The good stuff

Sometimes, the most ordinary evenings are the very best there is. Last night was one of those evenings - hardly anything worth writing about, yet about as close to perfect as you can get.

After supper, we set up the tent in the backyard. We hadn't used it in awhile (since we got the camper a few years ago) and are planning to use it this weekend, so we wanted to make sure it's still in good shape. The girls had fun playing in the tent, and were determined they were going to sleep in the backyard last night, but we couldn't find the pump to fill the air mattresses.

At some point, I remembered that I was supposed to visit my Mom's apartment while she's away to check her mail and water her plants. It was a beautiful evening, so I convinced the family to bike there with me. Again - nothing out of the ordinary - just a quiet family moment doing ordinary things.

Here are some of the extraordinary, ordinary moments:
- listening to Maddie have conversations with herself in the buggie behind my bike
- watching Julie and her Daddy race for the stop sign
- seeing the Red River and all its glory at dusk
- giggling with Nikki and Julie when we "stole" a coke from Mom's fridge
- watching the teenagers goof around on their mini-motorcycle (I think they're called "pocket bikes" - wacky and uncomfortable looking, but Nikki was rather fond of it)
- riding over the bridge, looking back and seeing my kids following me
- just plain old riding with my family - it doesn't get much better than that!

This sappy moment brought to you by Heather.

Random Summer Thoughts

I’m borrowing a page from Judy’s book and writing some Random Summer Thoughts. Because in the middle of summer, sometimes that’s the only way that thoughts come out.

1. We hung out at the library last night. It was rather funny to watch the three children. True to form, Julie soon had a stack of books and was asking if she could take home more than her usual limit. (Sure enough, she’d finished the first one before she fell asleep last night.) Also true to form, Nikki gravitated toward the magazines and was soon checking out the latest fashion and exploits of the rich and famous. (Anything that screams “pop culture” draws that kid in.) And not to be outdone, Maddie followed her heart, and gravitated to where the people were. First it was the teenagers on the computer – they decided they wanted her to be their little sister. Then it was the girl watching Arthur on the kids computer. Before we left, at least 3 separate people wanted to take her home.

2. Every once in awhile you see something that renews your faith in humanity. On the news last night was a documentary about a man named Chandrasekhar Sankurathri. His wife and 2 children were killed in the Air India bombing 20 years ago. Instead of letting bitterness control his life, he turned his energy to something good, returned to a very poor region of India where his wife grew up (they’d been living in Canada), and built a school and treatment centre for the blind. Amazing story. He named the school after his daughter and the treatment centre after his son. In that way, they still live on. Seems to me, if you have a little extra money that you’d like to put to something good, you wouldn’t go wrong sending it to his foundation.

3. But then there are some things on the news that have the opposite effect. They’ve made a movie of the life of Karla Homolka. What is it about sick and twisted criminals that makes people want to watch them on the big screen? Why would I want to sit through two hours of a movie watching this sad, pathetic, wretched woman join her husband as they rape and murder a bunch of young girls – INCLUDING HER OWN SISTER? My last post was about celebrating only the victor in a great race, but sometimes we do the opposite and celebrate the most depraved. What’s that about? I feel for the family members of the victims – knowing that thousands of people are watching a re-enactment of their daughter/sister/niece/granddaughter get brutally raped and murdered.

4. We put the camper up for sale yesterday. I’ll be sorry to see it go. We had some great memories in that camper. Like the first weekend we used it and we announced to our family that Maddie was going to born. But it’s time to let go. I’m trying not to let myself get too attached to possessions. I read on a blog yesterday that “every part of the soul that is filled by a possession is a part that is unable to love freely.” A camper is JUST a camper (even though I DID spend hours sewing curtains and cushion covers, painting walls and re-doing the floor. Sigh.)

5. This weekend we’re going to the Austin Thresherman’s Reunion. It may not sound like too much excitement to the average reader, but it holds a lot of memories for our family, so I’m looking forward to it. It was one of the only summer outing we’d go to when we were kids, and almost every year, we got to watch our Dad kick butt in the stooking contest. I think he won every time he entered, and each year he brought home a silver dollar as his prize. That silver dollar collection was one of the most prized possessions in Mom’s china cabinet.

6. One of the other things we’ll probably do this weekend is visit Spirit Sands – Manitoba’s “desert-like” region. When we told the girls we were visiting a desert, they looked at us incredulously and asked “are there starving people there? will we see lots of dead animals?” Hmmm… guess that’s what they picked up from TV.

7. I'm looking forward to hanging out with my family (brothers, sister, in-laws, mom, nieces, nephews - you get the picture) this weekend. We'll relive old memories, have a few good laughs, share food, play with each other's kids, probably mock each other a bit, and talk about Dad. We can't help but talk about Dad when we're in a place that holds so much of the best of him.

To all the people in the Tour de France who are NOT Lance Armstrong...

Congratulations on a race well run! You fought to the finish, you faced the mountains you had to face, you pushed yourself to the edge and beyond - you finished well.

You may never wear the yellow jersey, you may never be Lance Armstrong (hard to imagine there could be more than one!) but you DID IT!

All those other people who accomplished such an incredible feat, and the only name we know is Lance. Too bad. But I guess life's like that - we don't celebrate the "ordinary", we only celebrate the "victor".

Today, my fellow bloggers, let's look beyond the victor and celebrate those who run well, cycle with heart, and live with grace and integrity.

I celebrate my children who cycled to church today. No, they're not little Lances, but they did well and I'm proud of them.

When is it her turn?

My mom's husband is in the hospital. Again. It's the second time since they met in February. Something's wrong with his lungs this time.

I want so badly for my mom to be happy. I want life to be easy for her. It's her turn, I figure. Life was rarely easy when she was married to my dad. It was happy sometimes, but rarely easy. Now I want it to be easy AND happy.

I'm not sure what happiness looks like for my mom. We're very different, her and I, so for each of us, happiness has a different face. But there's one thing I DO know, happiness is not sleeping alone in the bed where her new husband spent over 40 years with his first wife while her husband is in a hospital more than 40 kilometres away and her children and grandchildren are hundreds of kilometres away.

I'm a little pissed off that God wouldn't make it easy this time around. Doesn't seem like too much to ask for a woman who has given up so much for so many people. Too much. Her whole life has been a sacrifice, now I want it to be sweet. God, if you're out there, just give her this. Please...

I couldn't resist

Across the parking lot from our office is a beautiful old church. I’ve walked by it lots of times, but never stepped inside. They open their doors at lunch time, and I’ve often been tempted to wander in, but always had some other destination or deadline.

Today, when I wandered past, I couldn’t resist going inside. They have instrumental music piped outside, and it was the music that drew me in. They were playing “It is well with my soul” and if you knew the history of that song and its connection to my family, you’d understand why I was drawn inside.

My dad loved hymns. Not that he liked ALL hymns – he was rather discriminate in his tastes - he loved hymns with depth and meaning and some thought put into the words. He loved hymns that came from some place of deep understanding on the part of the songwriter. He loved history and he loved stories. This particular hymn has all the right elements – good writing, depth of meaning, and a story behind it.

Sitting there in that magnificent church, gazing at the stained glass windows and fine architecture, and listening to that hymn, felt like a holy moment. It felt like Dad was sitting there right beside me, his head bent slightly over the hymnal.

We sang that song at Dad’s funeral two years ago. As we sang - the tears rolling down our cheeks - my family stood to our feet, united by our love for Dad and our belief that he would want us to say “It is well with my soul,” even in the midst of our tragedy.

Here’s the story behind the song…

In 1871, tragedy struck Chicago as fire ravaged the city. When it was all over, 300 people were dead and 100,000 were homeless. Horatio Gates Spafford was one of those who tried to help the people of the city get back on their feet. A lawyer who had invested much of his money into the downtown Chicago real estate, he'd lost a great deal to the fire. And his one son (he had four daughters) had died about the same time. Still, for two years Spafford--who was a friend of evangelist Dwight Moody--assisted the homeless, impoverished, and grief-stricken ruined by the fire.

After about two years of such work, Spafford and his family decided to take a vacation. They were to go to England to join Moody and Ira Sankey on one of their evangelistic crusades, then travel in Europe. Horatio Spafford was delayed by some business, but sent his family on ahead. He would catch up to them on the other side of the Atlantic.

Their ship, the Ville de Havre, never made it. Off Newfoundland, it collided with an English sailing ship, the Loch Earn, and sank within 20 minutes. Though Horatio's wife, Anna, was able to cling to a piece of floating wreckage (one of only 47 survivors among hundreds), their four daughters--Maggie, Tanetta, Annie, and Bessie--were killed. Horatio received a horrible telegram from his wife, only two words long: "saved alone."

Spafford boarded the next available ship to be near his grieving wife, and the two finally met up with Dwight Moody. "It is well," Spafford told him quietly. "The will of God be done."

Though reports vary as to when he did so, Spafford was led during those days of surely overwhelming grief to pen the words to one of the most beautiful hymns we know, beloved by Christians lowly and great.

And here are the words to the song…

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

Dentist appointment (now there's a title that just screams READ ME!)

I had a dentist appointment today. I hate dentists. No wait - I should qualify that. I don't hate dentists. Most of the dentists I know are decent people and not worthy of my hatred. My own dentist is, in fact, a fine man and I hold no ill will toward him. He's handsome to boot. But I digress... what I really mean to say is I HATE DENTIST APPOINTMENTS!

