April Showers

A cool quiet start to another Sunday, this one the final one of April, the smell of rain in the air, lingering, waiting, allowing the morning’s rituals to begin without interruption.  There goes the family from down the street, off to their regular Sunday service, a tradition that is slowly dying a lonely death; it’s comfort and lessons and sense of community a thing of the past.  The sparrows, a mated pair, dance along the ground in front of the house, picking through bits of sand and gravel together, singing happy songs to one another as they pick the sidewalk clean.  The Robins, Mr and Mrs have chosen our little spruce tree out front as the suitable kind of tree for a nest, and have been spotted occasionally this week pushing bits of string and dry grasses into a shrouded, secluded, section of spruce boughs, safe from the cats, getting ready for the arrival of offspring. 

The blue-jay is breaking the quiet now with his shrieking call, and the cat who can’t decide if he wants in or out or both, is crying to be let back in, having just wanted out, presumably to trample the sprouting shoots in the back flower garden and enrich the soil with his own unique fertilizer.  The kids from down the street are playing in their back yard, and much like the cat, are sounding like they don’t know on which side of the door they’d prefer to be.

At least my coffee is safe and provides enough reassurance to see me through the beginnings of the day.  The end of April is a mixed bag for me, taxes are due, a birthday awaits, and as has been the case for the past few years, a headache calls and wants to keep me company.  A skeptic might say the three are related, and might even throw in the season’s uncertain weather as a factor for my casually caustic mood, with it’s shorter than normal fuse and nerves more closer to the surface. Maybe.  But I’m still in the mood to disagree regardless, and know its best to keep my distance lest I find myself in the midst of an argument I don’t want any part of, but with a disposition that wills me to win.

I refer to the episodes as headaches, but that’s entirely incorrect, as it would suggest the only manifestation is some head-related pain, and would that it were so, but no, its an entire body-mind affliction – like all ailments are though we choose to focus on the most dominant symptom – and I’m learning to recognize the changes and though so far I have been powerless to prevent them from assembling into a much larger force, I am comforted in the knowledge that by being present in the moment and conscious of the process as it evolves, my being aware of the altered states allows me to lessen their effect somewhat.

Minor depression-like symptoms coupled with feelings of pressure in the head and facial region, acute headache on one side or the other, usually the left, unless preceded by visual aura which almost exclusively affects the left field of vision but carries a right-sided pain.  Days before my neck will ache deeply into my spine, and you’ll find me tilting my head from side to side, slowly stretching to relieve the tensioned spring that runs from the top of my head to the middle of my back.  Then come the carb and salt cravings, like some bovine-induced spirit, I seek starchy foods and snacks to placate my mood and my uneasiness.  Keep an eye on the ego during this stage, as it’s apt to want to drive the emotional bus for a few days, self-centered analysis of issues, and an overwhelming inward focus dominate my thinking which will be cloudy to a degree, the ability to concentrate on fine details gets lost in the shifting priorities of self and connection to others.  And once that’s set in, then the pain builds and the eyes become light sensitive; all sensory inputs are overloaded really, smells induce aversion, and sounds, while not amplified, seem to linger longer in my head, muddying into a ringing of sorts, a frequency high enough to cause discomfort should I focus on it, but low enough to become lost in the mix.

I think I would be able to handle that combination on its own, but fate prefers to throw me a larger than fair share of lack of motivation along with a reduced capacity for feeling joy or happiness beyond not feeling pain, and that pushes me over an edge where I stay for awhile, stumbling blindly through the mess my mind-body has created, waiting for the curtains to be pulled back again (as long as my eyes can tolerate it) until things clear again and life returns to its wonderfully simple ways.

Disease? Sickness? Mental defect? Disorder?

No, its all part of how I’m wired.  I’m pretty sure I’ve been like this since day one, though I’ve had ups and downs through the years, where parts of the whole affliction were missing altogether, or others much more dominant than the rest, and able to be passed off as something else, treated as symptoms of something altogether unrelated, calmed by medicated shrapnel that happened to hit on the way by.  Moody and misunderstood; quiet and distant, brooding and seemingly solemn, preferring to thrive inwardly, letting few inside; that’s how it would read to an outsider, though the reality, as always, is something entirely different.

