NorthernExposure

Cleansing, Body and Soul

2010-07-19T16:24:00.001-06:00

Time for the ol' bod to be purified. And perhaps, as an indirect result, my soul will undergo the same process.

I was talking to my friend Julie the other day while she suffered through a cleanse. No carbs, no refined sugars, you know the drill. And then I woke up the next morning with this nagging sense that it was my turn.

It has been a year since my last cleanse, and all signs now point to the necessity of it. My acne is getting out of control, I'm tired for no reason, my hormones are wacky and I sometimes feel like...well, for lack of a better term....a cow. Not because I think I'm fat (because I don't - so don't go writing lame comments as a guilty response to my fishing for compliments), but because things just don't feel quite right inside. I literally feel the effects of carbo-cose build up (I made that term up - it's what I call the globs of flour and sugar that I imagine are sticking to my insides) and I want to GET IT OUT and start fresh.

So, I bought myself a nice companion, a 7 day herbal detox that focusses on cleaning the blood, flushing the system, and restoring fibre and other good things in the process. Which is good...you don't just want to wipe everything out! And now I'm ready to fill my body with goodness.

I have a few things to share with you, then. The first: some recipes for delicious things that are good for you. The second: a food-for-thought moment.

Whatever's-in-the-fridge-and-cupboard-Quinoa-summer-salad

The point is that if you have Quinoa, you can make an awesome salad, and it can be different every time. Which is fun. What I'm giving you below is not so much a recipe, but a list of what I happened to throw in, because these are ingredients I almost always have in stock. And it was DELICIOUS! But it will change next time I make it.

2 cups cooked Quinoa
half of a large onion
kernel corn - half can
goats feta (crumbled on top when serving...so it doesn't get soggy)
fresh chopped cilantro (also mixed in fresh when serving so it doesn't go limp)
chopped celery
chopped cucumber (take out the squishies first - seeds etc)

Dressing: a bit of olive oil, a bit of balsamic vinegar, a bit of mustard, lime, and some minced onion.

You can add pine nuts, seeds, tomatoes (fresh or sundried), roasted garlic, pickled beets...anything. And it keeps for days (if you leave out the liquidy things and limpy things until last minute).

Who says eating on a cleanse has to be painful?

Also, I'm cooking up a curry right now, and serving it to myself in a roasted green pepper (lop the top off and voila! insta-bowl. Isn't cleansing fun?). Also, never underestimate the power of baby bok choy to add life to a stirfry.

Food for thought:

We really do love to be inspired for a fresh start. And when an inspiring moment strikes us, we often get all eager-beaver for a day...but inspiration fades quickly as the reality of the difficulty that lies ahead sets in. C'est la vie. Now seriously, get on with it. La vie, that is. I don't want to not do things that inspire me because I'm afraid I won't succeed in finishing what I set out to do. But I also know that we can't follow every whim and fancy that crosses our path or else we'll be too tired to live. Choosing which inspiring bandwagons to jump on and actually invest ourselves is tough, because there are just too many inspiring things out there to keep tabs on. But for a season, an inspiration will present itself as a gift, and if you ask the right questions, you will know if it's got your name on it.

I would also like to point out that doing a cleanse is more than just good for your body. It is a practice that puts hunger and suffering in perspective, that tests and fortifies discipline, that differentiates between need and want. How could I possibly think that my cravings are remotely worthy of the statement 'I'm starving', or that my dietary restrictions are a form of suffering in any way shape or form? I'm glad for the reminder, as I walk by the bakery on an empty stomach, that I have it good.

Keep it Simple

2010-07-15T08:37:00.000-06:00

Whenever I watch other people doing something that is a part of who I am, I get an intense and immediate urge to do it too. The first recollection I have of this feeling was when I was in high school and would go watch university-level volleyball games. Watching people who are stellar at what they do makes me want to do it all the more and all the better. I would sit and watch and imagine myself on the court with them, moving with them, dying a little inside because I couldn't actually get my hands on that ball.

So as I was driving the long drive back to Thunder Bay after the Winnipeg Folk Festival this week, I had the same tremendous urge to make music, to get my hands on some notes and some rhythms. Music has always been a part of me, but it always takes a back seat to things that I'm better 'known' for. Funny, because I still get that way about some sports sometimes too...but people have a hard time imagining that I was a serious jock in high school, so I just kind of laugh it off with them, and leave it to the pros and resume being the tree hugger (which is by definition non-jock) people see me as. As for the musician in me, I suppose having a solid handful of friends that are wonderful and super talented musicians makes it a little easier for me to leave the real music to them, and to disqualify my own desire to make music by calling it 'mucking around' or 'just for kicks'.

When I realized that even now, being what I consider to be entirely self-aware and free to be who I am and yada yada yada, I still very subtly compartmentalize myself into what I can and cannot do, or into what I think others expect me to be able to do or not do.

So I'm going to make music when I want to. Even if it's just mucking around. Even if my friends are pros and I'm still in musical adolescence. Even if it's not what I want to do for a living or for any particular reason at all for that matter. Just because the season is right, and I feel it in my bones.

So, to put my money where my mouth is, here is a song I wrote and recorded one afternoon in my living room, straight into my computer. A guitar, a plastic container, a christmas ornament with bells on it, and egg shaker, and my snappy fingers compliment the sound. It's ghetto, it's imbalanced, it's flawed...and I'm learning to not be afraid of that. It's just the way it should be. In fact, those same words might be used to describe me, so it fits nicely.

Even if you don't believe in God, or are unsure of where he fits into your life equation, this song holds truth that is unavoidable. When life gets too hot to handle, we often react by turning our eyes upwards and asking 'why?' and 'what now?'...often in frustration and usually as a last resort. We have the tools at our fingertips to navigate these rough patches, but we often don't trust that we do. It's much simpler than we make it out to be. So, without further ado, here is my ghetto little poppy gospel song:

A Shared Spirit

2010-06-10T09:02:00.001-06:00

Today I was catching up on reading my friends' blogs, and I came across an incredible story that needs to be shared. I'll paste the beginning of the interview (done by my friend Andrew Kooman) here, and if you want to read the rest, follow the link at the bottom of this post to get to his blog site.

Amanda Lindhout: A Global Vision

Red Deer native Amanda Lindhout was working as a freelance journalist in Somalia in August of 2008 working on a story about refugees when she was kidnapped with Australian photojournalist and colleague Nigel Brennan by a band of young Somali gunmen. During her 458 day captivity she was tortured and abused, often left in chains in a small dark room.

Like thousands of others worldwide who prayed for the release of Amanda and Nigel, I followed the story and held my breath. Amanda, with Nigel, was released in November 2009 and returned home to Canada after 15 months in captivity. It was a time of darkness difficult to imagine, and yet what is perhaps more remarkable than the fact that she survived the terrible ordeal, is the grace and vision with which she now lives.

Since her release, Amanda has launched The Global Enrichment Foundation which seeks to build stronger communities, cultivate leadership and promote peace through education in even the most poverty-stricken and violent of countries. The Foundation’s first initiative is the Somali Women’s Scholarship Program (SWSP).

It was my privilege to help Amanda put together a site for the Foundation, and to conduct the following interview, which took place via email, amidst her busy schedule.

Andrew Kooman: I’ve heard you talk about forgiveness, and that though not an easy thing or a straightforward path, that you’ve forgiven your captors. How essential has forgiving these Somali men been in your process of returning to normal life in the days since your release?

Amanda Lindhout: Forgiving the teenagers who took away my freedom for almost a year and half was essential to surviving my time in captivity. On a daily basis, while still a hostage, I set aside ‘gratitude time’ each evening where I would reflect on any moments of goodness I had seen in my captors. This helped me to remember that all human beings are essentially good, even if they are choosing to act in disharmony with that. Despite the abuse I endured constantly, I never doubted that those boys had inside of them the same spirit that I have, which is what all of humanity shares and which connects us.

AK: Your experience, from what I’ve heard and understand of it, seems unimaginable to me. You seem so resilient and strong. What was your survival strategy; how did you endure those long 15 months?

AL: I survived those long months in captivity by staying absolutely focused on the joy that can be found inside oneself. When you are locked up alone and shackled in a dark room, you realize that happiness doesn’t stem from external circumstances, and that despite whatever painful, difficult experiences you may be going through, you always have the power to transcend it by connecting to the source of peace which is within all of us.....

READ THE REST OF THE INTERVIEW AT http://andrewkooman.com/archives/4155

Blinded by Ink Blots

2010-06-08T19:07:00.005-06:00

This morning, before the weather later took a turn for the worst, I took advantage of the quiet sunshine to go for a ride around a lake near my neighborhood here in Thunder Bay. My backback held a bottle of water, a book, a journal, and my favorite inky pen. The spot built into my bike frame normally reserved for my water bottle held my travel mug....filled, of course, with delicious fresh dark coffee.

After a tour around the lake, and after exploring some surrounding neighborhoods I had not yet seen, I set up camp at an empty picnic table, did some morning calisthenics, sucked back my entire water bottle, then got to the warm-down routine. Coffee and reading. Mmmmmmmm. Perfect.

I wanted to share a bit of what I was reading this morning, because I was a good moment digesting it this morning....which usually means that it's the kind of thing that is good to be shared with other people.

George A Buttrick writes:
'' A lecturer to a group of businessmen displayed a sheet of white paper on which was one blot. He asked what they saw. All answered: a blot. The test was unfair: it invited the wrong answer. Nevertheless, there is an ingratitude in human nature by which we notice the black disfigurement and forget the widespread mercy. We need to deliberately call to mind the joys of our journey.''

I think that we are not naturally optimists. But I also think that many of us, if not most...if not all... wish, however subconsciously, that we were. Sometimes a certain level of deliberateness is required to overcome our ungratefulness, to see through the lies we have come to believe about ourselves and our neighbours, to escape the trap of lazy thought and thoughtless talk....in order to see the paper through the blot. Something like seeing the forest for the trees.

North Easterly.

2010-06-03T21:57:00.000-06:00

I debated the future of this blog.

I know many faithful followers have expressed their disappointment over the last 2 months of lightweight blogging. And as I have just travelled across Canada, I discovered that far more of you were following my blog than I would have imagined. So I have a hard time letting it go.

The problem I have is with the expectation of context that comes with this blog's short history, and more evidently, in the blog title itself.... 'Northern Exposure'. It was a blog started for a number of reasons, all of them having to do with my adventurous hiatus in the North. It was a reason for me to keep up the discipline of writing, having public accountability. It was a project to keep me motivated to write while I (for once) actually had the time to do so, living so far from my regular life and lifestyle. It was a way of keeping friends and family informed on what was going on in my life. It was a way to keep people in touch with a part of the country they feel connected to in terms of cultural and national identity, but disconnected from in terms of actual knowledge.

So, having moved away from the Northwest Territories, I feel a bit weird about where to go with it now. I feel like a fraud keeping the title. I had my saturday morning rituals, I had my interesting northern tidbits complimented by random thoughts and perspectives...but they were somehow all connected to the North, or, at the very least, my northern experience. So the title of my blog is distracting me from moving forward.

BUT WAIT!

To most Canadians, I AM in the north! If I were to ask the bulk of the Ontarian population their opinion on the matter, they'd heartily agree that Thunder Bay qualifies as Northern Canada. Heck, they probably all assume it's north of 60 anyway. This from a group of people who think Barrie is the far north. (sorry, Torontonians - you don't have the best reputation as being the most geographically aware...but we are endeared to you for it).

So without further ado, I will continue my relationship with Northern Exposure. But I want you all to hit the reset button on your expectations, because there are no rules, and I don't want to to have to change my blog name and theme every time I move. Those of you who know me and my vagabond-y-ness well will understand why. I'll blog about whatever comes up, be it Northern (or not), Canadian (or not), or Exposure or...mmm, let's hope it's not the latter. Though could make for some saucy saturday mornings.

For now, I continue to justify the blog title by seeing the world through Torontonian eyes. Come september, I'm back to the drawing board. Thoughts?

Cheers friends.

Living Room Stage Blog Redirect....

2010-04-22T00:15:00.000-06:00

Hey there long lost friends and followers -

After what seems like a very long stretch of non-blogging, I thought I'd show a sign of life. I'm going to take this little moment to redirect you towards my other blog, which briefly explains what I've been up to these days...and promotes my upcoming (and very last minute) Living Room Stage "tour"....

http://www.livingroomstage.com/News_%26_Blog/News_%26_Blog.html

Soon and very soon, I will give a full explanation of m whereabouts the last month or two...complete with pictures. But not yet. Soon.

Cheers, y'all. Cheers.

2010-03-27T20:47:00.000-06:00

So much for maintaining my blog.

I have had a crazy month. I launched my websites, and I was away 3 weekends in a row - which meant I missed my regular Saturday morning posts 3 weeks in a row. With the melting snow, I was afforded many opportunities to leave my 2km bubble in Hay River. I went to Yellowknife, Fort Smith (twice, even!), and to a little cabin in the woods near the Alberta border.

Now I find myself in Thunder Bay, Ontario. Quite unexpectedly. My niece and nephew live here, and recently I felt it impressed upon my heart to spend some quality time with them. I’m in a bit of a funny life-space right now, trying to figure out what my priorities are. I thought I had it all figured out. Turns out I didn’t. Ah, the joys of curveballs.

I’ll leave you with this brief update, and some pictures of an evening out with my awesome niece and nephew. I plan to come back to this planet soon, after having dropped off of it for some time. I’ll keep you posted on how the journey back to earth is coming.

Cheers friends,

Joanne.

2010-03-12T16:46:00.000-07:00

I'm alive! (in case you just so happened to be worried from my lack of presence on the blog last week - Michelle, sorry to disrupt your saturday morning flow by not being there with something for you to read!!)

