Do You Hear the People Sing?

There are very few areas in which I would claim to hold special skill or ability, but there is one which I feel is a bit unusual. It is the fact that I learned to read very young, showing signs of reading at two according to my mother. By the time I was eight I was a prolific reader, following in the footsteps of my father who always had a book in his hands, albeit normally a western or war novel, and not really my genre then or now. I was such a prolific reader, in fact, that the school and public libraries didn't quite know what to do with me by the time I was nine. I had burned through every series for kids my age at that point, including all The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries. It was a quandary, since children's literature was not quite the genre it is now, and my reading abilities were quickly outstripping the available material.

One day I found a book from one of my older sister's university literature courses. I picked up the small paperback and didn't put it down until it was finished, and when I went to school and told the principal that I had just finished reading Orwell's Animal Farm I think he recognized there was something going on. While I didn't have the maturity or experience to understand the political nuances or undertones of the novel I was able to provide a synopsis, and while I didn't fully understand those nuances I sensed that there was far more to the novel than what was on the surface. I told the principal that and he decided it was time to test my reading ability.

The standardized test showed that I was reading at an upper-university level, an outcome that caused some discussions and consternation in the school staffroom I learned later, as they weren't quite sure what to do with me. But what they eventually decided would form the rest of my life.

My principal handed me a list of classic novels, and told me the school librarian would get me a copy of every book on the list. So the adventure began, and somehow the very first book I read from that list was Les Misérables by Victor Hugo.

The cast of Les Misérables

Keyano Theatre

All photos credit Keyano Theatre

I'm not sure why it was the first book, as that is lost in the mists of time and memory. Maybe it was the first one on the list, or maybe just the one the librarian had. I just remember beginning to read it and suddenly realizing how different the world was than my nine-year-old self had imagined it.

You see in Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew books people were good or bad, light or dark, good or evil. There were no shades of grey, none of these complex nuances of character and personality. Police were good, thieves were bad. Adults, for the most part, had good intentions, and children, for the most part, were slightly imbecilic beings who needed adult guidance. But as I began to read Les Misérables my world began to open up, and the black and white world I existed in became detailed in every shade of grey imaginable. And Jean Valjean was the first character in a novel I fell in love with.

Last night I sat in the darkened Keyano Theatre to see their latest production, Les Misérables. The rest of the sold out audience and I witnessed a stunning performance, a tour de force  of stunning intensity. There were moments when I had goosebumps, particularly when Tim Heggie sang in the role of Valjean, bringing life to a tortured soul. Misty Oakes performing as Éponine moved me to tears, because I had always identified with Éponine, never understanding why foolish Marius chose Cosette over Éponine (I always felt that it was women like Éponine who changed the world, and when she died in the book I was devastated - it was the first time, but not the last,  I was angry at an author). Jenny Price made such a glorious Fantine, portraying her downfall with such authenticity and sincerity. Kyle Beeson as Marius was a joy to see, his performances filled with heart-shaking moments of beauty. Sheldon Dahl played Javert in the imperious way the man must be played, but with just enough personality to ensure that when he meets his demise you cannot help but feel his internal struggle. Kimerica Parr has that incredible voice I have heard before, bringing Cosette to life with such beauty that perhaps for the first time I could see why Marius fell for her (but I have never forgiven Hugo for his treatment of Éponine, either). Terri Mort as Madame Thénardier brought the cynicism and quick wit needed for that role, and seeing Russell Thomas playing what is essentially his opposite in Thénardier the innkeeper was a treat, as while it may be his polar opposite he played the role completely convincingly.

Greg Lupul as Enjolras had me ready to join the revolution, just as Hugo's novel did decades ago (and at times I think my years as an activist might date back to that book and that exposure to the idea of revolution). And the children! Those who played the young Cosette and Gavroche were exceptional in both voice and talent, and I remembered how when I read the novel so many years ago I began to think of "little people" in a very, very different way. The entire ensemble sang and danced and brought to life a story I had forgotten.

