Look, the six-foot snow banks are gone!

Never have we so closely watched the weather as this winter and spring (or “sprinter,” as my daughter affectionately called it).  And we watch the weather very closely in Saskatchewan.

While it's not as apparent now, with the “normal” spring-like weather we’re having, there is still evidence of the horror we lived through the last six months.

As we drove northward on the May long weekend, we spotted a few specks of leftover snow banks on the side of the road.  At my parents’ farm, larger banks of snow adorned the east-facing slopes of the North Saskatchewan River, like miniature glaciers where glaciers really shouldn’t exist.  Regina’s landfill still has a massive snow bank where the winter’s record-breaking amounts of snow were dumped.  There is some disagreement, apparently, as to whether all of it will melt before winter… sheesh. 

Winter was always more enjoyable as a child

We had six months of snow on the ground this year – that’s enough.  We broke the record for the most snowfall and I believe it was the coldest month of March in 50 years.  It was painful for us, not to mention our Filipino neighbours, who bravely learned how to work a snow blower (I would guess it was their first time by the significant debris that ended up on our lawns).  It was also an experience of a lifetime for the Japanese student living with us, who brought with her non-insulated boots and paper-thin gloves for our minus 20-degree weather.

Almost every day, I would reassure our student from the warm clime of southern Japan that this would be the coldest it would get.  She must have thought we Canadians liked to tease, because it became colder the closer it got to April.  And every time we would drive down our street, jumping in and out of foot-deep snow ruts, she would utter, “Whoa, wow!”  When I told her we’ve had the most snow ever, she said, “I’m very lucky.”  The Japanese are so diplomatic.

There were some explanations offered as to why we suffered this cruel fate during this period of so-called global warming.  The climate people used the analogy of a large rock up in the atmosphere over Greenland.  Somehow this “rock” diverted the jet stream so we got all the cold, and somewhere in the world, they got a bit more heat.  Maybe the ice caps melted a bit more at our expense, which is not exactly a win-win.  Polar bears suffer, we suffer.  Why don’t we just keep the atmospheric air flows where they’re meant to be?

As I shovelled 12,000 pounds of snow off my roof in April, I briefly considered moving to a warmer climate like B.C. or North Dakota (a little warmer maybe?)  Then I reconsidered.  After all, I now I have the privilege to tell my grandchildren and great-grandchildren that I survived one of the harshest winters in the history of all mankind. 

When they’ll be going to school in shorts and t-shirts in December, cruising down the streets on their hovercrafts, I’ll be able to say to them, “Back in my day, I had to walk through six feet of snow, uphill both ways, just to get to work!”  

Because I did… I really did.

Ninety years and she's still going strong

            This last weekend my grandma, Mary Roth, celebrated her 90^th birthday.  That’s a lot of years.  Having experienced the Great Depression and a World War, having raised six rowdy kids on a farm (okay, I'll leave my mom out of it - five rowdy kids), and having supported an auctioneer who was gone many a weekend, she has seen and experienced more than most of the world’s population. 

            I learned a few more things about her this last weekend I didn’t know.  She became a hairdresser, for instance, when she was about 50, but first had to write her grade 12 equivalency before she could study hairdressing.  Having always had my hair cut by her when I was young, I thought she had done it forever.

            There is definitely a tenacity of spirit that never stopped her from doing things she wanted to.  When she was 88, for instance, she fought the authorities to get her driver’s license back.  She took her driver’s tests and eventually gained back a limited license.  Taking your driver’s exam at 88 is likely not as easy as when you’re 16, especially if this is the first time in your life that you’ve had to take it.

            She did always have a heavy foot though.  I remember one time when she took my cousin and I home in the back of her half-ton with our bikes.  We watched intently through the back window as the speedometer hit 140 km/h down a single-lane highway.  We thought it was great fun.

Mary Roth and her great-granddaughter

            There are a few other things about my grandma that dispel the myths about “old people.”  For one, she certainly doesn’t dress like an old person.  There are never any afghan-like garments draped over her shoulders or funny hats and white runners.  She dresses fashionably, going as far as to match her eye glasses with her outfits.  When she watches the news, her first comments are often about what the women anchors are wearing.  “Oh that blouse does not suit her.”  Never mind the news, it’s about the fashion!

            Many older people also tend to scale back their caffeine intake as they get older.  A cup of hot water with lemon tends to replace the watered down coffee.  But Grandma has never watered down her coffee – in fact, quite the opposite.  I think it’s getting stronger. 