No, you’re right, I don’t get too excited at life’s events – unless I’m there in that darkened state, when I’m more apt to respond with something cutting and sharp, the attacking protection of a wounded animal – nor do I get too low, preferring to keep an even keel, riding the waves for what they are, returning to a fairly normal emotional baseline as soon as possible, but able to find nourishment and happiness in even the smallest detail, the tiniest speck of light, trying to carry those with me for the inevitable times when I’ll need them again, waiting it out.

The sparrows are still singing, and its getting cooler out there, as is my coffee, the Robins are puffing up as they sit on the wires, the rain clouds are slowly settling in.  Luckily for me my clouds are finally parting, though it may be a few days until I get that comforting feeling of community back where it belongs. I’ll just stand back awhile and let this storm roll through, then we’ll see what begins to blossom afterward.  After all, April showers bring May flowers, right? 

Returning Home

Its Saturday, the Saturday sandwiched between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, and we're back home - our childhood home - taking advantage of the long weekend to visit family and friends we haven't seen in awhile. I'm up early, no surprise, the open window of the bedroom allowing the wonderful sounds of Spring to filter through untouched, the robins and sparrows singing morning songs, the dog across the back-lane barking quietly to be let back in, a lone car driving past in the distance, a small prairie town slow to stir on a holiday weekend.

 The cat and I have emerged from our room, him eager to eat, me trying silently to find the essentials to make coffee in a kitchen that isnt mine, yet isnt quite foreign either, belonging to Karen's mom, and I succeed after a few wrong turns and locate the paper filters without waking the house. Missions accomplished, cat and I head to the front room and establish our personal territories, me in the green chair and ottoman beside the picture window, cat now on my lap, paws crossed, alert and attentive, but able to sleep should the lack of stimulation warrant.

 The sun is slowly rising, a few wisps of cloud linger from the storms that flirted with us overnight, the streets and driveways still dry. Its cooler this morning, great sleeping weather with the bedroom window open, if you can ignore the first birds of the day, but its Easter and a time for renewal and rebirth, and so the day beckons to make best use of the silence.

 Returning 'home' means different things to different people, depending of course on your age and stage in life: the recently graduated will soon be coming back from University in the cities, starting work in summer jobs to help pay for next September's schooling, returning to familiar rooms and routines, families happy to have their children back under the same roof once more, clinging to the remaining strands of the fraying family unit. Those that have moved on and started families of their own elsewhere, return for brief visits and for cherished memories in the making, the stuff of future photo albums and remember-whens. 

But while the house and location are still the same, the rooms - perhaps the same as the ones you occupied while growing up, or maybe thats now the sewing room or craft room, and now you're banished to the guest room in the basement or some second floor, the same room aunts and uncles share when they stop by to visit - the rooms have been repurposed in any case, no longer 'yours' but still you've got first dibs, and a childhood of memories linger in the old wood panelled walls, and tiny closets, the wooden rods grooved and worn from years of sliding wire hangers, of expanding wardrobes and style changes, today the home to spare summer dresses and fall and winter coats, but with just enough room left for your things when you return.

 Theres a slower pace to this place now, the storefronts on Main Street have changed since you cruised the streets on Friday nights, looking for friends and something to do. The old facades have been updated, some have been torn down, others remain unchanged, decaying while providing a glimpse of their past. Storefront signs now boast the sons and daughters of the original shop and office owners, businesses that still operate under the names you remember, now run by new owners, the inevitable pace of progress moving forward.

 We delude ourselves when we move from home that we're off to build a better life than the one that raised us into who we are today, with our bigger houses, more toys, and grander lifestyles than the ones we left behind, proving to ourselves and the rest of the world that we demand and deserves respect for who we are today, despite where we started, running from the small towns and little opportunities to the cities with their bright lights and constant hum, multitude of choices and options and promises galore. Like our parents before us who left farms and rural homesteads for a better life in the towns, we're doing what we know, moving on and moving up, but we know its just a game.

 We can pretend on these long weekends that we aren't from this place anymore, that we're different people somehow, with bigger and different problems served by a different and larger distant population, but when you stand out in that back yard now, the one that now seems so much smaller than when you were a child and days lasted forever, and you watch the neighbors working in their yards, tending to the massive garden plots that back onto that common lane, the piles of yard clippings and compost standing there waiting for a turn with the fork, or you listen to the familiar ticking of that anniversary clock in the front room, its pendulum keeping perfect time, you know its all a grand illusion, that while time and distance may have taken you from this place, this place was never taken from you, and in these tree-lined streets and wide deep lots still beats your heart, the seeds of who you've become were sewn here all those years ago.