There is nothing - absolutely nothing - that makes a person feel more vulnerable and passive than lying flat on your back in a chair with your mouth wide open. You are at the mercy of their instruments, you have no proper means of communication (unless you consider grunting inaudibly communication), you have nothing to do but stare up at the face poised inches from your own, the drool runs freely down your chin... need I go on?

But worse than the feeling of vulnerability is the feeling of shame. The moment I step into a dentist's office, my mind goes to that "I'm a failure at oral hygiene" place, and that's an ugly place. It's not unlike a visit to the confessional. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been 2 years since I last flossed. I eat candy too often, and once in awhile, I even go to bed without brushing my teeth." Oh, the shame! "What can I do for absolution? Oh yes, I suppose I could start with flossing..." But then I go home from the dentist, floss once or twice, and revert very quickly to my old sinful habits. Only to face the shame again the next time I visit. I feel so stupid every time I have to answer that "did you floss" question with a pitiful "no". But I never mend my wicked ways.

Ah, but this isn't the end of this post... there's a lovely little bit of poetic justice I'd like to tell you about. In September, I'll be doing my first official (i.e. paid) consulting job. I'm facilitating a teambuilding/leadership retreat. And guess who my clients are. Yup, none other than a dental practice! Now isn't that a delightful piece of irony? A growing dental practice is hiring ME to serve as an expert for THEM! I get to be the smart one in the room - the one who has some expertise that THEY want to learn from! HA HA! It makes me want to giggle with glee!

I know it wouldn't be all that conducive to "teambuilding", but do you suppose I could turn the tables and make THEM feel like they're visiting confessional? I can almost hear it... "Forgive me Mother for I have sinned. I have treated the hygienists as less valuable members of the team. I skipped the teambuilding barbecue last summer. And no, I didn't really have sick kids - I was out golfing."

Ah, the devious part of my brain is delighting in the possibilities! Maybe I could build a practise out of "Teambuilding for Dentists". It would be like therapy for all those times I've sat in their chairs. Think I'll start making up my business cards...

(Oh, and by the way - guess what I was doing while reclined in the dental chair. Why, I was composing this blog in my head, of course. You really should try it. It's a great way to distract yourself from the fact that someone is wielding a sharp instrument in your mouth!)

Welcome to "Hair by Heather" - feel free to browse through the magazines while you wait

I played hairdresser this weekend. (Check out the look of concentration on my face!)




















Nikki ended up with blonde highlights. And Julie's is kind of purplish burgundy. (The box said purple, but it's a little more burgundy than purple.)





















Hey - I figure there are worse things they could want than funky hair. Julie's been bugging me for blue hair for awhile now, but had to settle for purple when that was all we could find.

It was kinda fun. Pulling strands of hair through a plastic hood sure beats picking lice out of hair. Yes, I've done that too (way more times than I like to admit - there was a scourge of them in their school a few years ago), and I'd choose THIS hands down.

Moody Manitoba Morning

I’m feeling blue today. Blue, blue, blue. Why? Well, do I really NEED a reason? Sometimes, it just sneaks up on ya for no particular reason. But yes, I do have a few that come to mind…

1. It seems everyone I care about is busy going on trips. Perhaps not everyone (yes, I tend to exaggerate), but at least enough of them to make it seem like a trend. My sister and her husband flew to New York City this morning. My mom and her husband are leaving for Alberta today. One of my closest friends left for Ontario yesterday, and another one is leaving later this week. It feels like a conspiracy. We’d hoped to go on a trip this summer, but we really can’t afford it. Yes, I get to travel quite a bit for work, and I’ve been more places than most in the past year (Africa, Rome, Ottawa, Toronto, Calgary, Regina), but that’s all work related and what I really long for is a nice vacation with my family. Plus, the last time my sister was in New York was with me, and now I’m hugely jealous that she’s going without me. (I TOLD you I wasn’t always mature.)

2. It’s Monday morning. Isn’t that enough of a reason to feel blue?

3. While already feeling emotionally weakened by the above 2 reasons, I got some fairly negative feedback for something I’d produced last week. I’ve been writing and designing material for a long time (most of my career), so I’m used to getting edited and slashed, but it’s not always easy to take it when your defenses are down. Plus some of the editing came from someone who NEVER gives any positive feedback, but if something’s not up to their standards, BOY do they feel free to give heaps and heaps of NEGATIVE feedback. I felt fairly good about this piece, and was very hopeful I’d get it to the printer today, but now I have to go back to the drawing board. Makes me wanna cry.

4. I’m pretty certain someone I care about is going to move away. It won’t be for good reasons, nor do I believe it will be the best for this person. But sometimes painful things happen and all you can do is stand back and watch.

So much for my happy posts. Shoulda known it wouldn’t last.

Still happy

Guess I can stop my whining now. Marcel and the girls cleaned the house while I was at work, and I managed to clean the three piles of clutter off my desk. And the big project hanging over my head is going to the printer on Monday, so that's DONE! Who knew that writing an "if only" list would make all these little dreams come true!

Happy, happy, happy

I had a positively lovely and invigorating ride in to work this morning. Here are some of the things that made it so lovely:

1. It's 20 degrees this morning! Yay! A nice reprieve from the heatwave we've been having and a pure joy to bike in.

2. There were hot air balloons rising above the city. I LOVE hot air balloons!

3. The tunnel I usually go through to avoid a couple of busy streets is finally almost free of broken glass.

4. No cars cut me off this morning, nor did any transit buses elbow me into a corner.

5. I rode past a vegetable garden, green and lush with growth. The fragrance of fresh onions and dill filled the air.

6. I get to ride over 2 rivers on my way. The fork of those two rivers is where this city was built. Rivers give life and energy to a city. And being close to water calms me.

7. I like my bike. I look at the transit buses and I'm glad I'm not on them.

8. The sky was clear, bright blue. It's been dry for nearly a week now. No rain! Yay! No puddles to navigate around or splash through. No black line up my butt from splashing, dirty water!

9. I get to ride past the Bears on Broadway - they always put a smile on my face. Thank you to whoever was responsible for this brilliant idea! A nice bright spot in our city's downtown this summer.

10. It's Friday.

About the only thing that wasn't so good was that the path I usually take along the river for part of my ride is still under water. But hopefully, if this dry spell (yes, I know that 4 days without rain is too short to call a "dry spell", but I can be hopeful, can't I?) keeps up, it will be dry before the end of the summer. It's a great place to ride because it's right across from the rowing club and I get to watch early-morning rowing teams out practicing.

And now the words of Queen are running through my head... "I like to ride my bicycle..."

Wish I could relive this moment...

Julie with my dad after a lovely train ride with the family. Aaahh... Pleasant memory.

True Confessions

Oh yeah, Gina and Suzanne, you're definitely not alone...

If, as you live your life, you find yourself mentally composing blog entries about it, post this exact same sentence in your weblog.

If only

If only I could have an afternoon with no interruptions, I might get a chance to clean out my in-box.

If only I could wrap up this big project I could accomplish some of the other stuff I've been putting off.

If only I had some time to clean up my desk I might get a better handle on organizing my office.

If only I had some kid-free time at home, I could tackle some of the clutter that's taken over our home and threatens to choke us all in our sleep.

If only I liked cleaning more, I wouldn't fall so far behind all the time.

If only I'd been born with some of the organizational/cleaning genes that seem to be missing from my brain, I wouldn't have any reason to write this "if only" list, 'cause my office and house would be SPARKLING!

If only I weren't so easily distracted, I'd be getting some work done instead of writing this blog.

If only we could afford to hire a housecleaner again. (Hey - is there such a thing as an office-cleaner?)

If only I liked cleaning HALF as much as I like wasting time, reading, writing, cycling, talking, eating, sitting...

Ah shut up with yer whining and just GET SOME WORK DONE!

Sometimes, it's the little things

...like when you walk into your mother's bathroom, see the partial false teeth in a glass of water on the counter, and you just feel like flushing them down the toilet. There are not SUPPOSED to be a man's false teeth in a jar in your mother's bathroom. A little voice of insanity in your brain tells you that if you can only destroy the evidence, all of this will disappear and life will go back to normal.

I never said I was mature!

It's over

Every year, my sister, my children, and I make an annual pilgrimage to the Winnipeg Folk Festival. This was my 18th year in attendance. It is, in my mind, one of the greatest places on earth. What can be better than a weekend spent outdoors, listening to great music, being inspired by interesting conversations, eating good food, people-watching, hanging out with my sister and kids, and running into old friends I haven’t seen in awhile?

Here are a few of my thoughts after this year’s pilgrimage:
- one of my favourite moments was on Friday night when my sister, my brother, and I were hanging out on the tarp at the evening stage. I lay on my back for awhile and looked up at the wispy clouds. Someone was blowing bubbles not too far away and they were drifting into my line of sight. Dragonflies filled the sky, floating on iridescent wings. If I looked straight up, all I could see were dragonflies, bubbles, and clouds. With the backdrop of the music and my sister’s and brother’s voices, it felt like a perfect moment.

- every year, I end up with a new favourite musician. Last year it was Martyn Joseph. This year it was Catie Curtis. They’re always singer-songwriters who can spin words into magic.

