Touching Down

“Are you in the basement”, the text to her reads. She is far from home, in Calgary with her father, but her behaviour at almost 16 is predictable enough to assume she is in the basement, which appears to be the preferred space for most teenage humans (myself included when I was her age).

“No, I’m at the mall,” she fires back, and I can feel the prickly beginnings of alarm rising in me. I could call her, but as most parents of teens know for some reason they respond to the sound of a text message in an almost-Pavlovian way, while a ringing cell phone can be ignored for hours or even days.

“What mall,” I text. “Are you alone? Where are you in the mall?,” I continue, as that sense of alarm begins to grow.

“Downtown, by myself – why?” she sends back, and I instantly move into “protective mom mode”, that instinct that takes over when we need to protect our genetic legacy from any sort of imminent danger from bears and cougars to tornadoes – and in this case it was a tornado I was concerned about.

“Get into the lowest level of the mall, closest to the parkade, and stay there – there is a tornado alert in Calgary,” I text.

“Cool,’ she fires back. “I want to see it,” she texts, but she knows better than to disobey an order given by Crisis Command Mom, so down into the lower level of the mall she goes.

Last week a tornado did not touch down in Calgary, but it could have easily done so, as funnel clouds were spotted and an alert issued as the possibility of a tornado loomed. It was a clear and present danger, to borrow a phrase, and I reacted as I knew a bit about protecting oneself from natural disasters like tornadoes and forest fires. When it was all over and the storm clouds had cleared I began to wonder how many people in our community have prepared for the possibility of an extreme weather event such as a tornado.

Tornadoes are not common this far north, although after some research I learned they may be more common than we believe since Canada’s north is sparsely populated, and a tornado could easily touch down in a remote area far from human eyes and never be detected. We do know that tornadoes are not impossible in the north, and that we have certainly seen them occur in places like Edmonton.

The question that remains, though, is how many people have actually thought about what they would do in a tornado? I suspect it is not even on our radar for the most part, one of those things we don’t consider until we see the swirling winds and watch as a strange storm envelopes us and those we love.

Disaster preparation, from being ready if threatened by a forest fire to knowing what to do in a tornado, is hardly a popular topic of conversation. Most of us believe we are unlikely to ever be touched by such occurrences, but then again the very nature of nature is its unpredictability. It is in that unpredictability that we find both awe and respect and, on occasion, terror, as nature charts its own path and sometimes we find ourselves in the middle of it as it cuts a swath through our cities, our farms and our lives.

After the alert was lifted I texted her again, my daughter who spent the storm hunkered down in the lowest level of a mall eating chocolate she found at a small shop there, and after stepping out of the mall she replied: “It’s already way sunny here - Calgary is crazy,” but of course it isn’t the city that is crazy but nature itself, which can swing from ominous storm clouds and potential disaster to a sunny summer day in mere minutes. The tornado did not touch down in Calgary, but the event was a reminder to all of the power of nature, and power of the need to protect those we love, even when we are far from them, connected only by a cell phone, text messages and an enduring commitment to keeping them safe, no matter what nature – and the world – throws at us.

What to do during a tornado

 

Where Have You Been?

Where have you been?

That is the subject line of the email I find in the inbox associated with this blog. That email is followed by two others from different people, expressing some concern that the blog posts have been a bit on the sporadic side recently and hoping that I am okay.

Where have I been?

Well, where to begin, really. This has been a summer unlike any other in my world, so perhaps I will post a bit today to just bring my readers up to speed on where I have been, and why there has been a bit of hiatus on the blog.

At the end of June the Intrepid Junior Blogger left to spend the summer with her father in Calgary. I don’t usually cry when she leaves on these visits any more, as I have become accustomed to the weekends when she is away, but I admit on this occasion I did as her plane departed. The hardest part of single parenting is this moment, I think, when she is not with me, and on that day in June the next two months loomed in front of me like a spectre. It has been almost a month now and I miss her fiercely, but I know this is a good introduction to two years from now when she will likely leave home for good to head out on her own to University. I will be honest, too, as her absence has likely impacted my desire to write in a personal manner, like in this blog, as it colours everything I feel right now while I work my way through parenting from a distance and being separate from the one person in this world I love more than anyone or anything else.

