The Ups and Downs of Life without Chips

     I promised to keep you abreast of my naturopathic treatment journey, also known as my war against the evil MAC Lung disease and Bronchiectasis. You could call it a rollercoaster ride, although an actual rollercoaster might be more column-worthy.

     Dr. Lisa has me doing expected things like sticking to my exercises and my diet of fruit, vegetables, beans, nuts, seeds, rice, oatmeal, and the homebrew I affectionately call my pond scum.

     And she has me doing unexpected things like keeping a gratitude journal and singing in the shower (the louder the better – I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t asked if I take requests).

     On the up side of this rollercoaster, I spent ten wonderful days in a row when I didn’t cough and felt energized for the first time in 16 months. On those days, I am convinced it’s totally worth every sacrifice.

     On the down side, each time the good doctor tries weaning me from her hydrotherapy treatments, my symptoms return and it becomes hard to stay positive. Honestly, in those times I feel the sacrifices outweigh the benefits.

     But each setback seems less severe than the one before. So two steps forward, one step back is progress, right?

     Down side, I crave bread. I do appreciate all the fresh fruit and veggies this time of year, but let’s face it: a toasted tomato sandwich just ain’t the same without toast. And the aromas wafting over to City Hall from The Grindstone each morning may prove my undoing.

     Up side, I’m not missing meat as much I expected.

     Down side, I don’t like going to the grocery store every third day because our fridge won’t hold all the green stuff we consume in a week.

     Up side, I’m in and out pretty fast what with skipping the meat, dairy, and bakery departments.

     Down side, my husband is not exactly eating up the new food plan. He adds chicken to his stir-fry, cheese to his salad, hamburger to his soup, butter to his corn on the cob, and chocolate chips to his fruit salad. In my presence.

     Up side, we are learning to work through conflict in a never-before challenged arena. I guess that’s good.

     Up side, I have not had a headache since starting the new food program. I used to average one a week and thought it normal. The Tylenol lasts much longer with only one of us needing it.

     Down side, I might bite my tongue clear off before I master the art of not getting preachy about food. Man, it’s hard!

     Up side, my clothes are getting baggy.

     Down side, my clothes are getting baggy.

     Up side, Dr. Lisa’s got me doing old-fashioned eucalyptus steams every morning and night which I love. It opens up the bronchioles and I can breathe deep and easy.

     Down side, this practice steals yet another 15 minutes out of my day. After a while, it’s easy to believe I do nothing but take care of ME.

     I’ve been warned I shouldn’t be taking these crazy risks with my health. Which is sort of laughable when I remember I’m in the hands of the One who placed his first people in a garden and who will ultimately raise my dead body from the grave.

     Dr. Lisa would be the first to say God is the one who heals—she is merely his little helper. Still, it’s nice to think I’m doing my part, too.

     I’m stickin’ with it.

Leapin' Lizards, Annie!

The Sun’ll Come Out…       

Ever try singing before a crowd? Ever try keeping a distracted dog in line? Ever try doing both at the same time? Now add the fact that you’re wearing an uncomfortable red wig all the while. Oh yes, and you’re only nine years old.

     A challenge not for the faint of heart.

     Zoë Adam of Winnipeg pulls it all off in the title role of Annie at Rainbow Stage, where 17 children, 18 adults, and one dog present the wonderful rags-to-riches story of a spunky orphan who has known only a hard-knocks life.

     According to an article by Alison Mayes in The Winnipeg Free Press, “When she [Zoë] opened her mouth and effortlessly poured out Tomorrow, Director Donna Fletcher and Choreographer Kimberley Rampersad knew they had their star. ‘She was very, very natural—no pretense, no artifice,’ says the director. ‘She just stood and sang, and the goosebumps just went up everywhere. She’s a powerhouse.”

     Indeed, this kid owns one healthy set of lungs.

     One word of caution when you go: take along a couple of cotton balls. Hopefully they’ll have improved the sound before your arrival, but we found some of the singing came across as shrill. To say nothing of Miss Hannigan’s whistle. With a little scrunched up Kleenex stuffed in our ears, we thoroughly enjoyed the show.

     Go if you can – it runs until August 31.

Clearing away the cobwebs and the sorrow…

     The “we” I refer to included my mom, my two sisters, and me. All four of us have experienced hard knocks of various kinds in the last year and decided we needed to do something fun together and not wait for that elusive day when everything is “fixed.” Sometimes a girls’ night out is just what the doctor ordered.

     We sisters yackety-yacked all the way to Winnipeg. There, we picked up our 80-year old Mom, no less spunky than Annie herself, and found our way to The Mongo Grill for a scrumptious supper. I recommend that place, too. Oodles of delectable options for vegans like me without forcing the omnivores to compromise.

