The Growing Season

It’s dark now; the day over for most, ending for many, another set to arrive before we’re ready.  Chance of showers overnight, they say, fingers crossed we don’t find ourselves in the presence of another of those glorious spring storms like we did last Friday evening – the kind where the skies grow eerily quiet and still, then suddenly erupt in a rage of wind and downpour.  The kind that wash away hours of hard work and carefully planted lawn seed and deposit both in the gutter at the end of the driveway and down the street.

But that’s how it works.  You get a beautifully hot, summer day over May long-weekend and you’re liable to pay for it with a thunderstorm – nature’s way of keeping the balance.  Mother Nature also likes to remind you of how short your memory is too, especially on those too-early, hot, summer days that arrive in May and you forget to consider sunscreen while you’re raking and seeding your renewed front lawn…

We know better.  And Mother Nature knows we know better too – that’s why she keeps throwing those same lessons at us over and over and over again.  She’s just proving a point.

School’s beginning to end for many of my friends to the south, though our kids still have a month and a bit left on their sentences before the educational warden grants them parole.  It’s the season of outdoor education now, with field days and track meets and trips to the park for the youngest ones, for dancing and fun in the warm weather.  The grade 8 classes are planning their ‘graduation’ farewells before leaving middle school behind for good and entering the hallways of high school for the first time this fall.

Call me old fashioned, but I just don’t understand the pomp and ceremony of moving from one grade into another – this is how it is supposed to work kids.  You don’t need a dinner and dance and grad photos to mark the occasion – you save that for the end of high school when many will exit the halls of education never to return, and those that choose to continue their pursuit of knowledge will find themselves thrust into a world for which they may not be prepared.   This is just the end of the eighth grade; four more to go until you’ve accomplished something. 

But still, there they are, the 13 and 14 year olds, too young to be adults, and too old to be kids, yet wanting both at the same time.  The girls have chosen their gowns and corsages, hoping, longing, needing to be asked to the dance by the cute object of their wistful affection; he’s oblivious to them of course, a pack animal coming into his own, surrounded by a gang of similar-minded, young man-boys, their thoughts alternating constantly between music, video games, sports and girls, caught in a dizzying whirl of adolescent inattention.  All of them squarely in the sights of life’s best and worst times.

But we’ve made them this way, all of us: parents and teachers and the media and society in general.  We’ve coddled them, given them false hopes and empty, hollow promises when what they needed to learn were some harsh, hard realities.  The real world doesn’t reward mediocrity, it’s an unfair collection of lessons and suffering, survived by those that can ride the waves and chart a course despite the storms and bad weather.  It offers riches and joy and prosperity to those willing to seek them – in whatever form they take – but it just doesn’t hand them over because you managed to stumble across them.  Hard work and doing what is required to get the job done aren’t necessarily for the faint of heart, but they shouldn’t be shied away from or looked down upon, and they certainly shouldn’t be concepts foreign to our children, lest we want to keep housing them and feeding them until they turn forty…

Kids aren’t stupid, they understand the game of life, and they play a mean hand when forced.  The trouble is not enough of us are forcing them to play those hands.  Lavish celebrations for passing grade 8? Please. I’m surprised we aren’t paying them for test scores.  I understand wanting to celebrate the end of that portion of your school life but let’s keep things in perspective, shall we?  Why do we feel the need to rush the adult world on them?  I know they want to become a part of that world as quickly as they can, God knows the media thrives on feeding them images and stereotypes of adult needs and wants and desires, but that’s no excuse. 

As parents we want to keep our children safe and free from harm and pain if we can – that’s the job and responsibility we signed up for.  But we were also charged with shaping them into productive members of society, who will be able to think and act for themselves, guided by principles of fairness and empathy, respect and responsibility.  And part of that guidance means letting them fall every now and then so they can learn to get back up on their own.  We do it when we teach them to ride a bicycle – we don’t wrap them in bubble wrap and pillows and send them off to wobble down the street without training wheels – no, we watch their progress and remove those wheels when they demonstrate the right amount of skill and aptitude, then run along side guiding the seat, providing just enough trust and encouragement to keep them pedaling forward, and then we slowly let go…

They will fall.  They may get hurt.  But they will learn to ride.  And they will be successful at it.  It’s the same with life.  Kids need to fall, they need to get hurt, and they need to learn from their mistakes.  But they need those things in a constructive framework that supports their growth and development, from everyone who has a share at stake in their final outcome – parents, teachers, society at large, all of us.

Don’t sweet-talk your child – they can see right through that, and they will take advantage of it and ride that wave as long as it keeps cresting.  And the further they float down stream, the harder it becomes to pull them back to this side of shore.  Don’t pander to them in the name of safety and dangerous, scary worlds – that’s fear based guidance and it has never developed anything except more fear.  You reap what you sow.  So why not sow some kindness and attention and respect and honesty.  You owe them at much.