The absence of the IJB also seems to unleash some sort of mothering instinct in me, as last year when she was gone I managed to adopt a hedgehog (as regular readers may recall). The hedgehog, named Ciel, has never really warmed to us and continues to be a small hissing ball of fury most of the time, and we tend to tiptoe gingerly around him as he is cranky at best and ferocious at worst, but for better or worse he belongs to us now. And this year, just a couple of weeks ago, I made a fateful stop in a local pet store and spied two small ferrets, about 12 weeks old, in need of a new home. I don’t claim to be an expert in much (maybe only in shoes, really) but I know a thing or two about ferrets, having owned them for decades, and so it was Patty and Liz ended up coming home with me to join our little resident ferret duo, creating a new ferret gang. The dynamics are pretty intriguing, as the smallest and prettiest resident ferret has decided she is the alpha and is spending her time trying to ensure the other three fall into line, despite being far smaller than the new arrivals (and new arrivals who are still growing, too). There is a reason they call a group of ferrets a “busy”, because having four ferrets out at playtime is much like one adult watching a dozen toddlers. They may each weigh about a pound, but they are each at least 20 pounds of mayhem.

 

This summer I was honoured to be recognized along with eleven other local women at the annual Girls Inc. “Women of Inspiration” celebration. The reasons the other women were nominated was clear to me when I watched the video depicting each of the inspiring women, although why I was included in this notable group seemed less clear to me. I suppose all I can say about inspiration is that one simply needs to be true to oneself and follow your dreams, carving your own path if necessary to do so. I am touched that I was included in this celebration, and even more touched that over the course of the summer two other people told me how my journey and actions have inspired them to follow their own path.

 

Without a doubt I have been busy at work this summer as we celebrated the grand opening of Shell Place. Two CFL games and one concert helped me stretch my wings both professionally and personally, working with media and professional sports organizations from around the country. For the recent Aerosmith concert I had the opportunity to both work in my professional capacity and as a runner for the tour management, which I have done before and enjoyed every single time. There is something incredible about chatting with people who drive million-dollar tour buses and learning about life on the road, about their pride in what they do, about the places from where they come and sharing a bit about life here. This last adventure as a tour runner involved the delivery of a lot of pizza and even earned me a t-shirt proclaiming me to be “Aerosmith Local Crew”, a title I will proudly wear and one I never thought I would carry.

 

I have been quietly observing the changes in our community as the economic impact began to make itself known. I have lived through the dips and dives before, and in a resource based economy one becomes accustomed to them, but I am troubled by the number of people I have known for years who are making the difficult decision to leave our community. As one said to me: “If I am not making any money here I may as well go home to Nova Scotia and live in my house close to my kids and grandkids and not make any money”, a sentiment with which I cannot argue. Some of these people will likely return when the economy picks up again, but some will likely be lost forever, and I find it hard to say goodbye to people of whom I have grown so fond and who are part of the rich tapestry of our community.

I have watched the layoffs and downsizing, and I have watched as moving trucks roll onto my street and roll away as houses sit vacant waiting for new owners to take a chance on us and our prospects for the future. I am, as always, an optimist, but it is impossible to not be impacted by these changes and to feel some degree of pain for a community that is going through a tough time. I know we will rebound, and I know we will be okay – but there are changes occurring, and some of them are hard to witness when you love this place in a way you have never loved another.

I have been taking a break from provincial politics, seeing it as more peripheral than central in my life. There is no doubt that after having invested in the PC campaign in 2012 I felt invested in the party, and there is equally no doubt that I felt betrayed by how some of those who came into power after that election behaved. The saga of Redford, the absurdity of Bill 10 and more hurt me deeply, particularly as the IJB had a stake in it all too, and I saw as her idealism and enthusiasm began to fade and be replaced with a jaded and cynical take on the political world. After the NDP sweep of the province I realized I had been a witness to the last dying gasps of a dinosaur of a political party, one that failed to adapt to a brave new world around it, and that faced almost certain extinction. I have taken time away from it all to mull it all over and to watch the new dynamics unfold, content to be a distant observer. I am still a political junkie, but I am one who is taking a bit of a break to recover from three years of a roller coaster ride that no one could have predicted.

I have been working on my house in a way I never expected or anticipated. It was when I found myself in the checkout line at Rona with a drill and a caulking gun that I realized how much I have changed. A small flood in my basement after a recent rain led to pulling up baseboards and taking apart eavestroughs, determined to prevent it from happening again and stubbornly forging ahead to do it on my own. I now know more about eavestroughing that I ever imagined I would, and it is the kind of knowledge I tuck away and savour a bit as it is so far from what I would normally carry in my head. This, like many other tasks homeowners carry out, is an ongoing one and this weekend will find me re-installing baseboards.