     From there, on to beautiful Kildonan Park where we feasted our eyes on the exquisite flower gardens and  posed for pictures before the show. For Mom, the park holds special memories of playing there while visiting relatives as a preschooler.

     We found our seats as the orchestra warmed up, one of my all-time favorite sounds. “Something electrifying is about to happen,” it says. And indeed, it did.

     “I really needed this,” Mom said on the drive back to her condo. She wasn’t the only one. Nothing like a little mother/daughters/sisters bonding time and a dose of Annie’s optimism to make tomorrow look brighter.

     So, next time you’re stuck in a day that’s gray and lonely, just stick out your chin and grin, and say… oh, you know the rest.

Bad Hair Day? You're not alone!

     I stood gazing at the assortment of hair dyes on the store shelf when a reader spotted me and suggested a column discussing why we need so many different brands. Sure, why not? If Lady Gaga can sing, “I am my hair,” surely I can dedicate one column to it.

     I don’t really know what colour my hair is. I’ve been dying it blond since Grade Ten. Before that, it fell somewhere between light brown and dark blond, depending on your perspective. Which, as we know, is everything.

     At some point in the 37 years since Grade Ten, my natural hair colour changed from mousy brown to mousy grey. I have no idea what it would look like now without the wonders of Miss Clairol’s chemistry kit. When highlights became the new requirement a decade or more ago, I quit dying it myself. My capable hairdresser has handled the details ever since. I let her figure out which colour to choose, when to apply highlights, and how long to leave it on. It’s wonderful.

     Until she needs to cancel an appointment.

     Some of you will understand this terror. Who ya gonna call? My lips say, “certainly, no problem, take care of yourself,” while my narcissistic heart yelps, “But but but but but but…my hair!” I wish that were not true about me, but there it is.

     I decided to let my hair grow until the next regular appointment and dye my own roots the old-fashioned way. Thus, I was shopping in the hair dye aisle, eyes glazing over.

     In the years since I last did this, the selection grew from maybe six different shades to six different brands, each offering 147 subtle shades of blond alone. Shelves bulge with varied formulas, depending whether one requires root touch-up or an entire new colour.

     And judging by the selection of men’s products, women are not the only ones obsessing about tresses.

     I couldn’t guess how much is spent annually on hair in our country, though I suspect it could feed a small nation for a long time. On the other hand, it’s feeding a lot of hairdressers, chemists, and retailers here at home. They need to eat, too, right? Like I said, perspective is everything.

     I grabbed a box of Natural Medium Champagne Blond and it didn’t let me down. Toughing it out until my cut will be my next heroic feat.

     Speaking of heroes. Smiling back at me from my computer desktop these days is a photo of my 35-year-old niece and her two small sons, all three sporting identical buzzed haircuts. Mommy cut her hair off because it is falling out.

     Chemotherapy will do that.

     I thank God that, unlike Miss Gaga, my niece knows she is so much more than her hair. She is optimistic, faith-filled, courageous, and truly beautiful.

     Perspective is everything.

Civic Holiday 101

Ever wonder what exactly we’re celebrating this long weekend or how the holiday came to exist? I have. So I did a little research, and here is what I discovered.

    Civic Holiday is the most widely used name for a public holiday celebrated in parts of Canada on the first Monday in August, though it is only officially known by that term in Nunavut, the Northwest Territories, Prince Edward Island, and Manitoba.

     The date is historically linked to the abolition of slavery in the British Empire in 1834, but was chosen primarily for its timing: between Canada Day and Labour Day there were no recognizable holidays, one of the longest stretches on the Canadian calendar without a holiday. And in the middle of our precious, fleeting summer I might add!

     Thus, this holiday was placed roughly halfway between Canada Day and Labour Day; it is celebrated under numerous names in the jurisdictions it is recognized. In many communities, however, Emancipation Day celebrations are also held, specifically commemorating the abolition of slavery in Canada in 1834.

     The holiday is known as British Columbia Day in BC, New Brunswick Day in New Brunswick, and Saskatchewan Day in—you guessed it—Saskatchewan. In Alberta, it’s Heritage Day, and is celebrated as Natal Day in Nova Scotia.

     In Ontario, the day may be known as Simcoe Day in honour of the first Lieutenant-Governor of Upper Canada, or by Mountie Day in North York, Colonel By Day in Ottawa, George Hamilton Day in Hamilton, Joseph Brant Day in Burlington, Founders’ Day in Brantford, and I could go on. Apparently, Ontario has a tough time agreeing.