- my sister is one of my favourite people. I love that we share this common passion for the Folk Festival. We have our own language to describe the many memories we share from 16 Folk Festival visits. We share a love for good lyrics and smart songwriters. I also love how attached she is to my children, and I look forward to holding her baby at next year’s Festival.

- my sister gave me one of the greatest presents for my birthday this year. Last year, for the 30th anniversary of the Festival, we’d both had poems published in the commemorative section of the program. For my birthday, she framed the two poems, along with a picture of her and I.

- I was so proud of my three daughters yesterday. It was hot and muddy, and I thought they might get cranky, but they were all in good spirits.

- my daughters are all unique individuals and I love discovering their personalities. Yesterday, I fell in love with them all over again. Something beautiful shone from each of them… here’s what it was…

- Nikki has an incredible sense of style, and I admire her courage to try something out that she thinks is fun and funky, even if it’s not necessarily the “in thing”. Every time I caught a glimpse of her yesterday, in her tie-died yellow skirt and top (that I got her in Africa), her funky green hat, and her unique mixture of necklaces, bracelets, and anklets, I thought “what a cool looking girl! Is she really MY daughter?” She bought a really funky ring yesterday – big and bold and beautiful on her.

- Julie has a beautiful generous heart. She’d saved her birthday money for the Folk Festival, and it was burning a hole in her pocket. She wanted to buy something for everyone, and she willingly shared whatever she bought for herself. She bought her sister Maddie an ice cream, because she knew I didn’t have extra money for treats.

- Maddie is bold and free-spirited. She has blind faith that the world will be good to her, so when she wanders off to play among strangers, she never looks back to make sure her Mom is a safe distance away. She is drawn to people, and she’d often wander over to complete strangers, strike up a conversation with them, and plunk herself down on their tarp or extra chair. She expects everyone to want to be her friend.

- It was fun introducing my niece Amy to the Folk Festival. She spent part of the day with us before flying home to Alberta. She’s getting so grown up and independent. I love to see the focus she has when she’s examining something that fascinates her, or when she’s constructing a work of art. She was quite disappointed in the craft tent when the volunteers wanted to do most of the work of the craft for her – she was quite capable of doing it herself.

- I have a lot of interesting friends, and it was fun to run into them now and then at the Festival. I didn’t spend as much time with some of them as I would have liked to, but it was nice to know they were in the crowd and enjoying the same things I was.

- My friend Ian Ross has become quite a celebrity, and it was fun to watch him in his element. After watching him do a storytelling thing at the kids tent, I hung out with him for awhile and met his daughter. He has a beautiful spirit and a wisdom that attracts people to him. I miss hanging out with him, because he has a feeling of home about him – a feeling that you are safe and cared for when you are in his presence.

- one of the greatest things about the Folk Festival is that so many people are nice to you there. People are relaxed and happy, and good music makes for good moods. It’s partly because people feel like they’re on holidays when they’re there, and partly because many of the people there are of the “social justice – share the love” demographic, but for whatever reason, it has a really good feel. People look out for each other, you can leave your stuff lying around without worrying about it getting stolen, people step aside to let you pass, your children are safe and respected – it’s just a barrel full 'a kindness!

- I love my husband for being patient and persevering every year at this time of year. The Folk Festival’s not his thing, but he never tries to stop me from going. He lets me disappear for three days without complaining, and he always spends at least one day caring for the kids so that I can go kid-free.

Only 362 days until next year’s festival!

London and other places

It's incredibly horrible what happened in London. It's hard to find words to describe it. It shakes me to the core to think that there are people who feel they have the right, or perhaps even the duty, to take human lives for the sake of their cause. I don't understand any kind of radical fundamentalism that becomes so imbedded into the fiber of your being that you're willing to commit the ultimate crime against humanity just to make your point.

I don't want to take away from the horror of what happened - my heart truly goes out to all the families who have to live with the consequences of this act. But I just have to ask a question... did anyone pay attention the last time there was a suicide bomber in the middle east? Perhaps it happened again this week - does anyone know? And, while I'm at it... did anyone hear how many people were killed by the janjaweed in Sudan this week? No? I didn't think so. I don't know the answers to those questions either.

I guess my point is that in areas of the world where violence and terror have become commonplace, the media barely bothers to tell us about it anymore. And even if they DO tell us, we tune it out. Not only that, but you won't see the most powerful leaders of the world lining up in front of the cameras talking about the war on terror when it's Sudanese people dying by the thousands. But when it happens on our own soil, or the soil of those people that we most closely associate with, it's the only thing we can talk about.

Yes, it's horrible that someone bombed the subways and a bus in London. But let's not forget that there are other people dying needlessly in other parts of the world too. And some of them are dying at the hands of the countries represented by those powerful leaders lining up in front of the cameras. Perhaps, as we gather in mass outrage against the travesty in London, we can save some of our energy to consider the other travesties. Not only in London, but in Sudan, Iraq, and numerous other places in the world, mothers have lost their sons this week, babies have lost their fathers, and peace continues to remain illusive.

Ah, sweet nostalgia

I'm wearing my African dress today. Here's a picture of me wearing it in Africa. (I'm not as fully decked out today - I left the Maasai necklace at home.)

I love wearing it. It gives me those warm fuzzies... memories of the place I bought it. The Serengetti Stop-Over, a delightful place where we stayed in rondebels (round huts with thatched rooves), and sat sipping African wine (some was good, some was not) in the screened lounge watching the sun set over the Serengetti plains. Aahhh. Just indulge me for a moment and let me go back there in my mind...

It was a day of anticipation. The next day, we would cross the Serengetti. What we didn't know yet was that the next day we would see hundreds if not thousands of amazing animals - elephants, hippos, wildebeest, zebras, giraffes, lions, warthogs, gazelles, and - did I mention zebras? Thousands of zebras.

But sitting there in the Serengetti Stop-Over, wearing my new dress, I didn't know that yet. I only knew that it was a beautiful moment, that the air was warm and sweet, that I'd already fallen in love with Africa, and that I knew I still had much to anticipate in the coming week. Oh, and I knew that there was a delightful little gecko scampering up the screen door.

Lately, there's been alot of talk about how the G8 can or cannot help Africa address poverty. Nobody has the magic bullet. All I know is that, if you ever have a chance to travel there, I guarantee that it will change your life. It is the most incredible place I've ever been. Yes, the poverty is hard to see, but the people are remarkably strong, full of spirit and wisdom and grace. And they could teach us volumes about living in community and helping our neighbours. I believe that they will perservere and someday, we'll see Africa arise like a phoenix.

Note: If you want to see more of my pictures, you're welcome to check them out at heatherplett.com (yes, I have good intentions of having an actual site there someday, but for now it's just the pictures). Be prepared - there's LOTS of them.

Gradually, you let them go

I've heard it said that the moment you give birth, you gradually begin to let go of your child. One of those steps in the process happened today. We dropped Nikki and Julie off at sleepover camp for the first time (along with their cousin and friend). For three whole nights, they will live independently of any of the grown-ups who are normally attached to them (yes, there are other grown-ups at camp, but not THEIR grown-ups).

It's with mixed feelings that you let them go. You want them to become independent. You want them to try new things and not rely on you for their security all the time. You want them to begin to experience life on their own and to trust their own intuition and choices more and more. But at the same time, you're not quite sure you're ready for them to need you less. It's exciting and scary all at the same time. Every time the phone rings, a tiny part of you wonders "is it them? are they calling to say they're just too scared to be away?"

I know they'll be fine. They're smart and strong and independent. But I have to admit, this is a little tough, this letting go stuff. I miss them. I feel a bit of a lump in my throat.

Funny thing is, as long as I've had kids, I've had to travel for work, and, though I know it sounds a little callous, I hardly miss my kids when I'm away. I enjoy the chance to travel and I'm usually too busy to get lonesome. But now that THEY'RE the ones away and I'm at home, I miss them more than I'd expect.

Yeesh! If I'm this much of a sap already, how hard will it be to deal with an empty nest? I may need to come to some of you more seasoned parents for advice.

Menagerie of memories

The caption engraved on the stone says “Our beloved children – born, cherished, and always remembered.” In front of the stone is a locked sarcophagus. Inside are buried the ashes of hundreds of tiny babies. One of those babies is my son Matthew. Born September 27, 2000. Died September 27, 2000. Like all the other little babies who share his grave, he was born still and breathless. The only life he knew was inside the warmth of my womb.

There’s a little menagerie surrounding the grave stone. The families who love those little buried babies leave mementos – things that help them stay connected to the children they lost. There are stuffed toys, plastic angels, flowers, candles, toy cars, Barbie dolls - even a hockey puck. Some items are more personal – obituaries, poems penned by those left behind, and photographs. Each was lovingly placed by some trembling hand. Many were baptized by tears.

Two of the toy cars were placed there by my daughters on their brother’s second birthday. In their own way, they want to remember him too. They wonder what he would have looked like at 2, at 3, or at 4 years old. Soon it will be his 5th birthday. Would he have climbed trees and played hockey? Would he have teased his big sisters?

I love to visit that little menagerie. I feel connected while I’m there – not just to my son, but to all the other families who had to say good-bye before they were ready. Each of those people knows what it feels like to hold a dead baby in their arms. Each of those mothers knows the pain of breasts overflowing with milk that will never feed a child.

Sometimes I go there to think or to write. Sometimes I just sit and cry.

