Oh the Places She Will Go

They have been working on it since November, starting with regular rehearsals every day after school. This month it reached a crescendo when the rehearsals went every day but instead of ending at 5 pm ended at 6 pm. This past weekend both days were spent doing cue-to-cue, and a full dress rehearsal. And this Thursday at 7 pm it hits the stage at École McTavish, when the school production of Seussical Jr. finally premieres.

The Intrepid Junior Blogger auditioned for a role way back in the fall. She came home very excited to be in the cast, and I knew that once again, just like for Annie last year, our house would be plunged into full-on musical preparation. For months, and increasingly so in the last two weeks, the only music I heard emanating from the basement was endless ditties about Horton and Whos and other Seuss characters. But who can argue with Dr. Seuss and the fantastic world he created, one that even adults such as myself are drawn again and again?

I admit it. When I went through the IJB's books a few years ago I donated many, but I couldn't let go of the tattered copy of One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. The copy of Horton Hears A Who is still on our bookshelf, along with the copy of Oh the Places You'll Go I bought for her soon after she was born. I remember endless nights when she was little reading those books to her again and again and again, both us caught in the magical world of Seuss. I could have never imagined that the tiny little girl who pointed to the pictures and who learned to read through Dr. Seuss would one day perform on stage with all things Seuss as the theme.

Late one night this week I crept out of bed, unable to sleep. I pulled One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish from the bookshelf, a book that has seen better days. It is torn and the cover is missing. I read it once more, letting it take me back over a decade to different days and when the IJB was so much smaller. This week I will sit in a school atrium and watch her on stage, my not-so-little girl as she performs in her last Junior High musical before she moves on to high school next year (and her new dreams of performing on the stage there and at Keyano Theatre). I suspect Seussical will take me back a few years, and, as usual, if you look closely there may be tears glistening in my eyes just as they are while I write this. I know that the performers have poured their heart and soul and time into this production. I know, too, that this is the final time I will see her perform on that stage, and that she is moving on in her life. And yet to me she will always somehow be that little girl holding a copy of One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish in her hands and pointing to the words, no matter the places she will one day go.



Never Say Never (Or Why Sustainability is More Than a Buzzword)

The pictures are haunting.

Theatres and schools, libraries and offices, derelict and empty, the structures decaying as they slowly and gradually revert from the unnatural state humans create to the natural world.

One would expect such photos of places like Chernobyl perhaps, or the Love Canal, places of environmental disaster that forced residents to flee. But these photos are from Detroit, and a different kind of disaster.

Detroit was Motor City, a place that was bustling and vibrant when the automotive industry was riding high, but as the economy began to falter so too did Detroit, and over time the bustling vibrancy began to be replaced with grim vacancies and empty buildings, abandoned as the people who populated them in better times fled for brighter futures.

These photos don't show broken furniture and empty buildings. These are photos of broken dreams and hopes, of bright aspirations plunged into darkness - and it is, I think, a cautionary tale.

In this region we have the incredible good fortune to have an industry that is booming. The future looks bright indeed as oil continues to be in demand and we grow to meet that demand. We toss around the word "sustainable", perhaps almost too casually, as if it does not matter and there is no end in sight. Many of us know it matters and is important but if asked how we are to achieve it we cannot define the road map to sustainability in our community and region - and that is a problem, because I am one of those people who believes you should never say never.

I suspect those in Detroit who built these fine structures would have never believed they could be abandoned and fall into decay. I look at them and see instead of their theatre stage ours at Keyano Theatre, once filled with music and laughter and instead sitting vacant and empty and decaying. I see the halls of the buildings at MacDonald Island, devoid of people and activity and galas and soccer games. I see our shopping mall with shattered windows and broken tiles. I see our schools, once filled with bright minds, filled instead with empty desks and dark reminders of the past. I see what could happen in our region if we only talk about sustainability instead of creating it. I see shattered windows, broken dreams and a dark end to the glory days when oil was king and we were riding high.

It frightens me to be honest, because we have small examples here in Canada in places like Uranium City. We know what can happen when you are so dependent on one resource or industry, and what follows if it falters or fails entirely. We have put a good deal of faith in our industry, and justifiably so I think, but we cannot assume this one industry will sustain this community forever. We need to begin to think seriously about diversification, about ways to sustain our community and our region that do not rely solely on oil production. We need to explore the options, and while it seems we have plenty of time and the oil will never run out or the demand will never falter we must reject that false security and consider instead a darker possibility, because one must always be cognizant that the world can change on a dime and suddenly your sunny days become dark nights instead.

