letting the thunder be

"Thunder is the sound of the shockwave caused during a thunderstorm when lightning rapidly heats and expands the air in and directly around the lightning channel (bolt) into plasma, producing acoustic shock waves in the atmosphere identified as thunder. It is said that the air is heated up to 30 000 °C (54 000 °F)."

-Wikipedia



Tonight I sit in my apartment as a rainstorm cools the hot summer heat. It has been a balmy 39 C in Montréal (with the humidity factor), and I have spent the past couple days in my un-airconditioned apartment toying with insanity. The trick to survival is to make peace with stickiness, to keep the drinking glasses in the freezer, and to take two cold showers a day.

So the thunderstorm is a welcomed respite from the heat.

I am fascinated by the grandeur of thunder. I love its magnitude, its unappologetic presence, and the way a good crack of thunder can be felt inside of my chest. I am reminded of my littleness when a dramatic storm rolls through my structured days. I have no control over the lightning and thunder; it is refreshing to step back and indulge in the powerlessness of the moment.

I can't say that I fully understand how thunder occurs, despite the brief definition above... and I feel content in not-knowing. It is something that I prefer to keep mysterious. Somethings affect us which require refection and processing , while others we need not analyze. I will enjoy the thunder and let it be.


* * * *

Non-thunderous things that have rocked my world in the past couple of months:


SONG: "Take the Long Way" by Po'Girl (out of Vancouver)... sweet harmonies, dizzying heights, and a call for taking time to see the moon. Beautiful. (Thanks for the introduction Rachel)

MOVIE: "Crash" by Canada's own Paul Haggis. Definitely worth the hype, and a deserving Oscar win. I appreciated how each charater was a villain and a hero in his or her own way... outlined a personal core belief: there are no winners when it comes to racism.

BOOK: "Written on the Body" by Jeanette Winterson. Part novel, part prose, heavily romantic, achingly tragic.


"Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille"


PLACE: Montana, USA. I cannot argue with its shear beauty... from winding rivers, to golden prairies, to the continental divide. I want to go back and explore.

Notes from 3000 meters

I am currently a few thousand meters above Cranbrook, BC, moving faster than the speed of sound, and enjoying the way the slow sinking western sun is reflecting off of the Rocky Mountains. That’s right, I am on an airplane (seat 16F, a window beside the emergency exit), heading back to Montreal - my home away from home.

I don’t really get the whole "flying" thing. My semi-functional brain has yet to fully comprehend how it is possible for a one-hundred ton mix of steal, rubber, fuel, and flesh can hurl through the atmosphere at 400 km/hour, and then I can walk away intact with little more than a small jet-lag haziness and a minor case of flatulence. It is a miracle that shan’t cease to amaze me.

Some people love flying; I however accept my inevitable death each time I am sitting on the tarmac waiting for take-off. Usually, I take stock of my life, my family, and my dreams, and then take a deep breath and say, “well I didn’t get to drop acid while walking barefoot through India… but it’s been a good 25 years”. Twenty minutes later, after checking my pulse and reminding myself of my student loan debt, the pain of life sinks back in and I realize that indeed I am still alive. As such, you have been graced with/subjected to another rambling blog.



I am, however, a lover of airports: the hustle, the bustle, the bittersweet goodbyes, and the excitement of arriving. Often, I will show up early just to watch people coming and going, to wander through the bookshops, and to treat myself to a fine airport dining experience. “Today’s Special” was the Swiss Vegetarian soy-burger, served with lightly seasoned Yukon potatoes, and a carbonized cane-sugar lemon water (aka: Combo #7 with Sprite at A&W’s). Airports are a place of transition, and I love the thought of thousands of people randomly being in the same place, at the same time.

It is combination of souls that will exist only for a moment in eternity…

* * * *
(Three minutes later, after a quick trip to the lavatory…)

Have you ever wondered what happens to the urine when you flush in an airplane? The sound kind of freaks me out, like it’s being sucked out into the sky. Hmmm… just something to think about.


* * * *

So this morning I was a west-coaster, I went jogging around Vancouver’s Stanley Park, and then topped off with a fresh-fruit smoothie. Tonight I will become, again, un Montrealais, sip red wine on my rooftop overlooking “the Main”, and perhaps sing a slow movin’ country song. I am lucky to be a transnational Canadian, that I am able to enjoy the best of two great worlds.