I sat in the audience last night as the story unfolded in front of me,  and realized that it was a story I have known for decades but that I had forgotten over time, as we often do. I watched as so many people I consider friends performed, and performed so incredibly beautifully, their voices lifted in song. I knew the hours of work they had put in, the time they had spent, the personal commitment it had taken to mount this production. I was so incredibly appreciative of it all, and felt so very fortunate to be there to witness it on this stage in our community. But in the end it all came down to one thing.

I fell in love with Jean Valjean all over again.

I remembered being nine years old and holding a tattered paperback copy of Les Misérables in my hand. I remember reading it in wonder, realizing how the world was so much more complex than I understood or realized. I remember feeling both so powerful and so very small at that moment, and finally understanding that the world was unfolding in my hands, and that I had so very much to learn.  When I finished Les Misérables I read the other novels we consider classics, finishing the entire list I had been given by the time I was in my early teens. Along the way I learned about revolution, and history, and love, and life. Those novels changed my life, and shaped who I am.  And it began with a book about a troubled man who was both good and bad, and so beautifully complex in every way.

Go see Les Misérables, even if you've never read the book. Sit there and let the story wash over you, the moments when you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and the moments when goosebumps rise on your flesh. Let those moments when the people sing make you want to rise up in revolution against injustice. Or just fall sit there and fall in love with community theatre, and a man named Jean Valjean.

My thank you and congratulations

to the cast, crew and band

of 

Les Misérables,

and to 

Keyano Theatre

for taking on an epic task

and bringing

a classic to life with 

such brilliance and beauty.

Inferiority Complex

Every once in awhile I like to check the "other" folder in my Facebook messages. Now, the regular messages are the ones from friends and family, but sometimes the really interesting ones lurk in that "other" folder.

I've had offers to date men that I am pretty sure don't live in Canada, let alone Alberta. I had at least one African prince looking for a little financial assistance from some nice (and hopefully gullible) Canadian lady. I have had people track me down there when they have seen me on television or in their newspapers talking about some issue affecting my community, wanting to discuss oil or the environment or my "misguided" beliefs. And just yesterday I got a very interesting message from someone who said they were tired of all the yap about the oil sands and Fort McMurray being the "economic engine" of the country, and that they felt I was one of the purveyors of this talk. They told me that we need to "get over ourselves". They then informed me that "Fort McMurray is not the centre of the universe".

The centre of the universe?

Huh. When I read that I laughed first, because we all know Toronto is the centre of the universe (insert tongue in cheek here). And then I smiled, because if someone thought we had a bit of an ego, and thought we needed a reality check about our place in the universe I could only be happy and proud, because it's about damn time we had some ego in this region.

When I moved here twelve years ago this community was not what it is now. It was still a community, to be certain, but it was a bit "dispirited". The civic pride was muted at best. We were struggling with our growth, our direction as a community, and our place in the world. And it showed.

When journalists would write articles about our community that we found offensive twelve years ago we responded a bit like this:

Hey, I don't like you saying that about us.

Now, just a few years later, the response is more like this:

Hey, you missed the entire point of our community. What about our philanthropy? What about our amazing people? What about our recreation centres, our college, our elementary and high schools? What about x and y and z? How come you came to visit, went to two bars and one strip club, and then wrote a story about our community? We think you got some 'splaining to do, journalist.

Things have indeed changed, because somewhere along the way we found some pride, some community cohesiveness, and a voice.

Maybe it has been our leadership, as I believe this pride in who we are is often a top-down effect, and when Mayor Melissa Blake was elected I believe it sent the signal that this community was not what people might have thought it to be. Our mayor is a dynamic woman who represents us well and who shines with pride over what our region is and has accomplished, and I think she brought new life to an office that had become woefully lacking in that pride.

Maybe it has been the overwhelming strength of our industry, one that is the giant of the Canadian economy according to a recent report. Three percent of all jobs in the country - 478,000 direct, indirect, and induced - rely on the oil sands. And this is expected to grow, with that number rising to five percent, or 753,000 jobs, by 2025. There is no denying that we are the economic engine of this nation, and I think in those numbers we have found the evidence to back that claim.