 The boy and cat see this place as slower and more quiet, with different things to see and do, and memories here from visits past but they each prefer the familiar comforts and routines of the certainty they find when we return back home. And you know what? So do we. Home is always good for the soul, no matter how much its changed.

Spring Storms

Stormy

Not once have I ever said I hate rain, even if it ruined plans, stopped a picnic, or just going to the playground to fool around. The way it's hits your window pane, the amazing feeling as it rushes down your face, or just the way it dances as it hits the ground. The way you can look up at the sky and see a million raindrops coming down. You can see the beautiful flashes of lightning and hear the huge bang of the thunder, you just stand there at the window as you count how long it takes for the second flash of light to come or skipping a heartbeat listening to the thunder shake you from under your feet. Everyone talks about dancing in the rain but no one truly does it. As I'm outside enjoying the whole experience of the peaceful silence, and finally letting all my thoughts run through my mind and singing my heart out because no one cares to listen, I look out at the street full of cars because people are so busy with their lives to remember to enjoy those little moments that make a life time worth living. As you sit there in your house warm and dry, I'll be outside letting my imagination explore and my heart flow and everything In between. Have fun for that little moment, I’ll let my hair down as it’s soaking wet, let my make up run down my cheeks and becoming so heavy I can barley move. I'll be in my flip flops and my blue shorts with the same old ripped up sweater from all the other times I decided to jump into deep puddles and become muddy because nothing else mattered at that moment. As you enjoy your life the way you want to through a window, I will enjoy mine through those hard, tough storms!

- Paige

A springtime Sunday morning, the house quiet and still again, Mother Nature brought back some cooler weather these last few days, reminding us that She really does have a sense of humour; those summer-like temps we had at the beginning of the week were a tease, the kind you pulled on the little brown-haired girl who sat in front of you in grade three because you knew you kinda liked her, and you waited for that eventual tease in return, a cat and mouse game children understand and naturally take to with ease.  Mother Nature is still a child at heart – she has to be – it’s 23 degrees out this morning and the furnace is quietly churning out comfort and heat, when the other day we considered turning on the air conditioning, and Tuesday evening we had a lovely, rare March thunderstorm, the kind normally reserved for summer, with purple clouds and bright streaks of yellow lightning and rolling thunder, the kind that makes you stop what you are doing and open the doors and head outside to experience it all firsthand.

You might have noticed the poetic musings of Paige at the top of today’s post, writing inspired by that same thunderstorm, her viewpoint coming from the heart of a 14 year old girl also making sense of her world these days.  I’ve been fortunate this week to have a number of conversations with her, in person and via text and email about life and beliefs and spirituality and everything that runs through our heads as we try to find where we fit into this constantly changing world.  And I’ve learned as much or more than I’ve taught and shared, the benefit of being a good listener and approaching any exchange of ideas with an open mind and an appetite for another perspective. 

Our children know far more than we give them credit for, and they understand things much more complex than we realize, some of it matter-of-factly in the way only children can, gleaning the true essence of concepts without the baggage of a lifetime’s worth of cluttered ideas and cynical jading.  True, context and application of concepts is required to move closer to actual understanding and mastery of ideas, but we shouldn’t be surprised that our kids have been paying attention and asking questions of their world, much like we did and still do.

Paige has the gift of insight already, and she’s able to communicate her ideas and her impressions of the world in a way that caught me off guard; unexpected to say the least, proud and extremely happy for her at the same time.  I coached her in hockey a few years ago and we had a connection – as a coach you try to reach every child to understand how to best provide them with the information they need to learn to play the game.  Some kids are eager students, some will only listen to their own mom or dad, and some take a while to warm up to your style and personality.  That’s just life. Paige and I clicked and bonded to the point where for the next few years when our hockey paths diverged and Riley played on different teams than her, if she saw me at the rink she’d run through and over people to come and give me a huge hug. We’d sit together at the games and catch up. She's a great kid and a good influence on me! 