So, where have I been?

I have been here as always, working away at my job and my house, missing the IJB and cuddling the inhabitants of the Triple M Zoo (except the hedgehog, who is about as cuddly as your average hand grenade), and making a lot of quiet observations that are being recorded as I begin to formulate the outline in my head for the book I am looking to write about life in a northern town, a place of trials and tribulations, a place of success and failure, a place where one part of my life ended and where who I am as a person really began.

I must be honest, too, as on several occasions over the past few weeks I thought of ending this blog, of posting one final message and then allowing McMurray Musings to fade slowly over time, as who I am now is so very different from who I was when this all began. I have spoken about this with friends and thought about it late at night, staring into the dark and wondering if I wanted to continue to write this blog. It has become so much more complicated in recent years, as instead of being an observer of things central to life in this community I have become part of them, someone with “a dog in the fight”, and I have learned that I must exercise both discretion and caution when I write as I am no longer just an opinionated woman with a blog. And yet I find myself drawn back to this blog, because even as I have changed (and my reality has changed) this is where it all began, and to some degree this is where it continues.

So, that is where I have been. I will continue to post – perhaps not as frequently over the summer as I still have those pesky eavestroughs to contend with – when I can and when the urge strikes me. I have some posts in the works already, as I have some things to share and some thoughts to express. I genuinely hope my readers, wherever they happen to be, are having their own summer adventures just as I am. Some are likely quite exciting, and some are less so (like eavestroughing repairs), but all are contributors to that crazy thing we call life, and where we have been.

Football Road Trip from Anchorage to Fort McMurray

One of my colleagues has the most charming expression for when they deliver a definitive statement, a conversation closer beyond argument or reproach. “Sheh-bam”, they will say, always with a smile and a confidence that the discussion, whatever it was, is now finished because there is nothing more to say.

A few weeks ago I got an email inquiring about the local transportation plan for this little CFL game we had going on where I happen to work. I was getting dozens of those emails and responding to each as best I could, but this one was a bit different as the sender shared he was driving to Fort McMurray with his two small children...from Anchorage, Alaska.

I was admittedly both impressed and stunned, as it appeared he had never been to Fort McMurray and yet was setting out on an epic trek with a 6 and 3 year old to take in a football game in place far from home and where he had never been. I responded to his query, and over the days leading up to the game I contemplated contacting him to try to meet with them while they were here, but, tied up with the myriad details and complexities of my job, the email was never sent.

Imagine my delight and surprise when he emailed me after the game to share that he had written about their journey. I had checked my email late at night and stayed up even later to read his travelogue about their adventure as they drove from Alaska to Fort McMurray, the place I call home. I marvelled at his courage, as even though the Intrepid Junior Blogger is 15 the concept of being trapped in a car with my child for this many days strikes me with a kind of terror and I cannot even quite imagine doing it when she was younger. But I marvelled most at his story of not only their journey, but their experience of Fort McMurray – enough so that I asked his permission to share it here on my blog, because it is perhaps the definitive tale of why people should come here.

Got a family member who complains about how far it is to come visit you? Tell them about the guy who drove from Anchorage with two small kids to see half a football game. Run into people dissing our community without ever being here? Tell them about the man who came to place he had never been, bringing his small children and an open mind about what he would find. Find people looking for reasons as to why they should come here? Send them this link and tell them that if some guy from Anchorage can find a reason to drive here, so can they if they really want to (and if they don’t want to, well, it’s their loss).

It is a long read, and so very worth it. There were moments when I laughed, and moments when I found small tears forming in the corners of my eyes, because it was incredible to see my community through someone else’s eyes. It was equally incredible to me as a parent to read of an epic road trip that the kids might not remember (at least only bits and pieces and blurs) but that their father will never forget, just like all the adventures the IJB and I have undertaken in the last few years.

I am saddened I didn’t get to meet this man and his children when they were here, but as we corresponded he offered that if we are ever in Anchorage to let him know – and as luck would have it the IJB is planning our next cruise for the summer of 2016 (having discovered her love of cruises on our trip to the Caribbean last year) and her chosen destination is, of course, Alaska, with Anchorage one of our ports-of-call.

