All Aboard and Bon Voyage!

Tomorrow our family leaves for Montreal, VIA train!

This prospect is very exciting for all of us: my husband is looking forward to getting somewhere without having to drive the whole way (his co-driver tends to want to fall asleep while driving) and while being able to stand up and walk around; my oldest son has been waiting all his life to visit a big city; my youngest two are satisfied with just being excited about everything.

For me, travelling by train is a dream come true. It all started one day more than 30 years ago....

I was in Mrs. Donnelly's grade 3/4 class with the chalkboards on wheels for walls. Each day started with a Mad Minute math test and show and tell followed by a story. We were still young enough for show and tell in those days. I had written off show and tell for myself in kindergarten already after I brought my favorite doll and no one asked me any questions about her, but I still loved to hear about my classmates things and life events.

This particular day was very memorable in my mind. Wayne Friesen brought a puppet that day, the kind where the puppet's arms and legs can be velcroed around your neck and waist and you stick your whole arm in it to make it seem almost alive. I had never seen such a puppet and his was Garfield. I had no idea who Garfield was. Then Wayne informed us that Garfield's best friend was Odie (what a name!?!) and his favorite food was lasagne (I had never heard of lasagne before and had no idea what that was either). Hearing about so many things that I didn't know about in such a short time was quite overwhelming. I started reading Garfield comics shortly after this initial encounter. Thank you, Wayne, for introducing me to such an esteemed character!

And then the story time. Mrs. Donnelly told Wayne to put Garfield back in his school bag and pulled out the book she had chosen to read. It was called “All Aboard: Across Canada by Train.” It was the account of a young woman who travelled across Canada by train, if you can imagine! She told about the different cities that she stopped at and the interesting people she met. I was completed entranced! What a romantic idea! (although that's probably not the word I used at the time). I knew I had to travel by train sometime in my life.

I have very few other memories from Grade 3, but that morning stuck out as a shining beacon in my little life. To learn of Garfield and have a dream born in the first 15 minutes of the school day was life altering.

It took more than 30 years for the dream to become a reality, but tomorrow is the day! I have three kids who are having a hard time falling asleep tonight and a suitcase calling out to be packed.

Bon voyage á nous! Montréal, ici nous venons! (Does that work in French?)

Check back two years from now to see if my Grade 5 dream of travelling to Italy will also come true!

El camino a casa: A Photo Essay



I've read more than my fair share of books about walking journeys, about people who've walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain, the Pacific Crest Trail in America, the Pennine Way in England, about some guy who took his fridge walking around Ireland - yes, really!*  Doing a long walking trail is not really in the cards for me right now, but I do love to walk.  So, in planning my summer earlier, when I realized that all my kids would be at camp on the same week, I decided I would create my own walking experience, what I am dubbing "El camino a casa" - the walk to home.  I determined that I would walk from my own home where I currently live to the home where I grew up, where my parents still live.  That is what I did yesterday.

 

I intended to wake up at the crack of dawn so I could do most of my walking in the cool of the day, but instead, my husband's alarm woke me at 6:45 AM.  The sun was already well in the sky, but I grabbed my backpack, well, actually my son's backpack that I borrowed without asking (since he wasn't around to ask), and headed out.  Here is the story of my 15 mile walk.    

 



 

My current home that I share with my husband and three kids where I started from at 7:20.

 

 

This photo is taken from the point where I usually stop and head back home on my daily walk, about 1 mile from our red brick house here.

 

 

My in-laws live about 3 miles from our home.  This is close to where I once picked Saskatoon berries with my mother-in-law and where I decided it was not worth my while to engage in such activity anymore.  Margaret had about 4 full pails of berries picked in the two hours we were out there and I was still struggling to fill my first.  Since then I have just bought saskatoons at the u-picks around here!

 

One of my favorite flowers is now in bloom - brown-eyed Susans.  They always make me think of my grandma.

 

 

 

This is about 4 miles from home.  I have just climbed the hill and am looking back on the edge of what used to be the basin of ancient Lake Agassiz.

 

 

Walking up into the hills and the trees felt like coming home.  The sounds of birds and insects and leaves rustling,  the pungent woodsy smell of the forest, the coolness of the shade and the play of light in the trees - this I love. 

 

 

Around mile 5, an hour and a half after I started out, I sat down to rest and write in my journal.

 

 

Proof that this was once the beach of an ancient lake - sand, and lots of it.  The holes in the sand are birds nests - I'm not sure what kind of bird it is. 

 

 

It was the perfect summer day - clear blue sky, white puffy clouds, lush green of the grass and trees and yellow canola and sunshine.  I was grateful for a gentle summer breeze.

 

 

Another of my favorite flowers - wild roses.  This was close to mile 10 where I again sat down to rest and write.  I had imagined initially that I would do a lot of thinking and processing while I was walking, but what I found was that my mind was full just absorbing my surroundings - the sights, the smells, the sounds.  I didn't have time for anything else.  And that was such a blessing;  it was almost like compulsory and blissful mindfulness.

 

 

I didn't encounter much traffic while I was walking except for about two or three miles before I reached the old Rosehill one-room country school-house.  There I had manure-hauling trucks passing me every few minutes which was less than pleasant for a number of reasons.  So I was glad when I reached the school, just past where the trucks were turning off.  When my siblings and I were younger, we would ride our bikes the 3 miles to this school in the summer for DVBS.  Those were great memories.