Dogsledding and icefishing got in the way of my posting last weekend. That’s right – I had a true northern experience, fish fry and drumming circle included. I spent last week as a chaperone-slash-photographer at a francophone youth rally in Yellowknife. And the best part: Snowking. If you don’t know about Snowking, look it up. If you’re too lazy to look it up, I’ll give you a 3 word explanation that should do the trick: snow castle concert. Here's a teaser:

I'm off to a little cabin in the woods for the night...I,ll post more when I get back tomorrow. Ahhhh...nordic adventures!!!!

Websites!

2010-02-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

My 2 new websites have been officially launched! (you will especially appreciate this if you read my last blog post....)

The first one is my main page, my hub: www.joanneabraham.com

The second site is for my theatre project in progress, The Living Room Stage:

www.livingroomstage.com

Please check them out and pass the links on to your friends and family...let's get this party started.

Cheers, all...and Happy Sunday.

Today’s morning Coffee – tech edition

2010-02-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

I wasted a whole day yesterday. Wait, no. More precisely, the day was stolen from me. By technology. And when that happens, it dampens my spirits…and I have a hard time getting over it.

It was a day where Murphy’s law ruled: if anything can go wrong, will. If you think something will be easy, it won’t. If you think you know what you’re doing, you don’t. And so on and so on.

Let me set the stage: I have recently set some deadlines for myself, in order to keep myself motivated and on-target with some projects I’ve been trying to or wanting to undertake for quite some time. I needed to take the first 5 months of living up here slowly…so I deliberately did not give myself the pressure of personal deadlines. I knew it was important for me in that first season of being here to take time to learn how to just BE. To reset my internal clocks, to deconstruct the idea I had that I had to DO, to check things off lists, in order to have purpose. It’s all linked to a previous blog I wrote (a few weeks back) about discovering a new way of seeing yourself and your purpose, which ultimately defines who you are – it’s that whole ‘you’re a gift’ thing…

So, I’ve been feeling lately that I’m in the second season. I’ve passed through the changing of the seasons already, which was a time of evaluation and intentionality, and have come fully into the next. What this season means is taking the time to concentrate on the things I discovered in the first season, and being deliberate about developing the things that presented themselves – during my time of evaluation between seasons - as being connected to my heart and soul in their present states.

So I’m now being deliberate about a few things, hence the deadlines. One of those things has been to get my website stuff ironed out. People always ask me for a website address if they want to recommend me as a photographer, or if they want to find out about my living room theatre project – and though I have had a website in the past, I didn’t really think about how it was connected to me personally, and somehow I never wanted to give the address out. It sat unused online for a year. I always meant to get around to fixing it. But I never did. Which was a good thing – because I gained the clarity I needed to attack the project with renewed clarity. So I have been working on building 2 websites for myself over the course of the last few weeks. During my time of evaluation and intentionality, I mapped things out to see how I could have a website (or two) that would give information about what I do (photography, theatre, videography, blah blah blah), without being disconnected from who I am. Without it just being a marketing tool to sell my services, which I’m really not all that interested in doing at this point.

So, that beings me back full circle to yesterday, the day technology stole. My deadline to put the sites up is this weekend. I designed them on a super simple design program on my Mac, which is theoretically awesome for working directly with a server to host it. I bought my domain names a few weeks ago. I have a Mobile Me account, which is this awesome service package Mac offers that gives you a million different great little features. One of those features is web hosting. Long story short, it wasn’t happening – I couldn’t publish (export) my website designs to post on the internet with Mobile Me (a common error for lots of folks, it turns out), so I decided to not be a cheapskate and pay the hosting fees with another company (which is kind of better in the long run anyway, because sites hosted with them supposedly get better results in search engine keyword searches). So I not only paid for my domain names (the ACTUAL www names), but I also paid for someone to host them for me (that is, to store the information on their servers and put them up for me).

Fine.

It took me from 9 am to 2pm to just get that basic stuff sorted out, after much frustrated trial and error. But then I couldn’t upload my files to their server the way they had suggested. So it took me another couple of hours, and much forum perusing to figure out that I needed to download a different FTP client and try it that way. With that, I managed to get one of my sites up and running. Great. But I tried and tried and tried to get the second site up – to no avail. I called the host, waiting 20 to actually speak to a real person, and explained that I had paid for 2 sites to be hosted, but my account was only showing one. Turns out they forgot to add the second, so my FTP client wasn’t finding the second because it seemed to not exist. Right then, as he was about to put me on hold to check things out, my phone card ran out. And I can’t make long distance calls from my phone without a phone card. So I waited and hoped that he would just fix it even though our call was disconnected. No such luck. I tried on my own for another hour. Nothing. So I called a phone card company to reload my minutes. Apparently, they take 30 minutes to activate your account. So I had to wait. At the end of the thirty minutes, I tried the number that they gave me, and it didn’t work. I called the phone company back. It turns out I was given the wrong number to try from my area. They gave me a new one. Which also didn’t work. After the 3^rd phone call to the phone card company, we got it sorted out. I called the host back, with 527 minutes to spare if I needed it. I waited on hold another 15 minutes. They fixed the problem (or so we thought) by activating the second domain name as a hosted-by-them site. Tried to get my FTP client to connect with them, still didn’t work. At this point, it was 6pm, I was angry, frustrated, hungry, and miserable… and some friends were about to come over for a movie. I decided to stop swearing at my computer and take a break. When all else fails, shut down and restart.

After a shower and a hot meal, I made one last call to the host, explained the situation, and he said ‘Oh, I know exactly what the problem is…you haven’t set up a blah blah blah blah’ and I said ‘well, no – the two guys I spoke with the last two times I called didn’t say anything about a blah blah blah’ to which he replied ‘well, of course you have to set up a blah blah blah otherwise you wouldn’t be able to blah blah blah’ to which I replied ‘ok, whatever.’ So we fixed the obscure super-embedded problem, and I had to wait another hour or two for the changes to take effect. And thus ended my technological meltdown, at 10pm. 13 hours, down the tube.

I felt disgusting at the end of the day – having squandered precious time sitting in front of a screen, being angry and volatile and negative. I don’t know what I would have done if I had gone to bed last night with no breakthrough. With no sense of accomplishment. At least I went to bed knowing that today would be a good day, because I would be able to meet my deadline, having worked out all the glitches ahead of time. But would I have believed that tomorrow would be a good day if I didn’t resolve my problems before bed? Would I have been able to reconcile to lost time, or the guilt that comes with having turned into a tunnel-visioned tech beast for an entire day? Hmmm…..

So now, I’m off to try to launch my sites. Wish me luck in exorcising the tech demons in this brand-spanking new day. It is a new day, after all.

Saturday Morning Coffee - Reader's Edition

2010-02-20T09:47:00.002-07:00

A brief history of books, 1980-1995.

I have read, read, and re-read an infinitely countless number of books in my life. I was a wormy, wormy kid. And it all started with: The Adolescent Series.

When I was in 1^st grade and read Francine Pascal’s first book in the revolutionary new ‘The Sweet Valley Twins’ series. I remember it well, as I had probably read it once a month for a three year period. It had a soft pink cover with a picture of blond haired and blue eyed twins Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield: ‘Best Friends’ was its title. I read the second book ‘Teacher’s pet’ in rapid succession. I was hooked. This extended into a love for all pre-teen series new and old - the Sleepover friends, the Babysitter’s club, anything Ramona Quimby, the Little House on the Prairie, The Bobbsy Twins. And of course, for that super sleuth Encyclopedia Brown.

The content of the books matured with me. To my repertoire, I added RL Stine’s Fear Street books and Francine Pascal’s next-generation series, Sweet Valley High. Fear Street was a gateway series to creepy Christopher Pike and a bit later to Dean Koontz and John Saul (not to be confused with John Ralston Saul, the great Canadian author and philosopher).

At some point in my life, I have probably owned every volume in each of the above-mentioned series, and I’m certain I have read each book at least 5 times. I remember the way they looked, classed among their clans, all lined up along the long bookshelves that ran across my wall from one end of the room to the other. I remember how well I knew those collections, and what each individual name and number meant to me. Which characters I wanted to be. Which characters I identified with. Which characters I wished were incarnate, so I could befriend them. I remember, too, how I would go to the bookshelf every evening and pull off a book that fit with what I wanted to feel, because I somehow knew how to do that. Funny – I didn’t know that that’s what I was doing, but I was.

It’s also funny to think that though I have in my lifetime read many thought-provoking, challenging, clever, and intelligent books, I owe my love of reading and writing to cheap adolescent novellas. The kinds of books that I now steer clear of. But without them, I would not be the person I am today.

But I do want to mention that aside from the different series I have mentioned, there are a number of individual books that have been etched in my memory as being significant landmarks along my childhood journey. If you have read these books, you will probably let out a little ‘YES!’ as you identify with the significance of them in your life as well – as the books in this list have an extra ounce of lasting power. And if you haven’t read them – do at least read the ones I have marked with asterisks!!!

This list is not a complete list of all the awesome books that were available when I was a kid – or that were necessarily entirely popular – but of the ones that I remember reading over, and over, and over….

A Doll in the Garden

King of the Wind**

Little Women

The Secret of Nhymh

Island of the Blue Dolphins**

Hatchet**

The Secret Garden

Charlotte’s web

Charlie and the Chocolate factory

The Little Prince**

Are you there God, it’s me Margaret (on the fringe of my pre-teen into my teen years – I’ll conclude this list with it, and kick off the next list from here next time.)

Consider how a good book can affect your attitude, your mood, your outlook on life. Consider how a book can inform your worldview. Consider how a well-written or well-concocted story can make you appreciate the unique gift of another person to bring a story to life. Consider how remembering a book you loved as a child can make you burst out in a fit of joy as you reminisce with friends, as though you have rediscovered something you had lost. It happens to me all the time.

Stay tuned for a Brief History of Books, 1995-2010.

Kisses.

2010-02-18T14:48:00.002-07:00

Kisses.
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Bisous. Kisses in french.

I have a new fascination with light in the darkness (in this case, literally speaking, but I suppose I could easily argue for the proverbial application).

It all started with my name, but now... I have bigger plans. Time for me to invest in a few different flashlights, I think...and some color gels....

Any suggestions for my next drawing? I want to work my way up to complex images, but I need to start small. If you suggest it, I promise I will try it out and post it on here for you to scrutinize.

My name in lights.

2010-02-18T14:46:00.001-07:00

My name in lights.
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

I heart aurora.

2010-02-18T14:37:00.002-07:00

I heart aurora.

Saturday Morning Coffee

2010-02-13T12:56:00.000-07:00

First, let me establish the saturday morning convention. I blog every saturday morning, always with coffee in hand. I have been calling the posts 'TMCNL' - (today's morning coffee and nordic lesson) - but I have decided to be a bit more generic in my title so that there's a bit more room to move. So the convention is NOT that I necessarily give you some wisdom about the north, but that I write on saturday mornings about something you can read while you too have your coffee time. I hope that they can be a bit more interactive, too - I want to hear your thoughts. The other convention is that I have to take a picture of myself that morning...just so we can connect in real time. So, this morning Rosie, sporting her nifty purple tights and pioneer camp hoodie, joined me in my bedheaded and pyjamaed photo shoot.

I digress.

Years ago I read something lastingly profound in what turned out to be one of the most influential books I have ever read. It’s an image that, while incredibly and specifically pertinent to that season of my life at that particular time 10 years ago, still anchors me, still speaks volumes of simple wisdom to me.

Here it is:

[God] wants to bring man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world, and KNOW it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact, without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it had been done by another. [God] wants him in the end to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbor’s talents – or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall…

The wisdom goes on and on from there. That whole chapter reeks (a sweet patchouli-nag champa-tea tree-mint-citrus-infused reeking) of freedom, celebration, and vision. That we might be able to REALLY enjoy who we are, and not have to stoop to a kind of false humility that causes us to pretend we’re no good, or on the flip side, to become so obsessed with or paranoid about who we are that we can’t escape our own narcissistic grip.

That we might truly care about seeing the world, this proverbial cathedral, being built to house its global congregation – and to not care so much about being recognized for having our hand in it as to truly truly truly desire to see it built, knowing it is GOOD! To have the vision and hope it takes to foresee what the cathedral could truly be. To be so moved by the vision that it becomes impossible not to act, and yet to truly be free to do so. To experience freedom from the overwhelming anxiety that comes with an expectation to contribute, by replacing obligation with desire, by means of a renewed perspective of what it really means to LIVE.

A million and one wonderful thoughts (not necessarily classifiable as conclusions) can be drawn from this man’s wise view of the world, even if just from these few pages. I’ll try not to beat a dead horse here…I have been known to exhaust a thought by being too verbose. If you have a thought to contribute to this, please share your thoughts below. Let’s get some audience interaction going here.

PS- I’m stealing Kerianne and Cory’s idea from their blogged journey through south America: first person to tell me what book I’m quoting from (and who the author is) gets a special NWT postcard from yours truly. No cheating! Your guess must from your own mental archives… not google J

Wine List

2010-02-06T22:27:00.000-07:00

I realize that I have not mentioned my Thursday night wine list in a while. If anyone is looking for recommendations for new wines to try, I’m going to suggest shopping in the French isle.

French is maybe cliché as far as wine goes, and I’ve never been interested in them until now. I’ve gone through looooooong phases of Australian Shiraz (bin 555, for a hearty choice) – because, I always thought, how can you go wrong with Yellowtail? Then I shifted to a full year of Argentinean Malbecs. Tasty, reliable, full-bodied, smooth malbecs. A winner amongst former Shiraz drinkers. Well….my tastes have changed.

The dry and thin tastes of France and Italy have stolen my heart…and my tastebuds. I stumbled upon Chateauneuf du Pape a couple of months back (my first and most hearty recommendation), and now have made it around the Hay River liquor store represented-country circuit. This week I settled on a simple and homemade-looking bottle of Bouchard Ainé et Fils….merlot! No matter what Paul Giamatti may say, merlots have made it back into my good books.

