Through the Lens

In an earlier entry this year I mentioned a friend of mine and how we spent many afternoons with our cameras in tow.   In a sense photography has always been a big part of my life and I consider myself somewhat of a hobbyist when it comes to taking pictures. It began when I was in junior high school. I started documenting my life and everything around it with a Kodak Instamatic camera (those of you old enough must remember the drop-in cartridge films and the one-use flash bulbs) and used that all through high school. My interpretation of the world became a sightline through a viewfinder. With my best friend, who also had the same kind of camera, we would go for long walks after school and on weekends framing in our “nature shots” and dreaming about being professional photographers one day. 


In grade 12 my boyfriend at the time generously gave me a fully manual Yashica 35mm camera. It was my constant companion and I can’t count the number of rolls of film I blew off trying to get “just the right shot”. Of course in those days I didn’t have the luxury of instant gratification like we do in today’s digital age, and had to wait sometimes a couple weeks for the film I sent off to be developed only to find out that it had all been overexposed or blurry. By then the opportunity for the shot was long past.  

Regardless, I was soon able to predict with accuracy what would be a good picture. One year I enlarged 12 of my best shots and hand-made a calendar for my father for Christmas. He was speechless – something rare in my father – as he flipped through it . I became the go-to photographer in the family.

Later, shortly out of University and working for a small town newspaper I was able to learn darkroom techniques and would spend my spare time on weekends in the “cave” experimenting with black and white photography. Back in the city after a couple years I  would“borrow” my boyfriend’s pass-code and used the university dark-room whenever I could,( always purchasing my own supplies) but loving the equipment they had available, enlargers and filters and things that could manipulate my images into something as close to an art form as I had ever produced. (Today my old camera gathers dust. The Yashica still sits in its case on a shelf in the house and I can’t remember the last time I purchased a roll of film - do they even still sell film in rolls?). 

But unstoppable time continued to march and in came the age of digital. I reluctantly gave in and purchased a digital camera. A part of me had always envied those with digital cameras –being able to see immediately if the picture was any good, if everyone had their eyes open and was smiling, if the sun wasn’t casting odd shadows on someone’s face…delete and take another! easy-peasy – but an even bigger part of me missed the old days. Sure it was nice to be able to filter your pictures right after taking them or to take hundreds of pictures while on vacation and choose which ones to delete at a later date, but the mystique had disappeared.

I moved on and merged with the masses, recently acquiring an iPhone. I think it is a better camera than most of the ones I used in the past. I have also joined the“cool kids” and opened an Instagram account (lmcase37). One morning a week and a half ago I was on my regular walk to work when I noticed the sky was a brilliant shade or red/orange/pink. I stopped and framed up what I figured would be a nice shot of the sunrise and posted to Instagram. Later that morning I read that CBC had a Manitoba fall photo contest – all I had to do was hashtag my picture and follow them on Instagram. Heck, what could it hurt?

Turns out it didn’t hurt a bit. In fact I won that week’s contest. And it only took me 35 years.

Canoe Trip - Fall 2012 - Final Day

DAY FIVE – OCTOBER 3, 2012 – 4.5 miles

 

We woke up around 6:20 to the sound of the pines above us rustling in the wind and the water gently lapping on the beach. Clayton and I looked at each other and barely had to say anything as we knew what the other was thinking. Pack up now while it’s calm and get ourselves across the lake before the wind got any stronger. By 7:05 we were launching the canoe and chuckled at how quickly we were able to break camp and pack up the canoe. The waves were just starting to come in but the paddling was manageable. As we left the beach and found ourselves halfway to the point where we were heading I looked ahead at the moon just setting over the trees and the sun just rising behind us. The sky was a myriad of pinks and reds and oranges and the lake glowed in the morning chill.

We noticed another campsite and pulled in to check it out. By this point we were only around the bend from where the final portage was and we had time to kill. The worst was behind us. So we pulled in to explore.  Like the beach we had just come from this was obviously a well-used campsite but the location was completely different. Higher up on the granite shore there were a number of cleared areas for tents and another large communal area for campfires. In the summer this area would be great for swimming as there were flat rocks to sun on and jump off.

We pushed off knowing this was our last morning of the trip. The final bay on Buzzard was calm and quiet and mist was rising. We drifted through it eerily and it swirled and stirred as we slipped through pulling up to the portage point. The initial trip up the portage revealed that we had a very steep climb ahead of us. Clayton scoped it out as he was the one who would be carrying the canoe across. This would be our longest portage as it took us over 14 minutes to walk back, even without carrying gear.