So even if this plane should go down in a great inferno over a Great Lake, I will be grateful that I have had the time to see family, to be romantic, to have adventure, and to know that I have urinated on some of the highest mountains in the world.



Good-bye BC, I’ll see you soon.

The Lakes are Calling

Sometimes the best adventures are in our own backyards.

In the backyard of Prince George is one of the most famous canoe circuits in the world. It is called Bowron Lake Provincial Park and consists of six or seven clean, crisp lakes closely linked in a rectangular-like loop of jaw-droppingly beautiful scenery. It’s a paddler’s wet(suit) dream…

Yes, it is in my backyard, and embarrassingly I have yet to conquer the circuit, yet to complete my bushman’s rite of passage, yet to sacrifice my sweet city-boy blood to the hungry swarms of black flies.

However on Sunday, for the first time in twenty odd years, I went up to the Bowron Lakes with Tim to have a little peak around (I was told by my mother that we went camping there as a family, many years ago… however, we did not do the 7-day canoe circuit).

Tim and I brought a tent and spent 24 hours exploring the area: we hiked, swam in the cool water, canoed for a couple hours, and drank a couple beer in the lodge overlooking the lake. As well, we were treated to some special outdoor treats: a momma Grizzly bear with three cubs, a star-lit sky with satellites drifting by, and a dramatic rainstorm (which we narrowly escaped). It was quick breath of adventure and nature.

I was happy to get to see the area, but sad that I had such little time… as such, I have set a goal to take the time to paddle the circuit within the next five years.

In my previous posts, I have written about the desire for travel and adventure. In fact I advised you to get out there and add new stamps to your passport. For myself, the Bowron Lakes are a perfect example of not needing to go far to find beauty and adventure. In my own backyard there is an adventure waiting to happen, and I am looking forward to stepping up the challenge!

I hope you find some adventure your own backyard!

A Letter

Re: Comments left on the most recent post "On Romanticism"


Dear Non-Gender Identified Anonymous Commentator,

Thank you for sharing your thoughts. You are obviously well versed in critical thinking, and I have a deep respect for that. It is my hope that the readers of this blog were not offended by me attaching a gender to romance.

I chose a feminine gender because, for myself, romance has been soft, graceful, and beautiful. In the context of my life, these traits have come more frequently from women. I also chose to gender romance because it simply sounds more poetic, and helped to create a romantic tone to the blog in which I was writing. My goal was to elict romantic notions from my readers, and to a certain degree I felt like I had failed when reading your comments. Romance is something that I value and I wanted to share this with those who I care about.

I realize some implications of attaching gender to concepts and ideas (example: perpetuating a problematic bianary system), and I accept full implications of this. To me, romance is indeed practical in many ways, for instance, it helps me enjoy life.

As for my suggestions on how to lead a romantic life being "intrenched in privilege", in some ways I agree with you and in other ways I am surprised that these suggestions were not interpreted as the metaphors in which they were intended. To "get new stamps on your passport" is simply a way of advising one to travel, to step out of familiar territory, to observe other ways of life. This could mean having lunch in a different part of town or walking a different way home from work/school.

Also, I think that you have interpreted the word "home" as simply as structure with walls and a roof. For myself, "home" includes all the people that share the space, the emotions that are elicited, and the experiences that are created. To be able to think about ideas of romance, creating a home and traveling is indeed a privilege, I agree with you. I also believe that dreaming beyond my current socioeconomic status, academic limitations, or spiritual plains will help me, not only be romantic, but also to envision a future of growth and actualization on various personal levels.

It felt like your comments were coming from a discourse that is a part of why romance seems so distant in my culture. Personally, I am torn between the value of critical thinking and dissection versus the value of letting myself be un-analytical and being more present. At what point do I allow myself to be romantic? to be analytical? Is it possible to do both at the same time? I felt like your comments had succeeded to un-romanticize that which I had just written.

I am a bit disappointed that you chose to remain anonymous, however grateful that you took the time to challenge and share your thoughts. I love the suggestion of "enjoying what you have", for me, it is a romantic notion to see myself one day feeling completely balanced and needless. Enjoying what I have now is a great place to start.