Maybe, though, much of this pride has come from the grassroots, from people who have decided that if we are the economic engine (check) and if we have strong leadership (check) and if we have this amazing community (check) that it is time to "get over" the inferiority complex and start being proud of who we are and what we do. Maybe it is about time we developed a little bit of an ego, because having an ego (in moderation) isn't a bad thing. Having an ego just means you recognize your own self-worth, and makes you less inclined to be pushed around by others (including African princes looking for a little cash).

I admit I responded to the message in my "other" folder, and I don't always (some African prince is still sadly waiting for my reply). I simply said:

"Thanks for your comment. We know we aren't the centre of the universe. We are, however, the centre of OUR universe, because this is our home and we love it and are proud of it, and I will never apologize for that."

And then I asked them to consider coming to visit, as I always do, even with our harshest critics, and I offered to be their tour guide, as I always do.

You see we don't need to "get over ourselves" at all. I think rather the opposite. I think we need to share our story with as many people as we can, because every amazing story deserves to be shared and heard - and the story of our community is an amazing one indeed. We might not be "the centre of the universe", but I think we are something better. We are the centre of our hearts and our pride, and that is what matters.

Dear Valentine

I am not, by nature, a fan of Valentine's Day, having always viewed it suspiciously as a creation of card, flower and chocolate manufacturers and retailers to flog their wares during a slow time of year for sales. Today, though, I decided to write a love letter to something I truly do love, and not just on one day of the year. Today I am sending a little Valentine to my community.

Dear Fort McMurray,

It wasn't love at first sight, you know. When I arrived at the airport in August twelve years ago I was entranced by your beauty, and by your Burger King on Highway 63, as I had just come from a very small town in northwestern Ontario where fast food outlets didn't exist. Your shopping mall caught my eye, because in my former home the only clothing store was an old and tired SAAN outlet. But I didn't love you right away - it was more like lust for the things you had that my previous home didn't, a place that was beautiful too but terribly isolated and far smaller than Saskatoon and Toronto, the cities that had always owned my heart.

My feelings for you came on slowly, and over time. The Intrepid Junior Blogger was just two when we arrived, and I didn't know how long we would stay but I knew this would be the first home she would likely ever remember, and so I decided to make sure it would be a good memory.

We started out for a year in Thickwood, living almost right behind the Dairy Queen and within walking distance to Tim Horton's. We moved on after a time to the new neighbourhood in Abasand, living right on the greenbelt. And the more time I spent with you the more I began to develop feeling for you past that initial lust for your stores and services. I began to develop a relationship with the other people who were part of you, and I began to see something I hadn't really ever been a part of before, not in any meaningful way. I began to love your community.

I had never really understood the concept of community, although I had been part of several over my life. I had never understood, though, the ebbs and flows of communities, and how the people in them determine what they are. I began to realize something had happened.

I had fallen in love with you.

I was in love with the northern skies, full of stars and northern lights, sun dogs and rainbows and clouds. I was in love with the boreal forest and all the creatures it contained, the fox and deer and bear. I was in love with the stores and services still, but that love was being replaced by a love for the people who worked IN those stores and services, finding people from all over the country - all over the world! - who had come here to make their lives. I was in love with those who ran the social profit organizations, those who ran the city, those who volunteered their time, those who taught the children, those who worked in the hospital, those who visited our homeless drop-in program, those who lived in million-dollar homes and those who lived in tents on the Snye...

I had fallen for you, and fallen hard.

And it has never faltered, you see. I have found something so special with you, so unique, that while I try to capture it in words I always feel that I have failed terribly and done you a disservice because my words cannot express what you are, and what you mean to me. I suppose the word that says it best is "home".

You are my home, and you are the hometown my daughter will always remember. And I admit that now that twelve years have passed and she is fourteen she is talking about leaving you and moving on to another city, because she feels she has outgrown you. But that's okay, Fort McMurray, because no matter where she goes and what she does you will be the home she will always remember, just as where I grew up will always be in my heart, too. She may travel far and wide, and fall in love with other cities just as I did - but you will always be her very first love, and her first home.