As we loaded up the remainder of the gear, Clayton with the canoe and me with the paddles and food bags, we were silent. I walked behind him as he maneuvered the canoe up the steep slope, so steep in places that the bow was bumping into the rocks in front and he had to tilt it slightly to get the canoe up the hill. I prepared myself to grab the stern if needed. Turns out it wasn’t needed. I watched as Clayton deftly tackled the steep incline, placing one foot, pausing, then the next as he searched for footholds on the rocky hill. Throughout the climb he kept the canoe steady although I could see him beginning to work up a sweat by the time we reached the top. He adjusted the cushioning on the yoke and then we continued the rest of the portage.

From the beach we could see a point a couple hundred metres out. It looked sheltered from the wind and was bathed in sunlight. We decided to stop there and brew a pot of coffee, delaying the end of the trip as much as possible. We had just enough Sangsters for the last two cups. Sitting back, we enjoyed the sun’s warmth and reflected on the last few glorious days. It was a bittersweet a moment. As much as I looked forward to a hot shower and fresh fruit I was reluctant to leave the wilderness and all its beauty and simplicity of life.

Don’t get me wrong – it is not easy - setting up and breaking camp daily, cooking breakfast, washing up and packing the canoe, paddling, portaging, making supper, cutting firewood, packing and hanging the food bags before some quiet time around the fire with a flask of Drambuie. But there is a rhythm to the routine, one we hone each time we set off on an adventure. There is also comfort in routine and a satisfaction in instinctively knowing what needs to be done and doing it.

After we finished our coffee and washed and packed the dishes back up I called Mom to let her know what time we planned to arrive at our takeout point. Dad would meet us here with the car.

We took our time paddling back, savouring the beauty and soaking up the sights. We sighted two bald eagles circling above as we tucked into the lee side of the last big island. The only sound was the wind in the pines and the sound of our paddles, dripping and pulling in the water. As we rounded the island we could see the landing ahead as well as a couple of cabins in the bay. The parking lot was on the other side of the railway tracks so we got all the gear up and over to wait for my father. While preparing the coffee we also made up the last pasta salad we’d packed and while we waited for dad we had a bite to eat then pulled out our e-readers and leaned up against the canoe to wait for our ride. Dad was prompt and anxious to hear all about the trip as we drove back to the house. It was nice to have a cold beer and a hot sauna waiting for us when we arrived.

We’ve now had a couple months to contemplate and look back on the trip. Whenever I feel stressed I pause and remember how I felt that first night, sitting on the rocky point and staring at the full moon rising over the tall trees. I can transport myself back there. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to do these things with my husband. Trips like this solidify my love for the wilderness and spending time there with someone who loves it as much as I do.

I realized at the end of the trip that we took no pictures on the final day...:(((

 

 

Canoe Trip 2012 - Part lll & IV

DAY THREE  – OCTOBER 1, 2012 – 10 miles

 

We slept in a little later this morning and woke to the sun shining on the ridge across our little bay. It was slightly breezy and cool as we made breakfast. Camp was torn down and packed and we were on our way around 10:45. The portage from Teggau back down to Eagle was easier in that it was downhill. We had the canoe moved and packed up again in no time. Coming out from the creek the wind was from the north. We went straight across the bay to where it was sheltered and had an easy paddle up to the Buzzard/Winnage portage. We could see the falls spilling into the lake and an area that appeared to be well used beside the falls. Clayton went to check out the path and when he came back said that it didn’t appear to have been used much as there were a number of fallen trees. We concluded that this path must be an older one and that there must be another well-used path somewhere else. I went up along the bank and down the shore a bit until I came to a sandy and rocky beach. Not sure how we missed it but the portage was a great wide path leading up the hill and was quite obvious. Clayton brought the canoe over and we made our usual two trips over the steep portage.

At the top of the portage we took a quick break for some trail mix and took a look around the falls. There was a memorial at the mouth of the falls to a trapper who obviously was a regular on the lake.

