Blue Hair, Don't Care

My daughter has blue hair.

It's true, you see. Recently the Intrepid Junior Blogger dyed her hair a rather astonishing shade of turquoise, after months of thought and discussion. The discussion wasn't about whether or not she could dye her hair, but rather about what colour she would most like to dye it. And, this past week, she decided on a shade that is decidedly unusual, and not normally seen in nature aside from peacocks. And it looks great.

I was a teen in the 1980's, and in that time my hair was every colour of the rainbow. I recall a family friend, seeing me for the first time with coloured hair, commenting that I looked like an exotic bird. I also recall the many comments I got about my hair colour choices, many of them negative, and often coming from adults. I recall how my parents, farming folks by history, struggled a bit with it, and then got over it, realizing the coloured hair hadn't changed a single thing about me. I rather thought that in the intervening years the practice of unusual hair colours had become rather commonplace, and certainly less prone to provoke comments - but I may have miscalculated.

I took the IJB and her cousin to the mall this week. I noticed the occasional stares, but it was the comments of two women, likely close in age to me, that caught my attention. Behind us in the mall concourse they said, loudly enough so I would be sure to hear it, that they "could not believe her mother would allow her to dye her hair THAT colour."

I wish I had whipped around to reply to them, but I was caught by surprise, and so I didn't. But if I had, this is likely what I would have said:

I didn't allow my daughter to colour her hair blue. I encouraged it. I took her to my hair stylist to get it bleached in preparation. I bought the blue dye. I was there when she and her cousin did it - and when it fades and the time comes to dye it again? I will do it for her myself, any shade she wants. Why? Because I don't own my kid.

Yes, you heard right. My kid is an independent creature with her own thoughts and ideas, and her own way of doing things. We agree on most things, and part ways on others. At almost fourteen I respect her autonomy in certain things - including the choice to colour her hair. In fact when she was in Grade Three and wanted permanent pink streaks dyed into her hair? I made sure she got them, because it is hair, and it is hers, and it makes her happy, and who the hell am I to tell her she can't do it? In the world of "pick your battles carefully" this isn't even a tiny dust-up.

Last night we went to an event and I was beyond pleased that the IJB was surrounded by adults who told her how much they love her hair. They are the kind of adults I want in her life, the ones who see past blue hair (and crazy clothes, and, if some day she chooses, tattoos and anything else) and see her for who she is, blue hair and all. These are the adults who are the role models I want her to embrace, and who she will remember.

So, if you see a kid with blue hair around town (and wearing heels) then it is likely mine. And if you don't like her blue hair maybe you should think about why it matters to you, and why you think others should live to your standards of behaviour. Recently I had an encounter on this blog with a commenter who chose to remain anonymous (no surprise there, the cowardly ones who like to leave nasty hurtful words always do) and who tried to "shame" me into conforming to the behaviour standard to which they subscribe - but who are they to tell me what is the proper way to behave, exactly? Who are they to dictate how I should spend my time, run my life, or colour my hair? Do they have to live my life? The answer, of course, is no, and I spent some time discussing this with the IJB. It would seem she has learned this lesson well over the years - as the IJB now has blue hair. And for the record we don't care what you think of it, either.

Spreading the Pie-Love in Fort McMurray

There is nothing as comforting as pie. If you disagree with this statement you should probably quit reading now as clearly this post is all about pie, and non-pie-lovers might not be keen on the pie love. I, however, was raised on pie as the daughter of a German woman who loved to cook and made a helluva pie. Pie, when in my house, was an all day food, often becoming breakfast, and lunch, and dinner, and elevensies. I would sneak slices of pie, and on one occasion smuggled an entire apple pie out of the house to share with friends (leaving my mother very puzzled about the pie disappearance until I confessed). And for the record store bought pie just isn't the same, as the mass production of pie means it loses some of the flavour and appeal - which is why the recent arrival in Fort McMurray of Meadow Creek Farms, and all their goods - including pies made by the Athabasca Hutterite colony - was such a big deal to me.