So thanks, it was refreshing to be stimulated :)

Sincerely,


Daniel

On Romanticism

I have been thinking a lot about romance lately, and the various forms in which she exists. When thinking about romance, we often imagine candle-lit dinners, long-stemmed red roses, making love on a beach, and poetry dripping with intergalactic grandeur. These romantic notions are based on love, sensuality, and sexuality.

But what are the other ways that one can be romantic?

For myself, I am highly romantic about my life, about the way I desire my time on this planet to unfold, and all the things that I hope to accomplish. This indeed does include falling in love (and all the gushy things listed above), but also many romantic notions of adventure, lifestyle, and community.

I want to write poetry in a Paris café, I want to watch the sunrise from the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, I want to buy a boat and live on it, I want to run a marathon, I want to record an album, I want to plant a garden, I want to watch children grow, I want to bake bread, I want grey hair, I want to die knowing that I have lived.

For a long time, I was hesitant to admit to the true extent of my romanticism. I think this was a response to the fact that we are living in fairly un-romantic times. These are the days of Wal-mart, the 6 o’clock news, suburban isolation, and institutionalized aging. It is tragically easy to live an un-romantic life. We have jobs that tell us to be more efficient, schools that tell us to be more logical, and a society that tells us to be unoriginal.

I, for one, feel a need to fight against the dying of romance. And as such, I have chosen to be an ally to romance, because I think she has seen better days.

So what is being an ally to romance?

It means stating loud and clear that I AM A ROMANTIC and that I am pretty damn proud of it. In doing this I hope you are able to think about your own romantic tendencies and divulge in them from time to time. You may just find yourself smiling a bit more.





Tips on living a romantic life (from a self appointed expert):

• Get new stamps on your passport regularly

• Write letters and postcards (not just e-mails)

• Take time to daydream

• Keep a journal

• Build/design a home

• Be bold (…I’m still learning this one)

• Become comfortable with tears

A Little Spruce Tree

A mighty wind has blown me across this continent and up Hwy 97 to my hometown of Prince George, the White-Spruce Capital of the World. It feels good to be home. It is reassuring to know that I can go out into the world, allow myself to be altered by many formative experiences, yet I am able to return to a place where change is much slower and family is a constant.

I am a little spruce tree, and my roots run deep into this clay soil.

Perhaps you can relate to a hometown or a place where you can return and be reminded of the past (if you live in the same city that you grew up, perhaps this place is a yearly vacation spot, or an old neighborhood). We have places in our lives that hold history, for me, Prince George is a forest of memories.

When I return, there is often a process of taking stock of what I have been through since my last visit. What have I accomplished? Who have I met? Where have I traveled or wandered through? How have I allowed the world to change me, and more importantly, do I like the changes? It is an opportunity to witness personal growth and evolution as I compare the person I am today to younger versions of myself.

One great way of doing that is how I engage with my family. There have been times when I have returned and have been bit temperamental (to put it frankly, I was a bitch). Other times I have been withdrawn and distant. These days, with the exception of an occasional mood swing, I find that I am able to be much more present. I am more interested in engaging in a way that is beneficial to the overall climate of my family system.

What does this mean? It means knowing when to challenge and when to accept, when to speak out and when to keep my mouth shut, when to step up to lend a hand and when to take the time I need for myself. It is a knowledge of what is desired from my loved-ones, while keeping in mind what I need to do for myself so that I am able to be of service to them. For me, this is much of the essence of maintain healthy relationships.

In theory it sounds lovely, in actuality it can be quite challenging.

So the choices I made a couple of weeks ago have allowed me to return to familiar soil. I am satisfied with my decision and the opportunities it has granted me: I like being home, I like the fact that I can have time and space to reconnect with family and self, I like the large sky of northern BC.

It has been six months since my last visit and my time away from this home has left me a bit older, more experienced, perhaps even a bit wiser. And I will leave here feeling rested, and ready to allow myself to be challenged, pushed, and formed again. I have learned that the world grants much opportunity to experience and develop; I just have to be willing to grow.

Luckily, spruce trees are meant to grow.

Safe and Sound

After five days and 5000 km's, we have arrived in Vancouver.

