ahead by a century...

There seems to be a contrasting energy in our house right now leading up to the New Year. Steve has been a whirlwind of projects as he’s spent the past few days busily tying up loose ends and completing projects before 2009 leaps upon us. I, on the other hand, have been more in a state of quiet reflection as I watch the calendar slowly come to its final day.

Last night, while Steve was painting our kitchen, I curled up on our couch downstairs and watched the second half of Anne of Green Gables. This was, by far, my favourite movie growing up and it’s been over a decade since I last saw it. When I was little I could literally recite the entire movie word for word. I discovered last night that, even at thirty, I still love every moment of that movie. I never realized before though just how romantic it really was! The love/hate relationship between Anne and Gilbert is desperately romantic and had I been any older when I first saw it, I don’t know if I ever would have been able to wait to find out if they finally found their way to each other. The agony would have killed me.

Watching the movie started me thinking about feminism and how very different it’s become over the years. Coincidentally enough, one of my other favourite movies is Little Women; a movie whose main character - Josephine, is very much like Anne. Both are strong, brilliant, determined women who decide that in order to pursue their craft, they must forgo the likes of other womanly desires, such as romance and a family. In the end though, love always conquers and they discover that no amount of scholarships and or academic achievements can replace our natural inclinations to need another human being.

I’m sure that in Anne and Josephine’s day, to have gone against such conventional wisdom would have most certainly deemed them as feminists. A hundred years later though, I watch either movie and find myself longing for a day of puffed sleeves and horse-drawn carriages. The romance of “courting” and dance cards is overwhelming beautiful to me and yet, all the while, it’s the same thing that most women were hoping to break free from.

I live in a day and age where it’s never occurred to me that I couldn’t have both a career and a family. I’ve never had to choose between a man and a corporate title but if I did, I’m sure that women every where would likely be disappointed to know that I the man would probably win. In fact, whenever the topic of men would arise in my life, I would often hear the age old argument “You can’t let the opportunity to {insert career possibility here} pass you by for a man!” Every time I heard this though I always thought to myself “How is a relationship not an opportunity as well?” Of course, having to choose one over the other is not ideal in any situation but if the decision was between a brand new relationship and having to move far away for a new career (in which case, the relationship would have to be sacrificed as a result) why exactly, is it assumed that the career is always the better choice? That new relationship could end up being the relationship and the relationship could result in marriage and that marriage could result in creating a family and fifty years later, you could wake up and realize that you chose a lifetime of miracles over a job. Why is that so bad?

Maybe it’s just the idea of wanting something that you can’t have. Maybe Anne and Josephine longed for the life that they were encouraged to put aside because they didn’t want to fit a mold that they were expected to live up to. Maybe I find Christmas Balls and afternoon tea romantic because it too, is something that I have never lived.

Once again, I will end a year with more questions than I have answers! But isn’t that always the case?!?!

On the bright side though, tonight I will bundle myself up (it is -25 degrees Celsius in Ottawa today!), take my handsome husband by the arm and participate in some New Year’s Eve festivities. Then, come Monday morning, when we’re all rested and recovered, I will dress my corporate self up and greet my wonderful colleagues in the office for yet another year. Best of all though, I will do so with the grateful knowledge that I was fortunate enough to never have to make the decision. Thanks to the likes of Anne and Josephine, I get to ring in 2009 with the best of both worlds!

Happy New Year! May your 2009 be merry and bright!

there's no place like home...

We're in Tilbury now...finally! Actually, it's 3:23pm and I'm just getting out of bed. I know, it seems a little late (even for me!) but I assure you that there is a very valid excuse other than the fact that it's Christmas Eve and we can do whatever the heck we like ;)

We left Ottawa yesterday at 3:30pm for the long drive back to the Smyth house. We know the drive well...we've done it many times. And other than the sometimes long lines at the highway rest stops, it's usually a pretty smooth trip. On average, the holiday drive takes us between 7 and 7 and a half hours. Not great but certainly manageable. We seldom ever drive home on the weekends so we end up missing most of the traffic and sometimes, even find ourselves a bit lonely on the highways.