Looking for a new wine to try? Try Bouchard Ainé et Fils, and watch the taste evolve over time. At first crack, it tingles the tip of the tongue. Interesting. Tangy. Let it sit a bit, and taste the way it rounds out and becomes fuller over time. I always taste it immediately after opening, have a half glass, to see what it’s like at first birth. Then another half glass after it has had a chance to mellow at least an hour or two. Then a glass the next day, to see what a day can do. Write down what you observe. It will change the way you taste.

Practice being observant. It will change the way you live. Er, and drink.

TMCNL3

2010-02-06T10:47:00.005-07:00

(Today's morning coffee and nordic lesson 3)

I left for two weeks, and in that short amount of time, light has returned to Hay River. I suppose the science of it is that after December 21^st, the days get longer more quickly here because of our angle to the sun compared to the angle of you more southerly folk. So while your days get longer by maybe 2 minutes a day, ours are getting longer by 4. So it adds up quickly. My daily ritual of getting up a couple of hours before going to work is getting sweeter and sweeter. It’s no longer pitch black when I leave the house at 8:45am! I can’t wait until the sun greets me when I rise. My guess is that will happen sometime in April. I’ll keep you posted.

There is a fundraiser for Haiti today at École Boréale, the francophone school in town. Garage sale, BBQ, face painting, Quebecois hippie threaded hair, music. A small town shindig. Haitians could probably not fathom our living conditions, just as we cannot fathom theirs – but we’re connecting. The world is really just not all that big.

Speaking of a small world, have I ever talked about how small it really is up north? I don’t think I have. Excuse me, then, if I am repeating myself. But the longer I live up here, the more I understand that though this land is vast, the community is small.

Let me paint a picture for you:

I live in the Northwest territories, a gigantesque hunk of land. I am an hour and half north of the northern Alberta border (or, as I’ve said before, about 1100 km north of Edmonton). But there is STILL way over 1000km to the north of where I am.

There are a good number of little communities scattered and distanced about this limitless NWT, Hay River being I think the 3^rd largest at 3500. (Only Yellowknife (20 000) and Inuvik (4000) have got us beat). Most other communities’ populations are in the hundreds, definitely not the thousands.

Let me do some territorial town name-dropping, see if you’re brushed up on your northern Canadian geography:

The southerlies (south-ish of Yellowknife):

Fort Smith, Fort Resolution, Fort Providence, Fort Simpson, Fort Liard, Hay River

The northerlies: (north-ish of Yellowknife)

Rae-Edzo, Wha-ti, Deline, Dettah, Norman Wells, Tulita, Lutzelk'e, Aklavik, Inuvik, Tuktoyaktuk, Paulatuk

Now these names may be foreign to you for the most part, but I hear about them every single day. The names of these towns (and, more astoundingly, the people in them) are part of daily news, business, and conversation. So now, when I start my day off waking up to CBC news north, I always know what they are talking about. I have my bearings in the NWT. And to bring me to my point about the small worlded-ness of the seemingly endless territories – I usually know WHO they are talking about, even if it’s in a town I’ve never been to, 800kms away. Partly because of small town talk and gossip, partly because the north shares the same newspapers, partly because the north has defied the law of 6 degrees of separation by reducing it to 1 or 2.

So it doesn’t take much to be famous up here.

Funny story:

For the last 2 years, I have subscribed to the CBC’s ‘The North This Week’ podcast (a condensed and abridged radio program you can download after the broadcast), knowing I would be northern-bound someday. I didn’t have a sense of where things were, and the names of towns were a mystery to me, but I enjoyed hearing about what was going on up in that huge cold space, which I imagined to be a bit more populated and far more disconnected than it actually is.

So once I got up here, I somehow went 2 months without listening to that podcast. Maybe because I had the straight feed from CBC radio anyway. Anyway, I put it on one morning, seeing that I had a whole bunch of podcasts to catch up on. I chose one at random. Within 5 minutes, I realized that these places and names of people no longer belonged to some huge, unknowable place – but to a world I was beginning to naturally become a part of. Within 10 minutes, it went beyond just familiar context – because what I heard next was a familiar voice. My friend Kevin was being interviewed. Now, Kevin is kind of a northern Big-Deal as it is (ha!), so it’s not really a surprise. But had I been in Abbotsford, tuning in, his voice would have been part of the anonymous bigness of the north – but instead, his voice became a part of the very personal smallness of it.

I have more stories like this one. Almost every time I read a newpaper, I know the people in the pictures, or at the very least, know who they are. My theory is that there are about 4 famous people in every town, and you can guarantee they’ll make almost every issue. You can also guarantee that you’re only 1 degree away from them.

Un Cadeau.

2010-02-04T20:52:00.003-07:00

I just got back from a trip. A life-giving, heart challenging, identity enriching, value-clarifying trip. And it took 10 planes to do the trick.

I attended an artist’s retreat in Woodland Park, Colorado, home of my ready-to-burst pregnant BFF. We were talking about our gifts and desires as artists…mmm, just as people actually… and the many complexities that are part and parcel to exercising (and occasionally, exorcising) them. We talked about the way our abilities and inabilities seem to bear on…no, stronger….threaten our identities. We either feel pigeonholed by what people perceive us to be good at, inadequate compared to what other do better than ourselves, foggy about our purpose and vision, and/or, as is often my case, unable to move forward for a million and one good reasons…blah, blah, and blah.

And so we are often crippled.

While we stumble about, we lose the connection to who we actually are/were to begin with – and that’s where the fun begins. We are afraid to lose our whole selves as we stumble in the darkness...so we can’t let go of the ways we give ourselves value. To do that would threaten our existence. If I am a musician, to not be known as a musician (not to mention with a certain level of competence) might threaten my entire sense of purpose, of belonging, of importance. Think about it – how many times do we see people fall from great heights? Could it not be traced, almost every time, to a case of misplaced identity? Because if we really know who we are, we in theory should not be destroyed by failure, by incompetence, or by a case of have-not or have-not-anymore. And what, then, for those who do not yet have a recognized or recognizable ability? Are they just less lucky? Or do they not still have something incredible inside of them to offer to those around them, intangible and low-profile though it may be?

If we could know who we are, really - at the centre of the volcano, at the base of the iceberg, at the core of the hearts – would we not live differently? Would we not be able to better love, to better give, to better promote true life? Knowing that we are unshakable, because our identity is not dependent upon the peripherals, which shift and shake and change? The peripherals can be lovely, but how much more lovely can they be if they are the fruit of an unshakable seed?

So – something tangible. I say all this fluff, and now I give you something firm: you (you, you, YOU) are a gift. Aside from your abilities. Aside from your inabilities. Aside from your insecurity. Your doubt. Your guilt. Your jealousy. Your desires. And so whatever your problem is – whether you’re too good (ha!) or not good enough – who you are (and therefore the joy and hope, freedom from oppression that you can impart to others from that place) is not subject to what you do. So be free, little trifflewig, be free!

Hydratin'

2010-01-21T10:47:00.001-07:00

Curious Bear

2010-01-18T16:18:00.002-07:00

Curious Bear
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Today's Morning Coffee and Nordic Lessons 2 (TMCNL 2)

2010-01-16T11:15:00.002-07:00

Grab your morning coffee and come sip with me. Ok, if you’re a morning coffee drinker like me, it’s already too late for your morning coffee. Let’s call it elevenzies.

Do you copy when I say ‘the greyhound demographic’? Let me rephrase that. If I were to talk about the types of people you might find skulking around busses and depots, you would capische, right?

A couple of weeks ago I became an honorary member of the bus riding demographic. Because it is approximately 650$ less to take the bus to Edmonton than it is to fly. Believe it or not, to get from Hay River to Edmonton, which is exactly 1000km, 2 hours by plane, 10ish hours by car, or 16 hours by grayhound…it costs anywhere from $800 to $1400 to fly. Unless you are a lucky duck that gets wind of a rare seat sale (which to my knowledge, has not ever occurred other than in Nordic mythology). Or unless you work for the government, who will buy your ticket for you, at approximately 11 times the cost, without batting their territorial eye.

Now that we’re on the subject of travel costs, let’s move on to the educational segment of this post. Allow me to enlighten you with all of the recent discoveries I have made regarding northern travel, both endo and exo.

1. Hay River has a small airport that flies to only 2 places: Yellowknife (40 min flight) or Edmonton (3hr flight), the closest major airports. There is no such thing as a package deal out of this place – you buy your flight to one of the 2 major-ish airports, and then make all further travel arrangements separately. All my life I have lived near major airports. I never knew what a luxury that was. I wonder what percentage of Canadians DON’T live near a major airport? I have sympathy now for the extra financial burden (not to mention major inconvenience) it imposes.

2. Flight costs out of Hay River are as follows:

to Yellowknife: Buffalo, $330 round trip.

First Air, $400-$500 round trip.

(let’s guess which one the government uses?)

to Edmonton: Northern Airlines, $1340

3. To get to Edmonton from Hay River, you then have two flight path options: the cheapest, indirect through Yellowknife which costs approximately $800 ($330 with buffalo, then the other leg with another airline); the more expensive, direct to Edmonton, at $1340. Let’s take another guess at the sole user of that airline….

3. If you take the cheaper, indirect route through Yellowknife, you will always have a 4 hour layover in an abbotsford-sized airport. Always. Apparently, all flights arrive sometime around 9am, and all flights depart sometime around 1pm.

4. Say you want to go somewhere OTHER than Yellowknife or Edmonton (which if you’re a government employee is unlikely…except maybe if you’re French, in which case you go to Winnipeg). Then you basically HAVE to get to Edmonton to get anywhere else*. You’ve already got your $800-$1400 ticket and 9 wasted hours to get you to Edmonton…now add your final destination to the total. You’re looking at a minimum of $1000 to get anywhere…plus an entire day of traveling, IF your connections work out nicely. For a town that only takes 10 hours to drive to from Edmonton, you’d swear we’re in Iceland.

footnote*not entirely true. I found a loophole. Continue reading for further enlightenment.

5. When you live far from a major airport, and you want to visit your best friend on the same continent who also (though not as dramatically) does not live near a major airport, it costs about as much as flying to Madagascar.

6. To prove point #5, I will give you a supporting example. I was recently trying to book a trip to Colorado to visit Karla. Simple enough. I’ve been before, it cost me around $250 to get there and back. Ahhhh…but from Seattle. Domestic flights within the states are pretty dang cheap. So I arrive at complication number one: I am about as far as I can get from the US border. Not an option. Must take an international flight – now my cost doubles. Ok, fine. OK, international flight to Colorado. No problem. I’ll book it from Edmonton. Oh wait, it costs minimum $800 to get there, then it’s about $600 to Denver….. $1400 for a one week vacation within north America. Okay, there must be another way. I’d drive to Edmonton, but I don’t have winter tires on my car, I don’t trust my little civic in this cold, and what if there’s a storm or I hit the ditch and can’t get to my flight in time? Ahhh….full circle back to grayhound. Very affordable option – $160 return if I book three weeks in advance. But 16 hours each way. I know the route well, considering I did it just a couple of weeks ago. Ok, a 16 hour bus ride, I can do it again. Let’s check the connections – leave Hay River at 8am, arrive Edmonton at midnight…no flight out to the states until 6:40am. Flights out at that time to Denver all have stops in other cities, so I would arrive in Denver at 4pm. Okay, one and a half full travel days to get to Denver – gross and long, but at least I can afford it. Wait, Karla doesn’t live near Denver. I have to get to Colorado Springs, which is about a 2 hour drive away – or more with rush hour…which is when I’d be arriving. Ok, how do I get to Colorado springs? Bus? 70 bucks each way. Plane from Edmonton? Tack on another 200 bucks, since you really just connect through Denver anyway. Not to mention that we’re also adding time here. So I would finally arrive at Colorado springs, either having spent 1 million dollars flying all the way ( I think it works out to $1600) and a full day traveling..or bussing a total of 18 hours and flying 5 hours each direction, and spending $900. Great options, eh? I love you Karla, but I could be going to Europe.

7. There are loopholes, such as Westjet seat sales from Yellowknife direct to Vancouver for a little over a hundred bucks each way. Hmmmmm…..Vancouver….that’s close to Seattle! Just get a ride across the border and all of a sudden….direct flights to COLORADO SPRINGS (not even Denver!) for another hundred bucks each way. Yellowknife to Colorado Springs for 500 bucks. Ok, now we’re talking. The ridiculous thing is that my 40 minute flight north (the wrong direction) across great slave lake to Yellowknife from Hay River costs me twice as much as the others. Oh well….suck it up, princess.

So I am sadly not going to become one with the depot demographic this time around – I suppose I have risen above. Which is too bad, because when I had the experience of a few weeks ago I found a lot of fodder for creativity. I scribbled furiously on a big notepad for hours, about skittish Eugene and his meager plastic bag and the corrections officer that left him at the depot… about Bill the bus driver who told me of how left Hong Kong to give his boys freedom and enjoyment in education…about the old aboriginal man with tourettes freezing on the side of the road waiting for the bus in middle-of-nowhere Meander River…about the homeless couple that camps out the Edmonton depot, always walking purposefully about from one end to the other with blakets around their necks and with a single duffel bag filled everything they own, tagged with official greyhound tags as they masquerade as travelers for dignity’s sake….about the frenzied Chinese man that spent 15 stressful minutes trying to get the arm of his chair to lift, then another 10 trying to get his seat back to recline again after having not having noticed that he had accidentally triggered it to pop upright, thinking it was the button for the arm…about me, listening to Jupiter Winter by Sufjan Stevens, clicking my teeth and blinking my eyes to the beat of each passing pole, pretending I’m in some independent film about a girl discovering some great truth (as inspired and suggested by the epic tune playing in her gigantic headphones) traveling alone towards some great destination on Christmas eve. Amazing, the kinds of characters you find lurking around bus depots and hiding out in their busses. The kinds of people who can’t afford to fly. Is it any wonder? I guess I’m one of them…

…well, not anymore.

