News Flash: It is STILL Winter

Hello, friends.  I realize that I have not posted anything on this blog in a long while.  I have had many thoughts and good intentions about writing a post.  I wanted, for instance, to tell you all about the indoor Christmas parade I attended in Edmonton, wherein a woman from a local dentist's office dressed as a tube of toothpaste and some greyhound rescues were dressed as reindeer.  Vixen, in particular, was not amused.  There were mascot performers and some people from an organization known as the Knights of the Northern Realm.  It was quite a display.  It was the best (read: only) indoor parade I have ever attended.

But that was December.  Several long months ago.

And it is STILL winter.  But, take heart.  The sun returned at the bus stop a few weeks ago after a long absence!  There are also still festivals in this fair city.  A few weeks ago we went to the Silver Skate Festival.  Outdoors.  It was a high of zero degrees Fahrenheit.  We were undeterred, but I think I almost lost a toe, or two.  My toes aren't that great, anyway, but I would like to keep the full set for resale value.

Almost everyone up here who knows I am from Virginia asks me how I am handling winter.  I tell them that even Virginia has had a rough season this year.  They are impressed by your snow totals, I must say, Mid-Atlantic folk.  I have managed quite well, I think, to survive this long winter without losing my minds or my happy spirit, but I have to say that one thing, above all else has bothered me about winter here:  One basically has to guess where the lanes to the roads are located, especially when it is actively snowing at night.

They manage to mark where stop lines would theoretically be at intersections.  They put up signs to show where hypothetical medians go.  There is no such aid for tracking the lanes themselves.  You are on your own.

Last night, I was driving home from the concert hall downtown, the Winspear Centre for Music.  It's a lovely place, and I had a great rehearsal with the Alberta Baroque Ensemble.  It was such a great evening of music-making, in fact, that I had forgotten all about the weather outside.  As I stepped through the doors with my fellow choristers out into the night air, one man gasped and said, "Not again?! It is supposed to be too cold to snow."  That right there is a phrase I never adequately understood until I moved to Alberta:  "Too cold to snow."

I got into my car and started down the road.  The snow was light, glittery, and wispy-- beautiful, but it was blowing like white desert sand across my windshield and the road.  One cruel joke of highway safety is that lane markers are also white.  There are also no reflectors on the roads here; they would just be broken under the wheels of a plow.  So, Kelley, just pick a spot that looks like a lane and pray you make it home.  That is what I did.  Tractor trailers, oil rigs, pokey little Hondas, and I just made our own highway configuration.  It was terrifying: a snow globe of terror, brought to you by the Government of Alberta.

I feel lucky to be able to write this entry today.  It is an entry of great gratitude that I paved my own path and survived.

Oh, and Saturday will be a downright spring-like 39 degrees.  Cue the robins.

Giving Thanks

This past Monday was Canadian Thanksgiving, our first (and perhaps, only) in Canada.  We had a full turkey dinner with mashed potatoes, dressing, cranberry sauce, fancy green beans a la Barefoot Contessa, and pumpkin pie.  We had just one additional guest at our table, which means I am still enjoying leftovers from our 14-pound, free-range, organic turkey that I was on a waiting list to purchase.  Not that I am complaining; those Hutterites sure can farm!  (I totally get the wait-list thing:  seriously delicious bird.)  It was strange having Thanksgiving in October, but it does fit nicely with harvest time, and I was able to bring out my Crate and Barrel turkey towels a few weeks early and enjoy my gourd-centric decor a bit longer.  (Bonus!) I also actually used what little fine china I packed onto our moving van six months ago.  Every time I use something especially heavy or fragile that we moved here, I rejoice a little.