I don't know how anyone can look at these photos and not find them heart breaking. I find I cannot look at them for too long, because they begin to hurt my heart and head as I think of all those who once filled these buildings, and how their disappearance signals the demise of a community. These photos are not ones we should look at with some voyeuristic bent, but rather as a glimpse of what could happen if we chose to pretend that these things could never happen to us.

The following photos of a high school in Detroit blend photos of the derelict and abandoned building with photos from days gone by when the school was filled with life. I look at them and find them chilling almost beyond words. All I know is this: sustainability is not a buzzword or a concept or an idea or an ideal. It is in the end what will make the difference between us and these photos. When I began working on this blog post I considered asking a graphic artist to use some photos of our buildings and homes, the places where we live, work and play, and revision them in a post-economic or industrial collapse world - but I found I could not do it, because it was too painful to even contemplate seeing them that way. Today, though, I find those visions parading through my head regardless, because I am one of those people who believes you should never, ever say never.

Photo credits to 

Detroiturbex

Thoughts on International Women's Day

Today on International Women's Day I pause to reflect on the women who have inspired me. There have been a lot, but there have been a few in particular who have shaped who I am today, and I thought I would honour them here in this blog.

I think the reason I am a writer is because of my high school English teacher, Mrs. Van den Beuken. Just as her name sounds she was tough as nails, this one, with a steely attitude and glare and an intolerance for foolishness, bad writing and student behaviour in general. And yet when she found someone who loved language and reading she managed to foster that interest. She saw in me, I think, a potential writer, even back then. Far from being soft with me, though, she pushed me even harder than the other students, challenging me to do better and faster and more. At times I felt it was never good enough, essays coming back scrawled with notes to use more examples or stronger language or "this would never cut it in university". I always quietly adored her though, a woman as large as her name with steel-gray hair cropped close to her skull, and I suppose I knew even then that she was hard on me because she believed in me. As I write this now I wonder where she is, all these years later, and consider that perhaps the time has come to track her down and tell her that I am a professional writer because of her influence. She is the reason that I have this career - and her influence helped me to find my heart, even if it took a few decades to do so.

I have four older sisters, a fact I think I have mentioned in this blog on occasion. There is a significant age gap, too, with my eldest sister fifteen years older than I and the one closest in age ten years older. Sometimes as a kid it seemed like I had five mothers instead of one, and on occasion that was more annoying than joyful - but as I grew older I began to appreciate each of my sisters as individuals, and as strong and independent women. My father didn't intend to raise any fools, so get five us in a room together and we are formidable enough to make grown men run (and weep). We have, over the years, witnessed the loss of both of our parents and various other woes and trials just as all families do, but we have stuck together through it all. They may not always know it but they have been and continue to be a major influence in my life. When I went to them a year ago with the news of some major changes in my life I was comforted to find four women who offered their support and encouragement as I began to change my life in significant ways. I am proud of each of them, and I want them to be proud of me, their little sister.

Speaking of my parents I suppose the woman who has had the greatest influence in my life was my mother. When she died unexpectedly four years ago it sent me into a tailspin of grief that eventually led to a personal journey of self-discovery that changed my entire life, leading me to this blog as well as an entirely new way of living. Only someone with profound influence on your life could have such impact, and so my mother did. She was the embodiment of love and acceptance, someone who understood the concept of community without ever likely thinking about it or even saying the word. To her community was just what you did, not something you built, created or discussed. If you had a new baby she was the neighbour who showed up with meals for your family to make life easier. If you were ill she was the one who delivered chicken noodle soup. If you were in need she was there, this woman who spent her life volunteering with groups like the Catholic Women's League and other organizations. When my mother died she was living in an aging in place facility, and even though she had been there just over a year had become such a solid part of their community that her friends came to me weeping over her loss, feeling so keenly that they too had lost a great part of their lives. If I know anything about community, and if I have any heart for it and the people in it, it is because of my mother, who understood community instinctively and completely.