She's had some troubles at school, bullies, mean girls, the whole teenage drama - she's a bit of a tomboy (hello? She plays boys hockey and loves to hit!) and so the girls had turned on her, and some of her guy friends had too - she's shared some of her experiences and feelings with me, and I've talked with her mom about the two of us keeping an open dialogue so she can express herself when she feels no one else is listening. She's turning a corner and finding her way back to who she used to be.

As parents we too often forget that our children are growing up everyday, changing and becoming who they will be, influenced by everything around them including us, and we may neglect to nurture that bond as closely as we once did, forgetting they still need that love and support in the most obvious ways, and that they need our ears much more now than ever before, but also our trust and compassion maybe even more.  But we know, as do they, that it’s a two way street, that we need their trust and compassion to do what we think is right and best in their interests as we make decisions that seem harsh and unfair, though guided by experience and wisdom – although we all know that will get called into question regardless. 

Will they make mistakes? Absolutely! That’s how they will learn the valuable life lessons – we can teach and preach and lecture as much as we want, and they may listen and hear and understand what we’re saying, but they will still need to experience it firsthand (sometimes more than once, sadly) in order to learn the lessons. That’s where their personal wisdom will come from.

Will we make mistakes as parents? You bet! We’re not perfect either, and that’s how we will learn, and how we will be able to become better parents as we grow and progress together with our children.  It takes strength and courage on both sides to get through the teenaged years without one or the other threatening to move out or be thrown out – that’s the way love goes – emotions, any emotions, are a sign of human connection with another, and a sign of the love we all share.

Be honest with your kids, let them see that you’re human, allow them into your world when they are ready and able to understand how and why you do what you do for them – they are likely figuring this out without your input right now – better you give them some of your own insight to guide their understanding, lest they write you off as being one dimensional and not engaged or interested in their problems and concerns. The sooner the better.  Worst case, they get distracted by the shiny objects while you’re talking with them, best case? You each learn a little more about each other.

Don’t watch your children’s lives from behind the glass, get out there with them in those puddles, splash around and let your guard down, enjoy who they are becoming and help them figure out the pieces and give them the space and time to get wet and dry off again.

A little rain never hurt anyone…

     *     *     *

Could you do me a favor?  Could you leave me your feedback on Paige’s writing?

I’d like to pass it on to her, to let her know your thoughts.  It would mean a lot to me, and be invaluable to her.  Thanks!

March Madness

Another Sunday morning, the house quiet except for the echo of the ticking clock, the heartbeat of the house keeping score of the moments.  The sunlight is pouring through the east and south windows this morning, still low in the sky thanks to it being March, but the intensity of the light is both a blessing and a curse.  It’s been a strange winter for us this year, mild temperatures, little snow – except for that 3 or 4 inches we got a few weeks back, seemingly out of spite – but the past week has seen all that disappear, the grass greening up nicely now, the birds singing happily overhead, those red squirrels busier than ever.

It’s the middle of March! Much too soon for highs in the 80’s, but that’s what we’re heading for today, decks and patios are being cleaned and tidied and the gas grills are getting a good workout, I swear I hear a lawnmower out there in the distance – we know this is an illusion of early Summer, but we’re enjoying it all the same – t-shirts and shorts feel so liberating after all these months, but the boots and heavier jackets still wait patiently in the front closet, just in case.

We had good friends over last evening for some great food and drinks and even better company, a spur of the moment decision thanks to the beautiful weather, something we never would have done on a normal March day, but we’ve learned to take advantage of opportunities that way. Something about making hay while the sun shines.

picture by Marco Langbroek

That low bright sun and I are having our annual fight right now, the Spring may bring April showers and May flowers, but for me it also brings the reality of a migraine at some point, and usually one that arrives and sits and stays with me a while, like an old friend who stops by for a visit to catch up on things.  I like my old friends just fine, though this one could use a refresher course on how to treat the host.  I can’t really argue though, as the severity of the headaches has diminished with the help of a preventative course of a low dose anti-depressant.  Too low a dose to be called Happy Pills, but enough it seems to keep things manageable, but still there have been times the last few days where nothing I do seems to help, my head feeling like it weighs 300 pounds and might fall to the floor if I move the wrong way – and I fully understand the ancients who drilled holes in the skulls of sufferers to try and release the pressure – if only it were that simple…

The meds have knocked things down just enough so I don’t have any aura warnings, well, not the visual ones I truthfully sort of enjoy – at least I knew what was coming next – now I wake one day with a stiff neck that is trying to pull my tailbone through my shoulders, and my shoulders together through my ears.  Stretching helps, but only so much and I know its only a matter of time until the headache will arrive to keep me company.

