I Do What I'm Told... Sometimes.

So, part of the reason mom started this thing asking us to post our memories is because I was on the phone with her and told her some things I remembered. So I'll re-tell the stories here.

One was about one time when Alex and I were tasked to clean our room. (It was when we had the room in the basement of Ackroyd). I don't remember too many details but dad was getting annoyed that we weren't cleaning it fast enough (or maybe not at all... who knows. haha.) so he put on a timer and said we better finish it before the time was up... or else. As soon as he put the time on, we thought it was a super fun game and we cleaned our room really fast and finished before the timer. I don't know exactly how this next part went but either we were giggling and told him right away or we asked him to time us again later and I remember him being annoyed about it because he didn't time us so we could have FUN. He times us so we would do what we were asked. Hahahahaha.

Maybe Alex has more insight on that.

Speaking of dad, there's another memory that I often think about. It was at the Des Lilas house. Dad was trying to wake me up for something and I wasn't waking up - but he thought I was awake, so he started counting down. But I was having a dream that I was in a spaceship and we were counting down for blast off. Anyway, when he got to 0, I woke up. And again, he was annoyed at me because he didn't believe that I was asleep and just conveniently woke up when he finished his countdown. Lol.

I always wonder how much of my memories are real. I know they are never 100%. It's literally impossible with the human brain. But who knows how much is actually real?

I guess we can never know.

Brain songs

In fulfilment of mom's wish for us to post about childhood memories, I have something that came to mind today.

As I was working in my kitchen today I began absentmindedly to hum a song from the deeper recesses of my brain. In light of mom's request for our memories, this aroused my thoughts.

I have a whole bunch of songs in my brain of whose titles I am ignorant and of whose lyrics my knowledge is spotty. These are the songs I learned (or partly learned) from hearing mom and dad practising choir pieces from the various choirs they were in over the years.

Today I was singing the one that goes "farewell my friends I'm bound for Canaan...". Fortuitously, we now have Google and I was able to look up those lyrics and find that the song is called "Parting Friends" and then listen to it on Google Music.

I have a few such songs floating around in my brain. There are several ancient hymns and folk songs like Parting Friends, the music from dad's Gift of the Magi musical, and other things I can't think of at the moment. Also, despite my modest abilities in music reading, I happen to be able to sing all the alto parts of church hymns because I had them coming in one ear every week.

  I'm glad we grew up with lots of music. My own ability to create music is limited but I learned a lot by osmosis and have somehow managed to have a basic musical education without having put in any effort.

Who needs TV....

Ok, so, I thought I'd start this thing of memories.  I'm looking forward to reading yours....

My first thought was near the beginning of our family and when we lived in Vancouver and I was outside of our place in the middle of this complex and all of a sudden I saw a toy flying out the second storey window.  Then I saw another and another.

I looked up to see Jacqui's arm pull back and I call out and asked her what they were doing up there.  Amy said, 'cleaning the room'.  Jacqui said 'They're flying'.
(Amy and Jacqui, if you remember this, comment).
Seriously, you guys would find highly inventive ways of cleaning but NOT cleaning your room.

Another time I was outside the house and Jacqui called down from her bedroom (the windows were floor to ceiling) and said, 'Mommy, is my leg sexy?' and she lifted her skirt to show her leg to the world.
My friends thought it was hilarious but all I could think was what they must have thought I say in front of my kids!
I told her that she had very nice legs and she said, 'No, but is my leg sexy?'..........I looked at my grinning friends and knowing that Jacqui does not give up I called up, 'Sure, it's sexy'.

There aren't any real posts for May, so I thought I would contribute before it was too late. So here it is. My free verse poem about my hard life.

Sans Banane

Normally I make smoothies
In the morning
To accompany my bacon and eggs.

It usually consists of berries and banana
A handful of spinach
And the juices of carrot and orange.

Today, I didn't have any bananas left.
My smoothie was without
And so it just tasted like spinach.