It is cold.

2010-01-11T23:14:00.001-07:00

NWT-918
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

It is cold today. But not in measurable terms, unless you count skin pain and swollen hands as valid measures as degrees C, F, and K.

Good thing there are beautiful things to keep your mind off the weather.

Today's morning coffee and nordic lesson

2010-01-09T11:55:00.000-07:00

Ahhhhhhhh......it just doesn't get better than morning coffee. The single most enjoyable part of every day. Er, is that shallow?

When I first moved here, I had a beautiful morning ritual (which I explained in great detail in an earlier post, for those of you that follow). But since the land of the midnight sun has become the land of perpetual dusk in the winter months, I have been unable to maintain it. Every wink of sleep more I can steal, I steal - which, as those of you who know me as an early-bird-catching-worms, is slightly unusual for me. Turns out I am not immune to the slumbering, lumbering effects of darkness.

Oh, don't get me wrong. It's not pitch black all the time here - I'm not far enough north for that. Allow me to educate you on this matter. I receive lots of southern inquiries into what it's really like up here: Is it dark all day? Are there any trees up there? Inuit hunting seals? Have you tried blubber?...you know, typical clarifications on the very little we know of our Canadian North. Which is not a criticism on my part....because I thought I knew stuff before I moved here, and it turns out I didn't. I knew a bit about mythology and tradition, but nothing about the lay of the land, the population, current affairs. So here are a few little notes to help you understand where I am, and what I've learned about the Vast, Great, and White North. You might want to keep referring to a map to help it all make sense:

1. I live in Hay River. It is both affectionately, practically, and clichéedly referred to as the 'Hub of the North', as it is transport centre of the NWT. The highway is paved all the way here from Alberta and the railroad passes through, so all goods pass through Hay River before going out to more remote places via plane, bus, or boat. The population of Hay River is around 3500. We have 2 grocery stores, 2 hardware stores, an arena and rec centre, and about a block's worth of other random shops. It's bigger than you would think. But maybe smaller than you would like (unless you're like me, who misses life in lil' ol' Princeton!)

2. The canadian show 'North of 60' was called 'North of 60' because the territories are all north of the 60th parallel. Common knowledge, ok.... but to some of you it's news. But the 60th parallel is not really that far north, really. Considering it's only a 9ish hour drive from Edmonton. It is NOT the arctic. The 60th parallel is NOT synonymous with the term arctic.

3. The term arctic coloquially refers to the area north of the treeline, but more precisely refers to the actual arctic circle....where it really is night all day, all winter long. Here in Hay River, we have lots of trees, and we are just in solar limbo. Here it is pitch black until 9am, dawn until 11:30am, then at noon the sun begins to head towards dusk, then to full black night by 4:30. And the sun lays fairly low in the sky all day - all day long shadows are cast, making it feel like perpetual dusk. I'm told that summertime in Hay River means daylight until midnight, then dusk all night long. No full black. I'll confirm if this is true come july.

4. Hay River is only about an hour and a bit north of the 60th parallel. So if you drive due north from Edmonton, you'll hit the Alberta-NWT border in about 9-10 hours (well....summertime driving anyway), take a photo by the sweet Northwest Territories sign planted at the 60th parallel, drive another hour, stop at the beautiful gorge and waterfalls just before you hit the no-man's land town of Enterprise, eat a meal at Winnie's diner, then continue another 25 minutes up the road to Hay River, on the southernmost shore of Great Slave Lake (which is not to be confused with Slave Lake, which you'd have passed by on your way through northern Alberta...the lake up here is, well, Greater.) And instead of continuing to the southern shore of the Great Slave via Hay River, you could also have decided to take one of the very few forks in the northern roads, back at Enterprise, to head due west then north around Great Slave Lake towards Yellowknife via Fort Providence. And shoot some buffalo while you're at it.

5. Great Slave Lake is really quite large. Peripherally oceanic, from the southern beach's perspective. Yellowknife is really right across the lake from us, on the northern shore, but it takes a 45 minute plane ride with Buffalo Joe or a 5 and a half hour detour by car along the west side to get there. It's a big lake.

6. Buffalo Joe is our local Hero. He is the star of Ice Pilots NWT, a new show on the history channel. Many of you are already watching it. Joe and his crew fly old war cargo planes...for daily passenger flights to and from Yellowknife. They had the world première party here in Hay River, his hometown. I went. I watched the first episode with a bunch of Hay Riverites that know Joe, have flown with him often, and that cheered every time they knew someone else in the show...because it's just that small of a world up here. Buffalo Joe himself gave me a t-shirt. I almost fainted at my brush with fame.

PS- I just saw him again this morning. And I patted his dog a few weeks ago. I'm basically famous.

7. The Ravens should be counted as part of the population. They are as big and as loud as a real person. And they really do laugh. And they comprise the majority of the wildlife you will see up here. My animal count so far: Foxes - 1, Ptarmigan - 10, Buffalo - 5, Rabbits - 3, Wolves - 0, Caribou - 0, Moose - 0, Bears - 0 , Ravens - One Billion. If I were to have to make a pie chart, you see how the average percentages would difficult to even calculate, let alone section into slices of pie, given such a margin of difference.

Well, that's all for this morning's lesson. Stay tuned for more coffee time with Joanne.

On the agenda for today: Yogurt and granola, Snowshoeing, Turkey Stew. Hmmm. Somehow my agendas are predominantly comprised of food related activities. Sweden 30 pounder, here I come.

...and a-Ptarmigan huntin' we will go....

2010-01-04T00:01:00.001-07:00

NWT-914
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Yesterday my friend Adam and I skulked around the in the woods. He was hoping to find lynx. We found Ptarmigan instead. We shot them, like we shot the bison. Note his weapon of choice. It's a cruel life here in the great white north. No sissies allowed. Hawksely would agree.

Adventure Adschmenture

2010-01-02T20:49:00.000-07:00

What I have learned about me by not being ridiculously busy for the first time in a decade:

I am a procrastinator. I had my suspicions in the past, but it has been confirmed. In the past it was never obvious because I was always working on ten things at once, and while each thing was put off to the very last minute, I was busy all the while. There was always daily deadline. With no sense of immediacy or urgency, I putter … even more than Ben Braun-Kauffman. Because there is always something to accomplish in puttering. It’s just harder to measure.
I will always and forever wish for more time. I will always yearn for the mythical Someday, when I will be able to release and act upon projects that remain blurrily confined to my brain. These ideas will always grow and spread in painful and inspiring spurts, and my desire to accomplish them will always be eventually converted into guilt or pressure. Even if I have the time to do them.
I am 75% ideas, 25% action. I always thought I would readily take action on my ideas if I were (in the mythical Someday) granted to time and space to do it – I hoped I was a more balanced 50/50 split. Turns out, as I am now living in the not-so-intangible mythical Someday, I’m only a really devoted do-er when I have a full schedule and I have no choice but to get ‘er done. But lighten the load on my plate…(see item #1 above)
I have a lot of ideas.
I am afraid of taking on a major project on my own. I’ve been talking about writing all year, and was waiting for the opportunity to be away from my normal distractions and commitments to give my brain room to de-fuzz from fatigue and busyness. Now I’m supposedly in it. And I revert back to items #1 and #2. And then taking #4 into account in conjunction with #3…well, you see where that leads...
I need people to keep me going, to hold me accountable, to inspire me, to bounce ideas off of, to collaborate with, to goof off with, to run around outside with, to adventure with, to get me out of my head and to keep me from going too far inside it for too long. I might think I’d rather be alone, I might think I need to be free and totally independent, I might think I would like to be hermit. But I need to connect. I am neither rock nor island, as it turns out.

Conclusions:

This year’s adventure – leaving Abbotsford at the end of June to travel across Canada and perform in living rooms and backyards, and venturing north of 60 to satiate some longtime Mowatian desire to experience one of the most Canadian parts of Canada – has not been about what I thought it was going to be about. It is not about finally having the time to write a play. It has not been about organizing the digital archives of the thousands upon thousands of photos I’ve taken over the course of the last few years. It has not been about becoming Heather Rose so that I can feel less like a fraud when I tell her story. It has not been about reconnecting with my French roots. It has not been about better understanding the plight of the Inuit or the First Nations people of Canada… or what Farley Mowat and John Ralston Saul and by extension maybe even Louis Riel are all about.

So far as I can tell, it’s been more about discovering different elements in myself, removed from the me I have come to know in the last decade. To experience firsthand the variability of the properties of character, of faith, of pride, of skill, of a sense of belonging, of a sense of self. To see how environment and habit shape and define. To observe and take stock of who I am in quiet, when no one else is looking...well, besides maybe Rosie. And to be inspired by the opportunity to do so.

And the 6 items listed above, which are neither Gospel nor complete, are things that I have been observing in myself as being slightly … different… than I would have liked to see in myself when I imagined living in the mythical Someday (though simultaneously confirming niggling suspicions I may have had). Because one might say that I’m living in that mythical Someday, since I took a year to get away and chip away at my dreams of writing and being bored. And I suppose I want to object that I’m not living a true mythical Someday, since the ideal mythical Someday should always be just a bit out of reach, since we like to romanticize everything anyway. The mythical Someday will never be what you imagined it to be, because in your dreamy projections, Someday holds no limits. I have limits here. My brain is still often fuzzy. I have a job in the real world that is lovely but consumes my energy and my brain – I can’t leave it behind at 5pm. I am tired when the winter sun tells me I should be tired – until 10am and after 4pm – which leaves me very few personal brain productivity hours, and none outside of work time. I still don’t know how to sit still without guilt, so I’m forcing myself to do absolutely nothing and work through my subsequent heart palpitations. I’m still learning what I’m like and what I do when I have no obligations, and when no one has expectations of me. All that to say that though I’ve been headed towards my mythical Someday, a deliberate time to work through the dreams I’ve always told myself I’d get to “Someday when my life allowed for it”, it is not as romantic or as lofty as it was in my projections. Which I knew I would discover…just as I knew I might discover the 6 things…but needed to experience first-hand. I needed to know what part of me operates in fairytale. And it’s been worth it.

It’s always worth it. Every moment is significant, every experience is valuable. I’ve realized over the last few weeks - as my body is becoming increasingly less tolerant of dark days and as the novelty of adventure wears thin as it grates against awareness of the geographical distance between me and the people that I know and love, and that know and love me – that I often try to be quite conclusive, reasonable, and constant in my feelings about things… when in all honesty I'm experiencing polarized emotions simultaneously. How can I love it so much here , and dream of all the amazing things that could come out of staying here indefinitely ….and the next moment be longing for my old community or for my family? For the mountains and the ocean? The answer is in reconciliation. Life and our feelings towards it are not cut and dry, black and white, crisp and clean. My pull in two opposite directions does not have to be contradictory. The fact that my Someday now occasionally shifts from Arctic back to West Coast does not negate my reasons for coming here in the first place, or make my love of life here less real, though I’d want to err on that side of thought when I’m in secondguessing mode. Hey, I’m only human. I will always sweeten the past and idealize the future…and take the present with a healthy dose of criticism. It’s what I do. So, then, I suppose that makes the present is the only real part. Which is why it’s worth it. I’ll take authenticity for 500 please, Alex. Ooooo...well, let’s make it a true daily double!

Every so often I function in fairytale – sipping wine, sampling dark chocolate, and nibbling on goat cheese while I wait to be handed inspiration on a silver platter, and dream of the day (er, the Someday) when it all falls into place. When my gifts and abilities make sense together. When I feel like my sense of purpose in my vocation is actually enough. When I find success in blazing some kind of sustainable grassroots artistic trail. But I won’t be disappointed for what I have not yet produced. Or what I have failed to live up to. I am more than the sum of my parts, I am far more than my job + my skills + my dreams. My identity is not threatened by failure, by inability, or by shame. I am a child of God. That’s what matters.

And I’m getting a better idea of how often I wait for mythical Somedays…and am reconciling myself to the fact that I always will. It’s who I am.

Unless of course, you (a living human being) give me deadline. Then I’m in like Flynn.

Delirium

2009-12-29T20:11:00.000-07:00

Eye baggage.

0 0
U U

A bus boarded at 0100hrs. Check. A seat shared from 0100hrs to 0400hrs with territorial and prissy lady. Check. Isle seat, AKA No-place-to-lean-except-on-prissy-lady-which-is-obviously-not-an-option seat. Check. Bus-passenger purge at booming metropolis of High Prairie. Check. Ahhhhhh, stretch. Check. Twelve subsequent hours of in-and-out dozing, with no concept of time or place or meaning of life. Check.

Oh, 301-3 Neville place, you never looked so good.
Welcome home.
Check.

Aurora Meets Flashlight

2009-12-21T00:03:00.001-07:00

Aurora-3
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Also, sometimes you just need to scrawl. I decided to let my movement decide the meaning...a nimble interpretive dance routine with a flashlight resulted in what you see here... any interpretations?

Aurora

2009-12-21T00:01:00.001-07:00

Aurora-2
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Yes, it's true. Green skies do exist in Canada. Praise the Lord.

Standing O for TwentyTwelve

2009-12-20T23:43:00.000-07:00

The end of the world is nigh. The earth's core will melt the earth's surface and cause the poles to relocate in a major surface shift...or so says a disheveled and psychopathic Woody Harrelson.

Just got home from seeing the best worst movie I've ever seen. I loved it so much I hated it. I hated it so much I loved it. Poor John Cusack - having to work with that predictable drivel. At least he didn't have to hear the overkillickly dramatic soundtrack while filming - I would like to think, for his dignity's and reputation's sake, that that would have been the dealbreaker.

