeatedly by forces beyond our control. One of the mantras I have always lived by is that while we cannot always control what happens to us, we can control how we respond to it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That's true for me and my experience so far in 2020 (and frankly 2020, I can't believe I stayed up late to celebrate your arrival given what a rotten guest you've turned out to be). And it's true for our community.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We have a lot to think about in terms of our response. Recently I have been disheartened to see an increase in negativity about life here, likely fueled by the many changes we have seen. And I have felt it too, dismay over the closure over local stores and services, the sense of things changing and not necessarily for the better.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And while we cannot control much of what is happening to us, we can control how we respond to it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so I have chosen to write again, to lean into the feeling of vulnerability, and to begin to explore how we can respond to the changes we are seeing while working towards a stronger and better community.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Because here is another truth: no level of government is responsible for building community.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Governments build roads. They build schools. They build critical infrastructure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">They don't build communities.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We - you and I - build community. It is what we do that determines the tone of where we live; it is our actions and choices that define what type of community we live in.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And given that truth, the question we must ask is what we are doing to build our community. What is our contribution? What is our goal? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What is our response when we are caught in a situation we don't control?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is what I find myself pondering lately as we continue to face unprecedented (word of the year right there!) challenges.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">While I don't have the answers, I know it's something I want to explore. So I am kickstarting this blog (again) and starting to write (again) and hoping it doesn't result in another "coincidence" (NOT AGAIN, you hear me universe?).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Being vulnerable is hard. It can be uncomfortable, even painful. But it is where growth happens.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here is what I know: Fort McMurray has changed, and is changing. And to some degree we have zero control.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here is what else I know: We can control how we respond to these changes. We can define and determine the community we want, and we can build it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Where do we go from here?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We have a new challenge. And a new opportunity.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I've never known Fort McMurray to back down from either.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVCQKb6hSLO-E-aW53zRB9zxQRUCfuwECzXeyWrbhNqkv2_cyK0IUsWQG-yy00fUYSrBYWLZP_VciH5pjFBVPtRsn_vKVN-m59NzYSbbrv_MgyvJ7b93fPc6ELOkaVZbCWk54EzIUsIre/s2048/Building+Community+%25281%2529.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVCQKb6hSLO-E-aW53zRB9zxQRUCfuwECzXeyWrbhNqkv2_cyK0IUsWQG-yy00fUYSrBYWLZP_VciH5pjFBVPtRsn_vKVN-m59NzYSbbrv_MgyvJ7b93fPc6ELOkaVZbCWk54EzIUsIre/w400-h225/Building+Community+%25281%2529.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-30426496029962638572020-04-02T12:21:00.001-07:002020-04-02T12:21:28.403-07:00John and BettyAt the end of April, 2016, I penned a farewell note in this blog.<br />
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Just days later, a blazing inferno descended on my community.<br />
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Just weeks ago I penned an "I'm back" note on this blog.<br />
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Weeks later a blazing inferno descended on all of us.<br />
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Coincidence? Obviously.<br />
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And yet I think in the way our brains do, my brain seeks a pattern and found this one, this little blog acting as some sort of bizarre marker in my life, two major crises somehow reflected in it.<br />
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I have struggled to write about this, as it feels like every word that could possibly be written about a pandemic likely has already been put on paper or a screen; and yet I felt compelled to finally write about my own feelings on this experience as this week they culminated in a terrible revelation.<br />
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For the very first time, in over a decade, I was grateful that my parents were gone.<br />
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My mother died on March 10, 2009. My father died only three years before, on March 14, 2006. When we buried my mother it was March 14, 2009.<br />
<br />
Coincidence? Obviously.<br />
<br />
And yet somehow it never felt quite coincidental.<br />
<br />
March has not been my favourite month for a very, very long time.<br />
<br />
And this year March took on new catastrophic proportions as the reality of the pandemic began to hit hard and deep, and I found myself grateful that they were gone.<br />
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They would be in their nineties now, terribly vulnerable to this illness. They were born in the 1920's; they saw the Dirty Thirties and the Great Depression. They saw World War II, the polio pandemic, the Cold War, and more.<br />
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My mother lost a sister to scarlet fever when antibiotic use was still in its infancy; they knew the impacts of the Spanish Flu pandemic as while it had just missed hitting them directly it had deep effects on the world they grew up in.<br />
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And this week I found myself being so grateful that they did not have endure this towards the end of their lives, this frightening time.<br />
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And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, I realized I had it entirely wrong.<br />
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If anyone could have handled this, it was my parents.<br />
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They had in fact seen it all. Wars and diseases, tragedies and death. If anyone could have been strong through all of this, it was them.<br />
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It's me who will struggle, their youngest child born during a time of relative prosperity and only knowing their struggles through their stories. The challenges I have faced in my life pale compared to theirs.<br />
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This is a difficult time. But like my parents I know I must look for the things that ground me; the reasons for hope in the uncertainty.<br />
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My daughter, my work, my family and friends, my home, my firm belief in our ability to overcome; these are the things that saw me through the blazing inferno in 2016, and they will see me through this fire, too.<br />
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And my parents. I wish they were here, because I would like to be able to tell them that they are the reason I can make it through the things I do. Their strength, their courage, their wisdom and their love gave me every tool I need to build a refuge of strength in a sea of uncertainty.<br />
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My parents always believed in the good we could do; they believed in taking care of others before themselves. They knew the importance of community and of connection; they knew how to find the silver in the darkest of clouds.<br />
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And they didn't learn any of that because their lives had been easy.<br />
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So here we are. The days ahead remain uncertain, and there will likely be some very hard times; there is no denying that. But just as my parents - and grandparents and every single ancestor - did, I will persevere. Really, what else is one to do?<br />
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Yesterday I baked banana bread with my daughter, just as my mother did with me. I stripped the beds and threw everything into the wash, just as my mother always did when she needed to focus on something other than the immediate.<br />
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And I got to work, doing what I can do personally and professionally to help others, because that, at its very core, is what they did - always.<br />
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And that is how they survived both the best and worst of times.<br />
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Because in the end what they believed in - whether during war or peace, tragedy or celebration, life or death - was the need for all of us to be there for each other, as in the end that is truly all that will ever really matter.<br />
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Today I am just grateful for their example - and that they have always been, and still are, in some way, here for me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5eTYn72HbhBQFjBSfc7Zxp2QwYY_THJFm3t2ls4_WuXPe06B9Y6Z6Phnfdk8aShr1ulkulF-KRXjWRdF5uNGdv7tPPkj_IS3zOjxNRSv0oNCvtluwxZtCdJi1i2DgMUwI_TDsVs7GZjE/s1600/11-14-2009_004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5eTYn72HbhBQFjBSfc7Zxp2QwYY_THJFm3t2ls4_WuXPe06B9Y6Z6Phnfdk8aShr1ulkulF-KRXjWRdF5uNGdv7tPPkj_IS3zOjxNRSv0oNCvtluwxZtCdJi1i2DgMUwI_TDsVs7GZjE/s320/11-14-2009_004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-53088607824013766262020-02-23T11:10:00.000-08:002020-02-23T11:10:54.088-08:00Hero Takes a FallAs humans, we have a disturbing tendency to idolize other human beings, a precarious position to put them in as we may forget they are as fallible and flawed as we are. Often, this creation of idols and heroes leads to inevitable disappointment, as we learn our "heroes" may not be quite what we believe them to be.<br />
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Recently, <a href="https://newsinteractives.cbc.ca/longform/hero-with-a-secret/">Darby Allen</a>, the RMWB Fire Chief who stewarded the emergency response during the wildfire in 2016, was the subject of an article that depicted this regional "hero" in a new light - and not a flattering one.<br />
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While a court case is outstanding, some of the facts are known, including that Chief Allen was fired from the City of Calgary prior to his arrival here, and the circumstances surrounding his dismissal appear to be directly related to the complaint of sexual harassment from a female employee. There are still plenty of questions that remain unanswered, such as if our municipal leadership knew of this past when he was hired, if they did know prior to his being hired why this was not factored into that decision and of course if any similar complaints occurred during his time here. Perhaps those answers will one day be revealed, but in the interim what we are left to ponder is the concept of heroism.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=6586607118525088475" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6586607118525088475" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>I must admit that even in 2016, I struggled with the concept of Darby Allen as a hero. That's not because I had any knowledge of his past or any particular disagreement with his actions during that time, but rather because I didn't quite understand how his individual actions led to the badge of hero. He did his job, as many did during those days, and while he became the "face" of the fire, his calm and measured voice in videos reassuring panicky residents, I felt that tagging him as a hero was a bit dismissive of all the others who showed equal, if not greater, heroism: the firefighters on the front lines, the RCMP officers who dealt with residents as we evacuated in a panicked state, the folks who provided evacuees with food and water and gas and places to stay, the people who rescued pets, the people who opened their cars to other fleeing and frightened residents, and every single one of us who pulled together during what was likely the most difficult experience of our lives. Those, I thought, were everyday and real heroes, but they were nameless and faceless and not in daily videos, and so their acts of heroism, while noted, did not lead to the kind of public accolades Darby received. If we reflect deeply we also may realize that the label of hero is one we affixed to him, not one he chose; so if someone we have decided is a hero then disappoints us, is the blame on them - or us?<br />