You're welcome.

A Representation

This picture encapsulates everything that has made it so difficult to post lately.

The fine weather you see is exhibit A. It's difficult to get used to the fact that it is basically a desert here. We honestly have not had precipitation since I'm pretty sure January. Sometimes, it's true, there are clouds. Or a frigid, high velocity wind. But not lately. Lately, it's all sun, high temps, and gentle breezes. It causes me stress to spend time indoors. I'm not used to this eternal sunshine. INFERNAL SUNSHINE! No no, I love it. But it keeps me outside out of Canada-stress.

Next, we observe the glorious clothes line. I actually had next to no involvement in this project. It was all Brad. But it represents all the projects we've had going on. See what I did there? Anyway, yes. Spring is the time of Brad Awakenings and he sucks me in. Just the other day I cleaned the entire garage for him. I did. I mean it was for all of us. And mostly for my hating knowing about horrible terrible disaster messes in the back of my mind. And also being fed up with not being quite sure what was even out there, or ever being able to find tools I need. But definitely there was the element of feeling sad for poor puppy Brad who kept bringing up his "plans", so he calls them, to do it himself and then with a sigh never actually getting to it. Anyway. Projects.

Lastly, let me draw your attention to the child atop a bunch of barrels. Why, yes he is practicing his log rolling. That's still a relevant profession, isn't it? My children unschool which is pretend school, so it only makes sense that they will pursue pretend careers. But also this captures a child playing. Much playing! It is, of course, related to the weather. Additionally, though, Evelyn has recently made friends with some kids that live in the town houses across the street. It started with two Philippino brothers named Tom and Wilmer. And now it has expanded to what seems like hordes of nameless children frequenting our property at various times of the day. We have a two storey high zip line now, you see (see: projects), so it's kind of popular with the neighbourhood. And all this playing keeps my kids outside all evening. And that pushes bedtime back. And that means my night starts later. And that means...

Yes. It means less time for blogging.

Good picture. Useful picture. And the funny thing is the reason I really took it is because what it mostly represents to me is SPRING! Clothes blowing in the breeze; children playing in the yard; green grass and blue sky! Ah, this.

This is bliss.

The voice of my enemy

I've been reducing sugar and trying not to snack at night. Sounds pretty innocent and simple. The first weeks were successful, and I felt good about my success. I lost ten pounds.

Then I stopped losing weight. Then I gained some back over Easter. That's when it started playing in my mind: the mind script I have. The one that sounds like it's my own voice. The one I thought I had tamped down for good, but it swirls up uninvited at times like this. It says things like,

"I am unworthy. I cannot be happy in this body. I am a failure. I need to do more. I need to be better. I am unlovable. I dont deserve to be happy"

You are in trouble when the voice of your Enemy starts to sound like your own and it's hard to tell them apart.

My mind didnt come up with this script. It was given to me. It is my inheritance. It was given to me in a box that was wrapped in beauty. A box that looked soft, smooth, pink, and perfect. Nobody asked me if I wanted it.

When the box is opened, the darkness comes out. Inside the  beautiful package swirls hate and fear and sadness.

I am reminded of the story of Pandora who in myth was the first woman to find such a tempting box and was unable to resist opening it. It seemed to promise treasure, but once opened, it released into the world nothing but pain and suffering. She slammed the lid closed just in time to trap the last remaining content: Hope.

I am reminded of Eve who was beguiled by the snake to eat the apple with the promise of becoming worldly, wise, like the Goddess. By one bite of that beautiful fruit, she released into the world death, pain and suffering. Cast out of the garden, she and her daughters were barred from accessing the fruit that would reverse the effect.

It seems like a woman should be free to eat what she wants without ruining the world, but that's not how it works. Everything I eat is filled with portent. 

Can everyone stop already?!

I just don't know about people sometimes. 