Meadow Creek Farms is a family run operation that raises their animals in a holistic, organic way. The animals in their care are free range, and free too from the antibiotics, hormones and growth additives so frequently used in raising livestock. And while I was raised in the city my parents were farmers originally, and most of my extended family continued to farm, and so I was raised on a diet of fresh beef and pork, family raised in the traditional way.

Meadow Creek Farms comes to Fort McMurray on a regular basis, bringing a truck loaded with meats, sausage, and jerky from their own farm, as well as fresh produce from local producers around them, fresh fruit from BC - and baking from the Hutterites in their area. I am familiar too with Hutterites, as growing up in Saskatoon they often attended the Farmer's Market there, and my father, who grew up speaking German, would converse with them in their native tongue and they would give him potatoes and produce in appreciation of his respect for their culture.

Meadow Creek Farms was to set up their market stall at Heritage Park this summer, but due to the recent flooding the park of course had to close to undergo restoration, and so Meadow Creek needed a new home - which is how they ended up at MacDonald Island Park, and just steps from my office. When I first learned they were coming I requested they hold two pies for me - and what started as two pies has become a full-fledged love affair with everything they bring.

So far the Intrepid Junior Blogger and I have eaten our way through Hutterite-baked pies (apple, saskatoonberry, and strawberry-rhubarb), as well as banana bread. We have had the Meadow Creek raised ham and garlic sausage (in a word, delicious), and the day I brought home 1/4 pound of beef jerky may live in carnivorous infamy in my house as my kid, niece, myself, and the family dog snarfed down the jerky in record time and with not a scrap left (and a demand from the IJB to bring home more, and in larger quantities). The pie, however, took on a life of its own when one of the local radio hosts, Marshall from KAOS, and I got into a pie discussion on Twitter.

Ever since Marshall and I did the food hamper challenge from the Wood Buffalo Food Bank our conversations seem to centre on food. When I commented on Twitter one day that I was having pie for breakfast Marshall and I began to banter back and forth about pie, which is how two weeks ago I ended up delivering pie to the station, and setting in motion a chain of events that led me to delivering pie to every radio station yesterday. You see you can't just deliver pie to one radio station, as if you do (as I discovered) you get messages and texts asking you why you are picking pie favourites and only giving pie to some media outlets and not just handing out pies to everyone.

And my partner in delivering the pie love? The incredible Mandy from Meadow Creek Farms, who insisted on giving me the pies for free to deliver (no doubt realizing pie is like a gateway drug, leading those who eat it to want more pie, and then banana bread, and likely right into beef jerky and sausage, too). There is no denying the joy of home-made pie, and the flavour of all the produce and meats coming from family producers like Meadow Creek Farms. These items are the kinds of things I have craved, and now, thanks to entrepreneurs like Mandy (and others who are now recognizing the demand for these goods here) I can get them.

So, about that pie. It is best summarized in one word. Nom. Okay, not really a word, but the most descriptive one anyhow. So far this summer I have fed my co-workers pie, delivered pie to all the radio stations, and consumed more pie than is likely good for me, and yet you know what? I want more pie. Which is why if you want pie you may want to contact Meadow Creek Farms and place your pre-order, because I am quietly stocking my freezer for this winter, and I can't be held responsible if you are left pie-less in Fort McMurray.

My sincere thanks to

Mandy of Meadow Creek Farms

and all the other small Albertan food producers

who take food

and turn it into joy -

like having pie for breakfast! :)

 

Down With Protests, Up With Geography Lessons!

It isn't all that often you hear about protests in Fort McMurray, and normally when you do they are directed towards the oil sands industry. I was intrigued this week though when reports of informal protests began to appear on my social media, and the protests seemed to be focused on one of the new retailers in the Peter Pond Mall.

Peter Pond Mall, as you might know, has opened up several new retailers in the space left behind when Zellers vacated. It has been delightful to see these new stores open up, including The Children's Place, David's Tea, Ardene, and Spencer's - but it is the last store that seems to be the target of these protests.