            One of her favourite gifts at Christmas time is a Starbucks gift card.  She received about $100 worth one Christmas.  Now that she’s been given a Keurig coffee maker for her birthday, she’s free to make a cup of her favourite high-octane blend with the push of a button.

            She’s also quite an active woman for her age, despite a couple bad falls and broken bones in the last few years  While she may have had to give up bowling (both the real and Nintendo Wii variety), she can still walk without the aid of a walker or cane.  She’s also very independent, even though she now lives in a senior’s complex with those she calls “old people.”

            One other quirk about my grandma I have to share.  She has the most unique accent when she answers the phone.  I don’t think she has a British bone in her body (she’s of German Mennonite ancestry), but she answers the phone with a very unique British “Hello”.  After the greeting, her normal speech resumes.  Like her personality, it’s distinct.

            In all the years, we continue to appreciate her distinct tastes, enthusiasm, and devotion to her faith and family.  Grandma has gone through her share of hardships, yet these haven’t stopped her.  In my view, she’s only become stronger.

It’s not the toys, kids, it’s the traditions

            When I was young we didn’t have such rich Christmases.  Today children receive iPods, iPads and Nintendo DS’s in their stockings.  When I was young, if we were so fortunate to receive an electronic gift, we had to share it with the whole family. 

            Yes, that first computer my parents bought – it had to be shared by everyone.  That Nintendo Game Boy my grandparents gave to us – had to be shared by my brother and me!  Can you imagine having to share a Game Boy in today’s world?  Every child would be crying foul!

            Okay, so maybe Christmases haven’t changed that much since I was a kid.  I can’t claim to have had to ride in a sleigh to a Christmas service, like my dad did.  I can’t talk about receiving all but a handful of candy and maybe a home-made gift, like my 89-year-old grandmother can.  Even my wife has better Christmas stories.  When she was young, she didn’t have much either, but she remembers the traditions, and these are the most important things for kids, whether they admit to it or not.

            The best parts of Christmas for me were the extended family gatherings on both sides of the family.  The first family gathering was on Christmas Day, the other on Boxing Day.  It rarely changed. 

            There were many cousins on both sides of the family.  During our gatherings, the kids would run wild while the parents did other things (as a kid, what adults did was quite irrelevant).

            One thing I do remember, our games tended to be loud.  I remember one loud game in particular – I’ll call it couch monster.  This was a unique game where we would bury our eldest cousin under the pillows of my grandparents’ couch, then venture as close to him as we possibly dared before he would burst from beneath and try to catch us all.  We would repeat this over and over again throughout the afternoon.  It must have been music to our grandparents’ ears.

            The games would continue on the Froese side, where we would find different ways to torment our eldest cousin.  In this case, we were the monsters.  There seemed to be a pattern there. 

            As a child, it doesn’t take much to be entertained.  We had a lot, as far as gifts went, but what we enjoyed the most was the time together. 

            You can give kids all the toys in the world, but they will enjoy the family traditions the most.  When they look back, this is what they will cherish.

            That precludes of course the Christmas we got a snowmobile – hands down, thee best Christmas ever.

Kids say the darndest things, oh yes they do

        As a parent, I can attest to the fact that kids say some awfully funny things.  Here’s a collection I’ve kept of humorous conversations/quotes from my daughter throughout her preschool days:

Dad (aka Scoop): I’m gonna squeeze you.

Sonya: But people don’t squeeze Sonyas.  Adults don’t squeeze children.

Dad: Do you know I was a kid once, too?

Sonya: Were you a girl?

Dad: No, I was a boy.

Sonya: I was a girl.

Sonya: Let’s play a game.  I’ll throw you into the lion’s den.  But don’t worry – they won’t eat you, because God will take care of you.

Mom: Do you want to go into the den too?

Sonya:  Oh, no.  We’ll just put you in there.

Mom: But God will take care of you, too.

Sonya: No, Mommy.  You go.

Sonya:  I wish we could visit your parents again.

Dad:  Grandpa and Grandma?  We’ll see them at Christmas.

Sonya: I wonder what Santa will bring them... Maybe he’ll bring them some kids.

Dad:  They already have kids.  I’m their kid.

Sonya: But you’re a bit older.  I wonder why you don’t have kids.

Dad:  I do – you’re my kid!

Sonya:  Oh.

Sonya (while playing with stuffed toys): I’m the mommy cat and the kittens are all one year old.  You can be the kittens.