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And the evaluation of the job he did during the fire depends on who you talk to, of course. Some think he was a hero; some do not, and much depends on what they experienced and their individual perspective. But the real challenge is that there is great risk in identifying any one individual as a hero, as when we discover that our "heroes" are imperfect our bitter disappointment is often magnified.<br />
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Over the last few years (and through some difficult times) I have learned some disappointing but fundamental truths. People can have brilliant minds, but house dark hearts. People can be talented and accomplished professionals but be deeply destructive leaders. And people we deem to be "heroes" may well be deeply, deeply flawed.<br />
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And it is because at the end of the day we are human. We are all subject to the same traits: and some of them lead us to heroic acts of courage while others take us down dark paths.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
When our heroes take a fall, we should perhaps not look more closely at them but at ourselves. In our rush to proclaim them as heroes we often fail ourselves, as we are set up for that deep disappointment when we discover that our heroes are, in truth, simply humans after all.</div>
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<br />Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-70696529217734074262020-02-17T14:45:00.002-08:002020-02-17T14:45:41.233-08:00Here’s Your Sign: Welcome to the City of Fort McMurray<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoHiC-uVR2_-9Z1SlUz-usYt3wvSgJAAvE9NC3U3pH6wviMkyHRmhsQCQZbsXItNVAMacbM_mITKnHPpGLMl9rfbjiFxpN4fUGdm40hHgxt-sGpQsanVS4WEyA5GA2GrXlIf0ueQ6W2qT_/s1600/EF6FF2DC-CA5A-4CD4-A563-2F4629C1EA10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoHiC-uVR2_-9Z1SlUz-usYt3wvSgJAAvE9NC3U3pH6wviMkyHRmhsQCQZbsXItNVAMacbM_mITKnHPpGLMl9rfbjiFxpN4fUGdm40hHgxt-sGpQsanVS4WEyA5GA2GrXlIf0ueQ6W2qT_/s320/EF6FF2DC-CA5A-4CD4-A563-2F4629C1EA10.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
This sign.<br />
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In May, 2016, this sign was destroyed during the massive wildfire this community will never forget. I recall coming back when the long evacuation ended and realizing the sign was gone and sadness washing over me. The loss of this sign troubled me far more than I ever thought it could, and I still miss it even today.</div>
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Maybe it’s because it was so reflective of Fort McMurray in all its quirky “wrongness”. Fort McMurray ceased being a city when amalgamation took place in 1995 (yes, 25 years ago in April of this year). And even the look of the sign was a throwback to the days when Fort McMurray was smaller and didn’t concern itself with grandiose placemaking signs. No sir, a sign made of items that looked like they were dragged out of the boreal forest was just fine with us, no need for your high-falutin’ graphic design work (I mean, look at that font! It makes me grin every time).</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, here’s the deal. In my heart, I want this sign back. Not an updated version, not one with the error corrected, not one that’s part of some grand signage scheme so it looks like all the other signs in the region.</div>
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No.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This sign.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The sign that made me smile every time I came home after a long trip, the sign that was wrong and yet so right in every way that mattered, this sign that was destroyed by the fire but barring that fact would likely still be standing today.</div>
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I want this sign. As a reminder of the past, as a replacement of what we lost, as some small “in your face” to the fire that broke our hearts but that failed to break us.</div>
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This sign. How I miss it.<br />
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Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-70201357820852663282020-02-16T11:06:00.000-08:002020-02-16T11:06:40.958-08:00The Return of the MuseIn 2016, just weeks before a massive wildfire changed our lives forever, I made the decision to "close" McMurray Musings.<br />
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It was not a decision I made lightly; I had invested not weeks or months but years into this blog, pouring into it every possible effort in order to try to capture the faintest glimmer of the place I had come to love.<br />
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And, as occasionally happens, over time it had come to feel more like work than pleasure; more like something I "had to do" rather than "wanted to do". And so, with only a mild twinge of regret, I said good-bye, with the caveat that I would continue to blog at another site that would allow me a broader range of expression, beyond the confines of the borders of this community.<br />
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The trouble though is that what was in my heart - what begged to be let out in words - was this community.<br />
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Things have changed since April, 2016. The economic downturn - which we hoped was a blip - has continued. The fire that tore through our community changed our landscape - and our hearts. And time has marched on. And just as our community has changed, so have I.<br />
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One thing has not changed, however. My love for this community, while tested and tried, has never lessened. In fact, I think it deepened, as during that long evacuation - the month that felt like a year - I was forced to re-evaluate my connection to this place and the people it holds.<br />
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And during that re-evaluation, I recommitted to this community. I will admit at times it has faltered; I have feared for our future and for what is in store for us, as I have seen other resource communities buffeted by change they cannot control. But time and time again, I remembered why I was still here: because this is where my daughter grew up, and I want other children who grow up here to be as proud of their home town as she is.<br />
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Over the last four years, I wrote sporadically in that other blog, touching on my life here but also on other themes. But over time I learned that I missed this blog with an intensity I had not anticipated; I missed telling the stories of our people and places and events. I missed being able to share my life in Fort McMurray, Alberta, a place so deeply misunderstood, mis-characterized and mislabeled by those who have often never even seen it.<br />
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And so, here it is. The muse has returned, although in truth she never left, not physically or emotionally. At one time I thought I needed to distance myself from McMurray Musings, because I was more than that; but over time I have come to realize that while I am more, I am still McMurray Musings too, just an older, and hopefully wiser, version.<br />
<br />
In the future of this blog - however long that might be, as I have learned that things change too quickly to commit too firmly - I hope to write about the things that made me love this community: the people who live here, the history, the beauty, the quirks and oddities and the things that make us who we are. And I will touch on our troubles too - the things that divide us, the issues we face and the challenges we have to meet, because I have never suggested Fort McMurray is utopia; it's just another town on the face of a very large planet, and like the rest it is not perfect (but it just happens to be perfect for me).<br />
<br />
I hope you will consider joining me for this adventure. I considered redesigning the blog - changing up the colour or the photo or the logo - but in the end this is the classic McMurray Musings look. I am not sure I am still the classic Triple M, though, as I have learned a few things over the last four years (good things, bad things, funny things, awkward things, things I didn't need to know, things I wish I didn't know, whatever).<br />
<br />
So pull up a seat. Maybe I will make you smile; maybe I will make you laugh. Maybe you will agree with me or maybe you will be angry with me; whatever the outcome, I accept it, as I have so missed being able to share the story of this ever-amusing, ever-changing and ever-baffling place I am so very proud to call home.<br />
<br />
And, so here we go. Again.Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-21511589754309841772016-04-29T13:26:00.000-07:002016-04-29T13:26:50.945-07:00McMurray Musings: To Everything There Is A Season<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To
everything there is a season.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just over
five years ago I sat down, opened my laptop and tapped out the very first entry
onto this blog. I could have never predicted what would happen next.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I believed
it would be a bit of a lark, a small adventure in writing that a few people
would read and that would quietly fade away over time as my attention – and theirs
– was diverted by other things.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I did not
know, and could not have known, that it would change my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Five years,
over 1000 blog posts and countless memories later, I am most certainly not the
person I was when this blog began.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was then a
married stay-at-home mom of an eleven year old daughter. I hadn’t really
written in years, and I had, to a great extent, lost touch with who I was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Today I am
divorced, with an active career in communications and media relations. My
daughter will turn 17 this year and has begun looking at universities. And now
I write not only for pleasure and passion but for pay.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How things
can change in just five years!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">This blog
was the catalyst for those changes in my life. In the course of writing it I
learned so very many lessons. Some were fairly easy. Some were difficult. And
some were painful.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone said
to me recently that they had no idea I had been going through a divorce while I
was writing these posts, and I suppose that was because for the most part I had
kept that part of my life out of the blog. And that was by design, not
accident.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">While this
blog was about my life in Fort McMurray, it also became a blog about Fort
McMurray. I had inadvertently created a personal brand (realizing this the
first time someone introduced me as McMurray Musings, as the blog name had now
become a persona). I had created a niche, but as anyone who has spent time in a
niche knows, on occasion it can become a bit cramped and crowded when the
chance has come to grow.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the
last few months I took inventory of my life. I thought about the person I was
when this blog began, and who I am today. I thought about all the opportunities
this blog has given to me, and all the things I have learned. And I thought
about all the growth I had experienced, and one realization was crystal clear:
I had outgrown the niche I created in this blog.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Today will
mark the final McMurray Musings blog post. I have no intention of quitting
writing or blogging, and you can find my new website at the link below. I will
on occasion still write about Fort McMurray, but the time has come to write
about other topics, too; like the divorce I never wrote about, like realizing
your child is almost an adult, like life as single woman and like the very
human existence we all experience. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While I
recognize I could write about those things in this blog I realized I wanted
this body of work to stand alone. This blog was always dedicated to tales of
Fort McMurray, of my life here and the adventures of life in a northern town.
To change direction on this blog would be to damage the spirit in which it
began five years ago, and in which I have taken pride ever since.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I owe so
much to all my readers, including even the ones who sent me hate mail as it
toughened me up to the point where I am rarely bothered by anything anymore.