We had Tugger in the back of the car (can I just say that he's not crazy about car travel!) and the instant we got on the 417 (about three minutes from our house), we were bumper to bumper. Ottawa's not a very big place and with a major highway running right through it, getting from one end to the other makes the city even smaller. ONE HOUR! That's how long it took us just to get out of the city...one hour! We could tell instantly that there wasn't going to be much love on this road trip!!!

Things actually looked up once we got out of the city and reached the 401. The roads were clear and there wasn't much traffic..and then the snow started to fall. And fall and fall and fall and fall. It never ended. It turned from snow to ice to rain and back to snow again. By the time we hit Toronto traffic (near Peterborough), we had already been the road for about six hours! We stopped and called home to let them know that we would be arriving a bit later (we were hoping for an ETA of midnight-ish). During this time, Steve and I observed no less than fifteen snow plows clearing the other side of the highway and we had yet to see one clearing our side. In the meantime, Tugger was curled up in the back of the car wondering if we were taking him to the depths of hell! Poor guy...he was such a trooper!

About thirty minutes outside of London, we stopped again to get Tugger some food and water. I kid you not when I say that we could barely see the car in front of us nonetheless anything else. It was going on 12:30am or so and the end certainly wasn't near. We considered bailing in London and just staying for the night but by this time, we were determined to conquer in the end! Or so I thought! Little did I know that it would finally be a scrawny teenage punk at the Tim Horton's that would be my ultimate demise.

When we got to rest stop and decided to keep on trekking, we also decided that we needed to take some time to eat and rest as well. Our last stop had been before Kingston and that was nearly six hours earlier. It appeared from the outside that the Tim Horton's was still open even though the rest stop was mostly closed for the night. I think it's also worth mentioning that by this time we had managed to see another ten snow plows or so...again, on the other side of the highway. Apparently West bound traffic was of little concern. Jerks!

So anyways, while Steve took care of Tugger (who had finally resigned himself to the fact that this car was indeed his new existence!), I went in to get us some food. The line was enormous. Seriously, I counted eighteen people in line in front of me. All of us tired, grumpy and in desperate need of whatever donuts happen to be left! After an undetermined amount of time, I made it to the front of the line feeling a little bit more uplifted. I made my order, the little man who was stuck working that night gave me my total, I handed him our credit card (because they don't take debit and we had used the last of our cash in Kingston not thinking that we were stopping again) while he looked at me and said "I'm sorry Miss...our machines aren't working tonight". I just stood there, blank gaze washed over my face and didn't move. He gently probed..."Ma'am?" I finally took a deep breath, looked at him and said "Please, for the love of God, tell me that you are joking?" "I'm sorry Ma'am...I'm not." I looked at him, blinked once, turned around and left. I trudged through the snow back to our car and proceeded to have a complete meltdown! That's right...my lack of toasted bagel with butter was indeed the end of the world to me and nothing was going to make it better! It couldn't take it anymore!

After some hugs, drowning my sorrows and a few jokes from my amazing husband, we carried one. Really, after nine hours...what's another three?!?!? We couldn't catch a break...it snowed heavier than ever and we held our breath as every maniac transport truck driver passed us in a flurry. The gusts of wind and slush that they created was enough to make anyone call it a night. We passed countless cars in the ditch, three transport trucks buried in snow and NO SNOW PLOWS!!!!!! December 23rd, 2008 will forever be remembered as the day that Westbound travelers got neglected!!! Until our exit, of course! Sure enough, there was two snow plows about a hundred meters ahead of us just as we turned off the highway! Funny!

About three hours later, close to 4am and over twelve hours after leaving Ottawa, we arrived at the Smyth house. After a big hug from two very worried parents, a couple of cheese sandwiches later and some much deserved attention for Tugger, we crawled under the blankets in our king size bed and said farewell to our horrific drive home. We got up around 9:30am to fill our bellies with a bit of food (aka. Kathy's Christmas baking!) and then curled back into bed with our feline.