So, take the time to read this travelogue, because it is worth it. Keep the link handy, too, because the next time someone questions how far it is to come here, whether it is worth it and why they should visit I suggest just sending them this with one word attached: “Sheh-bam”

Road Trip

Making History in Fort McMurray

There are few things I find myself unable to write about, at least immediately after they occur. For troubling events I often find myself working them out through my words - but it is the other events, the ones where I can almost feel my heart bursting at points, that defy my attempts to pin them down on paper, instead fluttering around like tiny butterflies unwilling to be captured.

This weekend I was part of two such events. All I can say about them - at least right now, until the butterflies drift down to earth once again - is that they were magical. They were the kind of magic, though, that comes from hard work, teams of amazing and dedicated people and a belief in what we can accomplish - and in our community.

Two days, back to back, that have left me aching in every muscle, feeling slightly hung over without having touched a drop of alcohol and completely, overwhelmingly, exhilarated. Instead of words today I am going to rely on some photos, because these are the images I will carry in my heart long after the words have faded away. 

Thank you, Fort McMurray and Wood Buffalo. I am so grateful every single day to be part of this community, but you see over the last two days we made history - and I am so proud, and so humbled, to have had the opportunity to be part of it.

Shell Place Grand Opening, June 12, 2015

Northern Kickoff presented by Shell, June 13, 2015

~The official disclaimer: these comments are purely my own reflections and thoughts, 

and do not represent the opinions or views of the organization by which I am employed~

Living in the Moment with the Imagine Dragons

There are moments in time so unique and unforgettable that you know they have found a special spot in your memory. You know you will tuck them away and pull them out in the future, reflecting back on an experience that meant more than it would seem to on the surface. Last night was one of those moments.

We almost didn't go. I had purchased the tickets - and not just "a ticket" but an entire experience - months ago but work matters had intervened and I had told the Intrepid Junior Blogger that sadly we could not attend the Imagine Dragons concert in Edmonton. She was understanding, if disappointed, but she was even more surprised when suddenly this week the clouds parted and it became not only clear that we could go but should go, an opportunity for a small road trip before the summer and a break before our lives step into very high gear for awhile. And so, on rather short notice, we threw some things into a suitcase and hit the highway, travelling a few hours down south to make a memory.

As we waited in the line-ups, first to check in for our VIP experience and then to meet the band, the IJB was remarkably calm. She doesn't get excited about much, approaching life with a degree of calm I wish I could emulate. She isn't much of a hero worshipper or fan girl, either, generally unimpressed by fame or fortune. Much like her mother, though, she struggles to live in the moment, always thinking about the next class, the next exam, the next phase of her life. Her outward calm hides her constantly working mind, one that is relentless in conjuring up expectations and creating often unanswerable questions. It is a pattern I know far too well.

As we waited we both noted how terrific the staff were at Rexall Place, and how calm they seemed to be too, the flow of these events honed over the years and dozens of concerts just like this one.

But for the IJB this wasn't just another concert. This was her first stadium concert, different from the small concerts of 1500 or so fans she had attended before. As someone who cut her teeth on huge concerts in the late 1980's featuring bands like New Order, Psychedelic Furs and Echo and the Bunnymen, I knew how special that first concert is, and how it sets the tone for your expectations of those in the future. I knew how concerts are one of the rare times when you can set aside all other thoughts - the pounding music and bright lights making it almost impossible to do otherwise - and live purely in the moment. But I also knew not all concerts are like that, some instead lacklustre affairs with disengaged performers there to earn a paycheque and disinterested in their audience. As someone who had spent years with musicians I knew the magic that happens when audience and artist connect, feeding their energy to each other and leading to one of those heart-stopping moments of perfection. I also knew this was unpredictable and elusive, and one never knows when it will happen...and now I know it happened last night, and the IJB was there not just to see it but be part of it.

In our brief moment with the band we discovered a group of four young men who were kind and gentle, calling the IJB sweetheart, telling us how much they love Alberta and how happy they were to be there last night. One could think these were just hollow words, rehearsed and insincere, but we didn't doubt their authenticity as they were delivered in such a seemingly heartfelt manner it erased all doubt. And once they stepped on the stage any doubts of their love for what they do, of their genuine affection for their fans, of their pure joy in being there, disappeared in a puff of smoke.

There are so many things one could say about the Smoke and Mirrors tour. Opening act Halsey was intriguing, particularly her reference to the Pride Parade held in Edmonton the very day she was performing for us. I was delighted to finally see Metric perform, a band I have loved for a long time and had been anxious to see live - but it was the Imagine Dragons who owned the stage and the audience from the moment they walked out.