The experience of writing this blog and sharing my life in this manner prepared
me for my subsequent adventures, and I would not change one single thing about
the experience. I hope some of you will come along for the next adventure and
follow my work on my new website, which includes a new blog as well as a
showcase of my freelance work. But for those of you who choose to end the
journey here, I have but two simple words: thank you. Thank you a million times
over for coming along on the ride at all, whether you read every single blog
post or only once in a while.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To
everything there is a season, and this spring season is the time to say goodbye
to McMurray Musings. I will always carry McMurray Musings with me, as that
persona and brand became an integral part of who I am – but it is time to move
on to the next phase, and the next chapter. I do so not with sadness, but with
excitement, and with deep gratitude for all this blog has given to me – far more
than I ever gave to it, to be honest. And I do so with joy, because being
McMurray Musings for five years has been an incredible gift – and it made me
ready to embrace being Theresa E. Wells, communications and media relations
professional, freelance writer - and yes, a blogger, too. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; line-height: 107%;">To everything there is a season, and a
time to every purpose under the heaven; this is a new season and I have a
renewed sense of purpose. I am, at the end of it all, simply so very grateful
to have shared this adventure as McMurray Musings with you.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you – and in the future you can find me at: </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background: white; color: #252525; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.theresaewells.com/"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><strong><em>Theresa E Wells</em></strong></span></a></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-15003263634584755252016-03-23T10:18:00.001-07:002016-03-23T10:18:09.952-07:00Why I Climb the Mountains With NorthWord - and How You Can, TooIt'a hard to believe the end of March is almost here. Perhaps it is a sign of my age, but time seems to go so much faster now, the days and weeks of 2016 already melting away as rapidly as the snow on those days when we have had glimpses of spring. And as the end of March approaches so too does the deadline for the next edition of NorthWord magazine - an edition for which I happen to be the guest editor.<br />
<br />
I wrote in this blog before <a href="http://www.mcmurraymusings.com/2016/01/climbing-mountain-with-northword.html">why I had chosen the theme I selected</a> for the issue: "Climbing the Mountain." Submissions, the name of their author removed as is the practice of NorthWord to ensure the focus is on the piece and not the person who has written it, have already been rolling in and it seems the theme I chose resonated not only with me.<br />
<br />
The offer to serve as a guest editor for an edition of NorthWord was an easy one. I have been submitting to NorthWord for some time now, and it has become the place where my more personal and introspective pieces of writing end up, as they don't quite fit with my other writing outlets.<br />
<br />
You see here in the blog I am McMurray Musings, a persona and not a person, created long ago when this blog began. In most of my other work I am the freelance writer, focused on the topic or the tale, and preferably ones not about me but about others instead. In my professional work I remove my "self" entirely of course. And so it is in NorthWord that you find the real me, because it is the place I have found where I can express the inner thoughts and feelings that do not fit anywhere else, It is perhaps the place where I have allowed myself, as a writer, to be the most vulnerable.<br />
<br />
I suppose in some sense that is part of climbing the mountain, too. As someone who has been fascinated with extreme mountain climbers for her entire life, I find I am always interested in the routes we take to climb our mountains. There are so many different ones, just like those faced by those who climb the world's extreme peaks, each one with positive and negative facets. And in the end we, just like those climbers, choose our routes, put on our packs, and begin the climb.<br />
<br />
Mountain climbers are like writers in one key way: they come back from their journey with stories to tell. It's part of the thrill, really, not just climbing the mountain but sharing the adventure with others, the moment when we reached the peak or the moment when we knew we never would and turned back instead. Just like mountain climbers, writers have a need to tell their stories, to share them - and that is where outlets like NorthWord come in.<br />
<br />
I am grateful to have had the opportunity to both contribute to NorthWord and to now serve as the guest editor of this next edition. It has been a chance for me to grow over the years as a writer, and now to experience serving as an editor. I will always be grateful to have had a place to be not McMurray Musings, not the "freelancer", not the "communications professional", but Theresa, the person who has written in NorthWord of her parents and of her divorce, of her heart opening and her heart breaking. This is what NorthWord has been to me. It has allowed me to share the tale of climbing those mountains.<br />
<br />
The deadline for submissions is midnight on March 30. It is not too late to share your tale of mountain climbing, whatever your mountain has been. Perhaps you have never written anything before, and perhaps you have. But you have a story - we all do - and this is your chance to tell it. Please take the chance - and climb the mountains with me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><a href="mailto:northword@hushmail.com">Climb the mountain - NorthWord submissions</a></i></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-71040835988495304912016-03-18T12:34:00.000-07:002016-03-18T16:51:31.767-07:00Spring in The Mac<span style="font-family: inherit;">There have been times over the past 15 years when I wondered
why, exactly, I was choosing to continue to live in Fort McMurray (or, as I
call it in the title, “The Mac”, which is a nickname borne from affection - if
it bothers you then perhaps you take the formal name a wee bit too seriously,
as nicknames can be all about fond sentiment).<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This wondering of mine often happens during the dark, dreary
days of winter. The soft white snow, which seemed so beautiful in December,
fails to inspire the same feeling in February. It seems the cold is never-ending,
and the snow will never stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And then there is suddenly a day, when the sun begins to
shine and the snow is glistening in a certain way. I can hear the drip-drops of
snow turned liquid outside my door, and I see a difference in the way the birds
are behaving. They feel it too.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Spring is on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">There may be more blasts of snow, more gusts of wind and
more cold nights, but that day holds the promise of warmer weather to come.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Those are the days that remind me why I live here, despite
the long dark nights of winter. It isn’t just about the seasons, either, but
the continual promise of this community. We have dark times, but there are
always those moments, the glimmers of hope, that remind me of our collective
future and better days ahead for all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s why I choose to live here in Fort McMurray. It is a
choice I have made not once, but time and time again whenever an opportunity to leave has presented itself. Fort McMurray, Fort Mac, the Mac – it gets into you
somehow, making you realize that while it is not perfect it is in the
imperfections that you find the true beauty.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today the sun is shining, and the snow is glistening. We
have been through another winter, and we have seen some hard days in the last
year. There will, undoubtedly, be more ahead, blizzards of both the winter and
economic variety. But days like today, days when the sun is bright and the snow
glitters, remind us there will be good days ahead, too. We just have to keep
the faith, and know that they will arrive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Better days are ahead. There is no doubt.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWhyc0OV_SJBQtwerJCyjlqTdamKMJkymGb_m9cFrGI6dcj8aUhcjG6ukmfhr218QNq4sIRskNoXK0-bwhBGpHD7YH8C0I2XIrlmywb-PdPSJipfUhZBPc380lcQNVSB9caBJ6KAMXAG9/s1600/Winter-scene-Solstice-Yule.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWhyc0OV_SJBQtwerJCyjlqTdamKMJkymGb_m9cFrGI6dcj8aUhcjG6ukmfhr218QNq4sIRskNoXK0-bwhBGpHD7YH8C0I2XIrlmywb-PdPSJipfUhZBPc380lcQNVSB9caBJ6KAMXAG9/s400/Winter-scene-Solstice-Yule.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Photo by Lisa Widerberg, courtesy of Flickr</em></span></span></div>
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<br />Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-74050635097922198172016-03-13T16:44:00.000-07:002016-03-13T16:53:02.599-07:00What I Learned on March 14For a very long time, March has not been a kind month for me. Three years ago in March, one of my favourite aunts, Auntie Rose, passed away. Seven years ago - on March 14 - we buried my mother. Ten years ago on this same day my father lost his battle with cancer (oh, the irony of losing them both in the same month, just three years apart, and being back in that cemetery not only to lay flowers at his grave on the anniversary of his death but to place my mother there beside him - how that twists the knife in my heart). And then, this past week, was the almost overwhelming news that a beloved community member - and my friend - had passed away.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it is no wonder March 14 has become a day of reflection for me. For many years it was a day of distinct and keen loss, still sharp and fresh, but over time as the pain has dulled I learned to take this day to remember not only the lessons each and every person I have lost taught me, but what I learned from losing them.<br />
<br />
When I lost my father to his long, slow and painful battle with lung cancer perhaps the most important thing I learned was during his final days. As he lay in palliative care, his mind still sound and active even as his body was failing, I learned what matters in the last days of your life. He spoke of his children and grandchildren, brothers and sisters, friends and memories they shared. What he never spoke about was his work, not from when he was a farmer, not from when he operated a grain elevator, not from when he worked in building maintenance when we moved from the country to the city. He didn't talk of the jobs he accomplished or the ones he left unfinished. All of those fell away, because in the end? They didn't matter.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What matters in the end is those you love and those who love you, not the work you did or did not do.</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Losing my mother was a very different experience. A phone call from my sister, the news of an "incident", and just a few hours later I was on a plane headed to the city I grew up in. The conversation I had had with my mother just a few days before would be our last, even though neither of us knew it. She never regained consciousness and she died in the ICU as I held her hand tightly, overwhelmed by how much I loved this woman. I didn't know our time together would be cut so short - she was in relatively good health despite her age, and I was complacent. I wish I knew then what her death taught me.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Life is fragile and uncertain. Every day might be the last, and every conversation might be the final one. Make sure you say the things you want to say, the words of love and gratitude. Never take the future for granted, because when it is too late, it is quite simply too late.</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Ah, Aunt Rose. She was a true Alberta Rose. I recall admiring her as a child for her teased up, jet black hair, something I now realize was rather Priscilla Presley-esque. She might have been a rural girl, but she had an air of glamour around her too, with good taste in fashion and make up. She was opinionated and smart, too, a potent combination for someone like me to be around.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Stay true to who you are. Aunt Rose never lost the jet black hair or the interest in fashion, and she remained opinionated and vocal for her entire life. She was an Alberta Rose, with a soft and feminine exterior and a solid steel interior. It is okay to be both.</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The freshest loss of course is that of Vilia Tosio, someone I came to know in this community as our paths crossed often and we forged a friendship based on mutual respect and admiration. Vilia was never afraid to be bold, to say what she believed, and to advocate for those who needed it. For Vilia those in need were the mothers and infants in our community, and the love and attention she gave to them was returned in abundance. She impacted our community, thousands of lives, and people like me, who watched her with quiet awe as she did what she did without fanfare, applause or, often, recognition.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Do what you do because you love it. Do it because you believe it needs doing. Do it because you can do it, and because you can be the change you want to see in the world. And do it even when no one is watching, because you are not doing it for applause. In the end, you are doing it for the ones it will benefit, and because you know it is the right thing to do.</span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
There are many more lessons I have learned from each of these people, and in the case of my parents they are, of course, the reason I am who I am today. A friend who read one of my Facebook posts this past week sent a message saying my parents would be proud of me, and perhaps they would be - but as I sit here today I think instead of how proud I am of them, of Rose and of Vilia, and how very grateful I am to have had them in my life at all.<br />
<br />