The objects on that stone are sacred. Most of them are weathered and worn. Usually I leave them alone – afraid that they may fall apart if I touch them. Sometimes, though, I spot a new toy or a new bouquet of flowers and I wonder if there’s been another burial.

There are some things I can’t quite resist touching, though. I read the poems if they haven’t been obliterated by the rain. I look at the pictures. Once there was a small heart-shaped memory box. Inside was a letter and a plaster mold of a tiny foot. The tears flowed as I returned the box to its spot in the menagerie.

Each of us who visit that grave want remembrance. We want our children to mean something. By leaving earthly toys for our heavenly babies, we cling to the belief that they are real and that their little lives had value. When you've touched the tiny little fingers of a stillborn child, you know that your life will never be the same again.

If only we could hold them again. If only we could introduce them to our friends.

Here comes the parade

If you knew Marcel's dad, you would know that, in his version of the world, IT JUST DOESN'T GET MUCH BETTER THAN THIS!!! This is the pinnacle, the epitome, the pièce de resistance (no, please don't correct my French) - he got to combine so many of his favourite things - riding his John Deere, building a float, AND showing off his grandchildren ALL IN THE SAME DAY! He was a happy, happy man. And we were all very glad that the rain stopped before the parade began.

If you look closely, you'll see that he even managed to add a little chrome to his tractor. Yeehaw!

If you want to see a little microcosm of small town prairie life, show up the day they have the parade - especially if they're celebrating their hundredth anniversary. It just felt so nostalgic and so filled with humanity. Make sure you bring a plastic bag, though, to collect all the candy that gets tossed at you from the people on the floats.

This is for Paulina

Yesterday was white band day for the Make Poverty History campaign. Today, musicians all over the world are singing in honour of Live 8.

I'm wearing my white band, and I just watched Sting sing "Message in a Bottle" at the Live 8 concert in London. I think it's a great campaign and I hope it makes a difference. I hope people get energized to make a difference to even out the power structures in this world and give developing countries a chance.

But there's something that troubles me about all this. Earlier, I saw Bob Geldof introduce the young girl who'd survived the Ethiopian famine 20 years ago, and his statement was "Because WE did this - because WE had a concert 20 years ago, she is alive, healthy, and beautiful". Well, bravo Bob for energizing the world this way. You're inspirational and powerful and determined to make a difference and I admire that. But the trouble is - in some ways, these "you can make a difference" messages get converted into "they can't survive without us" and "we're powerful and rich and we need to lift them out of the gutter" mentality.

No, I'm no expert in international development. But I've been thinking about it alot lately, and I just wonder if somehow we could make sure that, in the middle of our charity and campaigns, we could keep sight of the dignity of the people we're trying to help. They're not just "poor Africans". They're beautiful, hardworking people, and they're trying hard to improve their lives. Yes, we need to support them, but let's make sure we honour them first. And let's keep in mind that charity sometimes translates into power imbalances.

According to Michael Maren in The Road to Hell: The Ravaging Effects of Foreign Aid and International Charity, “The starving African exists as a point in space from which we measure our own wealth, success, and prosperity, a darkness against which we can view our own cultural triumphs. And he serves as a handy object of our charity. He is evidence that we are blessed, and we have an obligation to spread that blessing… Starvation clearly delineates us from them.”

In honour of Live 8, here's a story about my experience in Africa...

Paulina's Story

Her name is Paulina. She was wearing the traditional attire of Maasai women when I met her – layers of colourful fabric tied around her waist and shoulders, a beautiful (and no doubt heavy) variety of beaded necklaces around her neck, more beads wrapped around her drooping earlobe, a brightly coloured headscarf tied around her head… and a broad smile shining from her face.

She stood in front of her mud hut. At first, I approached her tentatively, not sure whether I had any right to impose on her. Her grin broadened as I neared, and she stepped forward eagerly, offering her hand. I started to ask whether I could see her house, but before I could speak, she’d gestured me inside. Others in my group followed.

She led us through the narrow hallway to her bedroom. Inside were 2 small beds where she and her husband slept. Between the beds was a primitive oil lantern on a small table. The only other thing in the room was a shelf over one of the beds where a couple of tin boxes held all of their personal belongings. She gestured for us to sit on the narrow beds made of rough sticks and ropes with thin mattresses covering the frames.

Next to her bedroom was another small bedroom (not a “bedroom” really, just a bed with a blanket hanging in front it). She leaned over the bed to open a flap in the wall to let the light through the small hole in the wall. This was where 2 of her children slept. The third child slept in another bed in the tiny kitchen. In the centre of the floor of the kitchen, not far from the bed, was a small fire pit. On the wall hung 2 or 3 cooking pots.

That was all there was to the house. The entire structure was smaller than my living room. She’d made it herself out of sticks she’d gathered in the forest, coated in cow dung left to dry to a concrete-like consistency in the heat of the sun.

What surprised me (and pleased me, though I didn’t recognize this until later) about this visit to a home so primitive I could not have imagined it before I traveled to Africa was that I didn’t feel pity for Paulina. The broad smile on her face, her eagerness to show us her home, even the way she leaned over her child’s bed to open the flap and let the light shine in – these things showed a woman who didn’t want my pity. She wanted my friendship. She wanted us to find a common sisterhood somewhere beneath the things that made us different. I wanted that too - longed for it.

Now, a few months after I returned from Africa, I can’t get Paulina off my mind. I miss her. I’d like to know her more. I’d like to share stories of motherhood and womanhood. I’d like to find the places where our feet stand on common ground. I’d like to welcome her into my home like she welcomed me into hers.

I don’t want to pity her. Nor do I want to paint a picture of someone who needs our pity. Yes, her life is full of challenges. They haven’t had enough rain to grow a decent crop in a number of years. She has to walk miles to get water. She doesn’t always have enough food to feed her children, or enough money to send them to school. All of these things are true, but pity won’t make her life better. Pity only serves to separate her further from me – it broadens the power gap and worsens the problems associated with global poverty.

Truth is, she could pity me too, for so many reasons. But I don’t want her pity either.

What Paulina and all of her African sisters and brothers (dare I say MY African sisters and brothers) need is not pity. What she needs is friendship. That’s what I need too – what all of my North American brothers and sisters need. If I am her friend, as I hope that I have the right to call myself after such a short visit, than I will remember her and long to find ways to bless her. If I am her friend, than I will allow her to bless me in return.

Pity is a one-way street. Friendship has well-worn paths in both directions. Pity builds power structures and walls. Friendship breaks down the walls and puts up couches and tables. Pity broadens the gap. Friendship builds a bridge.

What I long to do is find a way to build community with my new friends in Africa. I may not see them again. I may never get another chance to visit that beautiful continent. But even if I don’t, I want to serve them somehow. I want to honour their friendship. Within community, people serve each other toward a common good. In the short time we were together, Paulina blessed me greatly by welcoming me into her home and teaching me lessons in friendship, community, and simplicity. Now I want to take those lessons to heart and find a way to share them.

I am blessed with a wonderful community of friends. We share meals, we care for each other’s children, we wrestle with some of life’s tough questions together. Part of being a successful community means reaching beyond the boundaries of your community to welcome those around you – to offer them compassion and understanding. We’re getting pretty good at that. We serve soup and food hampers to those in the neighbourhood who can’t afford to eat. But we don’t just stand at the door and hand it to them – we welcome them in and we sit and eat with them. We honour their humanity. We acknowledge that they are of value to us just as we are of value to them.

This is what I want to share with my African friends. No, we probably won’t eat many meals together, given the vast ocean between us, but perhaps knowing them will impact my life enough that I will make decisions and try to live a lifestyle that doesn’t harm them further. If I can put my greed and consumerism aside and look for ways to level off the power imbalances, than I will have been true to our friendship. Perhaps, along the way, I can convince other people to do the same.

She's on his side

Despite the fact that there are FOUR girls in this house and only ONE guy, Maddie insists on arranging the toilet seats to suit her Daddy. She's forever putting the toilet seats up and saying, in her best pleasing-daddy voice, "Daddy, I put the seat up for you!"

Those two spend too much time together!

But it was just a little white lie...

She sat in the tree waiting for Booboo. The last time she'd perched in her favourite spot, he'd crawled down the tree to see her, wiggling his way onto her finger when she offered it. She waited and waited for him this time, but he didn't come. I checked the leaves in the nearby branches to see if he was perched there. "Maybe he had to take a nap," I offered, but she wasn't convinced. "I'll wait a little longer," she said, "Maybe he'll come. He doesn't usually have a nap." After several minutes though, he still hadn't come, so I lowered her to the ground.

The girl in the tree was three-year-old Maddie. Booboo was her pet caterpillar - a little green caterpillar she'd found on the front steps one day. Fortunately, there are lots of green caterpillars on our yard these days, and all of them pass for Booboo, so it's not hard to find him when she wants to play. She picks him up and carries him around the yard. He arches his slim back, clutches her skin with tiny suction-cup feet, and explores the architecture of her arm.

Her older sisters look at her with a mixture of respect and disgust. She offers to let them hold her pet, but they hide their hands behind their backs and shake their heads.

After we left the tree behind, she was soon distracted by backyard swings and rubber balls. I returned to my task of washing the car in the driveway.

Before long, I heard her calling me excitedly. "Mommy, MOMMY! I FOUND BOOBOO!" She was jumping up and down beneath the branch where he was hanging by an invisible thread. "He's swingin'!" She put her hand out, and Booboo lowered herself into it. "He came to see me AFTER all!"