The stage set was unbelievable, the remarkable column-like screens creating a unique backdrop for every single song. Watching them move and shift, watching them become not just part of the set but part of the narrative of the songs, was astonishing - but even without the stage I believe it would have been an incredibly special moment.

There were points when it was incredibly beautiful, when Rexall Place was lit up by the tiny lights from thousands of cell phones floating in the dark like little fireflies. Decades ago we held up lighters, and every time I see this I feel that flashback to the past and I know how much the world has changed - and how much it has stayed the same. 

 

There were points when there was laughter, and points where there was nothing but the sound of thousands of voices - including mine - singing the lyrics we know by heart.

For me though the special moments were when I would look at the IJB and see her, eyes closed, singing along and knowing every word, and completely and entirely living in the moment. It is so rare to live in the moment now, in a world filled with distraction and information rushing at us from every angle. It is a gift of the most precious sort to live in the moment, one we often struggle to find.

It would be an unkind understatement to say they brought down the house. They did so much more, leaving it all on the stage as good artists do, connecting with an audience of thousands and yet I suspect making each person feel like they had connected with them personally. When they played their encore - after the crowd erupted into cheers when they left the stage the first time - huge glittery leaves rained down on the crowd, creating a moment that was not only beautiful but magical, and one I managed to catch on camera.

There are some firsts in life. You can only ever have one first kiss, one first lover, and one first concert like this. You never know how those "firsts" will unfold, and how they will shape your memories. Last night I had the honour of being there as my daughter experienced her first stadium concert, and I saw in her face the kind of our joy and abandon a live music experience should bring.

As we left the stadium with the crowds around us and walked towards our car, the sky now dark and the city lights bright, she said: "I don't know what it is but concerts like that just make you feel like you don't give a damn about anything else." 

All I could do was smile, because that's exactly how I wanted her to feel. That feeling is called "living in the moment" and last night, thanks to a band called Imagine Dragons, we did.

Biting the Hand That Brews You

The latest brouhaha (brewhaha?) swirling around a once-Canadian (and now foreign owned) coffee company and the oilsands is making headlines all over the country, it seems. Tim Hortons, traditionally associated with core Canadian values like hockey and moms and dads and kids, was running some ads on the video screens in their restaurants, which likely brought them some nice little revenue in addition to that they garner from that  crack-like addictive coffee and those delectable Timbits. Trouble is one of the ads they were running was promoting Enbridge, and when some anti-oilsands activists got wind of this they started a movement to have the ads yanked.

The anti-oilsands group claims 30,000 Canadians signed a petition to force Tim Hortons to drop the ads, and so, caving to the pressure of those individuals, Tim Hortons made the decision to pull the ads. The real debacle here isn't that Tim Hortons pulled some advertising from their stores, as is their right, or that they spit in the face of oilsands workers (they probably didn't make any friends at Enbridge, but I think Enbridge will survive, and I don't believe Tim Hortons are anti-oilsands, just anti-being-the-target-of-a-petition). No, the debacle is that apparently Tim Hortons has no idea who their market demographic is, because I suspect few of those 30,000 petition signatures were penned by Tim Hortons regulars.

Tim Hortons has a clear and definable brand. It's not elitist coffee with fancy Italian sounding names for cup sizes. No, you can get a small or extra large at Tims and not need to learn an entirely new language. Oh, they brew up lattes for those in need of the fancy coffee, but their core business is the standard double-double, served hot and preferably with a donut. And their core clients are blue collar Canadians, people like the farmers, ranchers and oilmen in my family who show up at Tims in dirty coveralls and boots that smell suspiciously farm-like. They love Tims because they don't want a serving of politics with their coffee - all they want is a good solid brand that espouses their values on things like hot coffee, artery-clogging donuts and Canadian beliefs like hard work and family, and a place where they can freely (to borrow their phrase) "shoot the shit".

I am frankly stunned that Tim Hortons seems oblivious to this. I didn't even know they were running Enbridge ads until they yanked them and the outcry arose among the very core of people who will wait in drive through line ups 30 cars long just to get a damn cup of coffee they could get anywhere. Tim Hortons actually allowed politics and controversy into their doors by yanking the ads and earning the ire of those who really just want coffee and a Timbit.