Buzzard was choppy from the get go. We headed straight across the first small bay to reach a leeward area sheltered from the north wind. We spotted a small beach and pulled up to take a look – discovering moose and bear tracks. From there we made our way through a sheltered narrows until we rounded the next corner and found ourselves heading straight across a big section of lake, almost right into the wind. We headed to what the map showed as a big peninsula leading into a narrows dividing the lake into two main sections. We put our heads down and just paddled for close to an hour straight until we were in calmer waters. Our canoe held up well and we found it very stable, especially in the choppy waters.  It was strange to have one side of the shoreline burnt and barren and the other side lush and forested – the entire narrows was like that until we emerged into the northern and larger section of the lake. Waves were buffeting the shore so we stopped for bite to eat and spend a few sunny moments resting before our last big push.

As we rounded the point and headed north the waves were coming at us from the north-north west so we couldn’t head straight to the other side. We set our sights on a small island and paddled toward it until it could provide some leeward shelter and then we turned and made our way to a most amazing freshwater beach.  We arrived at the beach shortly after 4:00p.m. so we still had ample daylight to scope out a campsite and explore the beach. I kicked off my shoes and we walked barefoot in the sand from one end to the other. We found a flat site just up off the beach with a fire pit already set up.

Clayton started on supper and I set up the tent and bedrolls. We had a glass of wine and sat around the fire watching the moon come up over the trees. I gave mom and dad another call – reception here was not as good but our call was short and they were assured that we were safe on land once more.

We got up in the middle of the night to another bright shining moon – casting crisp as sunlight shadows on the sand beach. I truly felt like we were as close to heaven as possible.

DAY FOUR – OCTOBER 2, 2012 – 0 (paddling) miles

We woke up to the sound and sight of our tent being blown around by the wind. We made breakfast and the wind kicked up some more. Our entire tent leaned sideways in the wind – robust little Trango and a purchase that we have never once regretted.

We had decided the previous night that we would spend the day on Buzzard Beach. As it turned out, we wouldn’t have had a choice anyway. The winds were blowing from the south and the waves were crashing on our shore. Any attempt to try to launch the canoe would likely result in swamping or capsizing.

We spent the day exploring the beach and surrounding area. At one point in time the area had been used as a winter logging camp. We saw what looked like they may have been outlines for cabins a little ways in the bush. At the north-eastern end of the beach it looked like someone had set up a group use area with a huge fire pit area surrounded by four big logs for seats. There were a number of flat areas for tenting and they’d even put in “toilets” so you didn’t have to squat over a log.

 

 

We walked to the west end of the beach with our Kobos and a black bean salad we’d made up earlier in the day. There was a sunny spot out of the wind and we had a quiet little picnic before going back to the tent where we read for a little while, hoping for the wind to die down, even momentarily.

 

 

The wind continued on so we propped up the canoe so Clayton could set up the stove for supper without fear of it blowing out before cooking our meal. We finished the wine off and cleaned up. Clayton started a fire and the wood, which had burned only reluctantly the previous night, caught instantly in the wind crackling and popping. We were scared of sparks being carried off into the dry bush, so the fire was short lived. We passed around the Jagermeister as we let the fire die down.

As Clayton and I headed to bed we voiced concerns about the wind, which had not let up at all during the day and was still blowing when we zipped up the tent. If it kept up we would not be able to get off the beach the next day. We had enough food for at least a couple more days, but when I spoke with Mom again she said that there was some nasty weather coming our way. We didn’t want to be stranded out there in less than ideal conditions. We drifted off to sleep with the tent flapping and leaning with each gust.

I woke in the middle of the night to a deafening silence. The wind had died down completely and the lake was completely still. The moon provided enough light that we could have paddled across the lake with no aid. I felt some relief and hope that it would stay calm.

Canoe Trip - Fall 2012 - Part ll

DAY TWO – Sunday September 30, 2012 – 10.5 miles

I woke in the morning to hear Clayton getting dressed. It had cooled off overnight and I lay in my warm sleeping back for a little while longer, then got dressed and packed up the inside of the tent (stuffing sleeping bags into their pouches and deflating and rolling up our air-mattresses. Clayton already had the stove going to make coffee. I joined him as he was pumping water to make milk for the coffee and the oatmeal. I told him to make just enough for the oatmeal and when he asked why I surprised him with a small bottle of Sangster’s Rum Cream I’d filled the previous morning before we left the city. We had some coffee, which tasted quite luxurious compared to our usual camp coffee, started the oatmeal, and while it sat cooling took down the tent and packed it up. We sat sharing the oatmeal in comfortable silence. There were some geese on the lake and Clayton thought he spotted some gulls down the lake with his binoculars. After breakfast we quickly washed up the dishes and packed the bags. The canoe was easily loaded up and we were on the lake by 10:00 and started our day-two paddle.