Loss is painful - there is no changing that reality. But it is painful because of how much the people we love mean to us, and what they have meant in our lives. I would far rather experience the pain of their loss than saving myself from it by never having known them at all. How lucky I am to feel this sense of pain, because it means I had the chance to know them - and now I carry part of them with me forever, in the things they taught me.<br />
<br />
For a very long time, March has not been a kind month to me. But as I grow older I focus less on the unkindness, and more and more on my gratitude for a month - and a life - that has been full of incredible people and lessons learned, sometimes even through tears.<br />
<br />
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<br />Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-16175552806838592192016-03-08T16:06:00.003-08:002016-03-08T16:06:44.767-08:00The Princess and the Thugs<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Any sane person knows you should never, ever check the “available
for adoption” pages at the local SPCA if you are a pet lover. Generally
speaking I have fairly strong resistance to these pages, but last month a photo
and description caught my eye as the cat featured was remarkably unusual.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Catya”, as she was then called (sigh, the inevitable cat
pun) was listed as a 5 year old Siberian Forest Cat. Now, Siberian Forest Cats
aren’t exactly common. In ten years working in vet clinics I only ever saw one,
and kittens of this breed can fetch an astonishingly tidy sum. These cats are
also known for their personalities, and so I was almost in a daze as I found
myself in my car, which seemed to be driving us to the Fort McMurray SPCA.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And there she was in the cat room, holding court like the
feline royalty she is. Soft meows and ferocious purrs emanated from her perch,
where she would allow admirers to touch her (but not pick her up, as that is
pushing the limit of her highness’ patience I quickly learned – admire the cat,
yes, pick up the cat, no). I texted photos of her to a dear friend and to the
Intrepid Junior Blogger, both of whom asked when I was taking her home. So of
course I filled out the application, and within a matter of days “Catya” – now renamed
Tsarina Nikita as befits the little monarch – came home.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Now, lest you forget I do have two other resident cats, both
males and both quite comfortable with the status quo. Sirius and Smaug are the
Felix and Oscar of the feline world, with Sirius being the slightly neurotic
but fundamentally very orderly Felix. Smaug, who has gained an impressive 6
pounds since his arrival home from the SPCA (an “unsustainable” weight gain,
his vet admonishes me) is the dishevelled, somewhat slovenly but deeply lovable
Oscar. These two have a remarkable relationship which involves all out
occasional bouts of kitty MMA in the bathtub, slow seething running battles of
paw swipes and teeth-filled chomps and deep and intense grooming, cuddling and
sleeping sessions which run for hours. They are brothers in every sense,
completely different in physical appearance and personality but completely
devoted to each other – and then the Tsarina arrived.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think they were, at first, stunned. Neither of them would
look at me for a couple of days, as they both seemed to know I was somehow
responsible for this new family member. They were curious but in a “when is she
leaving kind of way”, planting themselves in front of the slightly open laundry
room doors where she was safely housed on the other side. They were immediately
bitter that she ate Fancy Feast while they were doomed to food purchased at the
vet clinic (very expensive food designed to keep Sirius from developing urinary
tract infections and peeing in the sink, as once has happened).</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I began to allow them to mingle with each other one thing
became quite clear: Tsarina viewed the boys as street thugs, little ruffians
not really worthy of her time. She is a very affectionate cat, but her level of
interest in the boys has so far settled at the point known as “tolerance”. If
they come too close there is a small royal hiss, and when Sirius approaches her
she will walk away while quite deliberately hitting him in the whiskers with
her long fluffy tail.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8Geh7fK-5sy3O9E1qtrT4UNVxXE48CbKyBhgKmnH_9XITn9LbVEA3a5JEXmOtIEmkJnyM98slTAJ0G9D1A17Kt0X1Cui1OWQG7EaVy9o7Y7Ctt7PaZKnV45H_Gz-83bqCw1F7Vi40F-W/s640/blogger-image-1954173996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh8Geh7fK-5sy3O9E1qtrT4UNVxXE48CbKyBhgKmnH_9XITn9LbVEA3a5JEXmOtIEmkJnyM98slTAJ0G9D1A17Kt0X1Cui1OWQG7EaVy9o7Y7Ctt7PaZKnV45H_Gz-83bqCw1F7Vi40F-W/s320/blogger-image-1954173996.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Other things the Tsarina does not like includes the family
dog (poor Cassie – this makes 2/3 cats who are terrified of her, and Sirius
just beats up on her) and the ferrets (these she finds completely baffling and
gives a very wide berth). She does love treats, lousy grocery store cat food,
being brushed and me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The one thing all the cats have in common though is their
place of origin – the Fort McMurray SPCA. I don’t know Sirius’s story, but it
is evident he was at least partially an outdoor cat as he still yearns to
escape outdoors on occasion (and once in awhile succeeds, only to be distracted
by things like leaves and snow and quickly recaptured and returned to prison –
his name Sirius Black fits him well as I suspect he sees me as a Dementor who
holds him against his will some days). Smaug was obviously loved at one point
as he doesn’t even like the outdoors, and an open door holds no interest for
him whatsoever (but he will throw himself at anyone who comes through it, like
when he greets the pizza guy by rolling on his back in his “rub ma belly”
pose). Both Sirius and Smaug were picked up as strays though, and never
reclaimed by their owners, a fact which both hurts my heart and makes me happy
because it meant they were there for me. Tsarina had a family, and apparently
when it dissolved she and her sister were surrendered to the SPCA, and her
sister was quickly adopted while Tsarina, a bit older, had to wait a bit
longer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Regardless of how they ended up there, the Fort McMurray
SPCA provided my trio with a safe place to be until they could find a new
fur-ever home – which in their case just happens to be with me. My little gang
of three – the princess and the thugs – are only a small number of the
thousands of animals the SPCA helps in our community every day. I am deeply
grateful to them for the work they do, and even more I am profoundly thankful
that I now have this little furry family. And if you happen to be looking for a new furry family member, I recommend the Fort McMurray SPCA, where you can find a new friend - and become their fur-ever home.</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
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Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-51945418341934431752016-03-04T07:46:00.000-08:002016-03-04T07:49:43.171-08:00How I Overcame my Skepticism and Found a Most Unexpected Cure -CranioSacral TherapyI think it would be fair to describe me as a skeptic. Once upon a time I was quite a staunch skeptic, unwilling to pry open the fortress of my mind to even consider believing in things that seemed doubtful, but in the past few years some experiences have softened the walls of the fortress. There was the time I realized that massage therapy is not simply a hedonistic pleasure but can in fact be critical to health and well-being (and why I am now faithful about my monthly deep tissue massages - insert shoutout to my beautiful and talented massage therapist Kayleigh at Achieve Wellness!). There was the time I bought an essential oil diffuser and oils from Saje, completely dubious about their potential but desperate as I was having trouble sleeping, and discovered that on nights when the diffuser was used I slept well, while when the diffuser was off so was my sleep pattern. And then there was the discovery of adult colouring books, something I laughed at initially but that has resulted in a small stash of books and crayons, perfect when I need to think of something other than deadlines, press releases and paying bills.<br />
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And so it was that this journey has led me to be more open to new ideas and experiences, like when the lovely Heather Thomas sent me a message asking if I had ever tried CranioSacral Therapy. Now, I probably would have declined had the offer come from anyone but Heather, as I was deeply doubtful of the potential value of this practice, at least as it relates to me. Heather however is the kind of gentle soul you only encounter rarely in this life, and so I said yes even when my skeptical mind was chiding me.<br />
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That would be how I ended up at Heather's home and under her attentive care one evening. Unlike the massage therapy I have come to know well, this was therapy in which all my clothing stayed on while I laid flat on a massage table. As opposed to the deep tissue massages to which I have grown accustomed, this was about light touches. And it was about a connection between the practitioner and patient, too.<br />
<br />
Heather could tell my body was dubious as we worked through the stages of the therapy. What intrigued me though was that she was attuned to everything I was feeling, even accurately assessing that I was feeling pressure in my sinuses at several points, something I did not tell her but she somehow detected. What was most interesting though is there were things I had not told Heather, and that I had not expected would be addressed through this unusual therapy of which I had been so doubtful.<br />
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I had arrived that evening with the beginning of a headache, a storm cloud gathering just behind my eyes. I had been having a number of them recently, likely related to my eye disease and perhaps even eye strain due to seeing the world through only one eye. I could feel it forming and I had almost cancelled the appointment, but I decided to carry on to see if the headache would lessen or worsen with the therapy.<br />
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Even more than that though I had arrived in Heather's home with a case of exhaustion that my essential oil diffuser could not seem to cure. For over two weeks I had been experiencing nightmares, ones of the kind I had not endured since childhood (or maybe ever) and that were increasingly robbing me of sleep as once I had awoken from them there was no settling back into slumber.<br />
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The nightmares were dark and frightening, but the most troubling part was I could not remember any details of them, just flashes of feelings of fear. For over two weeks they had plagued me, and I was, to be honest, becoming terrified they intended to be permanent residents in my head.<br />
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But as Heather was performing the therapy, as the series of light touches she performed moved around my body and began to centre on my head, the most extraordinary thing began to happen. The dark storm cloud in my mind, that headache that had been forming, grew tighter and smaller, almost like a tightly wound ball of black yarn. And then, suddenly, I could feel it leaving through the top of my head and disappearing, just gone - and so was the headache.<br />
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After the therapy I felt not only refreshed but renewed in a way I could not quite explain. I felt slightly light-headed, and the headache that had been building all day was completely gone. I thanked Heather and headed home, and before long was in bed, expecting what had become my usual 2am wake-up from a nightmare.<br />
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Except that I woke up the next morning at 7:00 am when my alarm went off - no nightmare. And the most astonishing thing is there have been no nightmares since, a streak of two weeks of nightly terrors ended it seems by the very practice I had been so skeptical about.<br />
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Was that black ball of yarn my headache or was it something more? When it disappeared did it take my nightmares with it, whatever deep dark "thing" it was? The nightmares had appeared out of the blue with no apparent cause and I could not tell their origin, but I know one thing: they stopped when I saw Heather for CranioSacral Therapy, an outcome I certainly did not anticipate and still find hard to believe, except that I lived it.<br />
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As a skeptic it can be hard to accept that we might have misjudged or prejudged something. I was wrong on massage therapists, essential oils, colouring books and it seems I was wrong about CranioSacral Therapy too, as there is now no doubt in my mind that there is a benefit to it. Even while my mind and body were doubtful and resistant to the therapy it was in some way working - and working well enough to cure the nightmares that had gotten to the point where I was finding myself dreading sleep.<br />
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So, even if you are a skeptic like me I hope on occasion you take a risk and step out of your comfort zone. I would suggest CranioSacral Therapy is a good one to try, particularly with someone like Heather who can talk you through the process so you understand what is happening and help you to overcome your own skepticism. Sometimes our biggest barrier is, in fact, ourselves. Go with an open mind, and see what happens. After all, isn't that what life is about?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i><a href="http://www.heatherthomas.ca/">Heather Thomas' website</a></i></b></span></div>
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Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-52484131292895550542016-02-29T14:23:00.001-08:002016-02-29T14:23:32.481-08:00What Does it Take to be The Good Survivor?When Tito Guillen, director of a new local short film, contacted me to offer an advance screening of the new project I leapt at the chance, of course. One of the primary qualities necessary to be a decent writer is a deep and relentless curiosity about everything, but especially about the things your friends have been up to. So when he sent me the link, I watched the film intently. Not once, but at least three times, because once the curiosity was sated I found so much more I needed to grasp.<br />