We have been extremely fortunate to have good weather and no automotive problems! For those who were curious, we took the interstate highway (I-94) across the northern USA, visiting nine states in five days. It was a really beautiful drive... I would go as far as saying that it was more beautiful than the Canadian route (Highway 1). I am inspired to go back.

More highlights:

• The Badlands of North Dakota

• A slow sinking sun over the Montana prairies

• Dramatic storms and epic mountains of the Continental Divide

• Talking to the locals... I have never met so many friendly people

I wish I had more time to ramble on and on about it, but unfortunately I'm a bit pressed. Stay tuned for some video footage of the trip. We did a video journal each day, and I hope to share some of that.

I'll leave with some photos of the landscape that we saw (photos stolen, but accurate representations):

One Night In Fargo

It’s Tuesday morning, and I’m on the Interstate 94 highway in Northern Dakota. I’ve got the sun shining down, some country music coming through the radio, and prairie fields as far as the eye can see. It’s the true mid-west experience… except instead of a noble stallion, I have an iBook.

So far the road trip is going really well; I am reminded of my love for movement and travel. We’ve been doing long days in a little car, but thankfully I am joined by two fun-loving and laidback friends: Rachel and John.

I don’t have much battery, so I will give the highlights (and lowlights) of the trip so far:

• Driving through Chicago at night. The Sears Tower had two pillars in the shape of devil horns, lit up in red light… the evil headquarters of corporate America.

• Eating meals in greasy American diners. The people have been extremely friendly and warm. At one diner they had a special section for “Professional Truck Drivers”.

• Rachel hit a raccoon… there is a very specific sound when a car collides with a large rodent. I hope that you don’t have to hear it. Ever.

• Spending the night in FARGO! Yup, I’ve seen the movie, now I’m living the experience. We’ve got a dead raccoon in the trunk, we just need to find a wood-chipper.

• A sketchy highway motel with a bizarre wet spot on the carpet and the heavy sent of perfume in the air.

That's all I have time for now! (we're currently pulled into the driveway of some random citizen, stealing his/her wireless internet! God Bless America!)

Saturday Night in Orillia, Ontario

So the world-wind trip from Chicoutimi to Prince George has begun. We'll be traveling through the northern states, and up through Seattle... I hope to get a photo of Fargo, North Dakota.

Tonight I am in Orillia at the beautiful home of Rachel's Aunt and Uncle. It is lovely to be a country home, and luckly they have some wireless internet as well. The best of both worlds.

I had twelve hours in Montreal, as I arrived last night around 9 PM and left early this morning. I love that city so much, the smells, the sights, the sounds. I am excited to come back in July, but even more excited to be on the road again.

A HUGE THANKS to the folks that swung by and saw me last night. I am feel so blessed that I can roll into town for an evening and that people are willing to make space in their lives for me. You are all loved dearly!

So wish me luck on my travels! I hope that my path crosses with yours this summer...

(oh, and here's a little video that I enjoyed... I call it "The Summer That I Almost Had")

Peace and Love (and Homeward Bound)

A couple of weeks ago, over dinner conversation, I asked my Host Mother if she was a hippie in the 70’s. I had a sneaking suspicion because she seems to enjoy talking about sex and works as an artisan. She replied to me, “I was more ‘Peace and Love’, then a hippie because I didn’t smoke enough pot.”

* * *

So yesterday I went for a job interview at the “Musée de la Défense Aérienne”. They are searching for two tour guides for the summer, and I met the qualifications… so I thought, “why not?” I could spend the summer learning about planes, practicing my French, and Learning about the Military (the museum is on the Canadian Forces Base Bagotville).

Before the interview, I had thought about what it would be like to be in a Military Air-force work environment. My imagination had conjured up images of Top Gun… strapping men with moustaches and aviator sunglasses, having lunch breaks with Maverick and Goose, getting random free rides in the F-14 Tomcats, the soundtrack to my summer being “Take My Breath Away”. You know, the usual stuff.


Well, as we know, sometimes my imagination races faster than reality.

At the interview, I was greeted by a pimply-faced, recruit from Ontario who is in Bagotville for the summer. He was indeed very nice as he gave me the tour of the museum, going into excited detail about the planes used in World War I and II. He spoke eagerly about the most effective bombs and guns. Then he told me that at the Royal Military College, it’s hard to meet girls. Shocking.