The previous evening we’d noticed another point of land about half a mile away that looked like it might be a possible campsite. We decided since it was on our way that we’d check it out in case we ever decided to come back this way. The point could definitely hold a tent but the area wasn’t as big or as flat as where we had camped.

As we made our way to the portage the white things that Clayton thought were gulls we found were actually buoys (bleach bottles) tied down marking low water and rocky areas. We remembered that we didn’t have a bailer (oops!) and saw that one of the markers was actually two bottles tied together. We “borrowed” one of the two bottles to make a bailer for our canoe. J Two minutes later we were at the portage. This one was very short and we were able to take the heavier items down in one trip and just pick up the canoe with the rest of the gear for the second trip. It was amazing to see how many fishing boats and motors were stored at these points –money just sitting there. We also saw the skeletal remains of an old wooden boat from many days gone by.

The next lake, Violet Lake, was very pretty with all the fall colours. Our route led us down into a narrows and our map indicated that there were rapids at this point. We approached it and all we could see were rocks due to the low water. Thinking there might be an alternate route that wouldn’t involve portaging we paddled into an adjacent bay. Nothing. So we went back, prepared to portage the canoe over the rocks. To our surprise and delight we found that there was a small winding channel connecting the two narrow parts of the lake and we were able to pull the canoe through using our paddles and moving slowly. There was another narrows a ways up but it was a lot wider and deeper and we had no problem just paddling through, keeping an eye out for rocks.

Just before we headed into Eagle Lake’s Trout Hole 2 we stopped for a bite to eat on a sunny shore.

Heading into the lake it began to get windier and choppier. Unfortunately the wind was against us (isn’t that usually the case?) We had to dig deep and just paddle to get through the next section. There was little talking as we concentrated on getting to the lee parts of islands and points coming up.

As we rounded the last point I could see the creek opening where it spilled into Eagle from Teggau Lake. I had been looking forward to this part of the canoe trip, and introducing Clayton to an amazing, beautiful lake bordered by towering red and white pines and sheer rock faces. As we made our way up the slow flowing creek it didn’t look quite like I had remembered. The fire that had come through a few years back was more extensive than it looked. The entire portage on both sides was full of burned and charred tree trunks. The last time I’d paddled up that creek it was almost like paddling into a dark tunnel of forest rising up on both sides. I felt completely exposed this time.

The creek was much lower than the last time I was there, and I just attributed this to the low lake levels we’d seen elsewhere on our trip. But as we rounded one corner of the creek we could see what looked like the water line at eye level. As we got closer we could see a beaver had built a dam right across the creek. Since it wasn’t very high, and beavers build sturdy and robust dams, we were able to paddle up to it, step onto the dam and pull the canoe up and over – even fully loaded with gear. Above the dam the creek was as high as I’ve ever seen it but it was still flowing slower than normal. The water here was also unnaturally clear. Eagle Lake is usually kind of murky and you can’t see much beyond three feet down. The creek was nearly crystal clear and we could see every blade of grass and beaver-chewed stick that lay on the bottom.

We arrived at the bottom of the portage hopeful that the fire hadn’t made its way much further but as we walked the trail to Teggau it was apparent the fire had burned right up into the surrounding forest. Putting in and then paddling up through the narrows before the main lake was sad. Fire had ravaged most of the shorelines and as far back as you could see to the south. The north face had fared a little better, but this was the side with the sheer rock cliffs and we couldn’t see over them. I pointed out one potential campsite I had used years before but it was pretty much decimated from the fire. We decided to keep going to option number two, at the mouth of the narrows across from the rock cliffs, normally a spectacular view. This was no better and in fact was worse. The entire south-eastern shore looked like a post-apocalyptic world, devoid of trees or any other greenery. To make matters even more difficult the south wind was pushing the water into the rock face and it was bouncing back making the waves unpredictable and not unlike being in a washing machine. We pulled the canoe up as soon as we could and scouted out anywhere that may be used for a campsite. It was quickly evident that we were not going to find anything suitable on the big lake so we carefully made our way back to the narrows and into calmer waters.