Why do people keep making these movies? Is it really what America really wants? Even though they have seen this movie time and time again...albeit with different names, different budgets, and different fame...do they really not cringe at every predictable plot line, every one-liner, and ever ridiculously-and-totally-milked close-call death experience?

But the fact that I hated it so much, and that I couldn't keep myself from physical manifestations of the former, made me grateful, in some strange, alive kind of way. I left that theatre with a sense of ridiculousness, a sense of wasted time, but also a sense that there is some purpose in it all. I had so much emotion bottled up in me that I couldn't help but throw myself into a standing O position. Well, I couldn't help myself...but Meaghan could. She pinned me down as soon as she felt the strange energy emanating from the psycho beside her. I wanted to clap, but alas, my hands were tied up at the moment. Which was probably a good thing for the sake of my reputation in this teensy town (not too teensy to have a teensy movie theatre, mind you).

2012, you make me crazy. Thank you.

And John Cusack, I will for your sake be open minded and forgiving. I'm sure you had your reasons.

Shattering Cold

2009-12-12T14:42:00.001-07:00

My lamp shade, made of fine asian plastic, shattered last night. Whoever thought it was a good idea to transport the poor thing when it's 49 below 0 should be kicked. Ow.

Whodathunk. The most banal of activities becomes painstakingly difficult and time-consuming when it is nearly -50 degrees Celsius. Like getting a key in a lock. Like trying to jam the block heater's plug into the extension cord. Like just plain going outside.

It's all funny stuff in retrospect, but swear-worthy in the moment. Yesterday, I had a lot I wanted to get done. It was our Christmas party for the French association (my first real event), and I had plans to spend the day running errands, baking, and pulling stuff together to haul over to coffee shop where the event was to be held. I heard jokes being made on Rosie's alarm clock radio that morning about the cold. That should have been my first clue: when northerners start joking about the coldness of the cold, it must be pretty dang frosty. And when I looked outside, everything was covered in a haze of cold...not fog, not smoke, not frost... a haze of cold. Second foreboding clue. My third clue was much less a clue than a blatant affirmation of the statement: my car was toast. And when I say toast, I mean it in the exact opposite way the thermal qualities of toast implies: it was frozen solid.

I could try to blame its non-compliant state on the west-coast sissyism of a non-block-heater-equipped vehicle...but there was really no one to blame but me. I JUST had a block heater put in my car last week. I was in denial. I refused to park in the parking space allotted to me, 301-3 Neville place, way at the back of our building... but furnished with electrical. Instead, I opted for a spot at the, I say this facetiously, much more convenient FRONT of the building, at which location which I had developed a naively autumnal habit of parking. ''One last time..'' I told myself thursday night as I parked. Famous last words.

So, she wouldn't go. My little Honda civic, that has driven across the country more than once, that has suffered weeks worth of Winnipeg winters, that has endured a good solid month of NWT winter, has decided that the -40's are the limit. No indication that -29 was even NEARING a problem. But give that girl a couple extra negative degrees and she is indignant. And any other day I could have done without her, but on this particular day, where a sound system needed to be picked up, where grocery runs for bags of flour and jugs of juice, where boxes of decorations needed to be hauled, I needed the ol' girl. As David Ives once said, it's all in the timing.

So I became a poor helpless southerner calling out for help from more seasoned northerners. I called my friend Jordan (who also, handily, happens to be somewhat of a caretaker for our building, since his parents own it) to come to my rescue. ''Jordan??'' I whined....''My car is frozen. What do I do now? I don't want to have to pay for a tow truck,...'' then sheepishly added ''...and I can't plug in because I didn't park near my plug last night.'' So the good lord Jordan and his friend Darcy came over and blessed me with 3 extension cords to run all the way from the back of the building to my car out front, where I made use of the precious block heater for the first time in my car's life. And 2 hours later, TA-DA! A started car.

The cold went from bad to worse yesterday. After I got my car started, Darcy and I were collecting the cables...the frozen 15-metre-pencils that stubbornly (and moments later, dangerously) refused to allow us to manipulate them in any way. As we were pulling one inside the building, it cracked in half and sent sparks flying everywhere. The bitter cold had frozen the plastic casing and the wires within, so that any attempt at folding or rolling up the cable would end up in a snap. Moral of the story: UNPLUG frozen cables before handling them.

So I went about my day, running my errands, everything requiring twice as much time as usual. Odd, because I myself did not feel all that cold. My body was handling the cold fine. But you know how when people make small talk about weather and say things like ''oh, but it's a dry cold'' or ''oh, that moisture chills right to the bone!''....I finally have experienced all of these classic colds, and can attest to their pertinence. It really is a dryer cold up here, so it doesn't feel nearly as bad in your nostrils or in your bones. That doesn't negate the fact that it still is REALLY cold, and everything else (besides your body) breaks down around you as a result. And holding your keys in an un-mittened hand for the 30 seconds it takes to open the outside door to your apartment can be a painful experience.

Also, did I mention that my car in now officially a clunker? As of yesterday, really, litterally, a clunker. It clunks. And shakes. The trunk refuses the latch, the doors refuse to close because the locks are jammed, and ice builds up like concrete in my wheel wells. It really, really, really does not like winter here.

As for me, I'm not clunking. I've still got a skip in my step. And I sure am a sight for sore eyes in my winter bundles.

Happy wintering folks.

Arctic Char

2009-12-08T16:16:00.001-07:00

jTNO-190
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Arctic char available inside. Ask local mutt for details.

snowshoes and moonlight

2009-12-02T23:43:00.000-07:00

Oh, boy. Oh boy, oh boy oh boy.

We just got home from snowshoeing by moonlight. Really. I put the word out yesterday that there was going to be a special meeting tonight at 9pm in the rec centre parking lot. Eleven friends came out, we piled into cars and drove to the shore of the Slave. We strapped on our snowshoes and away we went, our path lit only by the moon. I couldn't stop saying how incroyable it was. I've decided that you haven't lived if you haven't snowshoed by moonlight.

Midday Moon

2009-12-01T08:39:00.001-07:00

TNO-750
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Just to share a bit of my perspective with the world. 1pm on a saturday afternoon in Hay River.

Abbey in the summertime...

2009-11-26T08:04:00.001-07:00

AbbeyPhotoShoot-89
Originally uploaded by Joanne Abraham Photography

Abbey, I remembered about the photos. Finally. They're coming your way.

2009-11-26T08:02:00.002-07:00

Invisible strings

2009-11-22T23:38:00.002-07:00

This week I received many bits and bytes from the outside world. They are like an invisible string tying me to my real life. Funny, I used that expression ‘real life’ today with my new friend Diana, who, being an outsider like me, said that that’s what she calls it too. Her real life. Her life prior to her arrival in Hay River. I think the reason I find the expression odd when applied to my life is that it gives the illusion that I had a normal life in a regular place prior to here. That this is a one-time anomaly amidst an otherwise regular existence. When in real life, my ‘real life’ is scattered and polydirectional…Winnipeg, Abbotsford, Chilliwack (peppered here and there with Princeton)…. francophilism, acting, camp, photography, outdoor rec, teaching, lighting design, directing, percussion. My ‘real life’ is a myth. But I’ll keep using the expression, because somehow it still gets the point across that I’m a temp.

Back on track. Invisible strings.

This week’s invisible strings were manifold: a surprise package from Kerianne with Jelly Bellies, jewelry, and a book to inspire me (which I’ll get into another time); a package from Katie with more jewels, yarns, Gilbert, and Mo (which I’ll also get into another time); Genevan dark chocolate from world traveling big-wig-hot-shot researcher Christen; phone calls from Karla, Danielle, Carol, Rona, and my mom; and some skype chats with Abbey, Jenny, and Lowana. I can’t tell if it makes me more or less wistful for my real life. Less because people seem so close, so tangible when I can chat on facebook or talk on the phone every week or skype and actually see someone in the flesh, in the moment….but More because I are reminded of what is going on in my real life and I wish I could take part. It’s a good dissonance. Reminds me that I’m alive. It feels good to feel, even if it’s just confusion.

I committed in last week’s blog to looking towards Germany this week for my business. That was the first mistake, as we all know the Germans like their whites. As I made the approach to the German border, I scanned the line of soldiers to see if I could make out any reds. All I saw was a row of whites, an Aryan nation, as I suspected I might. But lo! A red disguised in blue called out to me from the ranks, stepped out of line and said “take me! I’m ze #1 red in alt of Gehmany!”. I coldly replied “You’re the only red in all of Germany. Don’t flatter yourself”. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and whispered menacingly in his ear that his time had come. “Time to check out”, I said. To the stern colonel awaiting his departure I said, “bag ‘im”, and with that, the two of us, myself and the red soldier, marched solemnly toward his judgment. Luck was not in the soldier’s cards that day. Later, when I asked the soldier his name he sweetly…oh, so sweetly… replied: “My name is Zenzen, Dr.Vino Zenzen.” I had what I needed to warn the world about this imposter. Now I know….never give your heart to a red German in blue.

Dr Zenzen, Vino Noir. Touted the #1 red wine in Germany. What an insult to #2.

Ok, ok, a little harsh. For those of you that follow my wine log, this week’s wine was (obviously) a disappointment. But only because it was waaaaay too sweet. I would not recommend this wine to anyone who likes wines on the drier side…but it would make a great sangria base, or I’m sure it would be awesome mulled for Christmastime…

Today some of us girls went on a little trek, snowshoeing a trail just outside of Hay River. We were going to go to a friend’s cabin, but we were running out of daylight hours and decided to maximize by staying closer by. It was nice to be surrounded by friends, a random conglomerate of people that we pulled together. Here are some highlights:

Diana, showing off her sweet old school raquettes.
a jay of sorts.
yet another classy self portrait.
meaghan hamming it up in her pamper snowpants.
Rosie, the most stylish gal out on the snowpath.

We had a spontaneous potluck afterwards, and talked about things. It was really nice.

Happy novembering.

Landing Strips, Fish Fries, and a Moose Hair Tufts.

2009-11-15T23:58:00.002-07:00

Oh, Hay River, how do I love thee.

Let me count the ways….

I love thee on cold weeknights in a winter wonderland.

I love thee keeping company in a Woodshed.

I love thee with Thursday Wine.

I love thee in a DC-3 loading cargo.

I love thee frying fish, though you deny me the chance.

I love thee collecting willows.

I love thee with raisins and curry.

I love thee at the disco-bowl.

I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.

…I love thee keeping company in a Woodshed.

The Woodshed is the local diamond in the rough. It is a garden centre, a coffee shop, a home decorating and book store all rolled into one. It’s actually open at night…and the coffee isn’t half bad, either. Thursday night we met up with our friends Adam and Shannon at the Woodshed and had tea and biscotti. It felt like a small dose of my real life. It may become my go-to place when I need some comfort, since I can’t buy Safeway’s Hermit’s cookies here. Hermit’s cookies, the big fat fluffy raisin and walnutty cookies you can only get at safeway in the bakery section, became my chicken noodle soup of comfort food when I was missing Winnipeg while living in BC. They were the cookies my memère always kept (and still keeps!) in her cookie jar. Since there is no safeway here, alack! No Hermit’s cookies. Woodshed, here I come.

… I love thee with Thursday Wine.

This week I added a new rule to Thursday wine night. I noticed myself being strangely overwhelmed at the decision of which wine to buy…because I’m not allowed to just buy ones I know I like. I’m having to venture into a whole other realm of wine buying – not having a clue about what I’m about to purchase. So…the new rule, to help narrow down the shelves I have to choose from, introduces a country rotation. It just so happens that the last 4 weeks I have been here, I have bought wine from all different countries. First, Canadian, then Chile, then Argentina, then Italy. Germany is up next. But this week, I got the chance to do a bit of a comparison exercise, which is helping me understand taste a bit more. I bought an Italian wine this week: Colle Secco, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo. As the name suggests, it is dry as a bone. I would never have bought this particular wine if it weren’t for my rules, mostly because I would never normally buy Italian, and then a dry wine at that. But I’m glad I did. I didn’t like it at first, but I think it must need to breathe a bit, because I accidentally left it to breathe in my glass for a good hour before I got back to it, and it was an entirely different wine. Then the next night my friend came to our dinner party with a bottle of a dry French wine, and I did a little side-by-side sampling to see if I could taste the differences and write them out. The dry French wine was Chateauneuf-du-Pape, and it was genious. I immediately loved it – dry, but not as dry as the Italian. Smooth, full bodied, but mild. I highly recommend it, if you’re looking to broaden your horizons.

…I love thee in a DC-3 loading cargo.

I accompanied my journalist friend édith to the teeny airport on Friday night as she interviewed some people from Buffalo airlines, the airline that will this week see itself in the world première of “ice pilot”. After the interview, we went out to the landing strip and up into one of the planes, a very army-looking stubby thing that seats 12 plus a bunch of cargo. I had to be hoisted up into it…a ladder would have been a luxury. The passengers in from Yellowknife had just disembarked, the stairs were already put away, and the staff was loading the plane up for a big cargo trip. We lent a hand. It was a good moment.

…I love thee frying fish, though you deny me the chance.

Have you ever wanted to know how to tuft moose hair? I have. Wanted to, that is. And I had the opportunity this past Saturday, but found no success. We went to a craft fair being held at the reserve (just across the river from town), in their beautiful treatment centre/lodge. All week I’d been looking forward to the event, as the posters promoting it around town promised a moose hair tufting demonstration and a 2$ fish lunch between noon and two. We got there at 1. There was no fish. And no tufting demo. They ran out of fish at noon, and everyone was starting to pack it up (and pack it in, let me begin) by the time we got there. Nonetheless, we still managed to get around to some tables, and I (of course) managed to cram some bannock down my gullet.