Dad:  OK – I’m a really small cat (I hold up the smallest stuffed animal).  Why am I so much smaller than the other ones when we're all one year old?  Did you not feed me as much as the other cats?

Sonya (in a very serious tone): Actually, I fed you lots.  I gave you alcohol.

And now for my favourite – a few months ago I wrote word for word what my peace-loving daughter said during our regularly scheduled playtime:

The hunter and the hunted

We’re poor because we wasted all our money accidentally.  We just got poorer over the years.  People tried to give us more, but they didn’t want to waste their money.  So now we have to go hunting.

This dog is learning how to kill sheep and bunnies.  The sheep will say one more prayer before she’s dead.

(She proceeds to hunt a goose.)  Now we’ll kill its baby – I have to break its wings so it can’t fly.  Now let the dog kill it.

Now we’ll be First Nations – real First Nations who lived long ago.  Were they the ones that wore feathers on their heads? (She proceeds to adorn my head with some kind of First Nations headdress.)

That First Nations song that I love is going through my head.

Now we’ll drink some fish juice.  (Whispering) It’s really fish blood, but I put some honey and sugar in it!

I suffered an Orwellian fate

Thus begins my confession….

            Things are still a little hazy as to when it all began.  I guess you could say it all started in 1984.  Back when Apple launched its first Macintosh computer.  You might remember the Orwellian ad that highlighted its release, but I don’t.  I was seven.  I didn’t care much about personal computing until I was eight.

            At about that time, my parents bought a Tandy 1000 that revolutionized my life.  I could now play video games at home.  I was the envy of my friends.

            We used a 3.5 inch floppy disk to resuscitate the computer each time we wanted to turn it on.  After a couple minutes of hard labour, the computer would open with its black screen and c: prompt, after which  we would be required to insert another disk.

            The process was no longer required with the arrival of the hard drive and the innovative dual disk drive.  The changes came so fast and furious that our computer was soon obsolete.  I don’t recall getting a newer computer until I was a teenager, although that could just be my memory playing tricks on me (but I don’t think so).

            I bought my first personal computer in my first year of university.  It was my first experience with Microsoft software.  I learned quickly.  The ways of Windows were burned in my mind.  I would spend hours clicking and double clicking, arranging files in new and innovative ways, even creating short-cuts.  The Internet had yet to be invented (or maybe I just didn’t have a modem).  But there were also weird computer crashes – things didn’t always work the way they should.  I wondered quietly in the back of my mind what Bill Gates was thinking when he invented such a glitch-filled operating system.

            Then came 2004.  I was happily married when my wife and I were given our first cell phone.  A Motorola flip phone that weighed just under two pounds.  We kept it in the car in case of emergency.  Even though I swore I would never own a cell phone, I could justify owning one for emergency purposes. 

            As the years passed, and my understanding of phoning over cellular networks increased, I felt I could accept a new job that would require the use of a Blackberry, then known as a Crackberry.  Back then they were so popular, today their future so uncertain.

            The Blackberry was a means to communicate like I never knew before.  I could send e-mails every moment of the day, even in the bathroom.  It was an addiction that lasted until my job’s sudden end.  Like the Blackberry, my future looked bleak.  I bought an ordinary flip phone to console myself.

            I told others that I was happy with it.  I wrote blogs of how much I hated smart phones.  But I was lying – most regrettably, I was lying to myself.

            But I used it, pretending to text elaborate messages that were really only three words long.  While my co-workers, and worse yet, my dad (now officially a senior citizen) were sending texts at lightening speed, I was left behind, trying to keep up with messages that wouldn’t fit onto my phone’s screen.

            Then I did something I thought I’d never do.  I went to a store and said I wanted one.  Still to this day I don’t know what made me go in.  Maybe it was the belief that the technological holes in my life could somehow be filled.

They said they were all out and I would have to wait.  Something was holding up shipments.  Some labour unrest in China maybe, but who could know?  It was all so complicated.

            Then I got a phone call.  I was to meet them at the store within the next three hours.  If not, I would lose my only chance (maybe I would have another shot in a week, but could I really have waited any longer?)

            At the store, the saleswoman gently opened the box and I caught my first glimpse of a four-inch screen.  She turned it on and it glowed.  Two gin-scented tears tricked down the sides of my nose.  But it was all right, everything was all right.  I had won the victory over myself.  I loved my iPhone. 

http://www.george-orwell.org/1984/22.html