We checked out each small bay and finally ended up back at option one. As far as campsites went it was technically ideal, with a large flat area on which to set up the tent, a flat rocky area to cook dinner and a fire pit already made. Aesthetically it was a barren and charred moonscape, but it would have to do. It was going on 4:00 and we didn’t have time to portage back down and search for another spot. So we set up the tent and then sat on the sunny rocks and read and journalled for a little while. I looked over at one point to see my husband fast asleep on the rock.  Once again we had a quick dip and air-dried before getting dressed and starting dinner over a glass of wine. We cooked up some pasta with herb&garlic sauce and a freeze-dried Hawaiian chicken with pineapple rice. The dehydrated meals are light-weight, water-proof and actually quite tasty. They have come a long way. The one thing I really missed, especially when setting up camp, and there’s no reason we couldn’t have brought some along, is beer. A couple of six packs wouldn’t have added much weight, and it would have been cooled quite nicely in the fall waters. Next time!

After dinner I checked to see if we had any cell service and once more was totally surprised to find one bar although I did have to walk around a bit to find it. I reassured Mom again that we were safe and enjoying ourselves immensely. Then Clay foraged for wood and got a blazing fire going while I struggled to get a line over an old tree so we could hang our food bags.

We had another night with a clear sky and full moon. It rose over the ridge behind our tent, silhouetting the skeletal remains of burnt pines. It was so bright and beautiful and lit up our entire little bay. I lay down on the rock to enjoy the night sky and watched the moon illuminate a thin band of clouds that were drifting by overhead. They seemed to move very quickly, which was odd because there was nary a breeze in our bay that evening. I realized it wasn’t clouds that were moving but the Northern Lights. I have seen some spectacular displays of northern lights before but usually in the winter on a clear and cold -35 degree night. But I’ve rarely seen then so vibrant and active. The lights were skipping across the night sky, changing colours as fast as I could name them and radiating out in all directions from a central point in the sky like a massive multi-pointed star. It was truly amazing to watch.

 

The weather up to this point had cooperated wonderfully. I went to sleep hoping the trend would continue.

Canoe Trip - Fall 2012 - Part 1

Hey folks in blog-land...Remember me? Ah...probably not - I've been noticeably absent these last6 months...It's not that I haven't had anything to write, I've just been busy and chose to abandon the blog for a while. I can't promise that it won't happen again...and I thank those of you who still check in from time to time.

The next few posts detail a canoe trip my husband and I took this past fall. It was the longest paddling trip I've been on and when I feel stressed at work, or frustrated by life I return to this trip in my mind and am instantly calmed. Read on and you'll see why...

DAY ONE – Saturday September 29, 2012 – 9.3 miles

We arrived at Mom and Dad’s with the news that we were going to head off that afternoon. The original plan was to leave on Sunday but the weather forecast was calling for cooler temperatures and the possibility of rain into Tuesday and Wednesday. Saturday was blistering hot (for September) and Eagle Lake was pristine like glass, a rarity in the fall. Our revised plan had us leave from Mom and Dad’s and head backward along our planned route. The reason being we would get the “big lake” paddle out of the way. Eagle can be unpredictable and since it is quite open in spots it can get pretty rough and dangerous when the wind kicks up.

So we left the dock at 2:00 and began our adventure.

The first couple of hours went quickly and we made good time across Eagle. Our map was good but we still had a couple of “where are we?” moments as we tried to decipher the lay of the land – the islands looking like mainland upon first glance until we paddled a bit more and saw them from different angles.



 

Our first destination was Walleye Lake. Dad had suggested we head into the smaller lakes for a couple of reasons. They would be more remote so a lesser chance of seeing other boats (most boats on Eagle are those of the motorized variety), and to avoid the big lake and having to paddle through the larger bays which get very choppy. We found the portage easily and began the trek to transfer gear from one end to the other. I had taken off my shoes and socks when we hit shore as it was quite muddy. The water was quite low this year and the bay in which the portage was located was shallow. Clayton and I sank to our ankles as we pulled the canoe up to the shore. I grabbed the first load and headed up the trail barefoot (Bob would have been proudJ). The path was soft and mossy and covered with leaves making for a refreshing walk up to the next lake. I dropped our gear next to a couple of boats (and a gas can0 that had been left on the lake by one of the local tourist outfitters for fishing. I met Clayton on the way back with his load of stuff. We returned for a second trip, me with the remaining gear and Clayton with the canoe. It took a couple tries to figure out the canoe but after using one of our inflatable pillows to cushion his bony shoulders from the hard wooden yoke he was able to carry the canoe up the portage. It is balanced quite nicely and since it doesn’t weigh very much (relatively speaking) once it’s on the shoulders it’s just a matter of watching where you step.