And oh, how I wished I could have bought you all a pair of moccasins from these ladies. If I could spare a couple hundred bucks each, I would, I swear. Beautiful beading, luscious furs, softened leathers…ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh, the north!

…I love thee collecting willows.

Saturday night we planned to have a bunch of friends over for dinner. Well, it started with inviting a new friend for dinner (Diana, who I met in a store this week…when she snapped my picture and put me in the little section of the local newspaper that asks lame one-sentence answer questions. Turns out she’s from Vancouver). And then it somehow evolved into a whole thing with Meaghan and Adam and Shannon and Edith and Diana’s cousin David visiting from Vancouver. So…it was time to clean and to cozify our home a bit more. Saturday afternoon I went collecting willow and birch branches. I made a wreath, a lamp adornment, and a pickle jar full of wisps.

…I love thee with raisins and curry.

The above-mentioned dinner party was a great success. I made a massive pot of brown rice and another massive pot of curried vegetables. Meaghan made a delicious salad, Shannon made cinnamon buns, Edith brought wine, Diana brought chicken to add to the curry. It was delightful. Conversation was never at a loss, and we were very comfortable crammed into our tiny living room.

…I love thee at the disco-bowl.

Adam had the foresight to reserve a lane at the bowling alley so we had a place to move our gathering to after dinner. Yes, there is a bowling alley in Hay River. 6 lanes, to be exact. It’s in the basement, under one of the Chinese food restaurants. Sound ghetto? It was surprisingly un-ghetto! Very state of the art. How state of the art, you ask? So state of the art that Saturday night is disco bowl night. Spinning mirror-balls, techno music, and black lights that expose every piece of lint and dandruff. And…all new scoring computers. A really technologically relevant locale. We were impressed. The only thing that didn’t impress me was my score. Probably an all-time low…Karla and Gary, you’d be ashamed. But I made up for it by making Abbey proud – I was ridiculous.

And that brings us to now, Sunday night. Rosie and I just got home from dinner at Mary and Glen Davies’– the family that has already had us over for multiple dinners (starting with thanksgiving dinner the weekend we got here, before they even knew us… and gave us an incredible house-warming basket when we got our apartment). Mary sent us home with a tray full of pumpkin cheesecake. Lucky for Rosie, who has an ample supply of lactase naturally provided by her body.

Hay River:

I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

And a bison-huntin’ we will go…

2009-11-09T20:31:00.006-07:00

This summer, my cousin Jacqueline taught me something about buffalo. She taught me that the following sentence is, in fact, completely functional and grammatically correct:

“Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo.”

Go figure. No really – go figure. That’s an order. Some of you already know how this one works, but the majority of you are mystified and have given way to disbelief. Figure it out … and I’ll unpack it for you next blog.

That was my excellent segue/ice-breaker leading straight into me talking about my buffalo….er, bison….hunting trip that took place this weekend.

Our friends Adam and Shannon (who very recently moved here from Nova Scotia) wanted to go for a long drive Sunday, and invited Rosie and I to tag along. They wanted to go bisson hunting.

Did you notice my typo? Just wanted to emphasize the hard “s” sound made by most Canadians when pronouncing the word “bison”. MOST Canadians… but not Manitobans. I remember that when I first moved to BC around 9 years ago, it was the first word that came out of my mouth that marked me as a sure-fire foreigner on the coast. That and the word syrop, which I pronounced “see” instead of “sir”. Manitobans are die-hard protective of the pronunciation of their beloved provincial emblem: the bizon. They WILL fight you if you tell them that the right way to utter the word is “bi-son”. More specifically, Rosie will fight you if you tell her that the right way to utter it is to NOT vocalize the fricative. Manitobans boldly and proudly voice their buffalo’s fricatives.

I digress.

We drove out to Fort Providence, which is about 200 km northwest of here. Along the way, we stopped at a few different locations to check out the sights, take some photos, and enjoy the crystal clear blue sky.

And the grayscale version of the clear blue sky:

Right before the small town of Fort Providence, there is a ferry crossing to get across the Mackenzie River. If you look on a map, and find the southwestern point of Great Slave Lake that joins the Mackenzie, you’ll find Fort Providence, where the mouth begins to narrow. This is Rosie and Adam walking back to the car to await the ferry creeping up behind them from across the river.

while I appreciated the land around the ferry "terminal"

As soon as you cross the river, you enter a wood buffalo reserve. And though we drove two whole hours without seeing any wildlife other than a few birds here and there, as soon as we crossed water we saw immediate evidence that we were in the land of the wild wood buffalo. Meandering, messy tracks with occasional sniff spots denting the snow like snowpants-clad human butt prints. We drove into town first to see if we could find ourselves a place to eat lunch - the day was getting on, and we were getting hungry.

We found a little greasy-spoon (seemingly the only place to eat out other than at the gas station), and while I ordered a chicken burger and Shannon ordered a fried egg sandwich…Rosie and Adam ordered buffalo burgers. When in Rome…

30 minutes later, when we were back on the road and in the midst of encountering our first wild wood buffalo, Rosie whispered softly to the beasts: “You are beautiful. And delicious.”

***

Our first encounter was with a cow and her calf, who seemed more than slightly annoyed at our childlike glee at the occasion of meeting them. Or maybe it was the fact that our car stalked them slowly from behind….

then inching along beside them as they walked along the highway...

then inching just past them, and stopping dead in front of them so they’d have to walk around us or head off the road entirely:

They opted for the latter:

Then we shot them.

When we tired of shooting them, we continued our hunt for more buffalo. Ten minutes up the road, we came upon three more.

We shot them, too.

And the big bull on the far left reminded me of a Sith Lord.

We continued north up the highway (which would take us to Yellowknife if we continued on a few hours more), and took a few more pictures of the scenery:

and then we decided to head home while we still had a couple hours of daylight left. On our way back, we saw the most beautiful sunset:

Oh. And the shooting of the buffalo? Cameras, people, cameras. Who do you take me for? A redneck?

The End.

Smoked Gouda and Red Wine

2009-11-05T21:53:00.001-07:00

First of all, I want to start this blog with: CAROL SKINNER IS THE BEST!

Rosie is still winning 2-1, but the gap is closing, thanks to Carol “Cactus” Skinner. (and, I would definitely say that the point I awarded myself upon receipt of Carol’s package was put to shame when I opened it…it’s worth 3 points at least! But, rules are rules, one package, one point.)

The best part about today’s point: lactose free smoked gouda. REAL smoked gouda, not some lame fake-soy smoke-flavored loaf. And it survived a one and a half week voyage from Princeton BC to Hay River NWT. Oh, Carol, you are goooooooooooooooooood.

Now that I have given Kudos where Kudos are (is?) due, today I want to talk about Thursdays.

It’s been a long time since my life has been normal enough to have a weekly schedule that is actually consistent and filled with rituals and traditions that repeat themselves at the same times, on the same days of the week. For instance, every (and I mean every) weekday morning now, I wake up at 7:15. I walk to the kitchen, I put the water on. I grind some beans and tip them into the bodum. While the water’s boiling, I do the bathroom bit. By the time I’ve washed my face and brushed my teeth, the water’s ready. I fill my mug half with the hot water from the kettle, half with cold tap water, and add a few squirts of lemon juice. Then I fill my french press. In the next 4 minutes (because that’s how exactly how long you are supposed to let ground beans suspend in 98 degree water). While I drink my warm lemon water I get my lunch ready. Usually a homemade soup from the freezer, or a can of tuna, or, when I’m feeling indulgent, a chicken pot pie because they are delicious and cheap like borscht. I pack my backpack with my lunch and my computer, and set it by the door. By then it’s time to plunge the press. By then I’m also almost finished my lemon water, so I take one last swig, and fill my mug with the thick dark jet fuel I call coffee. I take it black, the way it should be. I take my mug over to the rocking chair in the living room, and set it on the windowsill beside me while I grab my book and pull my blanket over my lap. I read for about a half hour. At 8:20, I get dressed in non-pyjama clothes. I make a smoothie to take on the road. I bundle up, put on my backpack and my hiking boots, I get my Rosie-knitted mitties on, and plug in the ol’ i-Pod….and set on my merry way, on my 20 minute walk to work.

Well, now that you can picture me every step on a weekday morning, let me get back to talking about Thursdays. Thursday are particularly enjoyable to me in this new life of mine. Because I have a mostly Monday to Friday kind of a job, Thursdays mean that Friday is coming. I suppose one could argue that Thursday have always meant that Fridays are coming. But in the recent years of my life, days of the week have not really meant anything to me. A Wednesday could have been a Friday could have been a Monday. A morning could have been an afternoon could have been a night. No matter, no consequence. With theatre, life does not make a habit of schedules and traditions. Unless it’s with your theatre friends.

So, Thursday to me now mean that Friday is imminent. Which means I have a regular, joe-schmoe weekend. Which I don’t mean lightly or pejoratively! A joe-schmoe weekend is all I could have ever wished for. A whole weekend to do whatever I want. Thursdays are inukshuks marking my weekly travel cycle. I think that Thursday mark my week moreso than a Friday or a Monday. Even moreso than a Wednesday, often considered to the crest of the week, or hump-day, as some so eloquently like to call it.

And then, to add to the joy of an already great landmark day, Thursday is also New Wine day. I added value to my Thursdays a few weeks ago by deciding that every Thursday I would allow myself to purchase a bottle of wine. And never the same one twice. The bottle of wine will last me for 3 or 4 days (I have teensy cheap wine glasses that I got a 25 cents each at Field’s), and I will savor it. I told myself that I would take notes, so that I remember for the future which ones I liked more than others…but so far, that has not happened. What I do know, though, is that eventually, I am going to run out of red wines I can afford. The wine selection is slightly lacking, and they range from 11 bucks to 40 bucks a bottle. And I’ll have to decide at that point whether I want to switch to whites, or restart the cycle, or throw the whole project out the window and buy whatever ones I like best. I’ll try to remember to share with you what I discover.

The first week, I played it safe. I bought Naked Grape. Shiraz, of course. It was like…comfort food, cheap and familiar. I bought it the night we moved in, as a house warming gift to myself.

The second week, I bought Cono Sur, Pinot Noir, from Chile. I know already that I don’t really love Pinot Noir, but I thought I’d give it a second chance. Probably won’t give it a third.

Last week, I bought PKNT (picante?). Unfortunately I left the bottle at a dinner party, so I don’t have the label here to tell you about it. As for taste, also not particularly memorable. Good, but, not awesome.

Today I bought another safe and familiar comfort food, after the last two were just kind of average. I bought a Lindeman’s shiraz. Nice. I wanted to go for the Wyndham Estates bin 555 (which was a bit pricier…at 15 dollars!), but since I know I love that one, I’ll save it for an important Thursday. Or a lonely one.

I have also allowed myself a no guilt rule on Thursdays. It is the night that I allow myself the liberty of not feeling guilty about not getting anything done. Those who know me know that I like to get stuff done. To put checkmarks in the boxes of my to-do lists. Thursdays, there are no boxes, no checkmarks, no lists. Well, at least not after 5:30.

So, these are the importances of Thursdays.

On another note, the other night I took some pictures from our balcony, after it snowed. It’s not Aurora Borealis Spectacular, but still pretty. This is our cozy little view:

Hoping your Thursdays are as good for you as they are for me.

Pilgrim at Hay Cr...er, River.

2009-11-04T17:44:00.003-07:00

Today I felt a bit crummy. But it’s not H1N1, I swear!

I’ve been feeling the last few days like I’ve been coming down with something. We’ll see what comes of it…I woke up, felt the scratchy throat and dull headache combo, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again, I went straight to the bottle. Of Oil of Oregano. Sucked back a couple of garlic pills, put some echinacea drops in my lemon water, took my minerals, my homeopathy sugar pills, and bundled up for a down day. I’m gonna give this cold the ol’ one-two, nip it in the bud. Let me set the scene. Here’s me today:

I’ve got about 4 books on the go right now, so I was not at a loss for something to do. Every morning for the last couple of weeks I’ve been reading a bit from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, which Rosie just so happened to have brought with her up here (it’s been on my to-read list for far too long, having been recommended to me by every tree-hugging, philosophy loving coolio I know). I’ve been really enlightened and challenged by some of the stuff I’ve read. One line that keeps running through my head is proving to emphasize a recurring theme in my life and conversations here in the north. Allow me to share it with you:

“All I can do is try to gag the commentator, to hush the noise of interior babble that keeps me from seeing…”

So when I’m in conversation with someone about human relationships, insecurity, judgement, and the like, I keep thinking “Gag the commentator”. If we could gag our inner commentator, we’d be able to see a lot more. We’d be so much more gracious, more understanding, more loving, more open-minded, and, possibly, more adventurous. I’m thinking that this is going to make its way into my writing a fair bit…keep your eye out for it!

And I also have been reading a play by Michel Tremblay, Damnée Manon, Sacrée Sandra, a play in alternating monologues about 2 sisters (well, a sister and her tranvestite brother) and their two polar lifestyles. Manon is a religious nut that has an obsessive relationship with her rosary, and Sandra is a crossdressing prostitute that is sex and image obsessed. But somehow, their personal issues have astounding parallels….

And then, I’m in a perpetual state of reading Antoine de St. Exupéry’s The Little Prince (or, Le petit prince). I’ve begun to adapt it as a one-person show, an exercise that is a great catalyst for learning, experientially rather than theoretically, the form of play writing. I’m really excited for the project. It’s probably the best story I know, besides, perhaps The Very Persistent Gappers of Frip, or, on a whole other level, Les Misérables.

The litte prince....

And as for my easy-read fiction on the go right now, I started reading (after months and months of attempting to avoid it) The Shack. Too many people talking about it in too many spheres of life, so I had to. I found a copy at Meaghan’s house, so I decided to take it up. I’m about halfway through…I’ll tell you the verdict in a few days. Maybe I’ll do a whole blog entry on book reviews. Or maybe I shouldn’t, if I’m trying to gag the commentator….