It was, by far, the worst drive either one of us has ever experienced and to spend Christmas with this house full of smiling faces...I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

joyeux noël...

It’s almost time! In one more day, we pack up our car (and our Tugger!) for the long drive back home for Christmas! I can hardly wait! Every time we drive home, I find myself lost in a daze of Christmas bliss and wondering what new and funny stories will come about from a week of family sharing a house together for a week!!!

We celebrated Christmas with my Dad this past weekend in our new house, around our first Christmas tree and in front of our new fireplace. We were suppose to volunteer at a senior’s home that we go to every year together but this year, due to a variety of illness (on the part of the seniors, not us!), the building was under quarantine and we were given the day “off”. So instead, we picked up Dad and took him to all the places that he can’t otherwise get to because of the bus strike. With all of our Christmas shopping already done, it was actually a lot of fun walking amongst all the other frenzied shoppers and enjoying the liveliness of the pre-holiday rush. Starbucks in hand, we walked from store to store and picked up a few things while soaking in all the pretty decorations. It was actually a really nice afternoon!

We then headed back to our place for a big dinner, dessert and exchanging gifts. It was so delightful to sit around the fire and just chat while being surrounded with torn up pieces of wrapping paper everywhere. My Dad brought his dog, Simon, to our place and you could even see the beauty of Christmas peace between Simon and Tugger as they enjoyed a harmonious evening in each other’s company.

The whole night got me thinking about memories of Christmases past. I’ve enjoyed so many wonderful holiday seasons with friends and families that to pick a favourite would not be easy but there are a couple that stand out more than others to me and every time I think of them, the biggest of smiles crosses my face!

Despite my parents being divorced, two of my favourite Christmases were ones that the three of us spent together. One year, when I was about ten years old, my Dad came to London from Ottawa to spend the holiday with us. Mom and I had created not only a beautiful gingerbread house that year…but an entire gingerbread village fully equipped with an ice skating rink and Christmas trees galore! It was awesome! Well, that is until the next morning when we woke up to realize that the cat and dog had conspired to systematically pick apart our hard evening’s work and consume every last bit of it. Monsters!

That year, one of my gifts had been the game of Jenga; a game that can get rather intense and loud given enough time! After opening gifts and filling our faces (on Christmas Eve, because that’s how the French do it!), we opened up the game on the kitchen table and to this day, I don’t know how many hours went by spent stacking little wooden block on top of little wooden block. It was insanity! And the roar that would go up around the house each time the tower fell was enough to leave us doubled over on the kitchen floor in laughter! It was, by far, one of my favourite family memories ever…the three of us, united in laughter in the middle of the night, playing Jenga. Thank you Hasbro!

My second favourite Christmas memory was another year that my Dad came to London to visit. I must have been about thirteen or fourteen and my Dad had given me the Super Mario Bros. 3 game for the Nintendo that he had given me the year before. My Dad, who is not much of a video game person, said that we could crack open the game early while we waited out the hours of Christmas Eve for midnight to come along. My Mom had gone for a little nap so my Dad and I used it as a perfect opportunity to test out the new game. Pretty soon, there we were…just the two of us insanely trying to beat dragons and hop around on dinosaurs to collect eggs and such. Most hilarious of all was our belief that if we physically moved our arms around faster, that would, in turn, move our players around the screen faster!!!! Skewed logic, I know…but it made sense at the time!! With all the excitement of moving from one level to the next, we actually ended up missing midnight and it wasn’t until my Mom awoke from all of the ruckus that we noticed the time and that there was a tree full of presents yet to get to. It’s rare that something could pull a teenager away from the countdown of opening presents, but computer animated Italian plumbers on a quest to save a Princess can do it!

{It seems the moral of the story here is that games create joy!!!}

That’s what I just love about Christmas…you collect the most random of memories that carry you through a lifetime. They infuse every year that follows with a joy that makes every thing else that much better.