We got up into Walleye Lake and loaded the canoe again and set off to find a campsite for the night. Dad had pointed out some islands that he thought might be suitable so we set off in that direction. After circling one island that had no flat areas we spotted a point that had clearly been used for shore lunches. It had a large clear mossy area on which to set up a tent, and was basically a big flat rock. We unloaded the canoe, set up the tent and then took a quick dip in the lake and dried off in the sun before we proceeded to start dinner. It had been a very warm day for September and it was nice to feel refreshed and somewhat clean before bed.

Our sunset (I claimed it as ours because there was no one else on the lake seeing the majesty of Mother Nature) was stunning and we sat staring at it over a glass of wine, unable to look away for fear of missing part of it.

Just before we ate dinner on a lark I turned on my phone. I was surprised to find a signal, a weak one but a signal nonetheless. I dialed Mom and Dad’s number and had a brief chat with her. It was very surreal to be as remote as we were yet still connected to the world. I know Mom appreciated the call, knowing we were safe, because she looked worried that afternoon when we left the dock.

After supper we started a fire (actually Clayton started it) and we sat around the fire passing our flask of Drambuie back and forth a couple times. The moon was rising through the trees behind us – it was large and bright and looked full. (Full moon was actually the following night - September 30^th, 2012) It was a magical night with sunsets and moonrises and soft silence. I said something to Clay and heard an echo, then another. When it got quiet again we called out. This time we heard 5 echoes back and forth across the bay. It was so totally cool!

The night was warm and the tent glowed in the moonlight. I slept on and off and had to get up to go to the bathroom. When I stepped outside the tent I was bathed in moonlight so bright that I had a shadow as sharp as it would have been in sunlight. I stood there staring at the moon, which had come around to shine down on our point. The night was still and I drank in the moment for fear I wouldn’t be able to recall it again.

A Trip Back in Time

~~ For my wonderful and 'forever' friend, "N"~~

Last month I bumped into my best friend from grade 2 while visiting my parents for the Easter Weekend. “N” was back in town visiting family for the weekend as well and when we ran into each other at the local liquor store we let out a school-girl squeal and rushed forward into a bear hug that must have encompassed a few years. We stood back and scrutinized each other – and decided that, yes, we looked exactly the same as we did back in grade 2 ;0). Aside from a brief visit at the Winnipeg Folk Festival about 10 years ago we hadn’t seen each other since University days by which time we had pretty much gone our separate ways – I had moved to a different town after grade 10 and different majors had taken us in different directions -- our paths hadn’t crossed much after that.

Interestingly enough it wasn’t the University years we’d gravitated to, but the first time we met (in grade two) and our very formative early high school years. We began to reminisce while our husbands stood patiently to the side balancing bottles of wine and assorted liquors for our respective suppers that evening. From that point it was a breakneck race to try to catch up on close to 20 years of being apart…

Flash back to 1972…I had been transferred (accidentally) to a different public school on the other side of town. I’m not sure why my parents didn’t correct the change but they let it stand. I was quite nervous about changing schools – especially after three years with my current friends. But a little girl with dark brown braids decided she would be my friend. I have a very distinct memory of riding home one day on the school bus repeating “N”’s phone number over and over in my head so I wouldn’t forget it: 52-18-52-18. I barely remember my own phone number from those days let alone any of my other friends from that era. I’m not sure what it is that bonds young girls of that age but whatever it was we connected early in the year and formed a tie that has remained to this day.

Like most young girls we idolized the older kids. Our object of affection was a grade 6 boy named Graham. We wrote a song about him and I can still remember the melody and lyrics to this day. I’m sure we scarred him for life with our constant fawning.

“N” and I were, in my eyes, inseparable for that year and then inexplicably at the end of the year I was transferred back to my original primary school for grade three onwards. “N” and I spoke on the phone from time to time during the years leading up to high school, but we found little to say since we were no longer in the same school.

Fast forward to high school and we easily picked up where we’d left off. We had our boy-crushes there as well, even going so far as to join the cheerleading squad so we could be near the sports-teams. We decided to take up tennis and went to the local Canadian Tire store to pick up cheap tennis racquets and some balls. My first serve went way long over the fence and out of the tennis courts. The two of us fell down laughing and we realized shortly after that that we weren’t cut out for tennis. We even joined the cross-country running team…for about a week. There wasn’t much we wouldn’t try, at least once.