I've been watching, for almost the past year, post after post of someone angry and feeling the need to trash Muslims, refugees, immigrants, and anyone else that they decide to be mad at. The thing is, I can deal with a little upset, annoyance, etc. because those feelings can be dealt with and others can explain and then the annoyed one is more likely to listen.  But that is not what I've been watching and reading lately.

I'm not sure where all this anger is coming from, but it really seems to be gaining momentum.  
I've wanted to speak out and say something, but what do you say to someone who seems to have no idea that the refugee they are angry over taking 'our jobs' or 'our money' is just a person like them and if anyone here was placed in that refugees shoes, they would be begging to just come live on a street that was safe, forget about money.  
People are people, no matter where they come from, no matter what they wear or what language they speak or the religion they are or their skin colour.  

I had a conversation with someone the other day and we both agreed that too many out there are absolutely clueless and have had way too much safety and comfort in their lives to truly be empathetic toward others.  Why that is, I don't know.  We all have the ability to step outside ourselves and imagine how someone might feel. 

So, lets take the example of Muslims....that is a religion, and a dang cool one at that.  Their religion happens to be very close to mine.  They are taught to love others and that they and everyone else have worth.  They are taught to treat others in a kind and loving manner and to be honest in their dealings with others.  They are taught about life before and after they live on earth and they are wonderful people. 
Saying all Muslims are all terrorists is like saying all Christians belong to the KKK.   
Sounds ridiculous, right? 

There are good people all over the world, in every country.  And there are also evil people all over the world.  But if we take the time to quiet our minds and look around peacefully, we will see all the good and realize that our job is to hold the good up as a standard and treat everyone with kindness and as we would want to be treated.  
Our job is to search out the good in everything and everyone.  Look around, it surrounds you. 

Seriously, people, just stop already.   

Recent Memory Lane

So it's not my "turn" or anything (ahem dad ahem), but the other day I was perusing through my journal and--do you love journals? Mine has evolved over the years. They started out with a lot of gushy mushy angsty boy loving, and slowly over time turned into this, what I find, engaging mixture of thoughts and events. Probably helped by the fact that I get to it so infrequently that whenever I do I always have something interesting to mention. And so leafing through the past few years of them has become a real treat. I'm always like, "Ooh, I'm such a poet! Why can't I be like this in real life?"

Anyway, so I was perusing through my journal and I landed upon the "family vacation" entry. And I loved remembering all the details, so I thought it would be fun to share with all of you. Here, for your reminiscing pleasure, is that entry:

"Well, the family vacation has ended. The visit was lovely. Brad met us on the road just outside Lethbridge so we spent all our time with him there. The first week we hung out at my parents', going to the pool, and the park, and the pond, and Cardston. We took pictures at the temple and ate at the pizza place Brad and I went to after getting married. Mom and Amy and I went shopping and for dinner, and later dessert. Mom got new Birkenstocks and I got a new wallet. It is fun to not worry about money! The Swensons arrived on Sunday as we were all gathered at the Bennetts' place, and on Monday I took Becca and the kids on a nature walk while Alex drove to Calgary to pick up Laurel from a trip.

The cottage was fabulous in my opinion! The play structure kept the kids mostly downstairs, which is good because the main space, with vaulted ceilings, was extremely echoey. On Wednesday we played in the ravine at the river, and had a visit from Ben Raymant. Thursday, under wildfire smoke skies, we drove to Waterton and climbed Bear's Hump, then visited the town. Friday just the adults (and Finn) spent the day in Lethbridge while the grandparents watched the kids. We shopped, and had lunch at Montana's, and went bowling. It was pretty fun. Saturday Brad set up targets and the kids shot the pellet guns, and in the afternoon we had the Bennett clan over and sang happy birthday to Roysten. Sunday was Roysten's baptism, and Monday those that were left (Leslie and the Swensons had gone) went to Wally's beach, which had almost no water but some truly excellent MUD!

And every night the adults gathered to eat junk food and play games, or sing songs and play instruments, or just chat. That was perhaps the best part!