Spencer's is a chain store, and if you have been in one before (in the West Edmonton Mall, for instance) you have likely wandered around enough to discover that deep in the back of the store is an adult section. This adult section, which is really just a part of a much larger store devoted to gag gifts and t-shirts and backpacks, seems to be the focus of the protests.

I wonder if perhaps those protesting were not here when the local triple-X store had a storefront on the main floor of the mall, with most of their wares in full view of all who walked by. Lingerie featured prominently in the window displays, but the clear glass offered anyone wandering by a pretty good idea of what the store contained. I questioned the wisdom of that store, but even back then, with my 3-year old in tow, I did not think to "protest" it - I just didn't go into it.

And that is truly the beauty of all this. As consumers we have a very powerful way of determining what stores do and do not appear in our malls and on our streets - our money. We vote with our wallets, and if we do not want a store in our community then the surest way to get rid of them is to withhold our cash - and not through protests.

Here's the thing, though. I wandered through Spencer's the other day. I noted the funny coffee mugs, and the backpacks. I looked at wallets, and belts, and then I slipped to the back of the store and while it is definitely adult in nature I did not see anything that offended me in any way. I suppose I would be startled if I ended up back there with a young child and found myself trying to explain some of the items, but to be quite honest a simple "it's an adult thing, let's go get some ice cream", is usually enough to distract even the most persistent child.

And since we can vote with our wallets I walked around the store, found two t-shirts the Intrepid Junior Blogger would love (Doctor Who and Big Bang Theory), and took them, and my wallet, to the counter, where I happily paid and wandered off to make my kid smile. I voted with my wallet, and my vote is that Spencer's should stay, adult section and all.

My only real concern about this entire scenario? That one of the protesters, when told that Spencer's is a chain that exists in Ontario, apparently shouted in reply: "This isn't Ontario, this is Newfoundland" - and that response is to me far more worrisome than an adult section, as while our schools seem to be doing okay in sex ed apparently we need a lot more work in geography. That seems more worthy of concern - and protest.

Disclaimer - this map is meant to be funny.

You know, haha?

No getting offended, it ruins all the haha.

 



Doing the Due Diligence in Fort McMurray

 

The term “due diligence” is one that gets tossed around a lot, particularly in certain businesses and industries. Often I suspect people think it is a term reserved for those aspects of life, and yet I think the concept of due diligence has a far wider value. I think we, as citizens, have a responsibility to exercise due diligence when it comes to the stewardship of our community.

I had a conversation with someone recently and found myself explaining why I get involved in so many issues impacting this community, and why I ask all the questions I do. And as I explained I found myself using the phrase “due diligence”, as it best describes what I do: research, analyze, and consider consequences. It is perhaps an informal sort of due diligence, and not the extensive kind done by business, but it is still what I do when I approach any issue. And it is, I think, part of our job as citizens to do exactly this with every level of government – municipal, provincial, federal – because the decisions made impact us all.

One of the important facets of doing due diligence is that while one may have a certain mindset going in it is crucial to remain open to changing that mindset should one discover they are wrong, or misguided. That can be the hard part, because we are creatures who don’t like that sort of internal conflict, and yet some of the most enlightening moments can occur when we realize we have been wrong about something. And the other hard part can be making sure that as we do our due diligence we don’t slide into “complaint” mode instead, as complaints are not questions, and tend to do little to further our understanding of an issue. When one has done some due diligence – done their homework, discovered the facts, and grasped a better understanding – they can then ask questions or, even better than lodging complaints, raise issues and suggest potential solutions.

I understand it is impossible to do full due diligence on many issues and topics because we may not have all the facts available to us, but I think it is of tremendous importance and value to search for as much information as we can, and to ask those who may have the information if they can share it. And even if we cannot do full due diligence I think we can usually do enough to be informed and active citizens, which leads to....

True citizen engagement. Engagement is another word we talk about a lot, and there are a variety of different definitions. Engagement shouldn’t just be showing up at engagement sessions and reading the news, though. Engagement is even more than showing up at the ballot box every few years. Engagement is a process, not a destination, and it should be a commitment and interest in this community and the way it is developing, and one that extends further than the superficial in recognition of the fact that this is....