So, Happy Valentine's Day, Fort McMurray. I didn't buy you flowers or chocolates or a card (I refuse to fall prey to those marketing schemes!), but I give you this. I give you my heart, today and always. Thank you for being so very, very easy to love.

Love,
Theresa

They Shoot Dogs, Don't They?

It's an uncomfortable topic, and when I heard the news I knew it would cause some degree of controversy. But I also know from experience that it's not an easy situation.

Some of the reserves to the north of Fort McMurray are having issues with feral and wild dogs. This is a common issue in remote communities, and not just on reserves. I have encountered it before when I lived in northwestern Ontario, and it is a difficult topic, because some of the communities with this issue turn to a very controversial solution: dog culls.

I first learned about it when I was living in Red Lake and was scheduled to visit one of the northern communities serviced by the small airline I worked for at the time. I had selected a date but when I called our service agent in that community they urged me to choose a different day. I didn't understand why and pressed for an answer as to why they didn't want me to come that day - and they replied that it was "dog shooting day", and they didn't want me to be there for it.

I spent a good part of my adult life working in veterinary clinics, and I love animals of all kinds, but I am very much a realist, too. I didn't understand the reasons behind "dog shooting day", and so I asked my contact to elaborate. They explained that there had been several incidents in the community of people being approached by packs of feral dogs, and that at least one child had been bitten. While most of the dogs were timid some were becoming increasingly aggressive as winter drew closer and food sources were drying up. The incidents were becoming common enough that there was fear a pack of dogs could attack and fatally injure a resident, and so the leadership had decided it was time to deal with the issue, and shoot the dogs.

My contact had pet dogs, and felt terrible about the entire thing. They were sure I wouldn't understand, but I understood far more than they realized as I knew they were facing a serious issue with little recourse, because there are few resources available to help in these situations.

Pets in remote communities are often not spayed or neutered, particularly in fly-in communities because veterinarians don't often visit and the costs to transport the animal to the vet is prohibitive. And so the animals reproduce as animals do, and some of the offspring begin to run wild. My contact explained that the feral dogs, the ones who had had contact with owners, were usually ok but that it was the next generations, the ones born feral, that were worrisome - and the problem was growing.

Now it would be nice to think that you could round up all the feral dogs, fly them out, and rehome them through animal rescue agencies, but again cost is a factor, and many agencies simply aren't equipped for an influx of dozens of animals, on occasion sick or injured.

And my contact explained too that waves of disease had spread through the feral dog packs, distemper and parvo and all the diseases unvaccinated animals can contract. People would find dead and dying dogs and puppies, and there was a high fear that rabies could surface too, as it did occur in the wildlife in the region and it was just a matter of time. The dogs were not living a good life, they were starving and sick and injured and suffering - and so the dog cull was being carried out.

They had contacted agencies for help, and no one could provide the financial or logistical assistance they needed, but they knew that would likely be the case as this wasn't the first dog cull they had done. And so I didn't go that day, but not because I condemned their decision, but rather because they asked me to stay away.

I want to be very clear - I am a dog lover, and I love my pets dearly. But I also know that animals running wild and feral can present a very clear risk to human safety and health, and it is very difficult to find a solution when your community is remote and the assistance available is scant. I am so very glad that the Fort McMurray SPCA has offered to assist in finding a long-term and sustainable solution to the issue, but I also know they have financial constraints and limitations on capacity.

This is not a simple issue, and not all that unusual as I learned in my time in northwestern Ontario. Perhaps if we invested more in organizations like the SPCA and other rescue organizations there would be no need for these culls as there would be the finances and capacity to deal with the issue, but sadly at present there is not. And so, desperate times call for desperate measures, and some communities are forced into dealing with a very difficult and sensitive issue. If you, like me, feel terrible about this then I suggest donating to the Fort McMurray SPCA so they have the resources to create educational programs and long-term solutions such as spay and neuter clinics in our remote communities.

Like I said, it's an uncomfortable topic - but sometimes I believe those are the ones we need most to discuss.