And every morning, exhausted and underslept, I would gaze admiringly over the ravine with its sandstone walls, and the rolling hills and valleys, with a herd of grazing cattle dotting the distant plains. It was lovely."

I hope you enjoyed that trip down recent memory lane. Where are we going next?

Poems for late trees

Quietus

I watched them cut down

All the trees around my home. 

No one yelled timber.

Lights Out

Once, their souls did shine

verdant; Now their grief settles

in a thick, grey fog. 

Leap Day! (I was leaping along... *leap. leap. leap.*)

Look at me! I get to write about the leap day this year. I feel special :)

So, at approximately 2pm on the 29th, I got three of the most goodest newses ever, and I thought I would share them with you.

One:

I went to a new endocrinologist (hormone specialist) that day.

Maybe I should start with a bit of background. (And I'm sorry cause this will probably be incredibly boring for most of you).

So my thyroid is broken. It thinks I'm sick, and therefore it is sending my thyroid a bunch of antibodies. Having extra antibodies, though, hurts my thyroid and scars it. Because of the scars, I can't produce as much T4 hormone which is a problem because it is used in a little bit of everything. Sometimes, the disease also makes it so people can't convert that T4 into its usable form of T3.

Kay, so I went to my last endo when I was diagnosed, and she put me on synthetic T4s. It worked alright for a while, but then it stopped working and I went back to being completely exhausted and stuff. Through doing research, I found out that often, the reason for that is because we, thyroid patients, need T3 supplements as well, but most doctors don't acknowledge that as long as your T4 number is good.

I did some MORE research to find a doctor in Victoria who would put me on Natural Desiccated Thyroid (NDT). It's thyroid from a pig and has T4s and T3s and other hormones that the thyroid produces in it. A lot of people do better on NDTs than synthetic T3/T4, but in the medical world, a lot of doctors are wary of it (even though, I found out, they used to only use NDT to treat thyroid patients.. so.. )

Anyway. I found that doctor. I went to the appointment and told him I wanted to try NDT because the T4s were not doing it for me and, just like that, he put me on them, which is amazing by the way. It's harder than it should be to be allowed to try NDT.

So that was part one super exciting news on the 29th.

Two:

While I was in my appointment, I got a missed call from an unknown number and a message. It was Paladin Security calling to do a phone interview. After the appointment, I called them back, went through the interview, and then they scheduled me for a real interview! That interview was today. It went well. I was told at the end of the interview that as long as my references check out, he would love to give me a job. So yay!

Two main reasons why that was so exciting:
1. They pay for me to get my security license! I was sour about having to pay to do the course because I am SURE I have already learned all the information in my three years of schooling in Justice programs. But whatever.... apparently not.
2. I can use it to finish my degree! I'm doing an applied degree which means my fourth year of schooling has to be completed while I do full time work or volunteering in the field, and security qualifies for a job in the field. So that's super awesome!

Three:

While in the appointment, I ALSO got a text from my roommate asking if he'd told me that he has a cat (which he did not) that is coming with his girlfriend next week (on the 11th)! A CAT, GUYS!!! I GET A TEMPORARY PET CAT!!! I AM SO EXCITED!!!!! He for sure did not tell me before that had a cat, but he was happy that my reaction was positive. Man. So basically I'm accepting it as his birthday present to me. Haha. Not that he had to get me a gift. But.. Now he's covered anyway. (YAY!! KITTY!!!!!!!! I'M SO FREAKING EXCITED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Anyway, that was my leap day. Pretty successful overall, I'd say. I hope everyone else's extra day this year was all they'd ever hoped and dreamed.

Diet Food

So I was totally stressing about this post because all yous guys are like totally hilarious and way smarter than me and all I could think was "MUST BE FUNNY! MUST BE SMART!" And it just wasn't coming. So INSTEAD I shall distract you all with pictures of deliciousness. Because this is going to be a FOOD post!