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<a href="http://www.storyhive.com/project/show/id/736">"The Good Survivor"</a> is the local film that won a $10,000 Telus OPTIK grant thanks to a voting process that allowed members of the public to vote for films they wanted to see funded. The concept in itself was intriguing, given a cast of locals like Steve Reeve Newman of Mix 103.7 FM radio fame and up-and-coming young performer Dylan Thomas-Bouchier. Both of these individuals are gifted actors in their own right, but I was intrigued to see how they would work together, and how they would work Dylan's cerebral palsy into a screenplay about a challenging post-apocalyptic world - one filled with zombies.<br />
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Of course zombies are quite popular right now, given television shows such as The Walking Dead that have taken zombie culture to new heights. But The Good Survivor is less about the zombies and more about two very different characters who come together in a world filled with them - and one of the characters has what we have long traditionally viewed (and even called) a handicap.<br />
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I have had the opportunity to speak to Dylan about the filming, and I know it was an arduous ordeal for all of the cast and crew given that it was filmed in the winter and they were exposed to the elements for long periods of time. For Dylan it was on occasion particularly challenging, which is perhaps what has given rise to an astonishing performance that so captured me I had to watch the short three times to let it sink in fully.<br />
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This is not to diminish the roles played by anyone else, including the talented Steve Reeve Newman who looks a bit Grizzly Adams bear-like and who evokes the crankiness one would expect of someone who has been fending off hordes of zombies (and carries a secret inside them too). The supporting roles are equally well portrayed, but there is no doubt young Dylan steals the show as he fleshes out a character that is not only more than his "handicap", but is also perhaps even far more interesting and compelling because of it.<br />
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The short is filmed so well, particularly given the inclement weather conditions, and the directing is crisp and precise. The special effects are suitably gory, and the storyline is thoughtful as it explores what it takes to be a "good survivor", which in the end may not be about traditional survival skills at all.<br />
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The short film has now had a few public screenings, and even more people have had the opportunity to experience what I was so fortunate to get a sneak peek at. The reviews continue to be strong, and there continues to be interest in both the project and a very unique storyline that didn't shy away from the reality of "handicaps" but instead stared right into them.<br />
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This week The Good Survivor enters into a new phase of voting. You can view the film online and then you can vote for the project.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">A top winner from Alberta and a top winner from BC will be selected through a combination of votes, social media presence and a jury of judges to go to the next level of mentorship through Telus / NSI and an invitation to the Banff Media Festival to further the development and careers of the filmmakers</span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The support of the community continues to be critical to ensuring The Good Survivor not only attracts new audiences, but furthers the development of a group of individuals who have already produced a remarkable short film, made in challenging circumstances and featuring a storyline that is not only unusual but compelling.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Over the past few years the art of filmmaking has truly taken off in our region. Thanks to individuals such as those involved in this project, Wood Buffalo and Fort McMurray are becoming part of the Canadian filmmaking presence, an amazing achievement that has occurred in a very short period of time. It is entirely due to thoughtful, professional products like this one, which marry a popular concept (zombies) with a solid storyline that explores what being a good survivor really means, and the true nature of our handicaps, whether they are physical or emotional.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I sincerely hope you will take the time to view the film and to vote for this group of filmmakers and this project, one which proudly reflects our community. Watch the film, and then vote to ensure this group of local filmmakers has the opportunity to further explore their craft while also representing our community on a national stage. Help The Good Survivor to thrive and move onto the next step - and take pride in fellow community members as they follow their dreams. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You can watch the short in the video below, and just below that is the link to vote for this project. If like good short films, if you love people who have passion for their craft and if you want to see others in our community have the opportunity to attain their dreams and goals, vote now for The Good Survivor - because this group of filmmakers? Well, they have shown all of us just what it takes to not only survive, but rise.</span></span></span><br />
<a href="https://youtu.be/No02uYw5Iuo"></a><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/No02uYw5Iuo" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<a href="http://www.storyhive.com/project/show/id/736"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong><em>Vote now for The Good Survivor!</em></strong></span></a></div>
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-52281839388448084662016-02-24T11:07:00.000-08:002016-02-24T11:07:29.105-08:00A Glimmer of Light<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had a strong suspicion this latest trip to Edmonton was
going to be a challenge when the bus I was riding in broke down just outside
Wandering River. We limped into that small town, and there we sat for three
hours to wait for another bus to finish our trip to the city where I would see
my corneal specialist, something I have done frequently in the past year and a
half. The new bus finally arrived and we got on board, hours behind schedule
but finally under way, and I thought the trip should now go smoothly – right until
the next morning when the taxi I was riding in on the way to the corneal
specialist broadsided another vehicle that had failed to stop at a stop sign. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, the taxi driver tried to avoid it, stomping on the
brakes, but the roads were icy and there was just no escape. I watched as we
drifted, seemingly in slow motion, into the side of the other car, and then we
spun around a couple of times for good measure before coming to rest in a
snowdrift beside the busy street. The driver and I were unhurt, thankfully, but
the omens were clear: this trip was doomed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">A new taxi arrived and ferried me to the specialist’s office
with time to spare, as I always arrive early and then end up waiting as one
always does for physicians. I quite like my corneal specialist, one of the best
in the province I am told, although we met under rather inauspicious circumstances
in an emergency room as he used medical grade crazy glue to seal the hole that
had developed in my cornea, the result of years of an eye disease that had
weakened that fragile bit of flesh. Like a punctured tire, my cornea was
leaking and he needed to plug the hole, which he did with great precision and
great success.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I sat in the big chair I assumed it would be much like
our previous visits – some concern over the increased pressure in my eye, a
reaction to one of the medications I must use to control the inflammation, and
a determination that I still had no vision, obscured due to the glue that sits
squarely in the middle of my cornea and clouds the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">This time was different, though. The specialist, concerned
about the ominously high pressure in my eye, asked if we had ever talked about
enucleation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, other people might not even understand what that word
means, but I knew instantly. I have never come so very close to vomiting on
someone’s shiny black wingtips, as what my specialist was now proposing was not
the corneal transplant we had discussed but rather the removal of my entire
left eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">His reasons were sound. The increased pressure meant that I
was likely developing glaucoma in that eye, which would eventually diminish any
vision I might have once the glue was removed. And we could not be sure how
much vision still remained, given that despite medications the pressure had
remained absurdly high, although he acknowledged this may have been in part due
to an inability of the usual instruments to measure it properly due to the
glue. An enucleation would end it all – the pain, the suffering, the
uncertainty, the years of medication, the endless round robin of medical
visits. No more eye problems. In fact, no more left eye.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We discussed it at some length, me doing that thing I do
when I am actually dying inside but pretending to be completely rational and
logical and dispassionate. When I left his office it was with the directive to make
a decision, removal of my eye or a corneal transplant which may not work, may
not result in any vision and which may end in removal of the eye in the end
regardless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I wandered around a local mall in a daze, buying things I
cannot even recall wanting or needing but just having to do something to not
think about the decision. It was not until very late that night, when I could
not sleep, that I faced my demons. I laid on my bed in a darkened hotel room,
the only light coming from the screen of my laptop as I read on and on about
the procedure of removing an eye and the development of an artificial, or
prosthetic, eye.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What I learned would have been quite fascinating had it not
been quite so personal. The art of making prosthetic eyes is exactly that, an
art often handed down from generation to generation. It is far less science and
far more craftsmanship as the artisan molds an eye to fit the socket and then
painstakingly hand paints it to match the other eye. Thanks to advances in the
technology artificial eyes can even move to mimic the other eye, lessening the
effect of a “wandering eye” that is clearly fake to any observer. There are
only a handful of such artisans in the country, I learned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But as I sat there, late at night, all I could think was how
we come to places in our lives we never expect to be. I never, ever anticipated
I would find myself in a hotel room hours from home contemplating having a
piece of my body removed. I would have never imagined myself learning about
prosthetic eyes not because it affected someone else but because I needed to know
how one cleans them and how long they last. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t share this story looking for sympathy. I suppose I
want people to understand that this is how life works – full of surprises of
every kind, including the ones that find you staring into the dark in a hotel
room as you think about whether or not to remove your eye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And it was there in that dark that I turned on the
flashlight on my cellphone and moved it around the air, trying to see if I
could detect the bright light from it. I closed my good eye and used only the “bad
one”, the one that has been through so much over the past sixteen years. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The light was above, and then below. Top left, bottom right.
I could not see “things”, but my poor beleaguered eye, despite the glue and the
pressure and the corneal scarring, was picking up shimmers of that light like a
homing beacon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And it was then that I decided, just as I was so very close
to saying it was time to end the suffering and simply remove it, that I had to
try the transplant. Maybe it would not work, and maybe it would still end in
that prosthetic eye. It certainly meant more pain and suffering and medical
visits and an uncertain future, but what I knew was that my left eye had not yet
given up – and so nor could I.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This spring I will add my name to the corneal transplant
list. In 6-9 months I should be the recipient of a new (well, more accurately
new-to-me) cornea. And in short order I will know if I have any vision in my
left eye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are many lessons here, and much to write about. I want
to explore the lack of medical specialists in northern communities like ours,
as an ophthalmologist would have likely been able to detect my impending
corneal perforation and prevented all of this. I want to explore the artistry
of artificial eyes, as even if I never find myself owning one there is a
fascinating tale to tell on those, their history and their future. I want to
explore the process of corneal transplants, including the wait time and why
more people do not donate their corneas and other organs. And I want to write
about what it is like to travel through the peaks and valleys of a chronic
illness, including the deep dark chasms where one finds oneself late at night
in hotel rooms far from home, pondering decisions no one should ever need to
ponder.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today though I share this simple story, of a night where I
faced the kind of decision you never think you will face, staring into the
darkness until I saw the flash of light coming from my cellphone, telling me
that as long as there is a glimmer of hope there is no option but to forge on,
not give up. As long as there is just a shimmer of hope – just the faintest bit
of light – then we must try even if there is a chance we will not succeed.