     I suspect most of us are just glad to have a long weekend.

     Summers being so short, I think Canadians would be happier and healthier if every weekend were a long one. Therefore, I propose we throw in a few more holidays, one for every Monday during July and August.

Here are half a dozen random ideas.

1.      Different Coloured Eyes Day. On this day, we’d all get a holiday and people with two different coloured eyes (a condition called Heterochromia) would be eligible for free flights or meals or whatever businesses decided to offer. On a side note, famous people who have Heterochromia include David Bowie, Jane Seymour, and Christopher Walken. Now you know.

2.      Rock Appreciation Day. This is the day you go out and hug a rock, the larger the better. (And, if you happen to be a lover of rock music, you could take this to a completely new level, in which case the rest of us might want to declare it Ear Plugs Day.)

3.      Take Your Pants for a Walk Day. This day is cheaply celebrated: simply go for a walk. Give your pants some exercise. After all, they are looking a little tight around the middle. The walk will do them good. (Alternatively, this day may also be known as Take Your Skirt/Shorts/Dress for a Walk Day.)

4.      Sidewalk Egg Frying Day. Self-explanatory.

5.      Wear Your New Underwear Day. Also self-explanatory.

6.      Random Act of Kindness Day. On this day, everybody does something kind for a total stranger. Do it anonymously, and the grin you take to sleep that night will be even bigger.

Well, that’s almost enough to see us through the summer. What holidays would you like to create?

Drop of Doom

     It was twelve years ago, but I still remember thinking, “I must be crazy. We’re going to leave our oldest son bereft of parents and siblings.”

     Our two younger teenagers, my husband, and I drove to the Red River Ex, where we waited in a long line-up of cars for an hour before we could park. Then we paid $23 for the privilege of just entering the noisy, crowded grounds. Then we forked over another $20 and stood in line for an hour, awaiting our turn at the “Drop of Doom.”

     I could hardly believe we were doing this. “Oh well, once in a lifetime...go for the gusto...life is short...”

     They strap you into your seats, four abreast, then lift you 175 feet straight up and let you sit there for a  moment, feet dangling. The view would be outstanding if you didn’t need to focus so hard on not wetting your pants.

     Then it’s a free-fall drop until the brakes kick in, with about a third of the drop remaining.

     I would have to take the ride another ten times (which I won’t) before I could adequately describe how it feels. It happens so fast, yet you’re somehow suspended in timelessness, silence, and—for me at least—darkness, since I closed my eyes.

     My heart pounded, my hands shook, my knees quivered as I climbed off the ride and put my feet on solid ground again. But my goofy smile wouldn’t wipe off.

     What is it about us humans that we’ll put ourselves through all that—the wait, the expense, the risk—for a few seconds of rush? What odd creatures we are, hovering so near death, entrusting our lives to the unknown engineers who designed the machine— not to mention the questionably-clad carnies who assemble and disassemble it over and over.

     Why can we trust like that when we so often fail to trust an all-powerful, all-knowing God who made us and loves us beyond measure?

     Is it because we see the machine with our physical eyes, and we see people taking the ride and getting safely back to earth? Worked for them, it’ll work for me.

     When we learn to see with spiritual eyes, we don’t need to look far to see others around us taking the ride. People who have trusted God and not only survived, but thrived.

     This week, I read a blog entry by a woman who was in the Colorado theater with her two teenage daughters the night of the shooting. I encourage you to read her experience here.

     I’ve survived a few unnerving carnival rides in my life, including financial setbacks, health issues, a disabling accident in the family, and plenty of uncertainties.

     Maybe 53 years is too soon to say, but so far, God has proven himself someone who can be trusted, not only to catch me but to hold my hand on the ride.

     I’ll let you know if things change.

    Meanwhile, free-falling can prove freeing indeed.

A Souper Dooper Adventure

     Relearning how to do a task you’ve been doing mindlessly for 35 years is a challenge, and this was not one I particularly wanted to tackle. Like my mother before me, I have always taken a certain amount of pride in how quickly I can throw a meal together. I thought Kraft Dinner was a food group and frozen pizza made perfectly acceptable Friday night fare. (Just so you understand the learning curve here.)

     But, determined to do my part for my wellness journey, I am learning to shop for and prepare food I’d barely heard of before. On Friday evening, I single-handedly cleaned Sobeys out of Kale (which I previously thought God created solely for decorating our salad bars) and Leeks (which don’t actually leak. Who knew?)

     On Saturday, I set out to create something called “Black Forest Cream of Mushroom Soup.” I’ve made plenty of homemade soups before, but never like this.