A Musical Destiny

It has been sitting under her bed for some time. For some reason it didn't get sold or given away when we moved house this summer, despite the fact that she has not touched it in over a year. I think I knew somehow that I needed to hang onto it, and that there was some reason this black case with the cargo inside needed to hang around a bit longer until its destiny became known. "It" is a lovely little trumpet, and this week it goes to a new home.

It all began with the Grade Five band at Beacon Hill School. The Intrepid Junior Blogger wanted to give it a try, and so we went into Campbell's Music to check out the instruments. I thought she would end up with a flute or something, never anticipating she might be a horn player, but there it was. We rented it at first, and even found her a private tutor. Then she changed schools in Grade Six and while she decided not to participate in band she continued the private lessons. And then in Grade Seven when she made the move to Junior High she decided to give up band completely, deeming it as taking too many of her precious options and not her primary interest (and since she already plays piano I agreed to let band go in favour of robotics and other similar pursuits). Thus it has laid there for years now, resting in the case, that little trumpet that we started out renting and then eventually purchased. It was pretty forlorn, really, a trumpet that no one played.

When I found it while we were moving I wondered what to do with it. Sell it? I wouldn't know what to ask. Give it away to a school band program? Seemed like a good idea, but never got around to it - and so it moved with us, ending up under her bed until I heard about a new program designed to provide youth in our region who have an interest in music with the instruments they may not be able to afford. Suddenly I knew why that trumpet had not left my house yet.

The Legacy Children's Foundation, headed by local program coordinator Dave Martin, a friend and fellow TEDx Fort McMurray 2013 presenter, aims to provide local youth with musical instruments and lessons. It is a tremendous program in my opinion, as it has been shown that musical education improves academic performance in other areas, and music can engage those youth who may not fall into the "mathletes" or "athletes" categories in school.

Yesterday I reached under the IJB's bed until my hand rested on a hard black case. I pulled it out and opened it up, seeing a shiny brass trumpet inside, nestled there where she left it last. Today I am delivering it to Dave, and I hope it will end up in the hands of a young person like the IJB, someone with an interest in music. It feels pretty good to send it on to a new home, and I once again learned not to question the synchronicity of my life. That trumpet has had a predetermined destiny for some time, I think. I just didn't know it yet. But today, I do.

Blog It

It is one of those emails I get on occasion, asking for some help. They aren't asking about helping to promote an event or a cause, though. They are asking about how to write a blog - or more specifically how to write a successful blog.

This question always stumps me a bit, because I am not certain you can aim for success in this blogging world. One of the most profound things I have ever had an interviewee say to me during an interview was that one shouldn't chase success but chase excellence, as excellence usually results in success. I thought that was a very inspiring thought when I heard it and I still do now, because I think chasing success is a waste of energy. I think we need to pursue excellence, and then see how it all unfolds.

Now, this question has come up often, the "how do I write a blog" query. And I always respond in the same way:

1) Just start writing
2) Write when you have something to share
3) Stop worrying about how many "hits" you are getting

To break it down further:

1) Just start writing

This is the most basic and fundamental. The first blog post can be an awkward thing (and if you don't believe me go back and read the first five posts in this blog). But every journey needs to begin somewhere, so you need to just start. Decide what your focus is in the blog (is it a community blog? Lifestyle blog? Fashion blog? Complaints blog?) and go with it. Over time you may deviate from the original focus, but that's okay as this is just a place to begin. You also need to decide if you want to be known as the author or be anonymous, which can be a tougher decision than you anticipate. I originally intended this blog to be anonymous, but the decision to attach my name and identity to it was one of the best decisions I have ever made, as I think it led to increased credibility of my words (and accountability, too, which should never be taken lightly).

2) Write when you have something to share

People often ask "how often" I blog, and if I have some set number I try to achieve. The answer is no. I believe numbers are restrictive and can result in a writer just trying to fill space instead of sharing content of value and meaning. I blog when I have something to share that I feel needs to be shared, either because it is of value to someone else or value to me. If you are just filling space there is a risk people will just stop reading, because we all know our time is precious. I can't say that every post I have written over three years has value to every person who reads it, but I hope every single post had value to someone. And remember, too, that you are responsible for all the content you create, anonymous or not. This means you are legally responsible, and so you should use good judgement when sharing information or thoughts. This doesn't mean you are restricted in what you say, but rather that you need to carefully consider how you should say it (which in the end helps with that whole pursuit of excellence aspect, too).