Perhaps that is the lesson I needed to learn most of all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-28680290967323262932016-02-07T07:02:00.002-08:002016-02-07T07:31:06.613-08:00The Invincibility of YouthThe news was both shocking and tragic. A group of young adults had somehow entered the Canada Olympic Park in Calgary overnight, and taken their own toboggan down the bobsled run. Undoubtedly it was conceived of as a great prank, a moment of teenage enthusiasm for what was also undoubtedly a bad idea. The tragic part is that they had no idea how bad an idea it would turn out to be, as they hit a gate on the way down the run, injuring several and killing two of the young adults.<br />
<br />
I read it with horror, as I have my own teenage charge in my life and while she exhibits generally good judgement I know how young adults can be. I know this because I was one once, and a reckless one at that. But my horror on reading this news was compounded by the adults who also read it and shared it on social media calling the young adults in question "morons", "idiots" and "stupid".<br />
<br />
All I could think was there but for the grace of god/luck/whatever deity you choose, go I, as there is no way I should have survived my young adult years.<br />
<br />
Show of hands: how many of you did something stupid as a young adult? This can range from getting into a vehicle with someone you suspected might be intoxicated to street racing to trespassing to the variety of other things that seemed like a good idea at the time. How many of us did things that could have ended in serious injury or death?<br />
<br />
I see a lot of hands, people.<br />
<br />
Mine are both in the air. I think back to the times my best friend, who was from a small town in rural Saskatchewan, and I went "bump riding" with her friends, which meant taking the back country roads at top speed in fast cars to "get air" and feel like we were flying, if just for a moment. I think back to spinning donuts in parking lots while taking turns lying on top of a car, hanging onto the roof racks, the car increasing in speed every turn. I think back to all the times we trespassed on private property to pull pranks (ever heard of tipping cows?) and all the times we made decisions that now stun me in their complete lack of understanding of potential consequences.<br />
<br />
How easily we could have been injured. How easily we could have died. I remember the times I felt my grip on those roof racks loosening, fearing I would fall off, but never thinking about what would or could truly happen if I did. We were so lucky.<br />
<br />
We were so lucky, until the moment we were not. For my friends and I that luck ended one summer night. I was at home hours away while my small town friends were at a bush party just outside their town. There was alcohol, I'm sure, and there were a lot of kids, and there were dirt bikes, and then there was a collision between two dirt bikes on a gravel road. Two were killed. One lingered in a coma for months. One was badly injured and disfigured for life. They were in Grade 12, and I was in first year university.<br />
<br />
Our belief in our own invincibility ended that night. Many things ended then, including a slow dissolution of that friendship I had treasured. We all changed forever in the seconds it took for two dirt bikes to collide on a back country road. None of us were ever the same again. I have shared that story with my daughter in the hope that she would understand the consequences of such decisions, but then again she is young and like me at her age I imagine she believes she is invincible. Such is the reality of youth.<br />
<br />
It is so easy as an adult to look at the actions of young adults and call them idiotic or stupid or moronic. We fail to remember our own young adult years, perhaps. We fail to understand that young brains have not finished developing, and make decisions adult brains would consider far differently. We forget what it was like to feel invincible and immortal, to feel like we were flying and could never fall to earth.<br />
<br />
Today I learned the young adults killed in Calgary were twin brothers, leaving behind grieving parents, a sister and a circle of family and friends who must have loved them dearly. When I saw their photos my heart hurt so deeply, taking me back to the morning over thirty years ago when I got a phone call telling me two friends had been killed in a dirt bike accident. I felt no compunction to pass judgment on their actions then and I do not today. Instead I feel nothing but sorrow and sympathy.<br />
<br />
Perhaps - just perhaps - we could put aside the impulse to condemn the actions and remember what it was like to be young. Failing that perhaps we could simply understand the sort of grief others are experiencing right now.<br />
<br />
Compassion is a gift we can give freely - it costs us nothing. I simply hope we can be rich in compassion, my friends. The world could use far more of it and far less condemnation. I believe each and every one of us hopes for compassion from others.<br />
<br />
There but for the grace of God and/or luck go I. That, my friends, is the beginning of the road to compassion. I hope we all consider travelling it.Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-91726843746172621842016-02-01T11:34:00.000-08:002016-02-01T11:34:01.683-08:00Getting Through the Tough Times - Together
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It has become the rather large elephant in the room now.
While I have seen a lot of discussion regarding the price of oil, the downturn
in the economy, the drop in house prices and the layoffs we have already seen
and those we fear, I have seen far less discussion on the impact this is having
on our collective mental health.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There is no denying that economic and financial stress
creates an atmosphere of anxiety. It is almost palpable on occasion, and I
think we tend to tiptoe around it as we are quite busy putting on our “warrior
faces” and being brave in the face of adversity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">And we have every reason to be brave and proud, too, as we
have continued to show the generosity of our community and our desire to help
others, as evidenced by the amazing fundraising that has taken place here in
the last few months. But to ignore the elephant in the room is to invite
trouble, because there is no doubt there is fear in our community over the
current state of things.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are those who will likely think even acknowledging it
is a mistake, as it could seem pessimistic when we need to remain optimistic.
The truth is that I am very optimistic about our long-term future, but I also
acknowledge we have gone through, and likely will go through more, rough
patches on the way to that future. And we need to both recognize them and offer
our assistance to those who are going through rougher patches than we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am seeing a lot if it on social media. Moms worried about
grocery bills and squeezing every dollar. Dads selling the recreation vehicles
they acquired when times were good. And there is a sense of anxiety that
underlies it all, a fear of the unknown or a dread of what we expect. It is
contagious, too, as the uncertainty affects us all.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, what can we do in times such as this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s quite simple: be there for each other. This is the time
to reach out to people even if you never have before. Check in with your family
and friends to see how they are doing, of course – but go a bit further and
reach out to your colleagues and your neighbours, too. It’s okay to not have a
solution to their worries – they won’t have one for yours, either. But
sometimes just having someone listen to our fears has the remarkable ability to
lessen them, shrinking that elephant down to a manageable size. If they are
truly struggling and their mental health is being affected perhaps suggest some
of the many <a href="https://woodbuffalo.cmha.ca/">resources available to help.</a> And maybe throw in a
simple act of kindness; wheel their garbage bins back in place after the trucks
have been by for instance, or shovel their sidewalk in addition to yours. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Right now, when people are fighting battles about which we
may know nothing, the smallest acts of kindness may have deep and profound
impacts we cannot even imagine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Words of encouragement are never out of place. Try to be
hopeful even in the face of darkness. Be the one who offers the kind word, be
positive and just be there for the others in our community who are struggling.
And if you are the one struggling? I am reaching out to you, and ask you to
reach out to me, or someone else, and simply share what’s going on with you.
Share that elephant with someone else and watch how it gets smaller. I promise it will.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have always believed and still maintain that we live in
one of the most remarkable communities in this country. Community strength is
not judged by how we treat each other when times are good, though. It is
determined by how we support each other when times are difficult. This is a
time when we can truly show that strength, by being there for each other in
ways both large and small. We can still be positive and optimistic and acknowledge
the challenges we face – and help each other through them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We live in a remarkable place. Now let’s be remarkable for
each other. And let’s get through this. Together.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-dgOTfQNNkDnXNJABlBFYgPfZK5BwY46VRDxZkYLQxjRlnVKZA9kdrQL03FHJQqix6NwMm5SCitKZjOJkrAOP44GVP3SQ9rqTDn_6b16Blthseh_ip1tJEAJSu9wYN2NTapOxGbH1aW5/s1600/to-be-there-for-each-other.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-dgOTfQNNkDnXNJABlBFYgPfZK5BwY46VRDxZkYLQxjRlnVKZA9kdrQL03FHJQqix6NwMm5SCitKZjOJkrAOP44GVP3SQ9rqTDn_6b16Blthseh_ip1tJEAJSu9wYN2NTapOxGbH1aW5/s320/to-be-there-for-each-other.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-83016240388565711562016-01-30T09:27:00.000-08:002016-01-30T09:27:38.312-08:00What I Learned on the Way to One Thousand<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was a few posts ago when I realized I was approaching a bit of a milestone number in this blog. Today, after writing this blog for just under five years (as of this spring), I hit the 1000-post mark. It's almost a bit hard to believe, as when this adventure began I had no anticipation I would make it to 100 posts, let alone ten times that, but here we are.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And what a ride it has been. I couldn't even begin to summarize what I have done, seen and written about thanks to this blog. If asked to do so I would have to tell you to just go read the posts, as it's all there in black and white - but while I cannot summarize all the events I can summarize some of the things I have learned over those one thousand posts. This summer I will celebrate a milestone birthday, and it is likely I will share some thoughts on what I learned on the way to that number, too - but that's for another day. Today is the day to share what I learned on the way to one thousand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Beginning a blog is easy. Continuing a blog is hard.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Anybody can start a blog. It is actually quite easy, given the ease of use of many blog platforms and websites. The hard part isn't the beginning - it's keeping it going. Over those one thousand posts I can't count the number of times I considered ending the blog. There were long stretches when I didn't blog, and times when I wondered why I bothered - and yet I kept coming back to it. Maybe it's because I'm stubborn and maybe it's because I hate to quit anything, but I suspect it's mostly because I simply enjoy the entire experience of blogging. But if you begin a blog and don't enjoy it I can almost guarantee you won't continue it, as the blogosphere is littered with abandoned blogs that were once vibrant and active and are now quiet ghosts where nobody posts anymore. They are silent witnesses to that fact.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong></strong><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>If you are passionate about your topic, the blogging is easy. If you aren’t passionate, don’t bother. People know.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the very beginning I knew I had to write about things I care about, because people can spot a lack of authenticity. Even if they don't realize they are doing it they can still sense it, and they will not connect with your writing if they think it is insincere. Blogging about things you don't care about is a painful chore and completely absurd because blogging is the one place where you should feel free to write about whatever you actually care about. If you care about a topic the words come easily - if you don't it's a bit like herding unruly cats that you don't even want to herd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<strong><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Write about what you love. Or what you hate. Nobody wants to read about ambivalence.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></strong>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ambivalence is boring. If you don't love it or hate it, why bother writing about it in a blog? Nothing says "don't read me" like a title that reeks of ambivalence. Even worse though is that writing about ambivalence is boring. No wonder people quit blogging. If your own topics don't excite you, then there really is no point because they won't entertain anyone else, either.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Write for yourself. Finding an audience is awesome – but your first audience is always you.</strong></span></o:p><br />
<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></o:p>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I always assumed the only regular reader this blog would have would be me. I think that assumption gave me a lot of freedom to write for myself and about myself, because it was always about my life in my community. When it attracted readers I was a bit stunned, but I knew what attracted them was what I was doing, so I wasn't about to change it. This blog is about our community, to be certain - but it's about the adventure of one resident in this community: me. I am the one common link between all one thousand posts.</span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></strong>