Proudly, she carried her pet over to me. "Look Mom. Here he is! He wants to watch you clean the car." Gingerly, she put him down on the ground close to the car door. I sprayed the car window with Windex and tried to step around Booboo as I finished my job.

As three-year-olds do, she disappeared, caught up in some other wonder. But she didn't forget Booboo. A few minutes later, she called from the steps. "Is Booboo still there?"

I looked down at the ground to a horrifying sight. There lay the body of Booboo, crushed beyond recognition. Carelessly, I'd ended his short life under my the heel of my shoe. Quickly, I brushed his body out of sight before Maddie arrived at my side. "Nope," I said, "he crawled away. I think he went looking for adventure." My response satisfied her and she skipped away. Before long, she found Booboo on the other side of the yard. "How'd you get way over here?" she asked her wiggly friend.

So, I ask you, my friends... was I WRONG to tell a little white lie to my three year old daughter? Did she really need to see the broken body of her friend? I think not! I suppose I have a lie AND a murder on my conscience, but that's still better than breaking her heart.

For Matthew

I got a little choked up when I read the link that Anvilcloud sent us to - where Real Live Preacher had written about the death of a premature baby. It sent me back to the time when I said good-bye to my own son. In memory of Matthew, here's a poem I wrote shortly after we lost him. Matthew, I still remember you.

Still

When I no longer move in your womb
And my heart stops beating with yours
Please remember me

When I’ve long since left you
With nothing to hold onto
And no-one to smother with kisses
Please remember me

When you’ve packed away
My never-worn clothes
And the crib with no imprint of me
Please remember me

When my sisters have grown
Past bunkbeds and barbie dolls
And I’m still your forever infant
Please remember me

When the world no longer knows that I was
And those who do call me “fetus”
Please remember me

The man in my life

Wasn't he a cutie?

Random conversations

Don't ya just love it when random conversations pop out of nowhere and surprise you with their depth and inspiration? Like when you sit next to someone on the bus, expecting to stare out the window all the way home, and instead you find yourself engaged in a mind-blowing conversation about kids and doubts and homosexuality and church and sin? Or when you sit next to another mother at the soccer field, and before you know it you're both admitting how much it scares the shit out of you to be a parent?

I had one of those conversations last night. After the kids were in bed, I escaped to the bookstore for some inspiration. That's my favourite place to go for inspiration - but usually I get it from books, not people. I've been struggling with this major writing project at work, and it just WASN'T coming together, so I went looking for a bit of comfort or solace or whatever. I was trying to write something about "breaking bread" (for a magazine I'm producing) - how, by sharing our resources and getting involved in people's lives, we can extend our community beyond our borders and "break bread" with the global community.

I curled up in one of the big comfy chairs with a stack of books on my lap. Unfortunately, none of them offered me what I was looking for. Little did I know that inspiration was waiting for me - not between the pages of a book, but in the conversation with a stranger.

A young woman in the chair next to me saw that I'd been perusing through the religion/spirituality section. Her opening comment was "What I want to know is what's the difference between Judaism and Christianity?" Normally, in a bookstore, with limited time for my most precious pastime - perusing books, I don't welcome conversation. But this time, since the books weren't giving me what I was looking for, I put them down, and turned my full attention to her. "Well," I said, "I'm not an expert in religions, but I think the essential difference is that Christianity, though based in Judaism, accepted Jesus as their messiah."

It turns out she's a young Jewish woman who feels torn between her old traditions and an attraction to the freedom that she sees in the New Testament - the grace that overcomes the law. She's marrying an orthodox Jew with a long list of "Thou shalt nots" and she's struggling with how much of it she accepts. She thinks the Messiah can offer her freedom from that. At the same time, she's seen too many Christians who think they're better than everyone else because their religion is "superior".

What an interesting conversation we had! What a wise young woman! She had some unique insights into the New Testament, because she'd read it in Hebrew and in English and had tried to understand the differences she found between the two languages. Like the interpretation of the passage that refers to us being called to be perfect (Matthew 5:48 - "be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect")... she said that in Hebrew it means something more like called to growth.

At the end of the conversation, when the bookstore closed, I slipped her my business card. I'm not sure why, or whether she'll contact me, but it just seemed like such a pleasant moment I didn't want to end it without the possibility we could continue the conversation. I think I'd like to hear more about this young woman's journey. Her approach to faith was refreshing and hopeful. She said that, though her mother had raised her in the Jewish tradition, she felt that in some ways, she'd been paving the way for her to come to the Messiah.

At the end of my last post I asked for wise questions. I got some last night. And though we didn't "break bread" last night, it helped inspire me this morning as I wrote (and FINISHED! YAY!) my project. After all, breaking bread is about breaking down the barriers, isn't it?

Just call me "elder Heather"

No, I'm kidding. Don't call me that.

But it's true, I am an elder now. I answered the questions correctly - "yes, with God helping me", so they let me in. I had my feet washed by the pastor (a nice touch, I might add, though I wish I could have washed HIS feet too). I knelt on the floor, the current elders prayed for me, and I was commissioned.

If you think that makes me old and wise and beyond reproach and spiritually mature, then you would be WRONG on all counts. I'm none of those things. I'm weak and foolish and I have a faltering faith. I gossip too much, I'm slothful, I'm impatient, I struggle with arrogance... I have a long list of undesirable qualities that I won't expound on in too much detail, lest you think less of me (yes, I'm insecure and proud too.) But despite all these things, for reasons I'm not sure I understand, people in our church seem to think I have the right giftedness to serve them as elder. I hope they're right.

You could say that, for the most part, I'm working out my faith with "fear and trembling". I don't have very many answers - in fact I have way less now than I used to. The older I get (or should I say the "elder" I get :-), the more the questions outnumber the answers.

My friend Jo said this "I'm glad you're an elder because I know that you understand people like me, people who have trouble with faith." It is for people like Jo that I will be faithful as an elder. For that reason, it was worth accepting the challenge, as much as it still gnaws at my belly somewhat. As much as I can, I will continue to offer a safe place for people with questions. I will try to reserve judgement, and have an open mind and an open heart. I will try to serve in a way that honours people and honours God (or at least the God of my understanding - that's the best I can offer, because my understanding is limited).

Don't come to me for wise answers. But if you have wise questions, I'd be happy to listen.

FINALLY - My "a-ha" moment!

I finally figured out the identity of the mystery person in the airport! Yay! I'm so happy! She came to our church for awhile (haven't seen her lately). I didn't talk to her much, but she looks like an interesting person. I think her name is Mary, but I could be wrong.

Now I can finally sleep at night! I hope she figured it out too, 'cause I'd hate for her to be losing sleep over it!

Back from Ottawa

Was I just in Ottawa? I hardly noticed. It was less than 24 hours (about 21, to be exact), with 8 hours spent in a workshop, 8 hours spent sleeping, and an hour or two for traveling back and forth to the airport. That didn’t leave much room for being a tourist. Other than a quick glimpse of the war memorial and parliament, you could have convinced me I was in almost any city.

Luckily, I’ve been to Ottawa quite a few times or I would have been rather bummed not to be able to wander. We did go for a walk down Sparks street and ate a late supper at an outdoor Lebanese restaurant (yummy falafels), so it wasn’t all business.

I was at a workshop about Food Aid. Some of the world’s greatest thinkers on Food Aid converged on Ottawa for the day. I was moderator for one of the panel discussions, which was kinda fun. I thought I’d be in way over my head, because I’ve only worked in this field for a year and didn’t think I had a very solid grasp on the issues compared to those people who’ve been immersed in it for most of their adult lives. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that I knew more than I thought I knew, and there wasn’t a lot there that I didn’t understand or hadn’t heard before. Either these brilliant minds were dumbing it down for us lesser beings, or I’m smarter than I think I am. :-) I’m hoping the latter is the case (please don’t burst my bubble if you know otherwise).

This was one of those trips where I realize how many people I know. There were 2 people on the flight on the way there who I used to work with, and then there were 4 people in the Ottawa airport who(m?) I knew. None of these people were connected to each other – I know them all from different places. Bizarre. Most of them work for the federal government, and because I spent so many years in the government in several different departments, I know a lot of people by now.

What’s bugging me though, was the person I ran into whom I just can’t place. I didn’t have much time to chat with her (I was running to catch my connecting flight), but as I ran past, we both said something like “don’t I know you from somewhere”? We’d been on the same flight and clearly she’d been trying to figure out who I was too. She said she knew my name was Heather, but she really couldn’t figure out how she knew me. I’m still puzzled. Who is she? I hope that one of these nights when I’m lying awake trying to figure out who she is, I’ll have an “a-ha” moment and remember. It’s REALLY bugging me!

Okay, here's another thing that's bugging me... I have no idea if I used "who" and "whom" correctly in the above 2 paragraphs. That's one of those grammatical things that stumps me. But I guess I don't care enough to grab my grammar book and check, so if I got it wrong, I'm sure one of my grammar-obsessed family members or friends (yes, there are several of them) will point it out.

The view from the front seat

One more time before I go

I leave for Ottawa this afternoon. It's a short trip this time - less than 24 hours. Tomorrow night, I sleep in my own bed again. It's a bit of a shame I can't stay longer - it would be a lovely time of year to enjoy that beautiful city - but I'm sure my family will be happy to have me back so quickly.