I began to imagine myself giving the tour. Would I be that interested in learning the history of Aero-War? Could I give a passionate and engaging tour to the public? Should I spend the next five weeks here, talking about planes and war and bombs? Ultimately, it would have been a very intriguing and random experience, but no, I just don’t think it’s my scene.

Like my Host Mother, I think that I am just a little too “Peace and Love”.

* * *

After the interview yesterday, I made my decision: I will be heading to BC for 3 weeks. Thank you to those who shared their thoughts and ears with me as I hummed and hoed for the past couple of weeks. So if you are in BC, then I hope to get a chance to meet up with you in the next month!

My sister gave me some good advice: “When you don’t know what to do, then sometimes the best thing to do is to go home.”

Homeward bound, I am.

Chicoutimite at Heart

It's official, I am supposed to be learning french! I just completed a highly scientific internet personality quiz, and it has reconfirmed my motivation to learn the language of the passionate. Now I just have to move to Paris...

Actually, Chicoutimi is much like Paris. The people here speak french, they have hair, and are even known to eat bread. There is also a really tall tree, not far from my home here, that with a little trimming and a spotlight could be mistake for the eiffel tower. I think I'll buy a burrét before I leave.

Interestingly, I am not really sure when I will be leaving. I am faced with a decision on what I would like to do with myself for the next five weeks. Here are the options:

1. Find work in Chicoutimi. This would allow me to save a bit of money and continue to practice my french... however I would have to quit any job that I found after only five weeks.

2. Roadtrip out to BC. My roommate here is driving to Vancouver and needing someone to join her on a mad, cross-country four day adventure. Benifits include seeing family and folks in BC... minus points however for incuring more student debt.

3. Go back to Montreal.


Anyway, if you have two cents to throw at me (larger amounts of money also welcome), you can leave your, advice, votes, instructions, words-of-the-wise, and insults in the "comments" section.

You Should Learn French

C'est super! You appreciate the finer things in life... wine, art, cheese, love affairs. You are definitely a Parisian at heart. You just need your tongue to catch up...

What Language Should You Learn?

A little tour of the shop

Yesterday morning I decided to get creative... creative and silly. So I made a brief documentary of the home where I am staying, here in Chicoutimi. It's about 4 mins long, so it may take a couple seconds to buffer, but I hope you have the time to give it a look.

You'll have to excuse the bed-head and lack of makeup... and who was the numb-nuts that chose the wardrobe? Get somebody from wardrobe up here! And where's my coffee? I ordered a decaf latte like 30 mins ago. And get Spielburg on the phone, his last movie was rubbish... I've got an earful for him.

ah-hem.

So without further adieu, enjoy le petit tour.

If the french language were a unicorn...

So what was the news that we recieved that would change things?

Last Wednesday we were told that we would be receiving two more students with us. Our immediate reaction was, "NO!!! We don't want to mess with the balance". But nobody actually asked us what we thought about it.

Ann and Ivan each have their own room, which I think is a smart idea for any couple. However, they decided to shack up and share one room, to make space for the two new girls.

The next day I found out that it was one of the girls from my class that was movin' in due to a bad host-family situation (bread and butter for dinner sort of deal). I also got to meet her roommate, who I have coined "le Cheerleader", because she sort of bounced up to me the first time we met and introduced herself in mangled french with a valleygirl accent. It was like watching a unicorn being slaughtered with an ax.

"Mon Dieu", I thought... my sacred host-family is being invaded by Jessica Simpson.

After only two weeks together, we had established a family unit (a family system) and I had no interest in changing it. Ironically, a month ago I wrote about the inevidabilty of change, and how we have a choice in how we deal with it. Here was my perfect opportunity to step up and prove my maturity to welcome change, to allow others to join the privileged situation that I was in.

So what did I do? I sulked for a while. I was cold. I was mildly bitchy for the first 4 days. Did these 19 year-old girls not realize they were invading the sacred Veggie-BC-Musician space? No, they did not. And for this they would suffer.

Nice work Dan.

Anyway, now it is a week later and the equilibrium has been re-established in the family. I have made an effort to be warmer. We are now seven people under one roof, things are busy and lively, the table is full of conversation. Le Cheerleader (pronounced with a thick french accent, "Le sheer-lee-deur") is actually a very sweet girl with intentions to be friendly and nice. The climate of the house has changed a bit, but things are still good...