Back story: Hyram is on a diet. He decided he wanted to lose 30 pounds. So of course I'm thinking "Screw you, male human. Just don't look at pop for a week and BAM! You'll lose 30 pounds." Because for real. Being a man is just so unfair. But anyway he has become Expert Hyram because of the 3 podcasts he's listened to. Which means that he has been suckered in to the whole "grains are indigestible and bad for you" thing. Whatever. Well sort of whatever. Because now he's not eating grains. Which means I can't make things with grains. Which means ALL I DO IS WANT TO EAT BREAD. So rude, right? I'm not on a diet, I'll eat BOTH our shares of bread. Just TRY and stop me. But anyway, he's also not eating processed/refined sugars. Which I agree with more. But of course we are all humans and we all love dessert. He had heard on one of his podcasts that cheesecake is the best dessert to eat when on a diet because it has fairly high protein and low sugar. Which made me think: maybe I could still make a cheesecake that he can eat freely even within the limits of his diet?

Hence this amazing recipe I'm going to now share with you.

So.

WHAT YOU NEED:

Butter, whipping cream, maple syrup, cream cheese, unsweetended coconut, vanilla (forgot to put that in the picture).

HOW YOU DO IT:

Step 1: Put 2 cups of coconut and 1/4 cup melted butter into a pie plate. Mix and smash in to shape.

  

Step 2: Stick your coconut crust in to a 350 degree oven and cook for 10-12 minutes until it starts getting toasty and brown (and your house starts smelling like yummy). And then set it in the fridge to cool for about a 1/2 hour.

Step 3: In a bowl, beat 1 cup of whipping cream to stiff. Set aside.

Step 4: In a different bowl, whip 2 blocks of cream cheese til smooth-ish (PS guys, no name has done something super cool with their foil packaging that makes it super easy to open! About time! NO NAME FOR LYFE!) Then add in 1/2 cup of maple syrup and beat til all the lumps are gone.

Step 4: Add the whipped cream in to the cream cheese mixture and gently (or not so gently. I'm a beast) mix together til smooth. At this point you can also add 1 tsp of vanilla and if you wanna go crazy you can add a lemon's worth of zest OR if you're REALLY adventurous, like 2 drops of lemon oil (don't yell at me Amy!)

Step 5: Slop all this mess in to the pie crust that should be cooled and shove it back in the fridge for like an hour or something until it's set a bit. I've also put this in a freezer and it's super duper yummy when it's half frozen!

Step 6: EAT IT!!!!!! Top with your favorite pie filling, fresh fruit, or like me you can microwave some frozen strawberries with a little cornstarch and maple syrup! YUMMO!

This is going to be my favorite dessert forever, and I'm fairly certain I've decided that coconut crust is where it's at. For realz you, it's the shiz. 

I hope you all try this and enjoy!! I guess it's not low fat, but it's TOTALLY gluten free (Laurel), low sugar, low carb, high protein! Yay!

Camera Face

So, I recently was cornered into getting a headshot taken for my show’s playbill. She took me over to a blank wall that the daylight could reach, pulled out her semi-fancy little camera, held it almost as high as the full extent of her arms (turns out my director is a tad short), and pressed the button. It turned out something like this:

She said, “Good?” and although I in no way thought it was good, it looked just about as flattering as most posed photographs of me look, so I said, “Yup looks great!” really just to get out of there and forget the whole thing.

It got me thinking, once again, about Camera Face. Like, as in, maybe it’s not such a stupid idea for me to spend a few hours of my life developing one. I know people actually do this. One of my sisters in law literally looks exactly the same in every single picture I have seen her in. It’s something along these lines:

Always from below and to the side (every time same side), no teeth showing, pursed lips. She’s worked on this. Especially evidenced by the fact that I find the result looks as little like her real self as possible without actually being a different person.

Actually my other sister-in-law has a Camera Face too. It’s more like this:

I don’t get it.