I feel so very lucky that, for the past 8 years, I've been in jobs that allow me to indulge my passion for travel now and then. Most of them are fairly short (except for the biggie to Africa in February) which is better for the sake of family unity. I wouldn't want them to get TOO used to not having me around - I still want them to need me at least a LITTLE.

Marcel does an awesome job of keeping things going while I'm gone. Sometimes I think he does better WITHOUT me. In the mornings, for example, when I happen to be there when the kids get ready for school, I get in the way and the process ends up taking longer.

I love going to the airport. I love walking down the bridge and stepping onto the airplane. I love paging through the in-flight magazine. I love the view of the cottony clouds beneath me. I love watching the landscape change as you fly over it. I love stepping off the plane, picking up my luggage, and stepping onto foreign soil. I love the mix of excitement and apprehension when you've left the airport and you're not quite sure where you're going or how to get there.

About the only time I DIDN'T like being on a plane was the last of 5 flights on the way home from Africa when I'd already been delayed for more than 24 hours, lost my luggage in Rome, had to spend a night in Amsterdam, got re-routed through Vancouver instead of Toronto, and ended up stuck in the window seat in the very back row of the plane. Talk about a claustrophic place to sit! Especially at the end of a VERY long trip!

And then, sometimes, I kinda like him

My mom's new husband dropped in tonight. Mom was away with her sisters, so he'd gone for a bike ride and ended up at our house. It surprised me. He just dropped in and hung out with Maddie and me in the back yard for awhile.

It was easy. It was comfortable. There was no pickin' fights about Biblical interpretation. He gave Maddie a mint, teased her a little, and talked about Mom. It was nice to see him smile when he said her name. It was nice to know he likes us enough to show up even when it's not Mom's idea.

I have to let these little moments matter just as much as the other ones.

What you would have overheard if you'd followed us into the bookstore yesterday

Julie: (reaching for my hand) Some kids don't LIKE hangin' out with their Moms. But WE do.

Nicole: (reaching for my other hand) Yeah, WE like our Mom!

*Grin* Kinda wish I'd had a tape recorder. I might want to play that back to them in a few years when the hand-holding is over.

Therapy

Painting can be good therapy. At least when you don’t have a child at the bottom of the ladder saying “I want to help you paint. I want to help you paint. I NEED to help you PAINT!”

N&J&M are gone to school, my painting helper is gone to the sitter, and I am alone with my thoughts and a paintbrush. It’s getting a little hot out there, so I’m escaping to my basement for some coolin’ time.

Here are some of the thoughts my mind wandered to while I painted and gazed out over the rooftops of my neighbours…

1. In this world of changing fashions, why hasn’t tiny white paint specks on the face become a trend in cosmetic design?

2. Is the backyard neighbour leading as sad and pathetic a life as I THINK he is? From my vantage point on the ladder, I had a great view of his well-manicured yard that only HE enjoys. He’s got a nice deck with 4 chairs around the table, but in the 6 years we’ve lived here, I’ve only ever seen HIM sit at that table – enjoying his barbecued steak alone. It looks hopeful – that yard of his – like it was meant to be shared. But the only eyes that gaze upon those flowerbeds and ornamental trees are his. And occasionally mine. I suspect he looks at our messy yard with some loathing and I KNOW he’d like us to trim our overgrown trees so that they shed less leaves on his yard. Perhaps, though, he looks at the swing set with some mixture of jealousy. And perhaps, when he throws the stray balls and Frisbees back into our yard, he wishes he had a reason to keep them.

3. One other question about the backyard neighbour – did he have a family tragedy this past weekend? He left the garden hose strewn across his yard. Yikes! I’m afraid that only a tragedy could cause him to be so careless and MESSY!

4. Is it a sign of the onset of insanity if I talk to little green worms? I was concerned that it might be Maddie’s friend BooBoo and I didn’t want to be the cause of his untimely death, so I urged him to get out of the way of the killer paintbrush.

5. In what universe is it considered good family relations to pick a fight with the daughter of your new wife about the lack of Biblical basis for her new role as elder?

6. If a ladder falls in the backyard, and the only person there to witness it is lying unconscious on the ground, does it make a sound? (Don’t worry, it’s just a hypothetical. No ladders fell.)

7. Will the new neighbour next door leave the back yard as overgrown and unkempt as the last one? If not, I’ll miss it. Partly since I’m rather fond of the wild look and partly because it makes OUR yard look almost manicured. But I’m sure the other neighbours won’t miss it – especially the one who was complaining about the hornets’ nest forming under the unruly pile of compost in the corner.

8. Is unkempt a word? Is kempt?

9. Am I ANY closer to building some semblance of a team out of the ragtag group of people I’m supposed to be leading? Did ANY of them get any value out of our recent team retreat? Is it worth the bother? Do leopards change their spots?

10. Why is it that every time I climb the ladder I forget one of the things I was supposed to bring up with me?

11. If I paint the trim of the house dark green, does it mean I’ll have to paint the fence and the deck the same colour? If so, perhaps I should have thought of that BEFORE I went to all this trouble.

Just checking...

If I lock her in her room until she turns 4, will I get arrested? I promise I'll slip her food under the door, and probably even let her come out for potty breaks. Ah, c'mon... PLEASE!

It seems Maddie has become possessed by the "three-year-old-there-must-be-at-least-ONE-boundary-I-haven't-tested-yet" demon. The fun easy kid who once was has been replaced by this OTHER creature I hardly recognize and am not particularly fond of. At this moment, Marcel has left the house, primarily because she pushed every last button he had and he really didn't want to be found guilty of child abuse. I'm next.

Whoever came up with "terrible twos" hadn't yet lived through the "more-horrible-than-living-with-the-tasmanian-devil" threes.

You know that advertisement where the kid in the back seat is busy emptying the mother's wallet and tossing all the items out the window? Yeah, well, not so funny when it happens to YOU! Fortunately nothing actually left the car, but she had torn apart everything in the two bags in the back seat of the car, and hung three things out the window before I managed to get things under control. Thank God for automatic windows that I can control from the driver's seat.

Oh, and before the "hanging things out the window" incident, I was particularly impressed when she spit at me in Zellers.

Those of you who still have illusions that Maddie is a delightful, happy-go-lucky, charm-the-pants-off-ya child, THINK AGAIN!

Anyone want to babysit? Like, maybe for a YEAR?

Happy Birthday Julie!

Happy Birthday Julie

My dearest Julie;

You turn 8 years old today. You’re getting so grown up and so smart! Today (and every day) I want you to know how much I love you and how proud I am of you. I’m so glad you’re my daughter. I’m so glad God made you and that he gave me the privilege of being your Mom. I’m a lucky, lucky woman.

Eight years ago, you entered our family. We were so excited to see you. You were beautiful right from the start. We were happy to see your red hair. I love red hair, and so did your Grandpa. He always wanted a red-headed granddaughter. I’m sure he’s watching you grow from heaven and he’s very proud of you, his Red Bowler.

You were a real treat as a baby – so easy to look after. You didn’t need too much – as long as you got fed and cared for, you didn’t demand too much more attention. Your big sister Nikki was quite curious about this new person Mommy and Daddy brought home. She wanted to play with you and cuddle you. (I know she doesn’t want to cuddle you much now, but she used to!)

We knew from an early age that you were special. You learned to talk at a really early age – earlier than most kids. When you weren’t even 3 years old (younger than Maddie is now), the day care teachers told me that, when you saw 2 kids arguing, you suggested that they should compromise. They were amazed that you’d use such big words even though you were still pretty small. You kept learning and kept amazing the grown-ups with how many words you knew.

This carried on when you started going to school. You hardly took any time to learn to read. It seemed like one day you didn’t know how to read, and then suddenly the next day you did. Before long, you were reading chapter books. And now, 2 days before your 8th birthday, you finished the 4th Harry Potter book. Wow! Not too many kids read that much before they’re eight! I hope you keep it up because a love for books is a really valuable thing to have. It opens up the world for you – shows you all kinds of interesting things and teaches you to think.

You learned other things quickly too. Before you even started kindergarten, you wanted to know how many halves were in a certain number. “Mom,” you’d say, “how many halves are there in eight?” I’d tell you to guess, and you were usually right. That was one of your favourite games for awhile.

You’ve always been my most cuddly kid. I can usually count on you to crawl up into my lap and sit with me. You give great hugs. One of my favourite parts of the day is when I get off the bus after work and you come running down the sidewalk and throw your arms around me. It makes me feel special.

I love your sense of humour. You like making people laugh. When I was in the hospital with Matthew, you came into my room and hopped like a bunny because you wanted to see me smile. You still do things to try to make me smile. I love to see the twinkle in your eye because it usually means you’re playing tricks on me or thinking of things that will make me laugh.

I love to see determination in your face. When you make up your mind to do something, you usually figure out a way to do it, even when other people don’t think you’ll be able to. When you decide to bake, you want to do it YOUR way. When you want to learn to ride your bike, you want to figure it out YOUR way. Sometimes I argue with you, because I’m a lot like you and I like to do it MY way, but most of the time, when I just let you figure it out for yourself, you find a way. I was so proud of you when you learned to ride a bike – you made up your mind to do it, and you tried and tried until it worked. Now I love to go for bike rides with you. We have great conversations, and you’re not afraid to try new things.