So, I also have managed to cook and bake a whole bunch of things this week again. I’m really really really loving having the time to cook and to try new recipes. Except that I’m really bad at following recipes. I’m trying to learn NOT to change recipes before I’ve tried them at least once strictly in their recommended format. But I’m too impatient. Let me share with you what I’ve made this week:

Date squares, really oat-y with walnuts. Mmmmmmm….one of my favorite treats. I had a whole bunch of extra dates that were developing a weird texture, so I needed to use some up. I wish that were a common problem for me…too many dates…

Whole wheat bread…because I finally bought some whole wheat flour. The recipe I used pretty good, but if anyone out there has a killer bread recipe, I’d love to have it! The old fashioned way, though…none of this breadmaker stuff (because I’m too poor to own one).

Oatmeal-cranberry-blueberry-coconut-walnut-chocolate chip cookies. Mmmmmm….Gorp, but so much better.

Almond chicken soup. Sooooooooo good. I was kind of making it up as I went along, basing it on a happy accident I had with peanut butter and chicken last year. You need to try this. If you like cashew or almond chicken from Chinese food restaurants, and/or Ethiopian peanut soup, you will love it.

Make chicken broth/stock (I had bought cheap chicken thighs, baked them, separated the meat from the bone then boiled the bones and skin with whatever random stuff I had wilting in the fridge: radishes, celery, onions).

Once you have a good base, add a few tablespoons of almond butter (you can use peanut better instead, but almond butter is better for you) almonds (I used whole blanched), cooked chicken, diced celery, onion, and radishes, and a few whole garlic cloves (you can use minced, but I like the treat of finding a whole clove in my soup! Once it’s boiled, it’s not that potent). Bring to a boil, it will thicken up a bit. You can thicken it with corn starch if you like it really thick, or just add more almond butter. For softer almonds, add them to the stock before everything else.

So those are my ramblings for the day. I’m off to a board meeting, so I need to get my fuzzy sick-day brain back into work mode.

And just so you know, Rosie is winning the parcel-reception game, 2-zip. If you feel sorry for me, you can send something to: (insert Joanne’s Hay River address here) (haha…so shameless.)

Bonne soirée!

You gotta start somewhere. Might as well be here.

2009-11-03T09:44:00.002-07:00

I started writing this weekend. Well, sort of.

Most of you know that I one of my main goals this year is to spend time writing. Plays or performance pieces, in particular. And some of you may know that I have been a little stumped. I have a million and one flotsam and jetsamy thoughts floating about my brain, and I have the time now to harness them. Or filter them. Or both.

A few months ago, I started a special little journal. It’s a small, palm-sized India-earthy looking thing, covered in fabric and bound by string. Like this:

The front half of the book is consecrated to storylines. The back half of the book is consecrated to characters. The hope is that the ‘twain shall meet…somewhere in the middle of my special little book. I have carried this little guy around with me for the last four months, and when it so happened that I was simultaneously inspired, disciplined, cognizant, and pen-laden, I would write down little observances, little fits of genius, little philosophical revelations, little rhetorical questions, and sundry other littles. And the best part about the little guy is that on its very first page, on the very first day I got it, I wrote out my intentions and purpose for writing. To remind me in case I lost track. Or in case I got too mean.

So I’ve been keeping track of ideas. But I haven’t been too good at sorting them. Which brings me to why I have not actually really and truly started … “Writing”….(with a capital W). Those of you who know my charming and idiosyncratic obsessive compulsiveness when it comes to things being in their place, will perhaps know that organization (or lack thereof) would be enough of a reason to keep me from getting anywhere. Paralyzing, in fact. Because when you have a brain like mine, you come up with quiet and unnoticed, dainty hiccup-like questions (which you don’t even agree with) like: How do I make it all fit in a nice tidy package? Which idea is more important? How do I tie all my favorite morals and philosophies all together? How do I combine all my ideas into one story? How do I educate people about this or that? How do I (questions that do not admit the possibility of NOT accomplishing or answering to any of the above in a clear and precise manner). So that’s problem numero uno: where to begin the story.

But there is something else keeping my writing process at bay.

I remember writing really lame poems when I was a teenager. Really lame. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, so I kept on my merry way with the writing. Clichéd, easy turns of phrase. Corny, dark imagery. Crammed words to fit a meter, and rhymes at any cost. I cringe at what Kurt Cobain’s post-humus stardom brought out of me – a bad sharpie drawing of his face on my bedroom wall, and a stupid, stupid poem … to convey my loss, no doubt.

Fear.

I fear that I will turn out the same predictable drivel that I was turning out 15 years ago, when I gave up my potential writing career to take up music….or sports…or whatever. I always had an awareness of what I (quite subjectively, of course) considered to be GOOD writing, INSPIRED writing, CREATIVE writing….GENIOUS writing. That meant that I always had an awareness of what I considered to be BAD writing, REDUNDANT-WITHOUT-CLEVERLY-MEANING-TO-BE writing, REGURGITATIVE writing, ANGSTY-DARK-TEENAGER writing, and the like. It makes me think of the Spice Girls. I remember very consciously thinking, when a couple of the spice girls’ super hit songs were played 100 times a day on Q94FM sometime in the mid to late 90’s, that this had to be the WORST kind of writing on the planet. Come on: if you wanna get with me, better make it last? I wanna really really really really zigizay…ah! Really? Ok, it was catchy. But it sucked.

And when I imagine myself writing, I imagine that I will,(no matter how hard I try not to), write Spice Girls songs. Despite my abhorrence of (what I consider to be) clichéd writing, I think that that is what I will inevitably write. And then I will hate it. And then I will have to lament that while all this time I thought I had the potential in me to be a great writer, I am really the worst of all scribing sinners. Because even though my brain is saying “Ew! Ugh! Blech!” while my hands go to town on the keyboard, maybe it doesn’t have enough talent to stop them. Maybe its decided that since it made its own lumpy mattressed, mite-infested, short-sheeted bed…it should have to lie in it. Even though it knows it sucks.

So rather than make that painful discovery, it’s probably safer to say : “Oh, I really want to write!”. And then just talk about how you want to do it, knowing that you’ll never actually have the kind of lifestyle that would allow for something as great as that. (whew. what a relief.)

So I’ve been living in a sort of creative paralysis, fearing that a Garth-type is going to come up to me and say: “If you’re going to spew, spew in this”, offering me a Dixie cup for my verbal vomit. Haha. What a gross image.

You know, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I’m being dramatic, for the purposes of honing the craft of which I speak. Rather, write. Of which I write. Is there irony in that? I can’t remember. Try hard and you might find a speck of it in there somewhere. Though you might argue that my definition of irony is just like everyone else’s, which is to say, wrong.

Those are my thoughts for today. Well, I don’t want to lie. They were mostly from yesterday…but I never finished them before bed so I had to bring them to a close this morning.

I’ll come back full circle to my opening statement: “I started writing this weekend” next time, now that I’m done with the disclaimers...

Hay-loween

2009-11-01T17:28:00.006-07:00

Here are some photographic highlights from the last week...not in chronological order.

A sunday drive in the territories.

Me, making "light" of Meaghan's lite-brite pumpkin endeavor.

Meaghan, with her guts spilled.

Meaghan, myself, and Rosie ready for the dance.

the highway between Hay River and Fort Resolution at dusk

the highway between Hay River and Fort Resolution, a bit before dusk

Fort Resolution

Rosie Reflected in the Slave.

land of the silver birch, home of the beaver.

some cool looking wood on the beach.

My office.

me. with a camera for a nose.

So, that's this week in pictures. Now, to explain them!

So, last sunday we went for our first outing outside of Hay River since we arrived. Meaghan brought Rosie and I to see Fort Resolution, which is about 2 hours from here. It was a beautiful drive (as you can tell from the pictures above), but, aside from the company, also fairly monotonous. Something wasn't quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it at first. And then, it hit me: we were on a road that went to one place only. After the first half hour, when the road turns off to head to Fort Smith and Fort Providence, there is no other turn off, no other intersection, no other point of interest until you reach the end of the road an hour and a half later, in Fort Resolution, population 500. It seems so odd to have a community so removed from other communities, with absolutely nothing on the way, with a very long (mostly gravel) road that is the only way in and the only way out.

Fort Resolution is what I would have imagined a tiny, remote northern town to be. It is also right on Great Slave Lake, due east of Hay River. But a very different...vibe. It was quiet as we drove in, and Meaghan gave us the tour in her SUV while I shot some pics out the passenger window. There is one grocery store, and one convenience store/gas station, a band office, a government building, an RCMP compound, a school, a couple of churches, and a small huddle of houses and mobile homes. A lot of houses looked to be either abandoned or condemned, and some were no bigger than a single room. But there was still something charming about the place, and we were to be charmed all the more moments later when Meaghan took us to visit some people she knew (she had spent of lot of time visiting the town from Edmonton, working with the youth, in the last few years. She lived there a while, too.). We walked out of the cold, dreary, and quiet world outside... and stepped into a microcosm of warmth, life, and celebration inside the home of these people. The family was just about to have dinner, and had a million visitors and family strewn about the house. They invited us to stay, but unfortunately we had to get back on the road towards Hay River (because it's the only place it goes!!) before it got too dark. Hopefully there will be a next time. I'm not done with Fort Resolution yet.

This week in general went well. We made some more friends, hung out with lots of people, carved pumpkins (well, I gutted the pumpkins and then watched Meaghan decorate them with her cop-out pumpkin kit...which turns the pumpkin into a lite-brite. Cool effect....but totally a cop out from knife-wielding). We even went to a Halloween dance at....the LEGION! we are officially small-towners. For those of you who are small towners, you will appreciate the charm and centrality of a Legion. Seeing as how we have nothing here to make costumes with (I have a sweet tickle trunk, but it didn't make the packing cut to come here), we turned our normal clothes into "costumes" (which are not REALLY costumes, because they are our legitimate clothes...but hey, I feel like I do that a lot). I was clad in plaid, and Rosie was a gypsy. woohoo, real crazy.

Bah!

It's 6:30. Rosie and I were invited to dinner at our new-new friends' place tonight (someone other than Meaghan!), and we're supposed to be there now! So, enjoy the pictures for now, and I'll elaborate more...soon.

Happy November 1st.

3rd storey story.

2009-10-24T23:07:00.008-06:00

Abbey has been harassing me for photos of our apartment. So, here they are folks!

(our dining nook)

(our shared bedroom...and bed. Notice our neat little sides)

(the living room)

(the bathroom. Rosie's invention: the earring tree. note the scarve that are still in wearable condition, not adorning our walls in a permanent fashion)

(my home office...where I intend to do my writing and photo editing....)

It was a painstaking process to actually get in here, but now we’re settled (ish) and enjoying our cozy home. We’re both broke and only brought what we could fit in my little civic, so we don’t have a load of stuff to decorate the place…but fortunately we are both scarf lovers! We brought so many scarves that we have enough to drape over things and tack up on the walls …and still have a million left over to actually wear. Our great little minds thought alike on that matter.

(Oh, and I don’t know if I mentioned how much it’s costing us to rent up here…but you’d be shocked and appalled. We are renting a one bedroom, a teensy little apartment…for $1500 a month! Remind we why I didn’t just move to Vancouver? )

This week was great. Busy, in its own weird northern kind of way, but great. I’m still learning the ropes at work, but with a deadline for our application for funding coming up on Monday, I’m almost past the worst part of feeling like a dummy starting a new job. It is very humbling to feel incompetent. Which I admit is a very important thing to experience. But…well… I’m almost ready to feel like I’m good at something again…

Now, I did have the urge every single day this week to cook and clean. Maybe it’s the Suzy Homemaker in me, or maybe it’s the constant need to feel productive...but I’m thinking it’s probably more to do with the fact that I’ve been living out of my car for 3 months, and haven’t been able to cook my staple favorites. In case you’re interested, here were some of the items on my menu:

Fall Soup: tomatoes, turnips, brussel sprouts, various and sundry beans, garlic, onion, and barley. Mmmm

Comfort food: Perogies and brussel sprouts and steamed beets….slathered in yogurt.

Indi(a)licious: chickpea, spinach, fresh tomato, raisins and curry, pan fried in olive oil

Sweet tooth: Oatmeal coconut chocolate chip cookies, and ….my personal fave…lactose free rice pudding! I have to tell you how I made it – you MUST try it if you are a rice pudding fan, especially if you are a lactose intolerant one and have been mourning the loss of your favorite childhood dessert). Boil rice in same amount of water as usual (2 to 1 ratio water to rice), but add a can or two of coconut milk to the mix, a bit of honey or sugar, and one or two cinnamon sticks. Bring to a boil, them simmer for a good 40 minutes…or until it gets thick-ish. Add raisins near the end, if you like them. (I absolutely do…frankly, rice pudding is not rice pudding without raisins.)

I can’t believe I have time to BLOG about my DINNERS! I LOVE IT! I always wondered what kind of people blogged about the minute details of their lives. ME! It’s ME! I DO!

Ow. (Rosie just poked me. With knitting needles.)

We went for another sweet walk today. We found sweet place on Great Slave Lake, where we walked along the beach, hunted for beach treasures, and stumbled across…a shipwreck!

We were looking for goodies to decorate our house with. We scoured the beach, drank coffee, took pictures, and enjoyed the fresh air. I took the liberty of taking some more self portraits. I couldn’t help it! I’ve been enjoying the challenge of finding a place upon which to perch my camera (safely….can’t afford to replace it when I’m paying 1500 bucks a month for rent!)…then figuring out where I can fit in the scene…then setting the self-timer…. then guessing what distance to set the focus based on where I think I might end up….and then hitting the button and running into the shot in 7 seconds!