<strong><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you don’t have a thick skin and you are sharing your opinions you need to grow one. Pronto.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></strong>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">If you don't have a thick skin you might want to blog about something safe, like cupcakes. I don't imagine there are many cupcake culinary controversies, although I could be wrong on that. But if you are going to write a blog and share your opinions be ready for those who disagree with you. One of my most profound moments was talking to a class of young students about blogging and having them ask how to handle it if people thought what they wrote was "stupid". After I got over the initial heartbreak that they even knew to ask that kind of question I told them that I handled it by being confident that my thoughts and opinions have as much value as anyone else's, and that I didn't worry overly about what other people thought of it. If you write what is true to you, you won't feel much need to defend it. The haters can get stuffed. Or start their own blog. </span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></strong></div>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Don’t be afraid to be you. Even when you are terrified.</strong></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think it was the moment when I realized it was my blog that I began to own the hell out of it. Yep, those are my words, my thoughts and my opinions. That's even my picture there to the right of this post. So I was going to be me in this blog, 100% of the time. What would be the point of being anyone else?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Know when to hold ‘em. And when to fold ‘em.</strong></span></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></o:p></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kenny Rogers wasn't just singing about cards, you know. Sometimes blogging is about knowing when to hold 'em - the stories you wish you could tell but know that you can't, and knowing when to fold 'em - the topics you know you have to shelve for a bit. I often quip that some stories will be saved for the eventual book I will write and people always laugh - but it's no joke as of course there is a book, just one that will come out after I have left town some day. Or maybe published posthumously just to be on the really safe side. The stories that made it to this blog are really one half of the adventure this has been, and some day I will tell the other half. Just not today. Thanks Kenny - I know when to hold 'em!</span></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>When everyone loves what you write, you’re a genius; when they hate it, you’re Satan.</strong></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The best part is when some people think you are a genius while others think you are Satan. But on occasion almost everyone will think you missed the mark or messed up or are channeling the underworld. It can be quite the pendulum swing, but it can also be quite entertaining. Besides the hate mail that comes from being pegged as Satan can be an awfully good read.</span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Even people who think you are Satan might continue to read your work, if only to prove to themselves that you are indeed Satan.</strong></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">One of my favourite encounters was with someone who said they hated everything I write but who continued to read it to confirm how much they hate everything I write. Who can argue with that kind of logic? It's sort of like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer every day to remind yourself about how much you hate being hit in the head with a hammer. One can only be amused by this, and I am.</span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Sometimes you are very right. Sometimes you are dead wrong.</strong></span></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You will not always be right. And it's okay to admit your errors. But you should never feel forced to acknowledge you are wrong, because if you feel forced then it's quite likely you don't instinctively feel you are wrong at all. And that should be your clue that maybe you aren't wrong. It's also okay to stick to your guns if that's what your instinct says.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Don’t let opportunity slip past you.</strong></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The blog has presented me with so many opportunities! Some I was offered and some I sought out - but if opportunity comes knocking you need to consider answering the door, even if you are wearing pyjamas and haven't had a shower and your hair is a mess. You don't need to say yes to every opportunity, but make sure you consider them as they arise. What you don't want is to regret not even thinking about them.</span></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Let yourself be surprised. Every single time.</strong></span></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I can still recall the first time someone complimented me on a blog post I had written. I was so surprised. Pleased, of course, but surprised. And it still happens, every single time. I feel almost awkward and shy when someone compliments something I have written. Proud but humbled. It's the strangest feeling in the world, really. Now when they tell me they hate it that's much easier as that never happens to my face but typically in an anonymous email, which usually heads right into my deleted items. But when they come to me and say, directly, what my words meant to them? Oh man. I get all weird inside, even one thousand posts later. I don't think that will ever go away.</span></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>You eventually find your niche.</strong></span></o:p></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong><br /></strong></span></o:p></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When this blog began I went to absolutely everything. As the quip goes I would attend the opening of an envelope. Now people will occasionally comment on not having seen me around as often, and it's probably true as it took me some time but I found my niche - my place in this community and in my world. I don't go to as many events, but you can be sure when you see me at one that this is a place I have identified as part of my niche and a part of my heart. It took going to everything to realize where I wanted to belong - and to find where my heart really is. I love this community and I love this region, but I don't need to be everywhere and at everything to do it. I invest in those things closest to my heart and others invest in the things closest to theirs - which is how communities are built, really.</span></o:p></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><o:p><strong></strong></o:p></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><o:p><o:p><o:p><o:p><o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><strong>Nobody will learn more about you than you will through the process.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></o:p></o:p></o:p></o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> Sometimes people comment about how much they know about me through this blog. The truth of course is that they only know what I have revealed and shared, and it is, as with any of us, the tip of the iceberg. This blog may have allowed others to experience Fort McMurray through my eyes, but nobody learned more about me than I did through it. I am not the same person as I was one thousand posts ago (thank goodness - how dull it would be to not allow experience to change you!) and I won't be the same person one thousand posts from now that I am today. This blog - the experiences I have had, the people I have met, the lessons I have learned, the changes I have seen both in our community and in me - taught me more about myself than any other process in my life ever has. </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">You have a voice.</span></b></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every person has a voice. How you use it is entirely up to you. Every single person can develop a platform from which to share that voice. How do I know this? Because I did it. One thousand posts ago I was a stay-at-home mom without a blog and no public voice. Nobody handed me a platform to share my voice: I created it. That means anyone can do the same thing. I am living proof.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">And finally...</span></b></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">One thousand posts. <i>These one thousand posts changed my life. </i>Yes, that is in italics because it is true and worthy of note. If you have been reading them, thank you. I appreciate that more than you will ever know. In the end though I wrote these one thousand posts not for you, but for me. Every single post, every single experience, every single person, every single comment, every single note of encouragement or email of condemnation - they changed me and my life. I don't know if these one thousand posts had any impact on the life of anyone else or on this community, although on occasion I like to hope they did, but I do know they had an impact on mine and that my life would not be what it is today had I not written them.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So what did I really learn on the way to one thousand? Gratitude. To this community, to my readers, to the people who invest in this region the way I do, to my friends, to my kid...just gratitude. Thank you for being there on the way to one thousand. Today I celebrate one thousand - with thankfulness for all I learned along the way, because being McMurray Musings has been one of the best adventures of my entire life - and it ain't over yet!</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-86536427853702927522016-01-29T10:09:00.000-08:002016-01-29T10:09:00.222-08:00Whatever Floats Your Boat - the Peter Pond Paddle with FMPSD
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are offers you get you just can’t refuse. And when you
are asked if you want to serve as a judge for a cardboard boat building
competition involving local students, you’d be a fool to say no.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That would be how I found myself with a pencil and clipboard
in hand last week as I served as a guest judge at the Peter Pond Paddle cardboard boat building competition
hosted by Fort McMurray Composite High School. In addition to some teams of
high school students there were teams of younger students from the south-side
elementary schools in the Fort McMurray Public School District. The event was
designed not only as a team challenge but as a way for the older students to
connect with the younger ones, and for everyone to have fun in a day spent
building – and then testing – their cardboard boats. There was even a
last-minute addition of a team of teachers, who insisted they should build a
boat too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The judging part was fairly quick as my fellow judges and I
evaluated the teams on things like team work, the strength of their
construction, the design they created beforehand (and if they followed it) and
the cleanliness of their work space (this was an interesting one as some were
so tidy you would never guess boat building was going on while others looked a
bit like an explosion at a cardboard and tape factory).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_iewlb-5Ujb-hvhv-S37tMLziGEkXrDC9iqGIdsBgOPeM2CKLF6UFJ1PRy24VTRPkw50w_oUIOU_3nIupzu7CfqVp2VfK7-pt9b0QgjBr_JF4P1RBu6rhsf2PbEN35OwbAPbsibF8tvB/s1600/CZWBXV0VIAIULQs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_iewlb-5Ujb-hvhv-S37tMLziGEkXrDC9iqGIdsBgOPeM2CKLF6UFJ1PRy24VTRPkw50w_oUIOU_3nIupzu7CfqVp2VfK7-pt9b0QgjBr_JF4P1RBu6rhsf2PbEN35OwbAPbsibF8tvB/s320/CZWBXV0VIAIULQs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p><em>All photos courtesy of FMPSD</em></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But once the judging was complete the real fun began, as it
was over to the Syncrude Aquatic Centre pool to test the boats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Let’s be clear. I am a writer and not an engineer, and I
must say I learned a great deal about building cardboard boats that day. I don’t
want to give too much away as I know this may become an annual event, but I
will say that in cardboard boats size DOES matter and bigger is not necessarily
better.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Amid cheers and shouts and laughter and clapping the teams
selected one member to get into the boat and attempt to paddle it from one end
of the pool to another. Some boats made it a few feet before meeting their
demise, while some never quite left the dock, folding up quickly and quietly
and enveloping their hapless captain. In the end only two boats made it all the
way intact – one from the Composite High School students and one from the
Beacon Hill Bears.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBYIJt2y1goifDuplKrbwsfODVWVmJUL_cr2X1SfrE3e5GNZYkMS4nzK5_kp0uXkyDzHq4j5u6w_m-BiprIfeCJCNQWuseI0p_6tSXmV2DN2fUMbGt8_-X9MQG3iFLKhDkvP7OCNkXVqS/s1600/CZWWf7CUAAAwktB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBYIJt2y1goifDuplKrbwsfODVWVmJUL_cr2X1SfrE3e5GNZYkMS4nzK5_kp0uXkyDzHq4j5u6w_m-BiprIfeCJCNQWuseI0p_6tSXmV2DN2fUMbGt8_-X9MQG3iFLKhDkvP7OCNkXVqS/s320/CZWWf7CUAAAwktB.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">All photos courtesy of FMPSD</span></em></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></em> </div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Confession time: the Intrepid Junior Blogger began her
education as a Beacon Hill Bear. In fact we choose the school, and for six
years I drove her there every day as it was not the school designated by our
neighbourhood bus route. But there was something about the school, the staff,
the teachers and the culture that we loved, and so we made that trek every
single day regardless of the weather. I must admit I was rooting for the Bears
team, so when their boat was the first to make it the length of the pool I
likely cheered louder than anyone.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And about that boat from the teachers? Well, let’s just say
they weren’t expert boat builders either. As their boat began to flounder about
¼ of the way across the pool I found myself shouting things like “Try harder!”
and “C’mon, you aren’t even really trying!” and tee-heeing to myself in some
sort of twisted latent revenge for all those years of gym classes when I failed
to climb that bloody horrible rope thing that they made everyone try. I loved
my teachers then and I have such respect for teachers now, but I must admit I
am not above a bit of trash talk when it comes to “encouraging” them in the
same manner I was once encouraged (and no, I never made it to the top of that
damn rope, and no, the teacher’s boat never made it across the pool, either).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But at the end only two boats remained, and the final
challenge? See how many team members could fit into each boat before it sank.