You are a very compassionate girl. Often, when you have a treat that Maddie doesn’t have, I don’t even need to ask you to share because you think of it yourself. You like to make other people happy, and often that means sharing what you have with them. You even buy other people Slurpees sometimes because you don’t want to be the only one enjoying a treat.

I was so proud of you at your piano recital last night. You’ve been learning piano as quickly as you learn so many other things in your life. Keep it up, and soon you’ll get to learn to play drums, just like you want to. I’m glad you want to be unique and learn a different instrument. I know you’ll do well.

You’re a fun, interesting, smart, kind, beautiful girl. You make my life better. You bring something very special to our family. God made you unique – different from anyone else. He gave you special gifts and talents and you’ll find great ways of using them. I know you will always make people smile, you will show kindness to a lot of people, and you’ll continue to love learning just like you do now.

Thank you for being my beautiful daughter. I love you. Happy Birthday!

Love Mom.

Middle C

She just needed to find Middle C.

We arrived early at the piano recital. Her first piano recital. Nervous energy straightened her spine and made her twist the ring on her finger. "Mom," she whispered, "what if I can't find Middle C?"

Only a few people had arrived so far, so we walked to the front of the room where the imposing grand piano stood. "Which one do you think it is?" I asked. She pointed. "Can your remember where it is?" I asked. "Yes - it's just below the letter F in the name."

Her turn didn't come until far down in the program, but when it came, she walked to the front, sat down, and played flawlessly. She found Middle C. She grinned a shy half-grin of pride as she walked back to her seat.

She's not alone, I thought. We're all looking for Middle C. We all need to know where our starting point is - our point of reference. Once we figure that out, we can move forward with confidence. Once we know where our security is - our centre - we've got it made.

This much I know

A body is not meant to function with only 3 hours of sleep. At least not my body. And certainly not on a day when I have to sit through an 8 hour board meeting. Where's that intravenous needle? I need CAFFEINE!

Some day, soon, I hope, my children will all be healthy again, and I will get to SLEEP!

WWHD

I’m not particularly fond of catchy little sayings. Especially Christian ones. You know what I’m talking about – “Jesus is the Reason for the Season”, “WWJD” – I can’t even think of any more because I’ve blocked them from my memory.

This mild dislike bubbles into pure loathing when I see these “pearls of wisdom” etched into Christian kitsch. Walking into an average Christian bookstore makes me shudder. Wading through the clap-trap of “test-a-mints” and Christian bobble-heads to get to the books is too painful to endure. So I very rarely set foot in those places. My dear friend Michele says it makes her want to do her best tae kwon do kick and destroy all those glass shelves of Christian mockery. (If you want to read a good book about this, check out “Addicted to Mediocrity”.) If you share my opinion, you might enjoy a perusal of “Truth is Stranger than Fiction” at the Wittenburg Door. Or check THIS out for a good laugh.

While the principle behind it may be reasonably sound, I hope no one EVER gives me a bracelet or bumper sticker or t-shirt with the letters “WWJD” emblazoned on it. What would Jesus do? Well, for starters, I don’t think he’d wear one of those bracelets! Or etch his name on plastic bobble-heads. He made trees and mountains, for God’s sake, why the heck would he want to associate himself with PLASTIC?

That’s my rant for the day, but that’s not really what I wanted to talk about. On the topic of WWJD, yes, I DO try to live by Christ’s example (or at least on my better days), but often I find myself thinking in terms of WW(fill in the blanks with the name of one of my friends or family)D. When I’m struggling with being a parent, I consider the super-mom in my life, and ask myself WWCD (what would Cathie do). When I’m stressed out with how messy my house is getting, I think about the clean freak and wonder WWDD (what would Diane do). There’s a long list for me…here are just a few…

taking a good photograph, hosting a party – WWCD (Cynthia)
making people laugh, understanding politics – WWMD (Marcel)
planting/caring for flowers, crafting word pictures – WWDD (Dwight)
doing computer-techie stuff, buying stereo or computer equipment – WWBD (Brad)
interpreting scripture, questioning “truth” – WWDD (Dad)
crafting a poem, initiating conversation with a stranger – WWSD (Sue)
coming up with teaching ideas for my kids, being a gracious hostess – WWLD (Lorna)
being a fun uncle/auntie, pleasing people – WWJD (J-L)
baking a cake, showing lots and lots of love – WWMD (Mom)
showing compassion, making people feel valued – WWLD (Linda)
being authentic, making kick-ass soup - WWMD (Michele)

On my more self-judgmental days, I can interpret that as weakness – that I don’t have enough confidence in my own abilities to trust my own judgment, or that I’m not relying on God enough to lead me. But on my better days, I like to think of it as letting people impact and inspire me.

There are lots of significant people in my life, and I like the fact that they inspire me. I think we should be open to letting people touch us, teach us, and change us. I don’t think we were meant to figure it all out on our own.

That’s part of the reason I like blogging and reading other blogs. I like sharing my moments of inspiration, and letting other peoples’ moments of inspiration touch me. It helps to know that there are other people trying to figure out some of the same things I’m trying to figure out.

And now that I’ve gotten to know a few blog friends, my list of WW_D will get longer. Thanks for that - but don't expect me to put it on a t-shirt!

Through the ears of a child

Don't you wish, sometimes, that you could hear the world through the ears of a child?

Saturday, in the backyard, Maddie heard the birds chirping in the tree and said "MOM! The birds can talk too!"

Today, in the laundry room, she heard the thumping of the washing machine and said "HEY! It's making music!" She even made up a song to go with the rhythm of the machine. It was something about dying monsters in the zoo. Not sure where that came from. But what a treat to hear music in the mundane things in life! From now on, when I'm doing the dreaded laundry, I'll have to listen for the music.

The interview

What fun! I got a real kick out of all those comments on the last post. It seems that when I'm feeling the least profound I illicit the most response. Not sure what that says, but I'll take it for what it's worth.

I got interviewed by my sister, ccap. She sent me the following five questions. Just for fun, 'cause she was hangin' around watching me, I asked Nikki the same questions. I included hers here too, because most of hers are better than mine!

1) If you could have one superpower, what would it be?

Nikki's answer: “burp really loud so that you cause earthquakes. So Saddam Hussein would come out of his hole and die. Mwwaa-ha-haa!”

My answer: I can’t think of anything particularly meaningful, and since the thing I long for right now is a clean house, I’ll just say the ability to snap my fingers and have my house spotless. Guess I'm in a practical frame of mind these days.

2) If there were one childhood experience that you had that you could protect your children from having what would it be?

Nikki said: “when your mom says NO to Slurpees”

My answer: I played baseball when I was a kid, but I was never particularly athletic. I usually got stuck in the outfield because my skills weren’t worthy of the infield. I remember this one girl who’d moved to our town a year or two before. She was older than me and she was a bully. And she was good at sports. She hardly ever missed the ball. The day I remember in particular, I missed the ball when it was hit to my section of the outfield. She was in the outfield with me and she started yelling at me for missing the ball. When my mom picked me up after the game, I cried all the way home. It was one of my worst memories. Mom said I could quit baseball if I wanted to, but I really didn’t want to, so I stuck it out, even though I was scared of her the rest of the season. I hate bullies. I hate it when a person makes another person feel small. I wish my kids never had to experience being bullied.

3) What aspect of your daily routine do you look forward to most?

Nikki said: “playing on the computer when I get to go on IMDB”

My answer: I love it when all the kids are in bed, the housework is done (or at least that portion of it that I feel I need to do that day) and I can crawl into bed and read a book for awhile. On my worst days, when I’m really tired or when I get to bed late, I only make it through a page or two, but on my best days, I go to bed right after the kids and read for an hour or more.

4) What trait is most annoying to you in other people? Elaborate.

Nikki said: “there’s a guy in my school who pees in his pants”

My answer: Narrow-mindedness. I get really annoyed with people who have no flexibility to consider other ideas. I find there are incredibly narrow-minded people on both the left and the right side of the political spectrum, and that ticks me off. And c'mon, really, don't they know that I'm right and they're not??? teehee!

5) If you were attending a costume party and had all the time in the world to design a costume and had every item necessary at your disposal what would your first 2 picks be for the ultimate costume?

Nikki said: “lots of jewellery and lots of funky clothes… I would like to dress up as Oprah Winfrey or Michael Jackson”

My answer: Oh boy, this is a tough one. “all the time in the WORLD?” Yeah, but you KNOW I still wouldn’t get around to doing it until the night before! Hmmm…let’s see… some day I’d like to try to dress up like the world – make a big globe out of foam, paint all the continents - you get the picture. And perhaps another idea might be to dress like a peacock – a male peacock – with the magnificent plumage trailing behind me and the feathers that look like giant eyeballs. (I think I should come back to this question when I’m in a more imaginative frame of mind- that's the best I can do for now.)

Anyone else want to try?

The Official Interview Game Rules
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me." (Make sure I have your email address.)

2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.

3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions

I wanna be profound

I wanna sit down at this computer and type something profound and noteworthy. I wanna be creative and brilliant and wax poetic about something meaningful. I wanna make you laugh or make you cry or make you sit in awe of the way I string together words.