And there is a woman who influences me daily, and one who is the reason I do the things I do. Not long ago she was a child, but somehow as the years have run away with me she has become this young woman who acts in musicals and talks about a career in engineering and is now in the midst of planning her AP courses at high school. It is of course the Intrepid Junior Blogger, who is the centre of my heart and home, and the young woman for whom I would do anything, including whatever it takes to make her home a better place. I see my mother in her some days, her huge heart and her ability to love, and yet her grandfather is there too in her intolerance for fools. She is, in fact, an amalgam of them and me and her father and so much more, her own person in every right with a strong interest in science and politics and a wisdom far beyond her 14 years. She has been the reason for everything I do for the last 14 years, and as we head into her final years before she leaves home I sit in awe and wonder at the woman she is becoming. There are few things I feel genuine pride about, but she is one of them, because she is my gift to the world, and I believe it is the best gift I could ever possibly give.

There are people in our lives who influence us in ways we cannot always truly express. To say these women influenced me (and continue to do so) diminishes their role in my life. They are the reason I have a career, a passion and a life. They are the ones who helped me become who I am, and who are now allowing me to help my daughter discover who she is. They are the threads that tie me back to the women who influenced them along the way, and who helped them become who they are. Today I celebrate and honour them, and in some cases, like my mom, just miss them desperately as I always do. Today I remember them, and thank them for what they brought to my life - and  I hope that in some very small way over the course of mine I am able to bring just a fraction of what they gave to me to someone else. If I can achieve that then I will consider my life, and their investment in me, a success.

Happy International Women's Day!

 



On The Rocks

I am not a sports girl. which I have admitted to in this blog repeatedly. There is one sport, though, that for whatever mysterious reason I am quite good at. I can't throw a baseball or a football, my track and field skills include the ability to run both slowly and funny and always knock down the high jump pole and I can barely stand on skates let alone execute a salchow - but I can curl like a demon.

I don't even know how it happened, except that I think it might be genetic. I spent the first six years of my life in a very small town in Saskatchewan (and I mean VERY SMALL, a place called Reward, in fact, and if you know where that is you deserve an award - or you might be a relative). And the focal point of life in small towns all around us were two things - the church, and the curling rink.

One of the jokes I tell is about how in a small town in Saskatchewan one year the church and the curling rink burned down - and the first one rebuilt wasn't the church. It isn't really a joke, though, as in those small towns curling, and the social scene around it, was often a religion in and of itself. My parents in their younger days had been curlers too, and I still have the slides to prove it, having becoming the family archivist after their deaths. And somehow, even though I never curled with them and never curled when I was growing up I can throw a mean rock down a sheet of ice.

I suppose this is why an event coming up has me rather excited. Never mind the presence of Gold Medal winning Olympic athletes. Never mind the fact that it welcomes international guests who are at the top of their game. Never mind all of that - for me it's all about a sport that I actually understand.

The Grand Slam of Curling, National presented by Syncrude starts next week at the Suncor Community Leisure Centre. Some of you may have attended the Canadian Junior Curling Championships which were hosted in the same venue, like I did. And I was amazed then at how an arena could be transformed into curling sheets, and how dozens of athletes could come and play and celebrate their sport. Even now, as I watch from the inside as the transformation has occurred, I am amazed.

I have been part of bringing this event to life since the beginning, and I am growing increasingly excited about it. This is an opportunity for our community to watch world-class curlers as they compete in the sport where they excel. It is our opportunity to welcome several Olympic medalists, including 2014 Winter Olympics Gold Medalist Brad Jacobs. It is a chance to create new ambassadors for our region as these international and national curling superstars stay in our hotels, eat at our restaurants, and meet our residents. It is a chance to gather in the entertainment area, enjoy some drinks and socialize. It's funny, but the whole thing is evoking memories for me of those days long ago, in a very small town, in a very small but very important curling rink.

I suppose this is all about being Canadian to me. Curling is as Canadian as snow and winter and maple syrup and the maple leaf and Oh Canada. Curling is small town curling rinks dotted across this country, filled with curlers of all ages throwing ridiculously heavy rocks down the ice. Curling is part of heritage, our birthright, and, for some of us, maybe even part of our DNA.

Next week our not-so-little town will welcome world class athletes for a sporting event I not only understand but embrace. I suspect much of it will take me back about four decades and into a time when the curling rocks weighed more than I did. And the rest of it will just let me marvel once again at how fortunate we are in this community to enjoy events like this, a little celebration of sport and community and Canadiana served on the rocks in Fort McMurray.