So anyway I’ve thought about it some. My main trouble is that it turns out my face is somewhat rounder than I imagine it to be when I look in the mirror. And my nose hookier. And my eyebrows sinister-er. I’ve considered how I might rectify this problem but it actually requires some skill. I have this issue with my eyes where one often is a bit more open than the other. It has this effect in pictures:

So I thought maybe if I artificially open my eyes...

Insane much?

There’s also the question of angle. I think I work better with the head-tilted-to-side look.

But you can’t always pull that off.

Plus I don’t want to come off like I’m trying.

I mean I am trying. But I don’t want to come off that way.

I also have this habit of doing a sort of sideways smile which I always considered endearing but turns out it just mixes with the unbalanced eyes to enhance the mentally-challenged-serial-killer look. Also I have that stupid gum smile I used to judge other people for before I realized I am in fact a perpetrator. OH THE HORROR! Anyway, here are some other options I threw together:

It’s an exhausting business, constructing and perfecting your Camera Face. But I am determined—determined—to one day NOT have a completely hideous headshot.

Why can’t they just use this one?

The Only Thing

The only thing I could possibly write about this week is what our family has been dealing with this week as our aunt (and sister) Carolyn passed away in a car accident on Sunday. Sunday was my own daughters tenth birthday, and I remembered that my grandfather Ivan died the week she was born. In between we also lost our grandmother.

I cant write a long tribute to Carolyn's life as we lived far away from each other for most of my life, but I know she loved me. There are photos of her holding me as a baby. There are photos of her visiting Ottawa, there are photos of her at my wedding with her children.

Now I am an aunt with six nieces and nephews who live far away, so I know how she must have followed my life from afar, getting pleasure from good news about me and worrying about my struggles.

I have a specially blessed life because I have a lot of people who love me in this way. I exist in a supportive webbing of threads of strength made up of love for me. Everyone on earth has the same strong rope consisting of the love of God, but many people are sort of hanging by that thread.

I don't know why I and my family qualify for such luck, but WE all exist in an expansive woven web of threads.

When I found out that Carolyn was gone from this life, I felt the sadness of empathy for those whose lives she was in more often, but I also felt something I didn't expect. I felt the change in my web as a person who loved me crossed from this life into the next.

Another special blessing in our family is the blessing of eternal families. My grandparents and parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, many cousins, are sealed together so that when one of us crosses over, the threads in our webs are not broken. The ends of the threads are anchored in Eternity so they can never break.

No matter how old I get and how many of the people who love me disappear from the world, I (and everyone in my family) will always have an intact web. That is a state of existence so remarkable that it's almost like heaven already if you think about it.

The game changer.

I have spent the better part of my life hiding.

There, I’ve said it.  I hide.

When I want to hug someone and tell them I love them, I just smile and say they are awesome.

When I want to say something with deep meaning, I will get silly, make a joke or pass off what I want to say as ‘dumb’.

When I want to cry I steel myself and act like everything is fine.

When I yell I actually want to say how hurt or sad I am.

When I can see someone is making a bad mistake, I mention something then apologize for mentioning it.

I sit in silence when I want to speak with feeling.

And on it goes.

But I’ve learned that everyone hides to one extent or another because they are afraid.  I’m afraid. 

I fear:  any type of rejection, looking stupid, feeling inadequate, losing someone, getting yelled at, being wrong....

As I’ve gotten older, I have begun to feel different...freer.  To some people freedom means ignoring rules and doing what they want.  But I have learned, and almost always the hard way, that is never freedom.  Bending or ignoring rules and what you understand to be true almost always comes round to haunt you or cause pain.

 

The freedom I’m talking about is knowledge of who I am. 

It’s a game changer people. 

I KNOW who I am.  The challenge left is to do and say, with that knowledge in mind.  The old ways still want to creep in and take over, but I fight hard to get rid of them once and for all. 

For some things I’ve succeeded. 

For some things, it’s on the way.

For others, it’s still a fight.