But I got nothin'. Big ZIPPO. Zilch. Nada. Don't know why, but I'm drained dry. Got no creative spark, even when I dig down deep. The only thing down there, in the place where there USED to be a creative spark, is a pile of smoldering embers, soggy and wet from too many days of rain, rain, and more rain.

So, in the absence of brilliance, here's a list of boring random thoughts...

1. I just finished reading "Secret Life of Bees". MAN I wish I could write like that. (Yup, for those of you who were wondering, that was one of my purchases with my birthday money.)

2. Tonight, after a long and frustrating evening, in which it seemed the only way I was interacting with my children was in the form of argument, I walked into the kitchen and heard the song Marcel had playing. "How could I live without you" - by Trisha Yearwood. That was one of the songs we danced to at our wedding. Right there, in the kitchen, tonight, we danced again. The kids were in bed, and it was just him and I in the kitchen. Yeah, go ahead and smile, 'cause it was a nice moment between two people who might forget sometimes, but after 12 years, are still pretty crazy about each other. And in the words of Trisha... How could I live without him? There was one day when I thought I might have to learn to live without him, but thank God, I didn't have to.

3. We've been doing interviews for one of the director positions at work this week. We've done six and have one more to go. Part of me loves being on THIS side of the table - getting to ask the questions and watching how people struggle to present themselves in the right light. What makes them answer the way they do? And why is that I form an opinion of a person almost before they've finished answering the first question? Do those opinions have anything to do with reality? But there's another part of me that finds this completely exhausting. And by the sixth interview, I have a heck of a time trying to keep them all straight. And then, the other part of it is having some empathy for the person on the other side of the table. All of the people we interviewed are from different cities and most from different countries, and so all of them have probably had to have conversations with their families - "if I get this job, we'll have to move away from home." And yet, only one of them will get it, and so the others will have to live with the disappointment, and tell their families that no, mommy/daddy didn't get the job this time. That's the part where I don't really like having their future in my hands.

4. PLEASE somebody make the rain go away. That's ENOUGH already! I got soaked and muddy biking home from work today, and I just wanted to crawl into the bathtub and CRY!

5. If I can JUST survive next week (board meetings, team retreat that I have to lead, major project deadlines) I MIGHT actually be able to take a couple of days off. Oh, I sure do hope so!

6. Somebody said to me today (not one of the people we were interviewing, by the way) "If you don't have passion for something, then you shouldn't be doing it. Find someone else who can do it better." It's not entirely practical, 'cause there are LOTS of things we have to do that don't have anything to do with passion, but I think he's partly right. But sometimes you just have to trudge forward and hope the passion catches up with you.

I think I'll go to bed now. Maybe the beauty sleep will help revive that creative spark. Or maybe not, and I'll slug (is that a word I can use as a verb?) through another sloggy soggy day just hoping some light will appear.

By the way, hello to Glenda! Don't know you, but I hear (from Michele) that you're reading, and you're welcome! If Michele likes you, I'm sure you'd be a friend of mine, 'cause Michele's got GREAT taste!

Three things

My blogging energy is flagging, so I just resorted to responding to Gina's "three things" tag.

3 names I go by:
Heather, Mom, Buddy

3 screen-names I've had:
maniju, hplauren, gypsywannabe

3 physical things I like about myself:
my hands, my ears, my feet (they’re nice and little and I can often find shoes in the bargain bin, ‘cause they don’t fit anyone else – unfortunately, they’re on their way to becoming my least favourite, ‘cause I’m getting old and now require custom orthotics)

3 physical things I dislike about myself:
my boobs are too big, my butt is too big, my nose is unattractive

3 parts of my heritage:
mennonite, farm-girl, Manitoban

3 things I am wearing right now:
my wedding ring, a “Make Poverty History” white band, my favourite underwear

3 favorite bands / musical artists:
U2, Jann Arden, Sarah McLachlan (ah, c’mon, can’t I say some more… The Waifs, Wailin’ Jennies, Sting… I could go on…)

3 favorite songs:
One Voice (Wailin’ Jennies), World’s on Fire (Sarah McLachlan), London Still (The Waifs)

3 things I want in a relationship:
respect, good conversations, humour

3 physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to me:
muscular legs, a good smile, eyes

3 of my favorite hobbies:
reading, writing, cycling

3 things I want to do really badly right now:
have a nap, have a hot bath, hide (can you tell I’m over-tired from having sick kids and too much work to do?)

3 things that scare me:
watching one of my children get ridiculed and knowing I can’t protect them, finding out I’m not as good at writing as I think I am, and one of my lifelong fears is getting buried alive (I read a story in the Reader’s Digest about that when I was a kid, and I’ve never quite let go of the fear)

3 of my everyday essentials:
my computer, hand lotion (‘cause my hands are ALWAYS dry), and these days, since my feet got old and wimpy, my custom orthotics for my shoes

3 careers you have considered or are considering:
writer, teacher, and this is what my grade 9 prediction was – a social worker living on a ranch (it also turns out that while I was persuing my seemingly useless BA, my mom was busy telling people I was studying social work. Turns out I’d be a lousy social worker, though :-)

3 places you want to go on vacation:
ANYWHERE! but more specifically… Brazil, Thailand, Australia

3 kids' names you like:
I could be boring and say Nicole, Julie, and Madeline (my kids’ names) but here are a few more… Natalie, Samuel, and… here’s one from my childhood – when I was a little girl, I always thought I’d have a daughter named Heidi

3 things you want to do before you die:
skydive (I think I might try on my 40th birthday – next year!), travel to at least 20 more countries, publish a book

3 ways I am stereotypically a boy:
I’m a lousy housekeeper, I hate the mall, I’d rather talk politics than fashion

3 ways I am stereotypically a chick:
I like to soak in a hot bath with candlelight and good music, sometimes I’d rather read a book than have sex (sorry Buddy), I worry about my kids fitting in at school

3 celeb crushes:
Liam Neeson, James Spader (something dangerous about him), Paul Newman (he may not be that hot anymore, but he’s just so noble and strong)

Anyone else want to play?

Maddie, again

In case you're not sick of Maddie stories yet, you can find one on Linda's blog. Linda hung out with Maddie for awhile yesterday, and found it worth writing about. And while you're there, stick around and meander through Linda's posts - she's a great writer and an interesting person. You'll be glad you did.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. We've got a great "village" and we're glad Linda's a part of it :-) And, as you'll see in Linda's post, Uncle J-L's got a unique and interesting role in that village too.

Confession

"Hello, my name is Heather, and I am a plant killer." Now everybody chime in "Hello Heather."

Is there a place for "plant killers" anonymous? I need to bare my soul. As much as it pains me to admit it, I have a black thumb. I am surrounded by green thumbs whom I love and admire - brother, sister, sisters-in-law, father-in-law, mother, co-workers, friends, blog friends, you name it - and yet, none of their abilities to charm the earth have rubbed off on me.

I love plants. I want to be surrounded by them. I couldn't BARE to live in one of those housing developments which are devoid of green. Both houses we've bought have been surrounded by big, old lovely trees. Fortunately, I haven't managed to kill the trees yet (except the one in front of our house is looking a little sickly and I fear it may have heard the rumours whispered by all the other plants and is cowering in fear of me).

Other than trees, plants enter my life, and before long, they give up theirs. I have taken possession of hundreds of plants in my lifetime, and as much as I vow to be kind to them, I kill them all. It doesn't matter what it is - houseplant, garden plant, cactus, the plant that everyone says "there's no WAY you can kill this one" - I have a remarkable ability to put an end to their green life on this earth. Perhaps that's the REAL reason I like dandelions - because it's the ONLY plant I can't kill. You've gotta admire the pluckiness of a plant like THAT!

It really pains me to admit this, especially since most of the friends and family who read this blog are of the green thumb variety. I feel like there is a black mark on my personality. I even wondered about the wisdom of having children - if I can't keep a PLANT alive, should I really take the risk of letting children enter my death-trap?

Oh, I suppose this is my cross to bear. All you plant lovers out there - please forgive me. It's not for lack of love that these plants died. I really DO care for them - that's the reason I stopped bringing them into my house or yard. I want them to LIVE and flourish and there seems to be little hope of that if I bring them home.

And so, I humbly acknowledge my weakness and say simply that I am forever grateful to those of you who CAN keep plants alive, because then I can at least enjoy them from a distance - on YOUR yards or in YOUR homes rather than mine.

(And if anyone out there in blogland is wondering, yes I DID manage to bring home 3 lovely daughters and have kept them all alive and healthy! So it seems my black thumb only relates to plants and not children. Whew!)

why you shouldn't get dressed in the semi-dark

Got to work this morning and realized that, even though I plucked these pants from the clean laundry pile, they are covered in grease stains. Big ones - the size of loonies - all down the front of my pants. How could I not have noticed this while I was pulling them on this morning?

I'm SO honoured!!!

Really, wouldn't YOU be honoured too if you got this personalized letter from the PREMIER OF ALBERTA inviting you to visit his province? Gosh, I just don't know what to say! Ralph wants ME! I'm flabbergasted! Do you think he'd take me out for a night on the town with his beer drinking buddies? Just think - he could talk politics with Marcel and we could ask him why his neck is so red! Or maybe, instead of just sending me letters on pretty stationary, he could share some of his oil wealth.

B&S - thanks alot for whatever you signed us up for. Sure do appreciate the 2 for 1 coupon for...(drum roll please)... a museum! Makes it worth a trip to Alberta, just for that!