As we usually do on this holiday, we took time to express our gratitude.  I continue to marvel at how, in six months, so much has happened and how we have met so many new people and explored new places.  I am truly thankful that we have had this experience.  While we certainly miss aspects of our Virginia life, I want to write down a few of the things and people that I treasure about Sherwood Park, Edmonton, and Alberta.  In no particular order, these include:

A vital economy that gives Christopher the opportunity to work.
A strong cultural community that gives me the opportunity to make beautiful music with two very different groups.
A kick-tush library.
A caring school for my child to attend.
Lots of affordable recreational opportunities for all ages.
Parenting resources, completely free.
A wonderful group of new friends we have collected from many sources.
Proximity to beautiful mountains and lakes.
Great National Parks.
The Northern Lights!
Low humidity!
Beautiful, comfortable summertime.  It is possible!
Polite people, as a rule.
Lots of adorable boots available for purchase.
Being just enough like home to keep me from being too homesick.
Roads in a grid system.
Curb-side composting.
Free trips to the doctor.
Delicious grass-fed beef.
Delicious poultry.
Yummy butter, even if it doesn't come in sticks.

OK, now I am getting hungry, but you get the idea.  Canada, you are OK by me, and I am glad that I have had the chance to get to know you better.  Thanks for making me feel at home.  I am thankful for this time we have had together.  I know winter is coming, and everyone asks me if I am ready.  I think it's good I have made this list now, so I may consult it in January. 

Oh, Canada Post, or The Mystery of the Moving Mailbox

We recently had a grand misadventure with the postal service, Canada Post.  Now, on the surface, Canada Post is friendly with its lollipop-proffering clerks and splashy with its vibrant, multicolored postal boxes conveniently located all around town (none of which seem to be photographed and posted online so I can show you just how cheerful they look); whereas, one can barely find a USPS blue box any more.  Well, I am here to tell you, it is all a magnificent distraction.  The truth is, it is crap shoot up here.  I blame the lack of Saturday delivery.  (Gasp!)  Our mail was missing for more than seven weeks, and no one could tell us why...until I finally traipsed into the post office (for the third time on this specific quest) and found a smiling, lollipop-proffering employee who happened to notice that mail for our household was now being held at the post office because our box was too full of mail to deliver any more.  This, after other encounters had resulted in people telling me to be patient and that there was no mail anywhere for us.  Finally, there was mail for us.  They were right; we just needed to be patient and persistent.  ARGH!

Our box.  Box 4 on Summerland Drive, panel 2?  No, that's not your box any more.  Wait. What?

A prior call to the oh-so-helpful customer service line had revealed that our postal code had been changed.  Without notice to us, of course.  No worries, though.  We later learned that they remembered to tell Entertainment Weekly back in July sometime.  Bully for them.  We had asked if that meant a change to our box, as well, but no one else made that connection.  Where was all of our mail?  We were still getting coupons addressed to no one in particular.  Service hadn't been suspended all together.  What gives?

On that day the mail would prevail, a postal supervisor came out and handed me new keys to our new box on a new street.  I tried not to be concerned that the key envelope had a completely wrong address on it.  I just took them and hoped for the best.  He apologized, but he could not say what exactly happened.  He admitted he had overheard questions about my mail in the prior weeks, but he did not intervene earlier.  Dude. 

The keys fit, once I drove around to two different possible postal bays and found the correct box.  They "weren't exactly sure" which one it would be.  ???

We were rewarded with many greetings for Christopher's birthday in August and Eliana's in September, two High Five magazines, seven Entertainment Weeklys, all of Eliana's school paperwork and bus pass information, labels I had ordered for Eliana's school things and had given up on seeing, and some bills that luckily are paid online.  It was like Christmas.  Very strange, frustrating Christmas. 

I want to congratulate Canada Post on one success that they did have, lest I seem ungracious as a visitor to this great country.  My mother-in-law addressed a card to Eliana without a street name on it at all, with just the number two and our city name.  It arrived, a mere month after she sent it, and one week after we unlocked the mystery of the moving mailbox.  We must be famous around the post office now.  Go ahead, write us a letter.  Your real Christmas cards should arrive if you mail them now, even if they change our box again. 