So, as we pack our bags in preparation for another Christmas adventure, I wish you beautiful memories of your own and laughter that brings you to tears.

At the risk of sounding too cliché…

From our family to yours…
MERRY CHRISTMAS!

six decades of progess...

The year is 1948. The average cost of a new house is $7,700 and a loaf of bread is 14 cents. Indian Pacifist, Mahatma Gandhi is murdered by a Hindu extremist and Israel is declared as an independent state. The Land Rover is introduced for the first time at the Amsterdam Car Show and NASCAR holds its first race for modified stock cars at Daytona Beach. The World Health Organization is created as instances of Polio are increasing worldwide. Velcro is invented by George deMestral and the game of Scrabble is introduced by James Brunot. The Winter Olympic Games are held in St. Moritz, Switzerland and after a twelve year hiatus due to World War II, the first Summer Olympic Games opened in London, United Kingdom. A 6.7 magnitude earthquake hits Ecuador in the Andes and a new weather record is set in the Yukon when the temperature plummets to -66.11 degrees celcius. Then, on December 10th, 1948, the world comes face to face with the greatest acknowledgement of human rights mankind has ever seen when the United Nations General Assembly adopted the Universal Declaration on Human Rights (UDHR)…an event that sixty years later, would be celebrated worldwide as a document that reinforces “Dignity and justice for all of us.”

As World War II was coming to an end, mankind had witnessed cruelty towards one another that was beyond comprehension, often simply because of a difference in race or religion. Suffering was being endured at the hands of anger and apathy forcing the world to question whether or not there was a better way to harmonize our otherwise depleting value system. It was this divide that inspired national leaders from around the globe to meet and in turn, to form the United Nations. In late 1945, these leaders would proudly state their vision and hope for a peaceful future…

“We, the peoples of the United Nations [are] determined…to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small”.

Three years later, the creation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights occurred under the belief that “…All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.” As the first international document of its kind, the UDHR was intended to set a standard of basic rights inherent to all people – regardless of race or religion, age or gender, economic or social status – without distinction of any kind. The Declaration has come to represent a contract between governments and their people that commands a level of justice, fairness and equality across all boundaries. While not all governments adhere to all human rights treaties, all countries have accepted the UDHR as an influential statement of standards -- an accomplishment that likely surpassed the hopes of even the most optimistic of its original founders.

So this December, sixty years later, in a time that perhaps needs this Declaration more than ever, we raise a glass to the men and women whose vision and refusal to give up created a legacy that has endured the test of some very tumultuous times in hopes of continuing to discrimination a thing of the past.

around the bay...

I was just about to start updating all of you about how our “training” is going when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t yet told you that we were training for anything to begin with! How could I have forgotten to do that?!?!

Any of my close friends likely wouldn’t hesitate to call me a runner if given the opportunity. I’ve been running for almost seven years now. It started as a physical outlet for a rather sad time in my life and turned into a great passion that I can’t imagine living without. I’ve had some of the greatest experiences and met some of the most wonderful people thanks to this sport and when all else fails, the world truly does feel a bit lighter after a few kilometers in my running shoes.

I ran my first half marathon two days after first meeting Steve, completed my first full marathon the year before we got married and decided then and there (at the finish line) that I would never run again! I was wrong! A month later, once my legs had recovered (yes, it took that long!), I was up and going again! I tried three more times to train for a marathon and each time, I was forced to reluctantly call it quits for a variety of reasons (all of which made me cry!). I can say with utmost certainty now that the hardest part of any race isn’t getting to the finish line…it’s getting to the start line.

