Month: April 2013

It was a couple of months ago. The boys and I were walking alongside the half-frozen river and chatting. It was cold and the ice lacing the shores made it look even colder. But it was a good warm walk with good warm words sewn into it. My oldest son is enthralled by a creative game called Minecraft.

“There sure are a lot of squares,” I’ve told him jokingly ever since he first showed it to me. He laughs every time I say that. He asks me if I like it, and I do say that it is not what I’d choose to do on a rainy Saturday morning, but I love to see him so passionate about it.

It’s not just a click-buttons-to-exertion kind of game. It involves thinking, it pushes creativity to the next level and I was not surprised at all when I read that some teachers use it as an educational tool in school.

He’s always shared his ideas and joy about it and rightfully so. He beams because he is listened to, and I bask in his smile, grateful that he took the time to share.

We have countless discussions about the things that we’re passionate about. I often tell them of the things I read and write about. Environmental, social, all the things that I care about, I share my opinions and concerns, and they listen.

But on that cold winter morning walk, while his little brother was looking for ice-buried pebbles by the river, my oldest walked side by side with his cheeks all red and explaining how he is working on equipping his pixelated world with geothermal heating and wind turbines.

“Because that is good, mom, I can use something that’s natural and already there, I just need ideas on how to build it properly.”

I asked for details. How did he think about it? Can it be done? It’s a pixelated world after all. “Yes mom, but so many things mirror the ones here,” he said. Like a manual of some sort.

But the inspiration came from our talks, he said.
My turn to beam. Our worlds were intersecting in the best possible way. His words built a world that though pixelated by design, rounded itself around each one of his words and smiles.

It’s not that I want them to accept my opinions without debate. I welcome all the “why” they can throw at me. And then again, I tell myself that if it wouldn’t make sense to them they would not accept it.

They hear me talk to people, they read the things I write in my blog. Environmental issues are by far my biggest concern. Most of their trust in my words has been established by never being told something without a reason.

A few days ago, my youngest son, a nature lover by his own definition, joined me in watching a documentary about the decline of the sockeye salmon in British Columbia. We buried ourselves in the sofa and watched. There were a lot of references to studies done by various people trying to solve the conundrum. I feared boredom. He’s not seven yet. Instead, he cuddled and watched.

There was evidence about certain data being kept secret from the general public. Not necessarily his first encounter with conflicting opinions and interests. We talk about oil spills, marketing campaigns directed at children, and the wrongness of GM foods.
But he got the gist of it. As he explained it to his brother, something bad is happening to the fish, they die, some people hide the truth because they don’t want people to know.

We talked about it before bedtime. They had questions; why would people care more about money than about people or the environment. I told them answers are not easy to come by. I often realize that I have uncomfortable beliefs, the kind that make people shift in their chairs. But for the first time since the boys were born, I understood the depth of what legacy means.

All our talks, during some of which I share my thoughts – environmentally and otherwise – that I uncover while researching for my articles, the choices I make for us day after day, they are not falling on sleepy little kid ears.

I never associated legacy with what we give children when not even thinking about it. It must be something you make prim and proper before exposing, right? Not so.

While they are bound to follow their own dreams, we should be aware that whether we want it or not, some of the things they see and hear will become the very material they’ll build their wings out of. It better be solid then.

Should they honour us as parents with what they do or say, I can only think we have honoured them too by sharing ideas that contributed to who they become. It’s called legacy, and as I keep telling myself, it better be worth their time and mine.

(Originally published as a column in the Kamloops Daily News, on Saturday April 27, 2013)

If it wasn’t for my mom’s perfectly tasting braised cabbage dish that had just about the perfect amount of black peppercorn in it… Well, let’s just say that when you’re five and curious about the world outside the yard, there are few things that can pull you back to home base.

So I came back that day and planned to resume my wanderings later. And I did, but in better ways.

I still wanted to see through what was past the boundaries of my big yard, which was, in all fairness, a wonder world in itself with all its red and black currant bushes, grapevine, wild strawberries and the quince trees with perfectly climbable branches.

Exploring the places we’re in is part of our innate curiosity. We become familiar with our immediate surroundings and then extend our explorations.

Like putting together a big puzzle, we learn the place, smell it, feel it with all our senses and, most of all, we learn to intertwine it with who we are. Braids of people and places; the further we explore, the stronger the connection with the place and the better we become at learning about ourselves.

The best way to “taste” a place and know it properly is to walk it. You feel it and “see” it with the soles of your feet. You walk through sunshine, rain, wind and though you may visit the same place many time, it will speak differently to you every time. Just like it speaks differently to you than it does to other people.

As long as you get close enough to hear, that is.

Children in particular are fascinated with going places. Often times they are tempted to take off on their own, not out of unruliness but out of curiosity. So it is only logical to think that the best way to both prevent accidental wanderings and satisfy our children’s exploratory thirst is to roam together.

Ever since the boys were little going places was the norm. Close to home or far, rain or shine, we set out to see the world. Satisfying the said thirst and helping that curiosity bug grow.

We did the same after relocating to Kamloops. We go hiking on weekends, we walk through town, and we take pre-bedtime walks in the neighborhood.

Learning the place we live in, from close and far. We’ve come to have that good feeling of missing Kamloops when we’re away on a road trip, a good sign.