Our home. Yes, this is our home. Would you allow anyone to perform work on your home without doing your due diligence? To rewire it, change the plumbing, install new fixtures, or anything else without having done some homework and research on them and what they propose to do? Would you allow them to touch what is likely your greatest financial investment? No? Then doesn’t your community, likely the greatest investment you will make over the course of your life through taxes and residency, deserve the same attention and care? Isn’t stewardship of this community the responsibility of all residents, not just the elected officials? Isn’t it our job to ask questions, propose ideas and solutions, and question if we feel the direction we are heading in needs adjustment? And we can do this because...

This is a democracy. Part of the joy of democracy is the ability to freely ask questions and suggest solutions. We can do so publicly and privately, with humour or with seriousness, and as individuals or groups. We can direct these questions to our government and to those we have elected to represent us, and we can reasonably expect these questions to be answered, although we need to keep in mind that in the end...

Our due diligence may not change the outcome. Perhaps we feel a decision is wrong, or misguided. Perhaps we feel things are headed the wrong way. And perhaps we are unhappy, but if we have done our due diligence then we have at least one thing. We have...

The comfort of knowing we have asked the questions, suggested the solutions, and acted as involved, engaged, and caring citizens of our community. We have been part of the process, and we have performed our responsibility and done our due diligence as residents, citizens, and community partners and members. And regardless of the outcome there is a great deal of pride, and citizenry, in that alone. That is why when I think of my home I think of many things, and one of them is due diligence – because I owe it to this community, the future, and my home, to do my own due diligence, and try to make this better place every single day. Why?

The Intrepid Junior Blogger

Proud citizen of Fort McMurray

Because of her. That’s why.

When the Best Laid Plans Go Astray - and You Go a New Way

I had such impressive plans, too. The day was to begin with coffee with two residents new to our community, followed by a leisurely drive out to Anzac to check out the Northern Warrior Race benefitting my beloved Centre of Hope. Then I would aim my car for home and head to interPLAY, to take in some plays and a burlesque show and enjoy some live music. And then the next day I would get up and head down to interPLAY again for more plays and to wrap it all up with one final fix of mini-donuts.

It started well, the Intrepid Junior Blogger and I down at interPLAY on Friday evening munching on Chipstix and poutine, watching the Aerial Angels perform (a perennial favourite for her), and me picking up all my tickets for the rest of the weekend. I wish I had savoured the evening a bit more, though, as what I didn’t expect was the headache that would roll in like summer storm clouds and make the thought of facing sun and crowds and noise impossible. I didn’t expect it would be my only time spent at my favourite street festival, but sadly it was.

Saturday morning dawned and I found myself facing a throbbing headache, and one I knew would worsen if I continued with my plans. And so I settled into bed, watching the events of interPLAY and the Northern Warrior Race unfold vicariously via social media. I read the tweets and Facebook posts when my head allowed it, and I loved all the photos coming out of both events, warriors covered in purple paint looking oddly like the abstract version of the face-painted children at interPLAY. I was sad to miss both events, but in a way it was intriguing to watch them play out as I did, just beyond my grasp but close enough that I could get a sense of what was happening mere kilometres away from me.

It is a pleasure to note that both events were tremendously successful this year. Both had many, many participants who expressed their joy at being involved, from volunteers to organizers to attendees. The Northern Warrior Race looked to be a stunningly good time, participants hot and sweaty and purple by the end, and those at interPLAY looked no less hot and sweaty but more red from the sun than purple. What I noticed most in the photos, however, were the smiles of pure joy that appeared, and the sense that those at these events were having the time of their lives. And despite my headache and wishing I could be there I smiled too, simply knowing what a great weekend it was in my community.

Late one night this weekend my headache cleared enough for me to venture out of the house on a small drive. I was keen to see the Perseid meteor shower, a yearly astronomical occurrence that I had never really taken the time to observe but that this year I was determined to enjoy. As it was cool and dark and quiet I expected my headache could manage it, and so I found myself driving on Highway 63 until I reached the turnoff for Maqua Lake. I stopped there and observed the meteors for some time, marvelling at the brief streaks of light across the sky, and then I headed home.