It's still a bit of a fairy tale. Grumpy just had to make space for the other dwarfs.

Coin des Péchés

When I left you last, the Prince has gotten into a vehicle with a strange little Quebecois man, and was driving off to his countryside home where he would ride horses and eat hemp-burgers with renovating lesbians. Now, for the final half of the trilogy...

* * *

Well, shortly after we had left the university, the car pulled up beside a small shop and the little stout man, who was my chauffeur, said, “Here we are!”

I looked out the window, and was a little surprised because it appeared that we were in a parking lot for a large mall that was right behind the little shop. At this point my fantasies began to waver, and my wide-eyed smile was dropping into an expression of disillusionment. There would be no writing poetry from the bay window in the attic.


What I found was something equally lovely in it’s own unique way.

The little stout man is actually called “Ivan Roberts”, and he is one of the best Luthiers in Canada (a Luthier stems from the word “lute”, and is the term to describe one who makes instruments). He lives with a woman named “Anne Jones” who is a sculptor and artisan. She specializes in paper-maché sculpturing, jewelry making, and designing marionettes. I have had the privilege of being matched with this couple for the duration of my language program here in Chicoutimi.

Ann and Ivan have their workshop in the centre-ville of Chicoutimi. They work downstairs during the day: carving wood, molding shapes, painting violins and marionettes, and living their creative lives. It is a bit like a storybook here.

Above the workshop is a comfy apartment with three spare bedrooms that they rent to students throughout the year. As I was the first of three students to arrive that Sunday afternoon, I had the first choice of bedrooms. I chose the sunniest bedroom with gentle tones of green. It also had a paper-maché wall hanging that portrayed a man with an erection chasing a red-haired naked woman, both under the watchful eye of a giant pig. It felt immediately at home.

It turns out that each room in the apartment is named- the kitchen is called “Aux Petits Oignons”, another bedroom is called “Soleil Rouge”, my bedroom however is called “Coin des Péchés”. Roughly translated, this means “center of sins”. I am going to have to get busy and live up to the name.

Anyway, later that day my two roommates arrived. First was Rachel, who walked up the stairs with two instruments in her hands and a friendly smile. She has worked as a project coordinator for Katimavik, traveled around the world, has run a marathon, and just finished her Masters in Urban Planning at Dalhousie (Halifax). Needless to say, Rachel is doing amazing things with her life and I am enjoying the process of getting to know her.

The third, and final, student to arrive was Evan. He came in smiling, but with a slightly disheveled aura around him. He then proceeded to tell the story of how he lost his bus ticket and had to buy another one. He has a talent for telling well-animated stories, humouring us his intelligent side comments, and stumbling out of his room late in the morning with epic bed-head. Evan is studying world religion at McGill and I hope that we’ll have the opportunity to continue learning the language together when we return to Montreal.

The three of us are all vegetarians (hence the reason we were housed together) and all originate from British Columbia. We are also at similar levels with our French; we can carry on basic conversations but struggle with the complexities of the language. Often we can be heard asking each other, “how do you say ‘Suck it up Buttercup’ in French?”, as well as many other important idiosyncratic phrases that are key to express oneself in a new language.

So this is the story of my temporary home in Chicoutimi. I am living above a little shop in the center of town with four other unique souls: Ivan the instrument maker, Ann the sculptor (and vegetarian chef extraordinaire), Rachel the achiever, Evan the actor, and me (the prince with the active imagination). There is a beautiful little balance here. Life goes well…




However, on Wednesday we received news that things would change.

(stay tuned!)

Ode to my Mother

(the story of my host family will continue shortly...)

Today, I would like to write about the queen of my real/genetic/post-dysfunctional family. And since today is Mother's Day, what better way to express the love one has for his mother, but to blog? I am a 21st century son after all.

I am a 21st century son with a global soul, and therefore, it is not a grand surprise that today I am thousands of kilometers away from my mother. When I was younger, I had little context of what my mother was like compared to other mothers. Then I set off on my own, I went to university, traveled to different countries, worked in different situations. It became evident that my mother was indeed unique, with strengths that I had never realized before. I began to realize my privilege.