While the Composite team gave it a good try, it was the Beacon Hill Bears who
managed to fit three people in their boat and still keep it afloat, although it
was taking on water at an alarming rate towards the end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQVlfHflBWXbz0mhDE4sbke-4XMoZLCpYEmMITwpEEQg086dGTYuTOeTQY8nKGbwnT8_QZcwZkaqX9K80FQ82a1gtggH4khjEel82g5vUOgdG_p2xkt6NpsOEniGvC9NPeHLdIc1UzTpN3/s1600/CZWYVz5UYAAhoB_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQVlfHflBWXbz0mhDE4sbke-4XMoZLCpYEmMITwpEEQg086dGTYuTOeTQY8nKGbwnT8_QZcwZkaqX9K80FQ82a1gtggH4khjEel82g5vUOgdG_p2xkt6NpsOEniGvC9NPeHLdIc1UzTpN3/s320/CZWYVz5UYAAhoB_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p><em>All photos courtesy of FMPSD</em></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The aftermath of the day was a lot of wet cardboard, a lot
of sore throats from shouting and a lot of smiles and laughter as even those
who saw their boats sink had had a raucous good time while doing it. It was definitely
out of the norm for their average school day, and it was more fun than I have
had in ages.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUyt4ZM0zte4Uq6OdRBUKZBfQoyeHQ4JBeQIShA6PatrrONpAJbfGV9OWXUzlZzIMppDE94FyydY_Uj_488ELlo4bVtRgCtO7c2shYbyS0YPc-mulBQRoONnG8SQ4ykMWN1TESofmpco5/s1600/CZXNo5RU8AAhPVx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUyt4ZM0zte4Uq6OdRBUKZBfQoyeHQ4JBeQIShA6PatrrONpAJbfGV9OWXUzlZzIMppDE94FyydY_Uj_488ELlo4bVtRgCtO7c2shYbyS0YPc-mulBQRoONnG8SQ4ykMWN1TESofmpco5/s320/CZXNo5RU8AAhPVx.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The winning Beacon Hill Bears team!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">All photos courtesy of FMPSD</span></em></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-uTheG4BXuz3DJPABvVWe36xVqmmM_Szra7WTpSHcEYrZlZiGjIXVOlEj_XazX5FOvoUum3_ZcNi8NUFyMeFy2uEQw7udfnSXUUAXz5gS80SRfPvTC0XNltkhssySz6AP6fPwg0QnTbY/s1600/CZXN_1AUAAAh0de.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-uTheG4BXuz3DJPABvVWe36xVqmmM_Szra7WTpSHcEYrZlZiGjIXVOlEj_XazX5FOvoUum3_ZcNi8NUFyMeFy2uEQw7udfnSXUUAXz5gS80SRfPvTC0XNltkhssySz6AP6fPwg0QnTbY/s320/CZXN_1AUAAAh0de.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The second place Composite High School team!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">All photos courtesy of FMPSD</span></em></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are likely people who question the benefit of events
like this for students, but to me they are so clear as to be immediately
obvious. It encourages the kids to work as a team, it allows them to connect
with peers from other schools, it shows them that learning can be fun and it
reminds them of the practical application of such skills (if they are ever on a
deserted island I can guarantee none of them will ever consider building a life
raft from cardboard, for instance). The sense of team spirit and camaraderie
was unmistakable, and the pride in both the students and the teachers was
evident. And to be honest, I was both proud and delighted just to be there.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our most precious resource in this town is not oil,
regardless of what anyone says. Our most valuable resource is our people, and
perhaps most especially our youth who have their entire future ahead of them.
This resource is the one in which we should take both the most pride and the
most concern, because it our youth have the opportunity to change our world.
While they may not do it by building cardboard boats, they will do it through the
skills they are acquiring at such events and every single day in our schools.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">My thanks to Kevin Bergen, principal of Fort McMurray
Composite High School for the invitation to be a judge, to the FMPSD for always
doing what’s best for kids (including all the years they did what was best for
mine) and most particularly to the students who welcomed me into their day. I
smiled a lot, laughed like crazy and learned that cardboard is not the best
boat building material in the world. So really, it was one of the best days,
ever!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDViK1Oqp_D6JyBMueQaIvtojN6WxITo4f3UFWpUwa1AkICC2HQfktEaFUUPDlj-qfHwFfEwEB1Nub28Ow6RtunLs0nlF3Sn2U8RFOty39maFdqD8E1tJ5UrABwJnc970Ht5ORBcs4ocNf/s1600/CZWA3rKVIAAnAP_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDViK1Oqp_D6JyBMueQaIvtojN6WxITo4f3UFWpUwa1AkICC2HQfktEaFUUPDlj-qfHwFfEwEB1Nub28Ow6RtunLs0nlF3Sn2U8RFOty39maFdqD8E1tJ5UrABwJnc970Ht5ORBcs4ocNf/s320/CZWA3rKVIAAnAP_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">All photos courtesy of FMPSD</span></em></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-34113006471477012972016-01-27T14:52:00.000-08:002016-01-27T14:54:22.587-08:00Let's Talk, Fort McMurray<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let’s talk, Fort McMurray.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The year is 2016, and we are now open to discussing so many
things we used to shun. We talk about gender orientation and sexuality. We talk
about intimate medical issues, including the right to die. We talk about some
of the most sensitive, the most delicate and the most difficult topics, and yet
we still struggle sometimes to talk about something that touches most of our
lives: mental illness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I don’t know about you, but mental illness has touched my
family. After the death of my mother I went through an intensive year-long
depression that was profound and deep and dark and infinitely frightening. I
thought I was Teflon when it came to mental health, despite knowing that my
family history of mental illness stretches back for generations. When I realized
– finally – that I was struggling with depression I was genuinely stunned
because I had always been convinced it would not – could not! – happen to me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nobody is Teflon, and nobody is immune from mental health
issues. The number of people who struggle with anxiety, depression and other
forms of mental illness is staggering. The number of attempted suicides is
terrifying, and the number of completed suicide devastating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I have watched friends grapple with the loss of a child to
suicide. I have watched others attempt to secure help for family members who
have threatened or attempted suicide. I have seen the huge gaps in our support
system for children, youth and adults who have mental health issues. And I have
realized how much we need to talk.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Right now we are facing a turbulent time in our country,
with an economy that is uncertain. That uncertainty can become a huge
contributor to stress, anxiety and depression, and while it is always important
to be cognizant of our mental health it may be more imperative now than ever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
The statistics regarding mental illness are something we
need to not only discuss but share openly. We need to have open and frank
conversations about mental health, not just today but every single day. We need
to have them in our homes, our schools, our places of worship, our coffee shops
and our workplaces. The stigma we have attached to mental illness must end. It
is 2016, and the time for stigmas is over.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1V3Jad2_36oLMQILHwP-1-iLAHnsWxW6SDw0nhysi2xjJzLaKpPt9_qyHnGJXlaSpKpXFoopiqkRhjySK9jOG3OQ9QwugvmL_AFlqaEXAGonLgfp_Rt9SMESzf004NdR7NQKm4fNeikG/s1600/12631267_10156554096540249_3374938037660124937_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk1V3Jad2_36oLMQILHwP-1-iLAHnsWxW6SDw0nhysi2xjJzLaKpPt9_qyHnGJXlaSpKpXFoopiqkRhjySK9jOG3OQ9QwugvmL_AFlqaEXAGonLgfp_Rt9SMESzf004NdR7NQKm4fNeikG/s400/12631267_10156554096540249_3374938037660124937_n.jpg" width="293" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You don’t need to be an expert to talk about mental health.
You simply need to care about the mental and physical well-being of the people
around you. And you need to understand that you are not Teflon, and you are not
immune. I am living proof of that reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Let’s talk. And if you aren’t talking already, let’s start today.
And let’s talk tomorrow, too. And the day after that. And every single day. Let's talk, let's advocate for better and stronger support for those with mental illness and let's be there for each other. Because trust me, some day we may need them to be there for us - and nobody knows this better than me.</span><br />
<br />
<div align="center">
You can find more information and resources at:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.cmha.ca/mental-health/"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>Canadian Mental Health Association</em></strong></span></a></div>
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6586607118525088475.post-47656920667491071602016-01-25T14:12:00.000-08:002016-01-25T17:13:55.124-08:00A Time to Listen<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like everyone else who heard it, I was horrified when I heard
the news coming from La Loche, Saskatchewan. I have been to La Loche, as I grew
up in Saskatoon and had been there on occasion when I was much younger, and I
have known people from La Loche. Even if I had not, though, my heart would have
ached for the people of a small community where everyone knows everyone, and
where this kind of tragedy cuts deep and hard for every single resident.<o:p></o:p></span><br>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There were people who asked if I planned to write about La
Loche, curious as to what I might say. And to be honest all I can say is very
simple: there is a time to speak, and a time to listen, and this is a time to
listen to the people of La Loche, and all the communities who face challenges
similar to those in La Loche.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Over the past few years I have had the privilege of spending
time with some First Nations elders. What I have learned from them is the
importance of opening your heart, your mind and most importantly your ears, and
listening to the voices of the people who know what they know through first
hand experience.<o:p></o:p></span><br>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Middle class white people like me can opine on and on about
La Loche and other First Nations communities, and some of us even have some
experience with them – but we have not travelled that road or lived that life,
and the time has come for us to simply shut up and listen, not speak to hear
the sound of our own voices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I have spent time in First Nations communities in
Saskatchewan, Alberta and Ontario. While I am cognizant of some of the
challenges they face I am in no way familiar with them enough to even hint at
having an opinion of any sort. All I can do is grieve with them over this most
recent loss, and open my heart, my mind and my ears.<o:p></o:p></span><br>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hope people across this country, those of us who have not
grown up in communities like La Loche, do the same and listen instead of
speaking right now. I hope we hear what is being said by the elders, the youth,
the adults and the leaders of those communities. I hope our governments are
listening too, because they need to hear what they are being told by the people
who live in these communities and who are the experts in this regard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
If I learned anything from the elders I am so honoured to
know, I have learned there is a time to speak, and a time to listen. This is a
time for people like me to listen and learn. Heart open, mouth closed. Just listening.</span><br>
Theresahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14217715252564049451noreply@blogger.com1