Sometimes you may have to scrape those seeds off the neighbor’s driveway and put them back where they belong, where they can grow into healthy, strong, shoots, under your watchful, caring eyes.  Is it the easy way? Hell no.  But it’s doing what is required to get the job done.  Enjoy the grade eight graduation dinners and dances, celebrate the fact that your children are growing up, but let’s not forget the lessons we’ve known all along, though we seem to keep forgetting again and again. 

Nature loves balance; kids need to fall, and I need to remember sunscreen. 

Crumbling Walls

The sun is slow to rise this morning, yawning as it stretches and twists and turns to loosen itself up for another full day, the morning clouds wispy and sparse, drops of dew collected on blades of grass keep the lawns cool and wet to the touch.  The birds are still early morning active – not having sat down for their ritual rest yet – the red squirrels dance in the branches overhead, the trees finally greening up nicely.

It’s a perfect late spring morning, I’m up early to take advantage of what is presented each day but missed in favor of the blankets and pillows: the quiet solitude of the back yard, a city yet to emerge from its restful slumber, the beginnings of another day.  In the distances a car engine starts and a fan belt squeals until it finds its rhythm, an early riser off to work, about to join an ever-increasing morning rush.  The paper has already been dissected and parsed, a cup of coffee keeps me company, and I wonder what the day will hold.

The remainder of the 3 yards of topsoil sits waiting under a blue tarp on the driveway – half of the original delivery has been shoveled and spread, raked and rolled, seeded and watered – the front yard once again resembling itself, though it sits reduced in size somewhat because of the relocated driveway. I finally had the last of the stone blocks removed this week, they sat there at the curb all winter, waiting to be salvaged and repurposed, but no takers could be found, and Monday they met their next fate and were loaded into a trailer and hauled off to be dumped as fill. 

Quarried fifty some years ago they adorned our home’s façade until last fall, when I chiseled and hammered them loose and carted them away from the site and neatly arranged them in squareish piles by the new driveway.  Our new plans call for a different direction in exterior finishes, perhaps a cultured man-made stone in places, and with that the old stone with its fractures and fossils became obsolete.

As I raked and leveled the ground where the stones had been stacked I thought about the choices we make on a regular basis, design and décor choices, purchasing habits and tastes, updates and redo’s.  We are an ever-changing people wanting ever-current surroundings, with the latest technology, the newest model of car, the trending social media stories, and the next big app.  We wonder about our children’s ability to read and write with any fluency given their seemingly innate abilities on tiny touch screens and miniscule keypads, banging out 140 character updates to an increasingly self-obsessed society of online friends, words mangled into cryptic shortcuts for those pressed for time and attention.

The local school board complains the grade 8 math scores are lower than low, the board members and Education Minister moan and wail about decreased ability and functional cognition of basic facts, afraid we’re turning out graduates who can’t balance their cheque-books – if those still exist. But it seems the real objective is not to be better for the sake of the students so much as to not be behind the pack of peers tested. Even at that level the concern is about the comparison to others, not the comparison to self.  Where do we rank? Instead of Are they learning the skills they require?

To my untrained eye it seems we’ve grown as a society into something we didn’t wish to be. 40 is the new 20, and we’re being led by business and governments with no perspective and less maturity than ever before.  Facebook’s IPO is set to launch this morning to the tune of $18 Billion. Not bad for a company formed only a few years ago by a college kid looking to more easily hook-up, doubtful he was concerned about grade 8 math scores or gave any thought as to how his creation would serve society.   But there they are this morning, the media story of the day, people turning over fortunes to them to buy a piece of the action, another 3 card Monte, pulled off in a boardroom and not on a street corner.

Maybe I’m just getting older and more cynical of a world I still don’t understand.  I’m not sure.  As I leaned on my rake and chatted with my elder neighbor from across the street, I asked him if he was staying out of trouble but I already knew the answer – he was far too busy to be in any trouble, bowling and soccer and curling and more social engagements than you would have thought possible to cram into a weekly schedule.  He didn’t need a computer to connect with his world, he was too busy being a part of it.  He congratulated me on the addition and said he was impressed how well it fit in to the existing look and feel of the street; I thanked him for the compliment and went back to the raking.

I looked once more at the house and thought about the new stonework we would be putting up – man-made to look like the real thing, but lighter and less expensive, with no long-term knowledge of how well it will serve its purpose.  And then I wondered about the Facebook IPO and those math scores and texting and Twitter.  Maybe a return to real stone is the right choice for my future…

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!