 

 

Almost there!  This is my favorite tree at the "end" of the lane.  When I was a kid, it would serve as a store or a school or some other important destination in my imaginary adventures.

 

 

 

I arrived at my parent's home 5 hours after I started out.  Evidently I walked 3 miles per hour.  You walk differently when you're in it for the long haul, I found.  Some slower and steadier.  I was glad I had such a wonderful destination and I knew the route and could easily gauge my progress.  I loved it.  I loved walking.  I loved arriving.  I was happy someone fed me lunch and drove me home. 

 

 

*Walking books I've read:

 

What the Psychic Told the Pilgrim by Jane Christmas  (Camino de Santiago)

Walking Home:  A Poet's Journey by Simon Armitage (Pennine Way)

Wild:  From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed (Pacific Crest Trail)

Round Ireland with a Fridge by Tony Hawks  



 

 

 

 

 

 

An Addendum for Independence

For my own future reference, here are a few more quotes from the book Daring Greatly by Brene Brown:

Right off the bat, I believe that feedback thrives in a culture where the goal is not "getting comfortable with hard conversations" but normalizing discomfort.  If leaders expect real learning, critical thinking, and change, then discomfort should be normalized:  "We believe growth and learning are uncomfortable so it's going to happen here - you're going to feel that way.  We want you to know that it's normal and it's an expectation here.  You're not alone and we ask that you stay open and lean into it." (p. 198)

This is important for me both in my personal growth and for me in my position of leadership with my family and in my work to send this message to my kids and students:  discomfort is an normal part of learning and growth.  Not comfortable, but normal, so learn to be okay with it.

Luckily, this work has taught me that when I feel self-righteous, it means I'm afraid.  It's a way to puff up and protect myself when I'm afraid of being wrong, making someone angry, or getting blamed.  (p. 202)

After all, we rarely engage in self-righteous judgement when we feel confident about our decisions....  But if doubt lurks beneath my choices, that self-righteous critic will spring to life in not-so-subtle moments that happen because my underlying fear of not being [perfect] is driving my need to confirm that, at the very least, I'm better than you.  (p. 216)

Do not judge, or you too will be judged.

For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, 

and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye 

and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?

How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,'

when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?

...first take the plank out of your own eye,

and then you will be able to see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye.

Matthew 7:1-5

And finally:

Daring greatly is not about winning or losing.  It's about courage.  In a world where scarcity and shame dominate and feeling afraid has become second nature, vulnerability is subversive.  Uncomfortable.  It's even a little dangerous at times.  And, without question, putting ourselves out there means there's a far greater risk of feeling hurt.  But as I look back on my own life and what Daring Greatly has meant to me, I can honestly say that nothing is as uncomfortable, dangerous, and hurtful as believing that I'm standing outside my life looking in and wondering what it would be like if I had the courage to show up and let myself be seen.  (p. 249, emphasis mine)

 

Hooray for Independence

I don't know if any of y'all noticed, but Friday night, our family set off a few amazing fireworks.

July 4, American Independence Day.

A few days before, our family had been at our local community's even more amazing Canada Day fireworks. Our tradition in the last eight years since we've lived here is to drive half a mile down the road in our truck, park close to the baseball diamonds with all the rest of our patriotic neighbours and sit in the back of the truck eating sunflower seeds and trying to spot fireflies while we wait for the fireworks to begin. Usually the national anthem gets sung. We are very much a Canadian family.

But this year, my oldest son asked for a few family fireworks in celebration of Independence Day. My son, our own resident American. Something almost as foreign to me as his citizenship is my son's self-confidence. There are certain members of this family, who shall remain nameless, who are much more comfortable hiding their differences from the general population, or at least sweeping them under the rug when company comes. But not my son. He is pleased that his differences – and not just his citizenship - set him apart; he requests that a celebration be held in their honour. I really admire that in him. And I could take a page from his book.

The book I am currently reading is Daring Greatly, by the shame- and vulnerability-researcher, Brené Brown. In her book, she notes how people want to see vulnerability and appreciate that authenticity in other people, are drawn to those people who seem more “real,” but are very reluctant to demonstrate that same vulnerability in themselves. Too often in our culture, we are shamed for our differences; it is easier to maintain order when everyone is the same. Brown says, “As I look back on what I've learned about shame, gender, and worthiness, the greatest lesson is this: If we're going to find our way out of shame and back to each other, vulnerability is the path and courage is the light. To set down those lists of what we're supposed to be is brave. To love ourselves and support each other in the process of becoming real is perhaps the greatest single act of daring greatly” (p. 110).

I know how to do really fearful, but I'm not so great at fearlessly real. I have spent a certain amount of my life putting effort and energy into fulfilling real or perceived expectations of other people or systems and following the list of what I'm “supposed to be.” I want to do a bit of exploration this summer to “set down those lists” and (re-) discover who I really am, what I really like, which values I aspire to and which I actually live by – and perhaps do some work at getting those two to line up. Kind of makes me sound like I'm 14 again.

So, some fireworks to kick off the summer. Hooray for independence and celebrating becoming real.