I would hope somebody in their communications and marketing red flagged this. And anyone in those departments who told the upper brass that this would be an okay move without significant repercussion should be fired as clearly they don't have a clue about the Canadian market, as this bonehead move shows. Far better to withstand the complaints and hide behind the contract excuse ("we have a contract with Enbridge we must honour") and just not renew that contract than yank the ads causing a furor and, in the end, damaging their brand.

Brand is something that may take decades to build. It's the association your mind makes when a name is mentioned, like when someone says Tim Hortons and you think coffee and donuts and charming ads about parents getting up way too early to take their kids to hockey practice, Tim Hortons cup in hand. But now Tim Hortons has managed to tie their brand to controversy and politics, likely tarnishing it forever in the minds of some of the Canadians who sit in those drive through line ups every day. The trouble with a strong brand is it can take decades to build - and only moments (or one bad decision) to destroy.

This isn't really even about oilsands or petitions. It's about not understanding the people who have bought into your brand, and in this case those who drink your brew. Tim Hortons shouldn't be ashamed that they have offended the energy sector. They should be ashamed they don't know who their customers are, even when their customers knew - or thought they knew - who Tim Hortons is.

Hope in the Dark 2015 - Final Thoughts

5:50 am

I am huddled deep inside my sleeping bag. My throat feels raw, likely from the cold night air combined with the forest fire smoke that has been hanging above us all night. I've been awake (but not up) for awhile, woken by the sounds of voices and just wanting them to shut up so I can sleep some more. There is no noise coming from the box beside me, as the IJB is fast asleep. And then I hear Barb's voice and I know it is time to go.

Hope in the Dark is over for another year.

I fling back the top of my sleeping bag and realize the field around us is deserted and we are, it seems, the last ones still asleep. I shake the box and a muffled angry voice tells me to go away. I tell the voice that I will pack up my things and return for her, allowing her a few more moments of sleep as 5:50 in the morning is not a time teenagers like to be awake, unless they are still up from the night before.

I pack up, trudge up the hill to the car and then come back for her, the last person standing (or sleeping as it is) at Hope in the Dark 2015. She reluctantly slithers out of her warm den and puts on her boots, We break down her box and pack up the car, and then we head home.

Home. A word that is loaded with meaning and emotion, a word that for four years now has come to mean even more after a night sleeping in a park.

11:00 am

I've managed a small nap and I'm at a store picking up a few things. I tell the clerk I spent the night in a park and explain why, and they look at me and say: "Well, some of them choose to be homeless you know." I look at them and after four years of a night of cold and dark and learning I simply say: "No. They don't."

It is a nice lie we tell ourselves, you see. I don't believe a single person in this world grows up with the ambition to be homeless. I don't think anyone says: "Hey, I think I'll be homeless today." It happens to us through situation and circumstance, and on occasion perhaps those who are experiencing homelessness choose to stay there not because they don't want a home but because the experience has so changed them that they know it will be a fight to adapt to a different life in a home again. Some have tried to get off the streets and failed because they have become accustomed to a life on the streets and they know they will struggle to leave it because it is a life they know and understand.

And I know this because after four years of Hope in the Dark I realized that this year I was used to the experience, as was the IJB. We could have slept in that park all day, long after the others had left. We were okay - not happy perhaps, but we had adapted to a life in the rough. We understood the rhythm and the routine, and we were prepared.

It is convenient to tell ourselves that others choose to be homeless. You see of we can put that choice on them then it eliminates our responsibility and culpability. Suddenly we have no blame and no role to play because "they" have chosen it. It is a comforting lie, as so many lies are - but it is still a lie.

Every night in our community about 50 people sleep rough on our streets. Over the past ten years sixty of them have died. Don't you dare lie to yourself that they chose to live and die on our streets, because they didn't. While that lie makes it easier for us to sleep at night in our cozy homes it does nothing for them, and it does nothing to create the hope they need to survive - and eventually help them to turn hope into home.

To the Centre of Hope: thank you for taking me and my daughter on a journey of learning and understanding. I think it is vital for you to know that not only do you provide hope and change the lives of those experiencing homelessness you have changed our lives, too, and shown us the meaning of both hope and home. 

To my fellow Hope in the Dark participants: thank you for being there and giving up your bed for a night to learn and understand, and for fighting the lies we tell ourselves together.

And to my daughter, the IJB: thank you for being the last one standing at Hope in the Dark and for being the kind of person I am not only proud to have given birth to but honoured to know. You are the reason I think our world has every right to have hope - even in the dark.