After the heart break of too many attempts at another marathon, I decided to use my joy of running for a different purpose; to help other runners reach the finish line. On my “list of 100 things to do before I die” was to be a pace bunny for the National Capital Race Weekend; a feat that I thought would still be many years away. Pace “rabbits” are hired by races to finish in a pre-determined time so that other runners around you can set their own pace to yours in order to reach a goal time depending on how they hope to finish. Pacing is not an easy thing to do. Most runners’ pace is dependent on the weather, the terrain, their physical condition at the time and a number of other factors. Some runners however, can run nearly every kilometer in the same amount of time regardless of these factors (or at least make up the differences throughout the race without a significant change in pace). In Toronto, there is a waiting list of hundreds of runners hoping to be pace bunnies for their varying races. Runners don’t take pacing lightly. While at the end of the day, pace bunnies are just like anyone else (they have their bad days too), they are expected to represent the race by finishing within three minutes of their pace time.

Now, I’m not really sure what compelled me to do this but, I walked into the office of one of the organizers of the race weekend and said, “It’s on my list of 100 things to do before I die to pace the half marathon. Can you help me?” He looked at me pretty intently, gave me a slight cautious grin and said “Let me see what I can do!” By the time I got home a half hour later, I had been copied on a email from him to some of the race officials asking them to register me as the 2:30:00 pace rabbit for the half-marathon; the largest pace group for one of the largest half-marathons in the country! This is where the panic set in!

Once I calmed down a bit from the initial terror of what I had just committed myself to do, I figured that the most ideal step to take was to train for this time along with everyone else. So, I offered to be a group leader for anyone training to finish the upcoming half-marathon in two hours and thirty minutes. This way, not only could I help runners get to the finish line, but I could also help runners get to the start line…the real test. Four months later we found ourselves at the start line of the 2007 National Capital Race Weekend Half-Marathon on a cold, rainy day in late May. I was sporting a pair of bunny ears and packs of nervous runners hoping to come out of all this alive! The start gun went off and 2 hours, 29 minutes and 29 seconds later, I crossed the finish line! How’s that for punctuality?!?!

I don’t know that I’ve ever had as much fun as I did during that two and half hours except for the four months leading up to it. Deciding to be a group leader was by far, one of the best decisions that I’ve ever made as I ended up meeting some of the most amazing people that I’ve ever met and have continued to have the privilege of knowing even now. We continued to run together long after our race and have since been on the sidelines or in regrettable weather together as we all continue on with our running legacies.

There was one slight misfortune to all of this though; my husband was not a runner! He runs and he runs quite fast but he’s never enjoyed consistently running and certainly doesn’t enjoy running long distances at all! For him, the sooner it’s over, the better! This has posed a problem for me because frankly, my husband is adorable and I simply don’t like spending that much time away from him…and training takes time. Often, it takes lots of time. He would always be there supporting me along the way but it’s still always been my thing which means that there is often a choice to be made; Sleep in with the cute husband?? Go running in the cold for an hour with silly running friends?? Decisions, decisions!

This past year has been shameful for my running. Between the move into our house and our trip to Australia, I completely fell out of my routine and haven’t run consistently since. I still met up with my friends to run on the odd weekend but usually, I didn’t find myself running in between much. Honestly, the break wasn’t all that bad. I’d been running almost non-stop for nearly six years without a lot of time off in between races and I think that my body appreciated the change of pace for a little while. Eventually though, you realize that you can take the girl out of the running but you can’t take the runner out of the girl!!!!

So that’s how we got here…to what I forgot to tell you! About a month ago I was feeling restless. I’d wanted to get back in to my running routine for a while and was finding it harder and harder as more time went on. I found myself conflicted again though between the countless hours running in the cold and the cute husband back home but my body was craving running and I simply had to find my way back to it. So somehow, by the grace of someone (Patron Saint of Pounding the Pavement perhaps?!?!), Steve agreed to run with me!!!! And not just run with me…but train with me…for an actual race!

We decided on the Around the Bay Road Race in Hamilton Ontario on March 29th. ATB is the oldest race on the continent (older even than the Boston Marathon) and is a unique 30km race (instead of a 21km or a 42km race). This seemed to offer the potential best of both worlds…a bit more challenging than a half-marathon without the agony of a full-marathon. We’ll see…we may find 10km into it that it blows either way!!!!