3) Stop worrying about how many "hits" you are getting

Don't look at your blog statistics in the beginning - and I mean that. It can be a bit depressing to see that something you have written is getting little traction, especially when you have invested your time and effort. But if you are blogging because you are sharing things of value and because you enjoy the experience then the number of "hits" or "views" becomes immaterial. If you find low numbers initially discouraging it may keep you from continuing to write, but then you are chasing success, and not excellence. Chase excellence, produce good content that matters to you and might resonate with someone else, and those hits will go up. As an aside I check my blog stats about every two weeks, mainly because I often forget to check.

And finally I would add this:

Enjoy the experience.

If you find blogging a slog or a chore, or if you feel pressured to write it, you won't enjoy the experience. I admit that I am addicted to blogging, and find that I am often so anxious to share a story or a post that I can think of little else until I hit the "publish" button. But if you find that blogging just makes you feel anxious, and not in a good way, it might not be your medium.

And so there is my answer to the question "how do I blog?", shared here so that in the future when replying to these occasional emails I can simply say "hey there, here's a link to a post where I share my thoughts on this!" - and then I can go write another blog post instead of a long email explaining how, and why, to chase excellence on a blog.

A Day in the Life

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling a bit anxious. It was Friday, of course, always a good day in my books but it was also a very busy day, with significant events in my personal and professional life both happening on the same day.

I don't write a lot about my professional life in this blog, which seems absurd as it is such a huge part of my life. Very soon I will have been employed in my position in Communications at MacDonald Island (now the Regional Recreation Corporation) for a full year. Over that year I have learned so much, and to say that I now spend my entire day writing is not a stretch as that is exactly what I do. I have truly grown into the role of a professional writer, and so my days are filled with creating content for articles, press releases, and every aspect of communications for a large organization. Coupled with my freelance work it seems I write for hours every day, and I suppose it only seems that way as I do - and I love every single moment, too.

Yesterday was an exciting day due to a professional event and a personal event that both occurred on the same day, as these things often do. My morning began when I arrived in my office and shortly after sitting at my desk the names of those dancing in Dancing With the Stars Wood Buffalo 2014 were announced - and my name was on that roster. It's a commitment I take very seriously, as it involves time and effort and eventually dancing on a stage in front of hundreds of people with a camera live-streaming to hundreds more (and with a partner I just met yesterday). I was nervous about it all, especially since I did not know the names of the other "celebrity" dancers, but I was pleased to see that I know most if not all of them, and that this will be a friendly, but serious, competition.

That announcement, though, set off a flurry of activity in my life, with Twitter and Facebook lighting up with the news that I would be participating when I am quite well known for making it clear that I am not a dancer. And then of course there was the requisite promoting and trash talking, as competitions like this are only fun if you can wind everyone up a bit (and every wind up might lead to more money raised for the SPCA, which at the end of the day is what this event is all about).

When that excitement was beginning to die down, though, it was off to my professional excitement of the day, and the re-dedication of the Terry Conroy Mini Ice at the Suncor Community Leisure Centre. The mini ice was originally dedicated in Terry's name in 1996, but over the years and with the expansion of the facility the history of this designation was lost, and I will admit that I personally had little idea who Terry Conroy was or his role in our community until the last few months when we began to plan this celebration of his name and legacy. Terry Conroy, you see, was a giant of this community.

When he died, far too early in his life, he left a tremendous hole in this community because he was one of those quiet souls who just gets involved and does the things that need to be done. He was a coach, a mentor, and an advisor to young athletes from a variety of sports. He encouraged them to pursue their dreams, whether it was sport or education. He was involved in a variety of other initiatives, like creating the now much-loved Oil Barons franchise. He was a husband and a dad and an employee, and he was one of those citizens who leaves a legacy long after they are gone because of all the things they have done, quietly and without fanfare or accolades. What captured my imagination the most, though, was his annual backyard hockey rink, which he created every year for the kids of his community.