That is what I’m here for.  To fight for my freedom, to know who I am and to take that knowledge and then help others do the same.

I know: I am strong, intelligent, silly, spiritual, loving, empathetic, kind, forgiving.  I love to laugh and make others laugh.  I find absolute joy in singing, nature and the success of my kids and husband.  I like to have friends and I like to be alone. 

But most of my freedom and my knowledge and my strength comes from the fact that I am a daughter of a loving Heavenly Father and I know what that means and I feel the power of those words when I write or say them.

I do hide, but not from Him.

I’m so glad I know that.  

Fathers, generations and the perfect day

I’ve been reading my dad’s personal history lately.  I had it for years in hard copy but it wasn’t until I scanned it to a text file and copied it to my phone that I read it cover to cover. It’s been an interesting experience, reading about his early life, his life as a bachelor, his marriage, having kids, joining the church, struggling with his career. When I read about these things I think of the parallel times in my own life. Thus my father becomes a peer. In fact his history ends in 1964 when he was 44 years old, and I’m well past that age, so I look at him through the lense of an older man relating to a younger one. It’s a bit of an odd feeling, this leveling of generations; I think I would have liked him, would have liked to have been one of his buddies.

This leveling of generations plays with our sense of time - all times become one time and there are not old people and young people, parents and children, but just human beings with many shared experiences. Perhaps the next life will be like that. It reminds me of the great essay by E.B. White (of Charlotte’s Web fame). He wrote many essays for Harper’s Magazine and there’s one classic from 1941 called, “Once More to the Lake”. He talks about how, when he was a boy, his family vacationed at the same lake every August. Years later, after his father’s death, he decides to take his son back to the cabin on the lake, and it is as if the lake is locked in time: the sights, sounds and smells are all the same, prompting memories so vivid he imagines he is trasported back to his childhood, so that at times he forgets which time he is in. As his son experiences the lake, White is struck with the fact that now his role has changed and he is the father, sleeping in while the boy sneaks out to paddle around at dawn. There is a sensation of a fundamental unity of human experience between generations and also a reminder of one’s mortality.

I remember a summer experience with my father. When I was ten we lived in PEI and that July I extracted a promise from my dad to take me to the beach after work, on the next sunny day. The day came and he got home from work, tired and a bit cranky, but I begged and mom reminded him he’d promised, so he relented. We got into our swimsuits, grabbed the snorkelling bag and took off. I remember driving in the car with Anne Murray's “Snowbird” on the radio and a tremendous feeling of well-being in my heart. Dad had been told about a nice beach and decided to try it out. An unmarked dirt road lead off the highway to the sea. We drove to the edge of the dunes and walked over a crest of soft sand to find a beautiful white beach all our own. The water was calm and the afternoon sun was shining brightly over the cove. We waded in waist deep, put on snorkels, masks and flippers and set out together.

I have been snorkelling many times since that day, but never in such magical conditions: the water was comfortably temperate, the sun warm on our backs, and we could see clearly to the bottom, the light streaming through the tall seaweed to the broken rocks and sand ten feet below. There were schools of fry darting in and out, crabs and lobsters scuttling over the sea bed, and beautiful hues of blue and green over the red Island rock and corrugated sand. We swam along slowly, our bare, cool arms brushing. Dad would point to me and I would turn to see a lobster; he would dive down, distract it with one hand and grab it behind the claws with the other, bringing it back to the surface for me to look at. Then we would let it go and watch it float, perfectly still with arms outstretched, down to the sand where it would scurry to hide under a nice safe rock. I have been snorkelling many times since, but never without remembering that day, hoping to recreate it: but without success. That day has never repeated, and perhaps that’s more due to the idealizing effect of memory than the weather conditions.

Of course, the best part of the experience was having my dad to myself, feeling his mood lift as we experienced a perfect summer afternoon together. I don’t know if he remembered that day - adults are a bit slow when it comes to what makes deep impressions on children. I can only hope I gave my own children something comparable. I really hope I did.