It’s March, and another season of hockey has come and gone, sad on one hand to see it go, happy on the other to have all that time back, though we don’t quite know what to do with that much freedom all at once.  Like a healed animal returned to the wild, when that cage door opens we bolt for cover, quickly away from our captors, into whatever hiding spot we can find.  Then at some point we stop and look around, getting our bearings, adjusting to the real light, looking with new eyes at the reality surrounding us…

Good Lord the house is a mess!  When’s the last time we seriously cleaned up around here? And why are the Christmas lights still coming on at 4:30 in the afternoon?  And wasn’t yesterday St Patrick’s Day? I don’t think the Santa Welcome Mat at the front door really works with all the emerald green shamrocks… Hey, when’s the last time these widows were washed? I can barely see across the street – I just thought those were flurries we always saw through the front windows!

And so it begins.  Spring cleaning.  Again, or still, I can’t decide which anymore, but its healthy to open up the windows and doors after the winter and let the fresh air back inside, mopping and dusting and going through the piles of stuff that have grown larger bit by bit, that closet you cringe at every time you open its door, the corner of the laundry room where the dust bunnies continue to congregate, now ready to hold general meetings about the state of their environment, ready to petition and march you out of office.

It’s a chance to take stock of what you have, what you need, and what you just plain want to keep in your life – the rest can be set aside for Goodwill or the summer yard sale, or the curb for trash day. It’s the beginnings of change, the kind that we all need in our lives, the constant change of renewal and rebirth, of new beginnings and moving forward again with all things important and dear to us.  We should do all this more often of course, but now’s as good a time as any to start again.

It’s Spring, so let’s use the freedom we’ve been given to make some positive changes this time around.  Be ruthless when you clean, making the tough choices and hard decisions about your ’stuff’ until you’ve arrived with the true essence of what you need.  Some old friends stay with you no matter what, others stop by every now and then for a much needed visit, and some you discover again even though you knew they were there all along. It’s been a good week for me and my friends; I think I’ll leave them all in the keep pile.

Now about that closet…

The Road Back

It's Sunday again, but now its March. The days, weeks and months stopping for no one this winter as we soldier on toward Spring. Six fresh inches of snow the other night reminds us that despite the unseasonably warm weather we've had to date, winter still exists and we still have to work through it; nothing comes for free. The neighbours fired up their snowblowers for the first real use this season, mine being buried behind the house and trapped by the backyard rink I made for the boy, sat quietly as I made my way down the new driveway the old-fashioned way, by shovelling.

 We almost needed that shovel last Sunday night as we made our way home from the hockey tournament in Altoona, WI, winter hitting our return path with fury, stranding cars and trucks and semis in the ditches around Fargo, ND, the interstates like skating rinks, a far cry from the weather we just left behind in Wisconsin, a place where it seemed Old Man Winter had yet to visit - the ground bare and brown everywhere except on the shaded slopes, pavement dry and easy to drive upon, footwear choices simple and comfortable.

 That's the way we found Altoona and neighbouring Eau Claire when we arrived last Thursday after our all day bus trip down. The Metropolis Resort made us feel very welcome and looked after our team's needs and accommodations with familiar Mid-Western hospitality and friendliness; a standard that we encountered everywhere we went during the trip: the local Mall, restaurants, shops and stores, and even at the rink, the central gathering place for our crew, where the coffee was decent, the service first rate, and the tournament well run and on time.

 Of course it helped some of our clan that there was a small local bar just across the street from the arena, one that welcomed us as friends and neighbours with a good stiff drink and a willing smile. It's a good thing the tournament only lasted 3 days - I don't think we could have kept up that pace for much longer!