I want to shout out my appreciation. My mother has always been an enormous source of support - emotionally, intellectually, financially. She has had the ability to step back and let me wander, yet the intelligence to have provided me with boundaries when I was young. These rules have installed in me a sense of self-discipline and knowledge of personal boundaries.

Today I celebrate the strong, supportive, adventurous, capable, intelligent woman that is my mother.

I also want to celebrate your mother too. If you are reading this, there is a good chance that you have had a positive impact on my life. And undoubtably, your own mother was a big part of why you are the fabulous person that you are. So with this logic, I am grateful for your mothers as well.

So thank you mom for being you. I wish I could be there with you today to help you in the garden, cook you a lovely dinner, and perhaps play a little Quiddler. Instead I offer you a raincheck and a blog.




As much as I am a bit of a Baylis, I am also small sprinkle of Sparks.

Birkenstocks and Little Orphan d'Annie

The prince has arrived to Chicoutimi! I am here to “apprendre le francais” during a five-week French language program. I drove up last Saturday with two lady escorts, Chantal and MYLENE(!), past frozen lakes and clear-cuts filled with snow. When we arrived, we managed to find a cheap, yet tasteful, motel next to the river, and then proceeded to experience the Chicoutimi nightlife. It involved beer and an incapacity to find the university, even after multiple trips up and down Boulevard de l’Université.

Between us, we have almost 20 years of post-secondary training, yet finding a large academic institution in a small town proved to be a challenge. Sometimes universities hide themselves.

Anyway, back in March, when I was completing my application for this language program, I had the choice of living in residence or staying with a host family. Being the mildly brave risk-taker that I am, I thought I’d try my luck and have the true Chicoutimi experience. I chose to live with a host family.

I had idealized the perfect host family situation… I would live with two Birkenstock-wearing, granola lesbians out in the countryside in a large house over-looking the river. There would be horses for me to ride on the weekends, and my room would be the renovated attic complete with a large bay window. Here I would write poetry and watch the clouds roll by. My lesbian mothers would prepare me intricate vegetarian meals and swoon over my knowledge of female singer-songwriters. Oddly enough, there was no speaking french involved.

Anyway, on Sunday afternoon, after an exploration of the region, Mylene and Chantal headed back to Montreal and I was on my own to start my five-weeks of school and poetic endeavors. I started the process of checking into the program and getting my student card, while the organizers phoned my host family to inform them of my arrival. I was told to sit and wait on a couch while someone was coming to collect me.

Little orphan d’Annie sitting all alone in a big, scary francophone world.

Ten minutes later, I was informed that my host “Father” had arrived. I looked over to see a short man with thick glasses, a long grey ponytail and a belly large enough for triplettes waddling slowly towards me. He was wheezing and smelled of sawdust.

“There must be some sort of mistake,” I said in my head, “apart from his obvious disregard for fashion sensibility, this jolly old man cannot possibly be one of my lesbian mothers.”

However then I thought that perhaps my lesbian mothers were busy in the garden or got delayed while putting new shoes on the horses or lost track of time while re-buffing the hardwood floors in the attic for my arrival. Perhaps they had to send someone else to fetch me.

So I decided to have a little faith and I got in the van with this strange little man…

(the story of the host family will continue shortly…)

Treasure (Hunter)

Feedback: Disclosing how you are perceiving and reacting to another person to provide him or her with constructive information. This can help the person become aware of his or her behaviour and effectiveness.

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Feedback is a bit like treasure- I can use it to make myself richer. Through feedback I am able to increase the knowledge that I have of myself. By giving you feedback, I am allowing you to learn about yourself. It is a mutually beneficial endeavor that leads to increased self-awareness.

The actual content of this particular blog entry is going to come from you; the comments are the content. That’s right, I need full participation on this one. I am sending you on a quick “Treasure Hunt” to find an image on the internet. Your mission (if you choose to accept it) is to come back and leave a comment.

“But I don’t know how to leave a comment,” you say.

Well I am teaching you right now:

1) Click on the “Comments” icon
2) Write a Comment
3) Choose an identity (no blogger account? then chose “OTHER”)
4) When finished click on “Publish Your Comment”

It’s as simple as 1, 2, 3 (and 4)!. So let’s get the fun started…


When I was treeplanting last summer, I made a very special friend. His name was “Moe Lemounder”, and despite our incompatible politics, we quickly discovered our many cosmic connections and similarities. For example, we both eat breakfast! It was a friendship that was nobodies business but our own.