Et voila…that’s where we’re at! We have become the running couple extraordinaire now! We run three days a week, cross-train twice a week and will suffer through our Ottawa winters together! So far, we’re having a great time! His speed pushes me harder on our short runs and my pacing helps him on the longer distances. Both seem to assist greatly with the countless amounts of holiday treats that we have been consuming as of late!!!! We’re only two weeks into our training so far but the beginning is almost always the hardest part (that is of course, until you get to mid-February and you would rather give yourself a root canal then go for another run!!!).

And on that note…this is what we’ve had the pleasure of running in this past week…

Jealous?!?!

waiting to be saved...

The other day, a colleague and I were at the corner waiting to cross the street and standing on the opposite side of the street was a family with their teenage son. Their son had Downs syndrome. My colleague looked over at the boy and then over to me and said “Gosh, that’s so sad. I would like to know one day why God does that to people.” “Why?” I asked. “Well, he’ll never be able to have jobs like us or experience life like us. There is just so much that he will miss out on.” I just smiled at my colleague and looked across the street. The boy had a huge smile on his face and was completely fascinated with the newly falling snow. In fact, he looked happier than anyone else I had seen that day.

I spent a lot of time when I was younger with other children who lived with Downs syndrome and from my experience; they appear to be some of the happiest and most vibrant people that I’ve ever met. My life was, most definitely, made richer by having known them and having shared in their lives. People living with Downs have a purer sense of innocence that fills their days and a childlike approach to life that the rest of us seem to grow out of at a certain age. They don’t learn judgment the same way or many of the other detrimental emotions that keep us hurting ourselves and each other. I really had to wonder if, given the choice, they even want to see life any other way?

The reality was that it was sadder for us to witness his disability then it was for him to live with it because likewise, we can’t imagine our lives being any other way. Would his life really be better with a corporate job and a blackberry in hand or can fulfillment still be found in watching the snow fall? Would his life genuinely be more worthwhile with bigger dreams and bigger vision instead of contentment in the small joys and abundance in everyday life? It’s a classic case of having tunnel vision but, as North Americans, I think that it’s begun to reach out into far more than just the boy across the street. It lead me consider how many other things we impose our sense of happiness upon assuming that our “shoes” are the only ones worth walking in.

Steve and I were discussing the other day about the whole concept of “fair trade” and how it’s perceived by our society. Steve and I do not go out of our way to purchase products that are fair trade and while we are certainly not oppose to it in any way, we do question certain aspects of its rationale. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know a great deal about fair trade other than what is presented to me from our local businesses but, based on that knowledge alone…I’m lead to believe that we are encouraging better pay, better working conditions and a “fair” exchange of services between us, the consumer, and them, the provider. There is, of course, an entire environmental aspect to this as well but for the most part, I get the impression that it has a lot to do with the lively hood of those working on the other end of our morning coffee. Okay, so this is very noble, I agree, but (there’s always a but) who decided that “they” needed rescuing in the first place? I’m not criticizing as much as I am genuinely asking if they are truly unhappy. True, they likely make less (comparatively) and it’s also true that their lives are spent at the hands of a field instead of a business office but who’s to say that they are not happy to harvest fields all day and be out in the sunlight? Would they even want an office job or rush hour traffic? Are we assuming that because their lives are not like our lives, then they can’t possibly be happy and in turn, it’s our job to save them?