The Criminal Hotbed of Fort McMurray

Way back in November of 2011 I wrote a post about a story in the Edmonton Sun. The story enraged me, but it was the title that got me really fired up. The story? This one:

Yup, the infamous "hookers and blow" story, implying that Fort McMurray is a hotbed of criminal activity, filled with prostitutes and drugs and criminal activity of every kind. It was the kind of thing that makes me seethe, with subjective comments about those with disposable income and little to do except spend it on "hookers and blow". The best way to fend off that subjectivity is with objectivity, though, and so when I learned of this report I was delighted:

Crime in the Regional Municipality of Wood Buffalo

 

What did this little crime study find, you ask? Did it confirm our status as the hooker and blow capital of Canada? Was it an indictment of the criminal hotbed of activity in our community? Did it prove the claims of scads of fly-by-night journalists who write their stories before their plane even lands at the Fort McMurray Airport and only come here to tick the requisite box before handing their piece in to their editor? Hardly. It found this:

 

• The rate of break-entry-theft in the region is substantially below provincial and national rates. It is approximately one-third of the Albertan and Canadian rates, with 172 incidents per 100,000 population, while Alberta had 513 and Canada had 504.
• The rate of robbery is well below provincial and national averages: Wood Buffalo had 55 incidents per 100,000 population, while Alberta had 71 and Canada had 79.
• The rate of sexual assault is well below provincial and national averages: Wood Buffalo had 44 incidents per 100,000 population, while Alberta had 75 and Canada had 63.
• The rate of cannabis distribution is substantially below provincial and national averages: Wood Buffalo had 12 incidents per 100,000 population, while Alberta had 33 and Canada had 45.
• The rate of prostitution is nearly identical to provincial and national averages: Wood Buffalo had seven incidents per 100,000 population, while Alberta had eight and Canada had six.

Further, over the 10-year period, the region has seen a 47 per cent decline in overall crime incidents, the most significant drop compared to other jurisdictions canvassed by the study. Some notable categories include: break-entry-theft incidents declined 68 per cent, prostitution incidents declined 78 per cent, and cannabis distribution incidents declined 80 per cent.



The study, performed by Professor Neil Boyd, director of the School of Criminology at Simon Fraser University, prompted him to say this:

“This research aims to present an accurate and thorough assessment of crime rates and trends in Fort McMurray. The study demonstrates, contrary to a number of media reports, that the region is far from awash in crime,” said Prof. Boyd. “I found no evidence to support the notion that there is a greater prevalence of crime in Wood Buffalo compared to other communities in Alberta or Canada.”

Well, well, well indeed! Wait, we aren't a hotbed of criminal activity? Our crime rate is actually DROPPING? Yes, if you include our ACTUAL population, which means including the camp population as these are individuals who use our services and amenities, and for the intents and purposes of these surveys count as residents. Previous crime studies, which did not include these individuals in our population numbers, showed skewed results because their assumption of what constitutes a resident was, in our case, faulty. While our camp workers may call other locations their permanent home this community is one in which they spend a great deal of time. Our population for  must include the residents of the camps who, while they may not be here 100% of the time, do spend significant time in our community. This is one of the unique qualities of our community, and one that those doing these crime studies often omit, hence sensational "hookers and blow" headlines.

Now this is not meant to be a whitewash of our issues, as we have those and we must continue to address them - but the reality is that we are NOT a hotbed of criminal activity, regardless of what anecdotes outside journalists spin to tell their story or what skewed studies are used to support their shaky claims.

And now I finally get to say what I have been dying to say for some time. Suck it, Edmonton Sun, British GQ, Maclean's Magazine and the other media outlets and journalists who have been peddling the "hookers and blow" story for years. Read this crime study - and just suck it.

A Brand New Shoe Store is Opening! Or Not, and Here is Why.

I can actually visualize it in my head. Not a large space, but not small, either. Just large enough for some comfortable couches, some display areas on the wall, some low tables scattered around with displays on them. Energetic music, but played softly. A latte machine in the corner, offering coffee free for the taking for the customers stopping in to browse or to check out the latest shipment.

I can see myself when the latest shipments arrive, opening the boxes and finding the smaller boxes inside, and, nestled inside those boxes in tissue paper, pairs of the latest styles from some of the higher end manufacturers. I know the names of every line I would carry, and I have a strong sense of what would work in this market and what would not. I have an idea of pricing points, and I have an even stronger idea of what kind of customer service and experience it would take to make it work. But I don't know that I will ever achieve this vision in my head, because while I love the idea, and while I have even gone so far as working the numbers, starting an independent shoe store in Fort McMurray is a cost-prohibitive idea.