The following night I returned to this spot, anxious to see the meteors once again. This time, though, I turned and stopped on the road, but as it was still light I drove further in, realizing I had never visited this spot, and never even heard much about it. I drove past the cell phone towers, and what appeared to be a fire spotting tower (something I thought was more legend than reality in 2013). I stopped at the gate for the Maqua Lake entrance, a gate indicating the park was open for day use from dawn to dusk, and that one must walk in.

I hesitated, but there was enough light to count as daylight, and so dusk had not yet begun (and dusk is a rather subjective term anyhow). I ventured down the road, not sure how far I would have to walk, wondering if this was an unwise idea given the night creatures present in our forests.

It was a short walk, though, and when I approached what appeared to be a sandy beach I stopped in utter surprise – as Maqua Lake is astonishingly beautiful.

The sun was just setting, and the moon peeking through. The sky was a vibrant shade as the day’s light faded away, and the water of the lake was smooth as glass, broken on occasion by the fish I imagine lurk underneath. It was a picture of stunning beauty, and as I stood there in solitude I thought about how there are so many places like this, places that even after a decade here I have not discovered or seen. I stood in wonder for a few moments, listening to the absolute silence, and then, before true dusk descended and I found myself in violation of a curfew I snuck back into my car and drove away.

You see I am deeply sad I missed interPLAY this year, and the Northern Warrior Race. If it wasn’t for that persistent headache, though, I never would have ventured out into the cool dark night to seek a place far from crowds and lights to see a meteor shower. I never would have stood beside Maqua Lake in the growing darkness and thought about how beautiful it is here, and our incredibly good fortune to live in this place of wonder and beauty. I never would have connected with this place that will now live forever in my memory, and I would have missed an opportunity to explore a place I have never before seen but that is moments from my community. I will always be sad I missed the big events this past weekend – but in the end I will be grateful for a nagging headache that led me in a different direction, and to a place of amazing beauty.

 

 

A Few Minutes on a Friday Afternoon

It just seemed like another endless traffic jam. The Intrepid Junior Blogger and I were on our way down to interPLAY, anxious to find some mini-donuts and check out the set-up for the festivities this year. It didn’t take long as we travelled down Thickwood Boulevard to find ourselves snarled in traffic, and the hold up seemed to be around the bridge, as usual. We don’t bother much with impatience, and so we passed our time chatting and joking – right until we reached the source of the traffic jam, and saw the reason for the delay.

A semi-truck, the load it was carrying turned on its side. I glimpsed a second truck, and while I could not make out all the details the IJB said it looked like part of the second truck had been crushed. I had glanced over at the scene as we drove by, and I saw the construction workers standing still, looking pensive. I saw one worker with a walkie-talkie, and she was running. And I saw many, many emergency vehicles, fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances. I turned to the IJB and told her I had a terribly bad feeling about it all.

I was deeply saddened when it was confirmed that one man had been killed in this incident. I don’t know the details, and it is still under investigation. I do know that when I drove by a day later the work site was quiet, all work halted as the investigation continued and fellow workers no doubt contemplated a Friday on the job that ended in tragedy. And I thought about the impact these incidents have on this community.

It appears the deceased man was a resident of this community, and no doubt he has family and friends here. He has co-workers, too, ones who witnessed a tragedy unfold and who will now live forever with those memories. It is horribly sad, and I extend my deepest sympathies to all who are impacted by his loss.

I will not forget driving by that scene on Friday evening, and how even in my excited rush to get to interPLAY I felt a cold wave of dread when I saw it, and how I sensed the serious nature of the situation. The IJB and I discussed it yesterday, and she commented on how when some complain about traffic and being late for things they may not even realize that the incident that has caused them some minor delay and consternation has cost someone else far, far more. I wonder if those who grow angry at these delays ever feel shame or regret on learning that what has delayed them has been a loss of life.