This very question also brought about my very mixed emotions about the Middle East and Islamic culture. We, as a society, are very quick to judge their motivations and intentions. We consider them violent, oppressed and behind the times socially. I agree that there are elements of their culture that I struggle with and violence is certainly one of them. I am appalled at the idea of stoning a person because of their infidelities but I’m equally appalled at the idea of dragging a black man behind a pick up truck because of the colour of his skin…and that happened in the U.S. We look at them and see mistreatment of women and distortion of religion. For all we know, they may look at us and see misguided youth and a value system so deteriorated that we have entire magazines devoted to celebrity gossip. We see them covered head to toe in a veil as a lack of rights and they may see us without enough self-respect to dress for any purpose other than sex. We assume that all of these things, because we don’t share them, must mean that they are unhappy. We assume that their lack of reality television and wardrobe attire to choose from must mean that they feel deprivation that we, of course, need to rescue them from. To take over another country under a cloak of good intention and to assume that our way of doing things would suit them better poses a lot of questions for me. First and foremost, it sparks the question of whether or not our way even works for us nonetheless anyone else?

On that note, let’s take this opportunity to look at our lives for a moment; we are a society of great wealth and consumption. We work long hours and grow up too fast. We are connected to each other at all times while never really being connected to anyone at all. We are in a constant hurry to get to places that they don’t generally want to be. We have the convenience of doing our grocery shopping from home and all the while, we’ve never been more stressed. Our bodies are filled with disease and our minds are filled with dis-ease. We aim for bigger houses, faster cars and fancier televisions when we should be aiming for broader perspectives, grandeur experiences and better relationships…and I don’t mean with our cell phones.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging the state of how we live our lives. It’s all relative and our necessities sit pretty low on the hierarchy of needs. More importantly though, I feed the beast in my own way as well but what I’m questioning is whether or not our morals and values are really the appropriate measuring stick by which all others should be judged? We live lives that seem privileged and innovative. We live lives that seem a step above the rest but we also live lives that are out of touch with the very basics of what it means to be human. Life is simply not meant to be lived in nothing but a frenzy of technology and corporate ladders.

So, all this being said, as I looked across the street at the teenage boy joyfully catching snow flakes on his tongue and fully immersed in the day that God had given him…I couldn’t help but painfully wonder if we were the ones who really needed to be saved?

our first noel...

Christmas was a big deal in my house growing up. In fact, the entire month of December was something to celebrate. My Mom and I would spend every weekend baking Christmas cookies, building gingerbread houses and filling our house with the holiday spirit. It was fantastic! Traditionally, in honour of my French heritage, we would celebrate Reveillon, which meant staying up late and celebrating once the clock hits midnight. Usually we would attend midnight mass and then come home to tons of food and open gifts by firelight until the wee hours of the morning. We would then sleep in late on Christmas morning and have a huge brunch once everyone crawled out of bed. It really is a wonderful way to celebrate!

One of my favourite memories of Christmas was the year that we lost all of our power late on Christmas Eve. We ended up sitting around dozens of candles and our fireplace, and spent the entire night surrounded with the sounds of our own laughter and joy. It was so magical and memorable. The power came back on during the night and we awoke to several feet of snow and more peaceful souls. I think that everyone should try spending a Christmas without power!

Over the past decade though, Christmas has been a very different experience for me. Once I moved to Ottawa and my Mom moved to B.C., the holidays were a bit sporadic and the concept of resting really didn’t exist much anymore. I would usually work an additional job over the holidays and not take more than a day or two off and the month of December was spent studying for exams and the Christmas spirit was left to those with more time on their hands.

Once I met Steve, the joy of Christmas was reintroduced to me by the Smyth Family. In all honesty, spending Christmas with them is like spending Christmas in a Bing Crosby movie! One year in particular, all of the “kids” (that’s us!) sat in the living room wrapped up in blankets, surrounded by the giant Christmas tree and the stockings hanging over the fireplace. We sipped on ice wine that we had all received as stocking stuffers and we watched slides from thirty years earlier. I will always remember how happy I was at that moment…how content I felt and how blessed I was to be in such a place.

Steve and I have spent the last five Christmases together and each one has provided its own funny story and adventurous tale of holiday travelling and family visiting! This year though, is our first year in our new house and this means that we are in the midst of starting our own Christmas traditions! So exciting! First on the list…finding the perfect Christmas tree!!