(self portrait #1)

(self portrait #2)

While I was scouring the beach for natural hidden treasures, I was pleasantly anxious about what I might find in the next big pile of driftwood. And the next pile. And the next pile. It was a familiar feeling. A good feeling, but a very specific one. And then I figured it out: it’s the same feeling I get when I go thrift shopping! It was a funny realization…I couldn’t believe how similar the feeling was. It’s nice to know I have a different way to achieve the thrift shop adrenaline rush….especially since there’s not really any thrifting available anywhere near here.

Well, now, that pretty much brings us up to date. I want to take this opportunity to wish my Katie and my Mel very happy birthdays. This one's for you, girls:

Happy Weekend, all. Cheers.

Home Sweet Hay River.

2009-10-18T22:13:00.002-06:00

We are home, the ol' Rose and I. We moved in this weekend.

We were finally able to get into the elusive apartment...the one that we tried to see multiple times this week, but failed to on all but one occasion (the final one....obviously). It was our first real taste of the infamous "northern time" (also known by many other colorful and slanderous names, but we'll keep it general and kind). For those of you who don't know, people up here call anything that takes forever (which is basically most processes) "Northern Time", because people operate on a different proverbial sun dial up here...no big city to make you hustle your buns!

Anyway, in a very humorous (in retrospect) and roundabout way, we have moved in to our new apartment. We were staying with our new friend MeAgHan (just making the spelling corrections to my previously mispelled new friend's name...she's a NEW friend, how was I to know how to spell it?). As a sidenote, I think she will soon graduate to just "friend". It's already almost time to drop the "new" bit. I digress. We were staying at...Meaghan's....until this weekend. Yesterday we moved in to the little green 3-storey apartment building just minutes away from "downtown" Hay River. We are on the 3rd floor, with a teensy balcony that faces north. Know what that means? Prime Aurora Borealis viewing zone! Because we are one of only a handful of more-than-one-storey buildings, we are on top of the Hay River world. Can't wait to catch our first glimpse of those lights....

We don't have a phone number yet, nor do we know our address...but these things will come in (northern) time. I'l keep you posted. But for now, rest assured that Rosie and I are cozy and well fed in our slightly barren and ambiguously stinky apartment. TTFN.

Work Work Work!

2009-10-14T16:54:00.002-06:00

I have just had a taste of what my job will be. And I'm really looking forward to making some headway. To making some french rubber hit the Hay River road.

So, today was my second day on the job. It feels nice to be back at work, after not having worked since JUNE. Jeez louise. Who does that?

I think it will take me a while to figure out what exactly it is that I'm doing at work, but right now I have a project with a very concrete deadline, so it's nice to have something tangible to focus on while I get myself oriented. There will be a lot of room for brainstorming once I figure out my role in this community...being creative and implementing new ideas and activities (as long as I have the perseverence to follow through on them!) are part and parcel to the job, which is quite a lovely characteristic of the job.

Today we looked at an apartment - it's more expensive than we had hoped for, but really quite perfect. It's furnished, it's close to town so we can walk, and it's right smack dab in the middle of all the RCMP housing! Hopefully we'll meet some handsome young officers...

Anyway, we've decided to take the apartment, so we'll hopefully be moving in by the weekend - we're anxious to have our own place. Both Rosie and I have been relatively transient since the summer, so we'll be glad to have a kitchen to cook delicious meals in, a closet to hang clothes in, a desk to set my computer up on...ahhhhhhh. I'm relaxed just thinking about it. My poor finicky little stomach yearns for delicious, nutritious, and well-planned meals. And my body longs to be clothed in whatever clothes are hanging in my closet...instead of just out of day-bag recycled outfits. Living out of my car for the last 3 months has grown old. That's one part of my adventure I am looking forward to leaving in the dust.

Things are looking up. They were already looking quite lovely when we got here, but it's only gotten better. Isn't that a good sign?

3 free dinners!

2009-10-12T20:32:00.011-06:00

THANKSGIVING

Well, we heard that the pentecostal church in town was giving a thanksgiving lunch yesterday. So, we hit that up. Met some nice people, made a new friend..."Megan", we'll call her.

Since that's her name.

When we got home from the lunch, it was bright and sunny...reminded me of a beautiful prairie winter afternoon. (Though I'm sure we had it better than you Winnipeg suckers this weekend! HA! And some of you thought we were crazy for moving up north???)

Rosie , Great Slave Lake, and some trees.

Our second free thanksgiving dinner was dinner last night - the woman that hired me at the French association (AFCHR) invited Rosie and I over for turkey. Which was nice because we've been emailing for the last month, and had talked on the phone only once...so it was nice to put a face to the name. We had a nice meal with her and her family, and they filled us in on all the Hay River goings-ons....which are numerous, slightly complex, and often comical. Odd, to say the least.

Like the secondary school that the daughter attends. She's in grade 12...and has only one classmate. Their teachers have TWO students. TWO. Boy, would I ever love to have that job. They don't even combine the classes with other grades. Nope. Just a sweet deal for their THREE teachers (who have just 18 other students in grades 8 thru 12). Lucky ducks. And they went on a hunting trip last year with the grade 10's and 12's...with some old local hunter...and gutted and skinned caribou. Love it. Wish I could have been in that grade 12 class. No problem - I just gotta get myself on the sub list at that particular school. And apparently there are "cliques" in town. No problem...I'll get my way into 'em all. And there is apparently a lot of french/english/first nations/inuit tensions around town. No problem - I can fit into 3 of the 4 categories, at least! (and hey...I know all about the Inuit after my many theatrical experiences. so I'm really practically almost 4 for 4)......(ok, I wasn't going to give a disclaimer on that last one, but I have to in case someone reads this and thinks I'm an ignorant jerk. I don't actually know anything...I'm nowhere near 4 for 4).

Then today, monday, we got a phone call at our B&B, from a woman that we hadn't even met, but who attends the church we went to yesterday and knew we were staying at the bed and breakfast. She invited us over to have thanksgiving dinner with her family tonight...an event from which we just got home. Our new friend was there..."Megan" (I'm putting her name in quotation marks because she would like that. because of a story she told us about how she used to cheat in french class. her teacher told them they could use english words ONLY if they used quotation marks in certain instances where they really could not think of the french word to use...but "Megan" would abuse the tool because she was lazy, "quoting" entire sentences in english). We're planning to go to free aerobics with her on wednesday night at the elementary school. Then we met another young couple at dinner who are from Vancouver Island, but have lived here for three years, having moved here for a teaching job. So...we made lots of new friends. It was a great meal, and they sent us home with homemade buns, pumpkin pie, apple pie, and a plateful of turkey. mmmmmmm.

And "Megan" just called us a half hour ago to ask us if we wanted to stay at her place for the next few days until we find an apartment, since her roommate is out of town all week. Just the kind of helping hand we were praying for! We love this B&B, but we can't afford to stay here much longer with no income...coming in...yet. (sorry, "income coming in" seems to be a redundant phrase, doesn't it? Isn't that what income does: come in?). So we'll be packing it in tonight to move into town tomorrow. For free. Praise the Lordy Lord.

And I start my new job tomorrow... I'm feeling pretty good about it. Rosie's going to see about a job right next door to me at the Rec centre. So we'll see how that goes.

Looks like we have a lot to be thankful for this thanksgiving. How appropriate.

Thanksgiving...here we go.

2009-10-11T23:02:00.013-06:00

So. It's thanksgiving. Rosie and I have been in Hay River for 3 days now. One of us has a job, and neither of us have a place to live.

Wait, back up a second. You don't know who this Rosie person is that I keep mentioning. Rosie is my travel buddy, my fellow north-lover. She and I have been trying, for the last year, to make our way to the north...together, preferably. She's working on her thesis for her master's degree in linguistics, and wants to become better acquainted with language preservation methods and efforts in the north of Canada (with indiginous languages, of course). So, she made the trip up with me in my little civic from Winnipeg (which is where she's from also, but has been studying linguistics in BC the last 2 years, and now she needs to find a job to make thesis work...sustainable. That's the short of what Rosie has to do with this story...

Rosie taking her turn to drive my overstuffed car on the leg from

Grand Prairie to Hay River.

When Rosie and I got to Hay River on Friday night, 3 days ago, we took a quick tour of the town, and located our stay for the weekend - a strange little bed and breakfast out in the sticks, right on the beach of Great Slave lake, 10 minutes out of town. It had been recommended to me by the lady that hired me...

And we're glad she did! We didn't have an appartment lined up before we got here (long story), so we knew we needed a place to stay for the weekend, at the very least. We wish we could just live here at the B&B....if it wasn't going to cost us 100 bucks every night. We're right on the lake, there's no one else around, and no other guests are staying here at the moment, so we have the entire place to ourselves! (There's not even an office here...it's managed by a hotel in town, so there is not a caretaker or owner on site). We're really digging it. So we hunkered down for the last 2 days and did...nothing! A major feat for me. I had some photos I wanted to work on, and Rosie wanted to knit some mittens, so we sat in our cosy, quiet abode and hung out and drank too much coffee. We knew we had to wait until tuesday anyway for business

hours to be on our side, so there was not much to do in the meantime except let our new town settle in our bones a bit.

Rosie knitting mittens in our B&B, overseen by a token polar bear hung on the wall.

Me, taking a self-portrait on the beach outside the B&B. Many self-portraits are in order this year, I think.

So, anyway. Back to what I'm even doing here. I start a job on tuesday morning (since monday, tomorrow, is a holiday). After dealing with potential employers on "northern time" all summer, I finally succeeded in landing a real job, with "L'AFCHR" - L'association Franco-Culturel de Hay River. I will find out tuesday what that really, actually means (I'll keep you posted). My position is officially dubbed "agente de development": literally translated "development agent, or program coordinator. I'll be working mostly on my own, planning and implementing events to engage the community in french language and culture. Right up my alley....but I can't wait to find out what I'll REALLY be doing.

Well, I'm just about caught up with where we're at today...but I'll tell you about today tomorrow. Too much for today already! I don't know much about blogs, but if I was to read one as long as mine, I would just kind of skim and not really commit to it. So...for your sake, I will put off today until tomorrow. I wonder what the Lord would think about that?

The Explanations...aka, the Prologue.

2009-10-10T20:54:00.001-06:00

aspens along the mackenzie highway... en route to Hay River from Edmonton

As nurse Heather Rose once said "The north has always fascinated me, ever since I was a little girl. Its wilderness...its mystery...". And so it has been for me. My parents lived up in Island Lake in northern Manitoba while my dad worked for Indian Affairs (before I was born). Then when my parents moved back to Winnipeg, my dad worked for Environment Canada and was always traveling to various weather stations in the arctic. He always brought back a doll, a carving, or a beaded leather something-or-other....and so the arctic was always in our home.

some nice inuit handicrafts to welcome us to our B&B here in Hay River. Eugenia would be proud.

That was the first explanation for why I'm here now.

The second explanation is that Heather Rose re-kindled my childhood interest. 5 years ago I was cast in a one-woman show called "The Occupation of Heather Rose" written by Wendy Lil. Lots of you already know this...most of you have seen it. But for those of you that haven't, the story tells of a young nurse that, upon graduation from nursing school, is recruited to work on a reserve in northern Ontario. With an admirable amount of enthusiasm to contribute to the quality of life at Snake Lake, she starts her job with gusto (mixed in with a heathy dose of fear). But gradually, as a result of a lack of community and accountability (among other things),

she becomes someone unrecognizable to her fresh-arrival self. As an actor embodying & living this story, I felt...like I really knew what I was talking about, but in a weird way that only actors (or maybe writers) can understand. It happened quite often that audience members would come and talk to me after a show to thank me for sharing the experience with them... they were nurses (or doctors or teachers) up north, and that was THEIR story, almost exactly as it had happened to them. And I would always feel a bit like a fraud, because I'd never REALLY lived it. I mean, I guess as an actor that's the whole deal...to BE something but to not necessarily know first hand. Well, unless you're into the whole method-acting thing. haha. Which I guess now I am, since I'm here, trying to live it. double haha.

me as Heather Rose this summer, in Pat Braun's back yard.

Soooooooo.... Heather Rose - in my brain and on my heart for the last 5 years - has deepened my curiosity and penchant for the north. But there's a 3rd explanation:

I'm suppose .... I'm a busy person. Too busy, according to some. Incomprehensibly busy, according to others. Or admirably busy, according to...well, few. It's time for a change of pace. A forced change of pace. In order to make some space in my life, I recognized that it was time to discipline myself into non-busyness. But the only way to do that was to leave my "natural" environment...that is, the environment that likes to ask me to do things, the environment that I love to do things in...the environment that I can't say "no" in, simply because I really and truly want to do it all! I have so many things I want to think through, and I need to create space - in mind, in heart, in soul, in space - to even begin to work it out.

So there/here I/you am/are (all and any combinations of the aforementioned words), in the North, with not much of a plan to start with (which I'll get into, eventually). I'll try to keep things updated on this blog, because blogging will be a great start to practicing the discipline of writing, which is something that I really need to start doing. Maybe now that I'll have time, I'll discover that I'm really good at it!!! Here's hoping'...

We made it!

2009-10-09T22:00:00.000-06:00

So....I am actually in the Northwest Territories. This is very cool. Scary, but very cool.

Cool indeed. Just as we (Rosie and I) came upon the "10km to the 60th parallel" sign, the snow came upon us. Just a little "welcome to the NWT" to make the whole thing feel authentic.

I probably need to give some background information, because this story really starts a ways back, but...not tonight. We just got here tonight, cooked our microwaveable east indian dinners, and now we're ready for bed. I'll tell you all about it....tomorrow. I just felt the need to start a blog right away, or else it might never happen. Good intentions only go so far until you can make the rubber hit the road. So, feel the burn....this is the beginning of my proverbial rubber hitting the NWT sweetly paved roads.