 We had nick-names for each other, based on the first syllable of our last names. On my birthday one year “N” called and told me to listen to the local radio station. Sure enough shortly after that call I heard the radio announcer wish a “Very Happy Birthday to The Swan from The Pack”. I burst out laughing because he had gotten it totally wrong and I joked later that “The Swan” had a much nicer ring to it.

 “N” and I shared a passion for writing and photography. We would take our Kodak Instamatic cameras out on walks and compose what we thought were magazine worthy photographs of light dappled streams or fields of wind-blown grass. We took many portrait shots as well, of “dreamy girl staring off into the distance” or “pensive girl sitting on a rock lost in thought”. The poems we wrote were angst-ridden and love-lorn or adjective-filled descriptions of nature.

We spent many afternoons using our creativity, making mixed tapes using a tape recorder and a record player, building funky snowmen and experimenting with makeup and costumes but most of all we laughed a LOT. And that is what I remember the most.

We had so much more to say that day in the liquor store. I discovered that she, too, had embraced running and with her husband had decided to try to run 25 half marathons before they were 50. She urged me to do the same…heck I’m only three short and I have a couple years to do it. Maybe one day we can run one together…

We exchanged phone numbers (I didn’t memorize this one) and e-mail addresses and vowed to keep in touch. We each have two teenage boys so I’m sure we will have plenty more to talk about.

Another year in the books – Random Thoughts - 2011

At the end of 2010 I threw out a random list of things that were on my mind – some from the year that had just passed, and other things that were just “on my mind” and were really not worthy of devoting an entire blog to. Since this will be my first blog post of 2012 it will be more reflective on the past year than anything else.

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With each passing year I become more and more comfortable in my own skin and happy to be who I am, at any particular moment. Due to pestering injuries in 2011, I had to take a hiatus from running, but never for one minute thought that just because I wasn’t running, didn’t mean that I wasn’t a runner anymore. Monet will always be an artist, Stephen King will always be an author and I will always be a runner.

In 2011 I learned to embrace substitutes. Because I wasn’t running I needed to do something to keep myself from going bat crazy. My body is used to exercising and sweating and I needed to find an alternative. Ergo, the bike trainer. It was the bane of my existence for the first few months I rode, but in time it became something that I (*gasp*) actually looked forward to during the week. It is in no way a replacement for running, but it does get my heart rate up, and I don’t have to bundle myself up in a zillion layers to go outside to work out. (Which, by the way, is one thing I don’t miss about winter running.) But there are days I both curse and commend Coach Troy for his demonic workouts.

I figured my children would one day be taller than me, but when I saw them starting to tower over me it still came as a shock.

With the new coffee maker my mother-in-law purchased for us I fear I may have become somewhat of a coffee snob. This coffee maker has a bean hopper that you fill every few days and grinds the beans moments before brewing the pot. The stainless steel carafe holds 12 cups and doesn’t require a burner to keep the coffee hot (or continue to “cook” it). It’s funny what you get used to. I don’t think I could give that baby up without a fight! (firstworldproblem)

I have a Twitter account, but I still really don’t get Twitter…

I am almost 2 years closer to 50. That thought doesn’t scare me like I thought it would. Maybe because I still don’t even feel like I’m 40.

I wish I had more time to read…books, blogs, and articles.

That said, I have been listening to audiobooks during my walk to and from work each day. I liken it to being a kid again with a parent reading you a story. Books I have enjoyed include “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein (this had me in tears during my walk home – I hope people didn’t think me depressed), “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer (the movie by the way is in theatres) “A Visit From the Goon Squad” by Jennifer Egan (a quirky story that had a plot similar to what we computer programmers call “Spaghetti Code”. Each chapter dealt with a character who was introduced, sometimes in a very minor way, in a previous chapter. It kind of goes back and forth between past and present.), “A Kind of Vanishing” by Lesley Thompson, “The Sign” by Raymond Khoury (this book got my husband and I through 13 hours of driving between Calgary and Winnipeg last summer and made the hours fly by.), and “Hour
Game” by David Baldacci. I’ve toyed with the idea of listening to books when I start running again. I’ll have to get back to you on that depending on how it goes.

I could ramble relentlessly so that’s all I have for now. Hopefully the next blog post will be more worthy. I have a bunch of ideas, just not any that have come to fruition.