And now it has become your business. Go into the world of cyber space, find Moe Lemounder, then come back and share your thoughts.

Your thoughts are my treasure.

Cognitive Right of Passage

So this morning I had the pleasure of writing a 3-hour statistics exam. That’s right, I had to wake up early on a Saturday morning and spend 3-hours hunched over a calculator resolving the mysteries of probability. Feel my pain. So what was the probability of this actually being a pleasurable experience?

0.5010 (that means 50.1%)

It’s kind of bizarre that I feel so frickin’ amazing right now. I think it has to do with the fact that I don’t have to crunch numbers for a long time, perhaps never again if I play my cards right (probability of never doing statistics again: 90%). However there is a small part of me that will miss statistics.

The good thing about a subject that is math-based is that there is usually a solid answer involved. Often I am wrapped up in the world of social science, where A + B = C or Xxx or Σnough(already) or α(L*ser) or if there has been a history of bad breakups then potentially A + B = FoC - off (where FoC = fear of commitment). There are just no concrete answers when it comes to humans.

With statistics, however, I know for a fact that there are right answers because I manage to get most things wrong. That being said, I am proud that I’ve finished a statistics course. It feels like I have gone through a right of passage and now I am entering the cognitively elite (probability that they will accept me: 0.2%).

Ironically, Mr. Cognitive-right-of-passage (that would be me) was so excited to finish the exam, with mere seconds to spare, that he quickly folded up his papers, skipped joyfully out of the room, and managed to forget to answer the Bonus Question:

Who is the Prime Minister of Canada?

That is a tough one. Well if I take the square-root of stupidity, multiply it by the weasel coefficient, and divide by all the cows in Alberta… wait, this can’t be right. I keep getting x = George Bush. Hmmm…perhaps I’ll have to keep my class notes for next semester.

(probability that I am going to drink beer tonight to celebrate: 100%)

Trivial things about me

Finally, the gossip that ya'll need. Often I write about such light subject material (such as racism and creating change), so today I thought I'd get a little more serious...

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Daniel!

1. The condom - originally made from Daniel - was invented in the early 1500s.
2. Daniel can taste with his feet.
3. About 100 people choke to death on Daniel each year!
4. The state nickname of Iowa is 'The Daniel state'.
5. Britain's Millennium Dome is more than double the size of Daniel.
6. A lump of Daniel the size of a matchbox can be flattened into a sheet the size of a tennis court.
7. There are six towns named Daniel in the United States.
8. Until the 1960s, Daniel was not allowed to enter Disneyland!
9. Never store Daniel at room temperature!
10. An average beaver can cut down Daniel every year!

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

What valuable little tidbits of info did you acquire when you searched yourself?

Born Into Transformation

"When I have a camera in my hands I feel happy. I feel like I am learning something...I can be someone." -Suchitra, 14




Change is hard to create. In my studies I have spent the past semester engaged in thoughts of how to create and promote change. It is not easy. We resist change out of fear of loss- losing security, pride, the support of loved ones, our routines, and our money. Some change is well needed; some change is heartbreaking.

Change is quite often scary. Sometimes we are forced to change without consenting, while other times the fear of the unknown is motivation enough to stay how we are. Sometimes the best thing to do is not to change.

Change takes time. Because change takes time, often when we see no immediate results, we become discouraged and give up. It is natural to not want to invest our energies into creating change if there are no positive outcomes. Patience is difficult; change is a small leap of faith.



I have just had the privilege of watching a film that is about transformation. It is called Born Into Brothels and it tells the story of a group of children living in the red light district of Calcutta, where their mothers are sex-trade workers. The children are given cameras, taught how to use them, and then capture the world through their unique perspectives. It is inspiring to watch the process.

Often times I can personally reach points of frustration with myself, with life, with my culture. It is during these times that the inevitable questions are raised, “What’s the use? Will my efforts even make an impact? Why do I bother?”

If you can relate to these questions, then check out the film… it is a form of often needed nourishment. If you cannot relate to these questions, then check out the film. Then dare yourself to ask questions.

Here’s one…

Change will happen whether I like it or not, so how can I engage with the world so that it can be positive?