 The boys fell in love with the water park and amusement centre in the hotel, and spent most of their waking hours in the water Friday although they had a game that evening there were no sanctions imposed by the coaches to stay off the slides or out of the water or eat certain foods so many hours before game time, no, this was a fun weekend away from playing hockey, a chance to be a team of 13 year olds, in a foreign land, experiencing everything together, strengthening the bonds that sport strives to create, away from the realities of everyday life back home. They should have been tired after that long day Thursday and playing in the water park all day Friday (we parents spent our day checking out the deals at the mall) but they didn't show it on the ice that evening, and skated away with a well deserved shut-out victory 6-0 over a team from Lakeland.

 Saturday brought us two scheduled games with time in between for the boys to check out the Adventure City amusement park side of the hotel, a $25 all-day pass gave them each unlimited access to most of the arcade games, laser-tag, batting cages, bumper cars, go carts and whatever else they had hidden back in that massive kid-freindly warehouse of fun! It was great to see them acting like kids in there, away from the pressures that the game places upon them, that we as parents place upon them to play and try and do their best, and win, not at all costs, but in reality at the expense of some childhood innocence for sure; here they could be what they are, kids hanging out doing stupid things together, sharing a laugh and making new friends with the guys that have shared a dressing room and practice ice all season but who somehow, you never quite really got the chance to know.

 Out here on the road, that changes.

 Maybe it's the long bus rides, or the pool or the hallways and hotel rooms away from the parents and coaches or maybe it's the freedom to be what they really are. Whatever it is, they found a way to take that next step and become a tighter, closer group, and we could see it developing Saturday on the ice, where they picked up a second victory 7-1 over host Altoona, then ended the evening with a lopsided 12-0 drummming of a lesser skilled team from River Falls.

 That game taught the boys the life lessons of fairness and respect and compassion in sport, where the mismatch in abilities was obvious from the first puck drop, and thanks to the tournament's rule of only posting a 6 goal differential no one except the time keeper knew the real score. The boys didn't try to run up teh score, or take liberties with hitting their opponents at every turn, no instead they decided on their own to tone it down a bit, to pass more and shoot from the outside lanes, and at the goalie and not the open corners or five-hole, where certain success would be found. They have been on the other end of those score this season together, and know what it feels like. As parents in the stands it was awkward and uncomfortable to watch, and we cheered for both teams good plays to help compensate our uneasiness.

 Afterward, back the hotel, which we found we shared with the River Falls team, their parents and coaches complimented us on our boys' behaviour and composure on the ice, and their respect for the game and their opponents abilities.

 We didn't want to tell them our boys were a year younger than theirs - we'll take that knowledge back home with us.

 Unfortunately in such a meaningless game, the frustration of being outplayed so completely is never lost on the losing team, and one boy on the opposing team took out that frustration on one of our players with a hard hit to the head that resulted in a quick loss of consciousness, and half a night's observation at the hospital and a concussion to take home as a nasty souvenir.

 Sunday's final game was even more meaningless, as our boys had already secured enough points through the round-robin play to take home first place regardless of the day's outcomes, but you have to finish what you started, and so playing a man down they faced Onalaska in a more evenly paced game to start, our boys seemed worn out from the weekend of fun and the early morning wake up and pack up a Sunday game entails, but after the final whistle had sounded, another shut-out victory of 7-0 was in the books and our boys mobbed each other in a group hug / huddle that has been a season in the making. 3 victories in 26 games of a regular season can have that effect on you. After the customary hand shakes between teams at center ice, both teams lined their respective blue lines to be awarded their tournament medals and then the awarding of the first place trophy to the St Vital Victorias, and also the trophy for Best Sportsmanship - earned as a result of taking the fewest number of penalties during the games - but also, I suspect for the way they handled themselves in the obvious mis-matched games.

 We watched the boys congratulate each other and themselves, the smiles difficult to contain, the pride in their accomplishment evident but tempered with humbleness and courtesy for our hosts and opposition, the weekend a success beyond any expectations or hopes just days earlier. For the coaches, another tournament victory to add to their numerous City and Provincial titles over the years, but they were certain to ensure the boys took their time celebrating after the game, posing as a team, posing with the trophies, enjoying the moment, a moment not everyone gets to savour in sport, that of being a champion. For a team that had little success to show for a year of hard work, determination, tremendous growth and personal accountability, a championship trophy and celebration felt like their Stanley Cup. And they deserve to be proud of their achievements.