This past Sunday found us visiting the hoodoos at Cinnamon Ridge. We set off following the creek bed, silently watched by the stone and mud giants on both sides. There was no one else there but us. Silence allowed us to hear the sound of flapping somewhere behind some hoodoos.

It sounded big and heavy, perfectly matching the surroundings; an eagle perhaps?

We saw veins of white and pink quartz spanning the walls and wondered how far in do they go? Droplets of broken quartz peppered all over the creek bed made for a good treasure hunt. Rock hounding adds yet another pleasurable dimension to our new home.

We went as far up the dry creek bed as our youngest hiker could take it, and then scrambled up one of the hills to see the view.
The shin scrape and cactus attacks were worth it: Through the narrow space between two neighboring hoodoos we saw the gentle hills that cradle Kamloops, and in the middle, like a sleepy magic carpet, our very own town. Hello.

On our way down, we had it all: exhilaration as we slid down through the ankle-deep layer of dirt that dresses the slope, falling (the youngest of us) and scraping another shin, getting prickled by cacti yet again, and stepping into muddy puddles as we hopped through the creek bed. Humbled by the ever quiet hoodoos as we left them behind.

Now we know the place. Somewhat. We will go back to explore some more, find refuge among the hoodoos and hear the wind whisper and howl as it moves the skies above. We’ll come to know the changing of the seasons on those hills and others.

The boys are curious about places to see. Sometimes they ask to go back to places we’ve been, other times their eyes have had that adventurous glint in them and they’re eager to see new ones. Sometimes they are fearful of new places.

Their occasional reluctance provides an opportunity to talk about how not knowing what to expect in a new place can make us fearful. And how that enhances the experience because most times apprehension dissolves into joy and good memories.

Our travels, hikes or road trips, will feed their need to see the world, while helping them feel the place they are in, learning to call it home – temporary or not – but most of all, respect its richness because it helps them learn and grow.

Originally published as a column under the same name in the Kamloops Daily News on April 14, 2013

First of all, it’s kindness. If I want to go all mushy I can say right off the bat that the k in Kamloops stands for kindness.

Or I could simply say that people here are kind. Because they are. The proverbial extra mile some people walk to make it better or sunnier for those around them, I have had the opportunity to see it often enough to brag about the place I live in.

One time I was in a hurry to get home from the grocery store. It happened that I bumped into a new acquaintance who, though headed in the opposite direction, noticed my hurry and offered to drive me home, detour and all. I said multiple “thank you”s but decided the only way to say it right is to pay it forward. So I have.

Last week I offered to go dye Easter eggs at school with my little guy’s class. I also said I will do it the way people used to do it in the old days; with onion peels that is.

Come Wednesday night and after a busy few days, I remembered about the peels. The next thought was “Oh, no!” because where would I find enough onion peels late at night, I thought.

Ten minutes later I was at Cooper’s and being told “Oh no, we just threw them out,” followed by “But don’t worry, I’ll peel some for you.”

Another ten minutes later, I was leaving the store with a bag of onion peels. At that point it is but logical to assume that I live in a good place. It’s called community.

Second on the list of good things here is the world that opens up all around Kamloops. A world that rolls out from my front door. There is a short dirt road a few minutes away from where I live and it’s arched in a way that allows me to have a 360° panorama. No photos or videos would do it justice.

I now have a few good cycling routes around Kamloops, and a couple of friends who are kind enough to share their secret beautiful Kamloops one-of-a-kind spots with me. When you’re new in town, it’s a gift, more so when all I have to offer in return is gratitude and the promise that I might one day find a gem that I will share too…

The boys and I have discovered endless sandbanks that may be yesterday’s news to people who have lived here all their lives, or for many years, but the golden carpets of sparkling sand charm us every time we visit.

The barren dusty hills that once scared me with their scarcity have won my heart countless times since. Some I see in the morning from my kitchen window and I have yet to be bored with a sunrise.

In winter the hills all wore white powder caps and wigs of blue sky; majestic is the right word, but not the glacier majestic that I am used to from the Coast Mountains. These ones bump towards the sky ever so gently.

Come spring, they are glazed in fresh pink glow in the morning, and then draped in lazy sunset light as I round the boys up for another good night’s sleep. Sunsets in Kamloops are simply beautiful.

I have come to know that wondering through the grasslands can get my legs prickled by cacti and it hurts unexpectedly much. Somehow I’m fine with that. Now I know what it’s like to live in a desert.

Third on my list: the friends I’ve made since I moved here. I am by my own admission a relationship minimalist. I only pursue a relationship if it’s real and has depth.

Though a child at heart according to many who know me, I know depth and real when I see it. And I have. Kamloops has gifted me with a few friends I can easily add to my list of blessings.

I’ll end my list with the coffee shops I have found here. I am a coffee snob, I admit it and happily blame it on my parents who always had cowboy coffee, the only way I make it now too. I make my own freshly roasted fairly-traded guilt-free on most days, but when I hit my favorite coffee shops I am never disappointed.

Whether I chat with friends over a cup of steaming coffee or sit by myself, writing, I have found a few places that offer that kind refuge a writer needs on any given day.

All in all, a good seven months. Here’s to many more and all things Kamloops left to discover.

(Originally published as a column under the same name in the Kamloops Daily News on Saturday April 6, 2013)