I have been thinking about this a great deal recently. I am a shopper, and of that there is no doubt, as those who deliver parcels to my house can confirm. Parcels, you see, because much of my shopping happens online when I cannot find what I want or like within our own community. I shop local as much as I can, but I am often thwarted by lack of choice or lack of options, and resort to online retailers who can ship shoes and dresses and specialty coffee beans to me.

The lack of commercial space and the prohibitive cost of what space exists is deadly to potential entrepreneurs like myself. In any other community I probably would have started a small business by now, but here I look at the finances and shake my head, because starting a small business is risky enough without the additional costs of sky-high commercial space rental rates. I would love to start that small shoe store (I even have a name in mind) but I don't know that it will ever happen, despite my love of the industry, my knowledge of the subject and my desire to do it. And it's all because of lack of commercial space options.

I know many people who operate small businesses from home, but that doesn't work for every entrepreneur, and to be honest while that is a strategy it isn't a solution. Home-based businesses don't do anything to liven up our retail core. I think they are wonderful, but I think most would be even better if they could have their own retail space in malls and on streets where they could not only exist but flourish with the accompanying foot traffic and casual browser. That spontaneous traffic just doesn't happen for home businesses, and so they miss out on some of the opportunity that having retail space would bring.

I also know many people like me, thwarted entrepreneurs who wish they could start the small business they envision, but who are deterred by the high cost of retail space. The other factors are ones they can contend with and costs and risks they can accept - but it is the cost of retail space that worries them, scares them, and eventually causes them to shelve their business idea, another independent niche business that could enrich our community becoming an idea gathering dust on a shelf.

The reason for all this, of course, is the lack of available property. We are in a retail space crunch, with the demand for space high enough to drive up prices to the range where it is prohibitive for small independent retailers. Even some chain stores fold under the pressure, deciding to let their businesses go when their leases end because the cost of doing business here is just too high.

I know the goal is to have more space available when the city centre redevelopment has finished, but by then many potential entrepreneurs, like myself, may have moved on in our lives and decided to not pursue those business ideas. Many may not have the luxury or ability to wait for a few years, needing that space as soon as possible to see their ideas, and businesses, move from vision to reality. And some may just move to other communities, where they can find a little spot to set up business.

It takes some fortitude and courage to start a small business here, because the costs are high and the risks are many, just as in any small business venture. The added costs, though, are enough to keep potential entrepreneurs like me out of the market, dreaming about our business instead of opening the doors. Until we have more property available, some business ideas will wither and die - or, like mine, get tucked inside a shoebox and put on a shelf, with hopes to dance into life one day.

On The Shoulders of Giants

It's one of those days again, when the temperature dips so low that it seems almost unbelievable. Posts about horrifyingly cold wind chills fill my Facebook feed, and the dog wants inside moments after going out. Even the cat, who fancies himself a feline Houdini and tries to escape through open doors to change his "indoor cat" status to "outdoor", pauses when the door is opened, and trots away.

It is March in Fort McMurray, and it is bloody cold.

It is on days like today that I think about those people who founded this community, decades ago. I think about how over one hundred years ago people were living here, but without most of the modern conveniences that make this cold bearable. They burned coal and wood to keep warm, and they had no nice warm cars to climb into when they needed to go somewhere. They had no electric blankets to huddle under. They were living in one of the coldest places in the country, and while part of me wonders why the hell they ever stayed I can't help but admire their resiliency, and, as some would say, their "pluck".

I often sit in awe of the courage of those pioneers who settled this country, particularly the ones who came to places far north and lived through winters that could be deadly. I sit and whine on occasion about being cold or about my car being balky to start or the other inconveniences related to the cold, and when I do I try to stop myself and think about those who lived here one hundred years ago and dealt with the same temperatures. I think about how unless they had forged through, and kept on going, this community wouldn't be here today.

Recently at an event I attended someone spoke eloquently about the members of this community standing on the shoulders of giants, and I have never heard anything quite so beautiful or so true. This community was created by giants, those who forged through season after season, quietly building the community we now call home.

One of my favourite things to do is to look at historical photos of Fort McMurray, because this place has changed so very much. When I do I think about the past, about the pioneers of this community and about the shoulders of the giants upon which we stand today. And suddenly the deep freeze outdoors loses just a tiny bit of its chill, warmed by thoughts of days gone by and the shoulders of giants.