Sometimes you need to travel a ways to find the very thing you've been searching so hard to find back home. That's the great thing about road trips, about the open road, you never know what you're going to find, or how you'll react. Last weekend we hit the road looking for fun, team growth and a bit of relaxation.

 As our bus pulled back into Winnipeg sometime after midnight Monday morning, we knew that our boys had discovered something much more within themselves, a maturity and responsibility to themselves, each other, and their opponents that will forever change who and what they are, and what they become.

 The season may have been a write-off, but after this trip the road back through the playoffs just got a whole lot more interesting, regardless of the final outcome. Have a great week - Go Vics!

On the Road Again

The open road, the long and winding road, that ribbon of highway; call it whatever you want, but there's something about a roadtrip that speaks to the soul of a wanderer. Maybe its the unknown, the blank canvas waiting for the first bold strokes, the story waiting to be written. Maybe its the hope for something better than what you're leaving behind, a clean break from the past as you drive toward undiscovered memories and experiences. Whatever it is, its calling to us.

We're on the road this weekend, we being the St Vital Minor Bantam Victorias hockey team and family members, heading from our home confines of Winnipeg, going south and eastward through North Dakota and Minnesota en route to Eau Claire, Wisconsin, where we'll put down roots for a few days while the boys play 4 games in the Altoona, WI Bantam Hockey Tournament, a round-robin series against Wisconsin teams. Its a 10 hour bus ride, depending on border wait times and stops for food and adult beverages, and we got underway well before sunrise, leaving home at 5:30 am, the bus pulling away just after 6.

Iphones, ipads, headphones and pillows line the aisleway, various forms of distractions for a captive audience, video displays await chosen movies to occupy and inspire the kids (and adults) anything to pass the hours.

Our boys have just finished their regular season, a disappointing year of 3-21-0-2. The losses may have become commonplace, but the growth and effort can't be overlooked, and as we pause this weekend before beginning playoffs next week, we know that the boys are better than their record suggests, and that anything can happen in the 'second season.'

It's one of the reasons we're loaded on this chartered bus rolling across the northern prairie today, the tournament has been scheduled since back in early November, a fun-filled weekend for team bonding and friendship strengthening around the pool, in the bumper cars and batting cages of the hotel's waterpark and amusement centre, the games at the rink an afterthought or excuse for the more important life-long memories that will be forged and cemented.

Theres an honesty about this land we're passing through, a reality that is rooted in a slower pace with a deep integrity, in the faces not afraid of hard work and sometimes difficult challenges to survive and thrive. You can see it out the window as we speed past. It's in the solemn church steeples and grain silos that dot the fields and forests and farmland out here, where winter can be a bitter mistress that will test your resolve and your courage but promises a sweet reward come spring and summertime; the contrast striking to the casual observer. Nature tests us and yet we continue to push forward, like the sapling growing wild on the shoulder of the interstate, bucking the winds and heavy snows, setting our roots deeper, determined to take hold and grow. A true survivor.

At 3-23-0-2 the boys understand that resolve, they've already faced a long winter of being pushed and pulled by their opposing 'winds' sometimes coming out on top, most times not, but they haven't cowered and withered away in the face of adversity. We'll see how well this group of saplings compares to their southern brethren in the next few days, whether they have the right combination of experience and talent to compete or not.

We're on the road today and maybe theres something better down this highway for the boys than what they left behind, but even if they don't win a single game, they will all be richer for the experiences and memories in ways that count for so much more than wins and losses. And that, is what builds true character and real growth, which is what we've been helping them find all along.

Frozen in Time

No, I haven't been found frozen solid in a snow bank downtown. I also haven't been laying on a beach in the sunny south, whiling away the hours in a rum-induced nirvana.

The reality, like always, is somewhere between the two extremes.

It's February, the groundhogs have or have not seen their shadows, St Valentine's is right around the corner, and January is in the rear view mirror, quickly fading from sight. Winter is still here in a way, it's been warmer than usual, but currently cold enough that the brass monkey is scared. Time continues to roll forward, no matter how involved in our own daily lives we get, we can't escape that reality that the clock is ticking.

Ticking towards what depends entirely on your fate, destiny or risk taking behaviors - you know who you are - but tick away it does; an orderly, steady, beat of moments and memories; the heartbeat of your time here. How you use those ticks and tocks may define success or failure for you; or you may have found a way to suspend time like when you're 'in the zone' creating something; or you've found you've 'run out of time' that dreaded sense of impending doom with the project deadline or last gasp attempt with a Hail Mary pass.