     First of all, you need to know that when it says “Preparation Time: 40 minutes,” it really means three hours. I guess they forgot to include the time it takes to juice five pounds of carrots to form the stock, the hours of chopping vegetables, the necessity of going online to watch a video about how to clean and cut a leek, the need for a clean t-shirt partway through, and the kitchen cleanup afterwards.

     Secondly, when it says “Serves five” it really means “serves five adult elephants.” You’ll need a big pot.

     Have you ever cleaned, sliced, and sautéed two pounds of fresh mushrooms at once? This soup also includes bushels of fresh spinach, carrots, onions, corn, celery, leeks, garlic, almond milk, canned beans, and assorted fresh herbs. For the next couple of hours, I cranked up the music and juiced, peeled, chopped, and blended like a madwoman. I was Iron Chef! Julia Child! That little rat from Ratatouille.

     Everything was going swimmingly, too. Until the big, shall we say, eruption.

     The instructions said to take raw cashews and puree them with almond milk. Then fill the rest of the blender with some of the hot soup mixture, puree it all together, and add it back into the soup pot. With my left hand on the blender’s lid, I hit the button with my right. My right hand, that is, not the right button. The wrong button, actually.

     That’s right.

     The high-powered force pushed the lid off, spewing the mixture onto the counter, the floor, the upholstered dining chair on the other side of the counter, the wall, the microwave, and me.

     Did I mention it was hot?

     It’s a good thing the puree smelled yummy, because my kitchen looked like an air sickness bag had exploded while the plane executed a loopty-loop.

     And yes, I said a bad word.

     But they tell us nothing bad ever happens to a writer – it’s all material. Lucky you.

     By this time I had so much invested in that soup, I’d have eaten it even if it tasted like dirt. It didn’t. Even my grandsons finished their bowls at supper that night. I froze several future meals and I learned you really can teach an old cook new tricks.

     But I think I’ll rename the recipe. Volcanic Veggie Vexation has a nice ring to it.

Bits and Pieces of Canadiana

National Film Board of Canada Vignettes

     I recently rediscovered an old CBC video on You Tube that played daily after school when my kids were small. Based on Wade Hemsworth’s song The Log Driver's Waltz, a young girl who loves to dance and is ready to marry chooses a log driver over his more well-to-do, land-loving competition. Driving logs down the river has made him the best dancing partner to be found. This lighthearted, animated tale starts out with actual black and white footage of men standing atop logs as they float down the river. It then morphs into a cute and colourful cartoon. The tune is so catchy and fun, I used to scoop up whichever child was handiest (or lightest) and waltz around the living room.

     When I posted the video on Facebook, I tagged my three kids thinking it might trigger fond memories, and it did. What I hadn’t predicted was how many other friends, both local and from across Canada, would respond. It seems everybody remembers and loves that clip.

     There were many good ones, weren’t there? Remember The Cat Came Back, The Big Snit, and The Black Fly Song? And for you Habs fans, there’s Roch Carrier’s telling of The Hockey Sweater. They’re all there. If you’re looking for some nostalgic Canadiana, check out You Tube and enjoy!

Timmies

     Okay, I know this is old news too, but I never thought I’d see the day.

Good old Tim Horton’s. Good old CANADIAN Tim Horton’s. Good old, plain cup of affordable coffee Tim Horton’s. Has caved. Caved to the pressure of those fancy shmancy coffee stores with their macho-grande-latte-whipper-snapper-giganto-humungo-maximus-gluteus names for their cup sizes. The old small is now medium; no wait, it’s the other way around. Oh, who can remember? I ordered a medium and got a large. Now I have to remember to ask for a small. It’s insane, I tell you.

     But we all go along with it, like sheep to the slaughter.

Vacation Bible School

     My fondest summertime childhood memory, at least before I was old enough to go to camp, was the week of Vacation Bible School. Anybody besides me remember happily going off with Klik sandwiches in your lunchbox to hear Bible stories like Abraham and Isaac?  Doing the lessons in your own little book and singing songs like Deep and Wide? Playing games like Red Rover and Prisoner’s Base? Earning points for memorizing scripture verses, bringing a friend, or winning at Sword Drill? Crafting wonderments from plaster of Paris, old Christmas cards, and sparkle? And the highlight of the day, just before home time: listening wide-eyed to the continuing flannel graph missionary story that ended on a cliff hanger every day?

     I consider it God’s outrageous grace that brought people like Don and Donna Lee to my little hometown of Amaranth to bring VBS and so much more to my childhood. If you are, or ever have been, a VBS leader, you are my hero. Thank you for valuing the spiritual nurture of children. You made a difference.

     At least to this kid.