It was a sobering start to the weekend, and I anticipate the investigation will reveal the causes. Regardless of the cause, though, the end result is the loss of a precious life, and the impact that will have on all those who knew him. Today I think about that individual, and those he has left behind, and I send them my sincere condolences and thoughts as they face a future forever changed by a few tragic moments on a Friday afternoon.

A Post in Which I Use the D-Word For Bad Parking in Fort McMurray

 

It’s become so endemic that I don’t even bother taking photos anymore, because it’s the norm and not the exception. I encounter it in every single parking lot and on every single street, and it seems to be getting worse, not better. Even the Intrepid Junior Blogger comments on it now, her observant eye often spotting them before I do. The epidemic? Well, as the IJB would term it, “parking douchebags”.

I don’t think I have to explain the term to you, but for quick reference it’s just people who cannot seem to grasp the concept of parking between the lines, not parking on the sidewalk, not blocking driveways, and not parking like jerks. I mean it’s quite the impressive feat when someone can stretch their mid-size car across three parking spots (I’m glad I don’t share a bed with these jackasses, can you imagine how often you’d end up on the floor as they spread across the entire king size trying to claim as much territory as possible?), but it’s more offensive than commendable.

For awhile I was taking photos of them all, but honestly I was finding my photos app on my phone filled with lousy parking pictures, which was getting a bit depressing. And, well, there was that day when someone busted me in the grocery store lot taking a photo of his truck and didn’t respond well when I informed him I was taking pictures of vehicles parked like they’d been abandoned in a tornado (well, and I might have made some reference to the intelligence of those who park this way, which might have been pushing my luck just a wee bit).

The question becomes: why do people feel it is their right to park in ways that infringe on others? My friend Nolan Haukeness refers to them as “Fort McMurray royalty”, and there is a whiff of entitlement going on with those who choose to park like this. More than that, though, I think there is a plain lack of thought and consideration going on, with people not thinking about – or caring – what impact this has on others.

And what is the impact of bad parking, you say? Perhaps you think there is none, and you are one of the ones who parks this way. I will share with you a story from a few months ago.

One day I was in a large parking lot, and when I found my car I realized that the person next to me had wedged their vehicle in so tightly and so close to mine that I could not get in my driver side door. And believe me I tried, opening it and trying to slither in, but there was no way, which left me climbing in through the passenger side door. I won’t go into details about how I was wearing a dress and how climbing over my gear shift was an incredibly unpleasant experience, and how the subsequent bruises lasted for days – but when I finally found myself seated in the driver’s seat I was seething with rage. I felt so impotent, right until I spotted the bag of garbage on the floor of the passenger side. It was a few days old, coffee cups and banana peels and such, a bit ripe-smelling and certainly overdue to be tossed. I looked at it, and I looked at the truck beside me...and then I quietly rolled down my window and tied the bag of garbage to the truck’s passenger side door handle. I felt much better almost instantly, my message – garbage attracts garbage – abundantly clear I thought. I drove away (after extricating myself carefully from the parking spot) smirking over how this individual would likely drive off not even realizing they had garbage tied to their door handle, discovering it later and puzzling over how it got there. So, if that was you and you are reading this – that was me, and I don’t apologize.

So, as the IJB says – don’t be a douche. Stop parking like you own the lots and the streets, and start acting like you share these areas with others, because you do. A long time ago your parents taught you to share with others and colour between the lines, so smarten up and give it a try – or risk finding garbage tied to your door handle, too. Or maybe one of these cards, which I am thinking of printing up and providing to friends – because frankly I am far from the only one tired of this. So, the next time you are in a parking lot and thinking about parking like a jerk – or aren’t thinking at all – remember this post and ask yourself “Am I being a douche?” – and if the answer is yes then ask yourself if that’s how you want others to see you, too. Because trust me - we do.

 

** Disclaimer – I am not a big fan of the word “douche” or “douchebag”, but as the IJB has explained to me on numerous occasions this is perhaps one of the most descriptive words for behaviour that defies explanation or logic. I defer to her wisdom on this point.