That damn clock will echo forever in your ear if you let it.

I've built a rink in the back yard for the boy to practice shooting the puck and perfect the art of the wrist shot and slapshot and that ever-challenging snap shot - he's spent hours out there in the faded light working on his skills, lost in the mechanical repetition and the fantasy of the sport - and I've spent even more to give him the flat frozen canvas on which to craft his game. Time stands still when you're standing outside in the dark, spraying water from the garden hose evenly over the back yard, losing feeling in your fingers and toes, your nose dripping and your ears tinged with red and bits of white.

This year I used a large white tarp as my base for the rink - the yard slopes towards the fence line at the back, 30' or so behind the house, and with the boy's help erected boards on both sides - to protect the windows in the storage shed and to give us something to run that tarp up on the sides to hold the water while it froze. The alternative is the old stand-by: wait until you have enough snow on the ground to pack it firm then spray water over that and allow it to freeze then repeat, over and over again.

The tarp idea allowed us to make a decent surface in about 5 days - as opposed to a couple weeks.

Of course the little red squirrels who live up in the forrest of trees along the back fence line and who use the fence top as a convenient highway from one large maple to another 2 houses away found my being back there with them on crisp winter's nights and mornings rather curious. They'd stop mid way and watch me - giving me that little squirrel eye, the one with the cocked head and bitchy chirp normally reserved for the cat, now too old to jump that far and chase them.

Ask any ice maker and he'll tell you the biggest pain in the backside is from leaves and debris falling into your setting ice - requiring a scrape or gouge here and there to correct, and then a repair of sorts, lest you want to have hills and valleys in the high slot - not the best thing for a developing wrist or slap shot. An errant shot will quickly find that bump or hump and send that frozen rubber disk sailing over the 6' fence and into the neighbors back yard - just hope they don't have a dog that does his business back there as you sift through the snow to find your prize.

Leaves and debris. Like the crap that still falls from that forrest of trees behind our yard well into winter - screw 'Fall' - those trees are always dropping something back there - seed pods that flutter down like helicopters in the spring, dried dead leaves in September, spent flowered buds in summer and rotting old fruit whenever. Yeah, theres an apple tree in that mix back there too, and we always have enough small, rust coloured rotting apples swelling in the carpet of leaves in the fall to make the ground squish as you mow - the sun never getting to dry out that area hidden in the constant shadows of the fence.

The hardiest apples stay on the ends of the gnarled branches until the new fruit push them off in the late spring. Or until the little red squirrels pick them off with their little clawed furry fingers, mouths stuffed full of fruit larger than their heads, an unstable ballet of aerial proportions as they navigate their way back to stockpile the nest for those cold winter days.

Unless they drop them on my rink.

I really believe that one little squirrel knows exactly what he's doing back there - he's been watching me create a perfectly flat frozen sheet of ice these last couple of months and he waits until I've finished flooding and then fighting with the frozen hose to get it rolled back up and drained without freezing solid, and once the work light goes out I know he's out there working too, finding just the right sized, mushy little apple and he fights his way down to the top of the fence, apple in his mouth throwing him off balance, then he sits and eats and chews a bit, refuelling as he rests, and he waits until he sees the ice is just about right for his purpose and he hurls that little apple right into the spot where the rusting red hockey net will sit, ruining my smooth sheet of ice.

I'm sure he gives a good little furry arm-pump as that apple splats into place, bits of twig and leaf strewn around the area for good measure, and he smirks a wee bit as he scurries back along the limbs and branches and back to his little squirrel business in the dark.

Maybe I shouldn't have sprayed him with the hose that day I caught him by surprise as he zoomed out on the fence top from behind the shed, startled to see me mid morning flooding the rink, his beady eyes suddenly large and his bottom jaw dropping open, the startled scream unable to form in time as the freezing water splattered and splashed along the fence boards sending him scurrying hell-bent for home.

Maybe, but it sure felt like the right thing to do at the time.

That's the deal with time - use it or lose it - and act when it feels right.

Speaking of which - I'm sure theres some scraping and repairing of the ice I need to do. It's that time.