I was not hallucinating

Imagine traveling across the country, taking the incredibly direct route of Baltimore, MD to Houston, TX, to Edmonton, AB with your wacky four-year-old sidekick, on a minimum of rest after a whirlwind visit to see friends and family and stuff yourself with seafood.  After getting a quick dinner, you return to your humble abode around 9:30 PM and bring in your luggage stuffed with about 45 pounds more cargo than you had when you left Canada.  Then, you look, bleary-eyed, around the room and notice that there is a crouching feline in your living room.  You haven't had a cat since 2001.  Christopher and Eliana are both allergic, and there is no telling how long this animal has been hanging out, dropping fur and other...substances.  Plus, our not-so-stable landlady would not take kindly to an unauthorized pet in the house.  And...scene:

Kelley:  Uh, Christopher, There is a CAT IN THE HOUSE!

Christopher:  What?

K:  A CAT.  A gray cat.  In the living room.

Here is where Christopher clearly thought I was hallucinating.  But, sure enough, there was a skinny gray cat (with white "polka dots," as Eliana likes to tell it.)

C: Why? Get it out. OPEN THE DOOR.

I start frantically trying to open the back door, hoping to convince the cat to go out with a "here, kitty, kitty."  I don't sound convincing because, in my delirium, I am kind of afraid it might be rabid, or some kind of arctic lynx instead of a stray house cat, and I think it can sense my fear.  It dives under the furniture.  Christopher starts to make a barricade out of furniture and luggage to force the cat out the back.  He turns the ottoman onto its side.  All of this just really traps me in the dining room.  Christopher starts yelling at me to be more helpful and to get down and grab the cat.  Like I would want to do that.  It is really a cougar from the Canadian Rockies that will eat me and my child.  The sleek, feral cat makes a leap like a circus animal over the ottoman and races around the main level of the house.  I start screaming, "Close the doors! Close the doors!" I do not want the cat down in the lower level of the house.  I yell up to Eliana, "Stay in your room!  Close your door!" 

We scramble to go close all of the upstairs doors, but it is too late.  The athletic mountain lion has sprinted up the stairs.  We fear that it has gone into the master bedroom.  I start asking if we should call in some experts.  We, I mean, Christopher, looks for it under the bed and in the bathroom.  Nothing.  Eliana has shut her door.  We knock and go in.  Christopher sees a pair of glowing eyes under her bed.  He grabs Eliana and shuts the door again.  He then tells me to make sure every door is open downstairs.  I walk through the barricades to check the perimeter, now fearful that a coyote will get in as I fling open the house.  (Hey, there have been some in the neighborhood.)  I come back up and he tells me to lie flat on the floor.  He says, "Do not let it past you.  If it gets into Eliana's playroom, we will never get it out."  This is true.  He then says, "I don't care if you have to bludgeon it to death; just don't let it come past you."  My nature being gentle and not nearly as barbaric as my husband's, I grab two pillows from the guest room and "arm" myself.  There you have it.  Don't mess with me.  I am packing goose down, y'all.

He opens Eliana's door and chases the cat out.  I am prone on the floor with my pillows, screaming, "AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" at the cat.  It looks at me as though I am deranged, which I am, and dashes down the stairs.  I then collect myself and follow it down to coax it out an exit.  I had remembered to leave little paths through the barricade for it, but I myself can't get through.  As I see it heading toward the garage, I yell, "No, no, the front door, the front door."  Apparently, I think that the cat knows our floor plan.  It does head the other way as I gesture wildly at it.  Christopher has now joined me downstairs and confirms that it has exited the home. We shut the door, and then I grow a conscience.  Will it be all right?  What if a coyote gets it?  I say a prayer for the cat. 

Luckily, I haven't found much evidence of the cat around the house.  I like to think it is happily back where it belongs.  We think that the workers who were installing trim in our five-month-overdue basement room let it in by mistake.  Be well, gray mountain lion.  Be safe.  Just don't be here.

Howdy!

Well, after nearly four months of Canadian living and repeated requests from people who obviously have too much time on their hands back in the States, I am starting to dip my toe into the murky, snark-infested waters of the blogosphere. I do love snark! Welcome to the Lundscape. There is occasionally a beautiful view, but sometimes there is just a small child with her thumb over the lens.

(Speaking of photography, it would sure be nice to have a photo for this post. Sadly, I appear not to have the right apps yet. Baby steps, folks.)