I haven’t had a Christmas tree in about twelve years and the prospect of having one this year has left me boiling over with excitement for too many weeks now! We were originally going to just go and buy a tree to bring home until our good friend Danelia invited us out to her property in Wakefield to actually go and cut down a tree! Really, how National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation is that?!?!? So that’s what we did! On Saturday morning, we put on our snow pants and drove the forty minutes out to her beautiful piece of land and began the hunt! We strapped on some snowshoes and headed out to the woods with her furry friends, Qete and Temu, by our side. After a gorgeous stroll by the water, Steve and I took one look and spotted our tree in the distance! It was lovely and I was so excited! Once the boys cut down the tree, we all headed in for some warmth by the fire and much earned hot chocolate!

But let’s be honest…no tree hunt is complete without a tree trimming party to follow! After getting the tree strapped securely to the roof of the car, it was time to head back to the Smyth house so that it could finally live out its Christmas destiny! We drank wine, ate lots of food, indulged in bite size Toblerones and quickly realized that what may seem small in the forest can be quite large in one’s living room!!! Sure, it may be “full”…but it’s ours and it’s the most perfect Christmas tree that ever was, complete with silver ribbon, energy efficient twinkle lights and stunning red ornaments (and of course, my Starbucks snow globe from Kelly!). So just like that, we are off to a beautiful start for the Christmas season!

We did have one slight oversight on our part though; Tugger! We underestimated just how unpredictable felines can be and it was less than twenty-four hours before our own fur ball finally had his way with the giant evergreen taking over his home. It’s now tied to the wall!

more joy in more places...

And the award for
"Gen's favourite Christmas commercial of 2008"
goes to {drum roll please}...

getting on with it...

So let’s skip over any eloquent intro and cut right to the chance…what is up with our Government?!?! Honestly, I feel like I went to bed one night with the Conservatives in power and then woke up the next morning to this “new” Government. Crazy.

Given the rather speed of light manner in which all of this Coalition stuff happened and the alternate universe that I’ve been living in for the past two weeks, I haven’t really had the time yet to read up much on what all of this means and the possible effects that could come as a result of it. What I do know is that it’s made our drive to work absolute anarchy because we pass by both the Governor General’s residence and 24 Sussex…two places that seem to have the ideal outdoor spaces for protesting (and no lack of people willing to join in the fun!)! This alone is putting me in a bit of a grumpy state towards our fearless leaders!

In all honesty though, I haven’t yet decided how I feel about the whole thing. I am a Liberal and have almost always (with one exception) voted Liberal. Internal conflict aside, it’s also in my best interest to have the Liberals in power. They support better environmental initiatives and provide greater support towards the arts; two things obviously near and dear to our household. Now, before any of you get your Conservative knickers in a knot, I also feel that we had the election and that Canadians made their choice. As a voter, I’m willing to respect that choice and hope for a better one come the next time around.

It’s at this point in time that Steve and I begin to have a slight difference of opinion! One of the major arguments regarding the Coalition is that we would suddenly have a Prime Minister who, in fact, collected the least number of votes for his party in years. This is a concern that even I, someone who voted for him, have. Steve, on the other hand, believes that this shouldn’t be an issue because he believes that we don’t actually elect a Prime Minister…we elect Members of Parliament. The bottom line is that Steve is right; ideally, we are to vote for the most appropriate Member of Parliament in our riding, regardless of political affiliation and in turn, once that person becomes Member of Parliament, they are to represent all of their constituents, regardless of who they voted for. Ideally being the operative word.

Realistically though, I don’t believe that is how most people vote. Be it right or wrong, I think that the leader of any given political party highly influences the outcome of an election, in which case, it also highly influences how people feel about a sudden switch in power…especially one that wasn’t made by Canadian citizens. It almost seems to defeat the whole point of democracy in the first place! Perhaps an alternative would have been to include the option of a Coalition on our ballot or even to have a vote for it now.

Either way, I would like to get to work in fifteen minutes or less sometime in the very near future (really…some people can be so self-involved!)!

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