I suppose it's because it triggered memories of my own father doing the same thing. My dad didn't create a rink every year, but I have clear memories of him working to maintain the rink in the very small town where I was born. We left that town when I was six, and so my memories of that rink are fuzzy, but I recall the sound of water splashing across the ice, and a shovel being pushed across the surface. I remember being placed on the ice gently with his strong arms above me, and feeling it under the surface of my skates for the first time. I must have been four or five, I'd guess, and it's one of my first memories of my father, who has now been gone for several years. I clutch that memory tightly to me, so tightly I think I almost forgot it, until  I began to work on learning more about Terry Conroy.

The more I learned about Terry Conroy the more memories of my dad flooded back, and almost in a reverie I would think about the sights and sounds of those backyard rinks that have dotted our nation for decades. I thought about the commitment and dedication of those who build them, not for any personal gain but simply so their kids, and the kids of others, can enjoy them. I thought about how that simple act, not so simple when you think about the work that went into them, can change the lives of those who experience them, cementing them forever in their memories. I suspect a lot of children remember Terry's backyard rink, and now they carry memories of it, and the legacy he left, forever.

So yesterday we gathered once more at the mini ice surface where I work, and with the Conroy family present we again celebrated his memory, and his legacy. I have done many things in my professional life in the past year, but this is perhaps the one of which I am most proud, because we celebrated the impact left by an "ordinary" man who was not ordinary at all. We celebrated someone who helped to build this community that I love, and we honoured his memory - and I was so very privileged to take part in it. Now I know the story of Terry Conroy, and it is one I will tell again and again, because it is the story of the impact one person can have on their community if they choose to do so. Yesterday's event was the culmination of months of work, but the legacy now lives on because it has found a new home in the memories and hearts of people like me.

I will admit the activities of the day left me exhausted, but I had one more commitment. Some friends had invited me to a house concert, and while I have often been too tired or too busy to attend these evening events in the last year I had decided to go to this one. I texted my friend and warned him that I might fall asleep, and that I was completely exhausted, but he told me to come. Maybe sit in the back, he said. Sleep here if you need to, he said. What he didn't say, and didn't need to say, was that he knew I needed to be there, and that the home he and his wife have always opened to me is a safe place where I can simply be, even if it means falling asleep during a house concert.

I didn't fall asleep, though. Instead I sat in awe as I heard two musicians, part of the band The Navigators, play some incredible music. They might be from Newfoundland but they took me right back to my time in Ireland three years ago, where evenings were spent in small corner pubs listening to local musicians and learning the lyrics of traditional Irish songs. Once again I could feel my memories being triggered, thinking back to a night in Dublin in a tiny pub at a table in the back where we sat on long benches right next to those who played, and exchanged stories and laughs. What many don't know is that Ireland is where all of this truly began for me, because my time there is what started me writing again. I came back with stories spilling out of me, things I needed to share, and so I began to share them on a personal blog, which eventually led me to starting this blog you are now reading. I sat in awe on a bench in my friend's living room, and realized I had come full circle, right back to the start of a journey that took me from being a stay-at-home mom who watched daytime TV and didn't feel she was doing much with her life to someone who works full tilt as a professional writer, rarely has time for TV, and often sits in wonder at what her life has become.

Yesterday was just another day in my life, of course. But it was one of those days when the past and present collide, and in the best possible ways. I thought about the history of this community, and the legacy of a man who changed it for the better through all the things he did. I thought about how I can contribute to my home, by learning to dance to raise money for an organization I love. And I thought about how life can change if you want it to, and how changing your life can have ripple effects far beyond what you expect. This morning I sit here with a coffee and write this post and think about today, and another day in my life. I think about all the possibilities that lie ahead, and all the memories of the past. I think most, though, about how you can come full circle as the ribbons that tie your life come together, and make you realize how incredible a journey life truly is.