Last week, I went south. I worked out of Edmonton for one day and Vancouver for five days for fishing charter flights to the Queen Charlotte Islands including Sandspit and Masset. I worked (sold a LOT of beer), bought some halibut for Richard, sunbathed, explored, enjoyed the view during ferry flights and had some laughs with my fellow flight crew.
Atlin, British Columbia. Photo by Christa Galloway.
I've been a very bad blogger. I have a fantastic excuse though. I had a six day charter in Vancouver, then a three day camping trip for some quality family time to make up for being away. Yesterday I don't have such a good excuse. You see, there is a whole new season of Orange is the New Black on Netflix and I had some time before work but I just couldn't tear myself away. But mostly, they are good excuses.
Don't think this means I don't care about you, I do. This blog is the most important thing, besides family, work and the fictional escapades of inmates at Lichfield prison.
Today I limited myself to one episode (okay, two) and now I'm downloading some photos from the last week before I head to Vancouver and back. So for now, I hope you enjoy this photo from Atlin from May.
Stay tuned for tales of my platonic date with a captain, how the legend of the flight attendant who bakes in the galley ovens came true and find out which mysterious visitors are taking their own road north this month.
Father and son enjoying some family time on the beach at Atlin Lake. Photo by Christa Galloway.
This past friday the weather in Atlin, BC was forecasted to be 9C with an evening low of -1C. So, of course, we packed up our touques, mitts and warm sleeping bags and went camping. There was very little traffic, we had the campground to ourselves, the beach was deserted and most of the bugs refused to brave the cold. And we had a great time.
Our campsite in Pine Creek campground, Atlin, BC.
Oscar's first time playing with a sparkler. Photo by Christa Galloway.
It's just not camping without a campfire and s'mores. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Who needs toys when you have all of nature to play with? Photo by Christa Galloway.
When we left our stressful life as business and home owners behind, packed what we could fit in a 5'X8' trailer and headed north, I really didn't know what to expect. All I knew was that we weren't happy, I didn't feel like a good mom and I needed to change something.
It's now five months later and I am the happiest I've been in a very long time. On my days off, I don't think about my job (usually). I think about writing or photography or gardening or my family. Our week-end plans rarely get cancelled. I feel like a better mom. Instead of hearing about Oscar's first experiences from babysitters, I get the enjoyment of witnessing them myself.
Father and son. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Richard, Oscar and Maggie enjoy some family time on the beach at Atlin Lake on Saturday. Photo by Christa Galloway
Northern life for us is fresh air, a slow pace of life and simple pleasures. It's witnessing northern lights, impressive landscapes and our own live wildlife channel. Oscar has adapted the best of all of us. He has freedom to explore and discover. Northern life is not for everyone, but for us, it was a life saver.
Oscar exploring the beach at Atlin Lake. Photo by Christa Galloway.
A grizzly bear south of Whitehorse, Yukon. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Yesterday, driving home from work, I got a rare treat. I saw a grizzly (brown) bear with her two cubs on the side of the road, not a five minute drive from my house. The bears didn't seem to be bothered about me watching them from the safety of my car and went about their business. They stayed so long I had time to go home, get Richard and Oscar and a long lens, come back and do some more bear watching! The cubs ate, played a bit and slept while the mother grizzly focussed on eating. She only glanced at me a couple of times but quickly dismissed my presence and carried on eating. At one point, she sensed something and got up on her hind legs. Soon after, the cubs perked up as well and stayed closer to their mother.
A female grizzly bear keeps a watchful eye in between eating foliage. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Grizzy (brown) bear cubs playing in the woods in the Yukon. Photo by Christa Galloway.
I discovered a couple of interesting facts about bears after this experience. Grizzly bears are actually sub species of brown bears. They are found inland in North America and don't get as big as coastal bears. They are called grizzly bears because the tips of their fur are often lighter, giving them a "grizzled" appearance. They can also be identified by the hump on their shoulder. Their claws are longer than black bears, up to four inches long and their tracks usually have claw marks, unlike black bear tracks.
A grizzly (brown) bear rears up on her hind legs for a better vantage point. Photo by Christa Galloway.
The grizzly cubs soon perk up and join their mother. Photo by Christa Galloway.
A grizzly bear and her cubs, now sticking closer together. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Sometimes the drive from work to our home in the wilderness seems long but every once and a while I get a treat like this and it is all worth it. Just the other day I saw a young caribou, over the winter we saw lots of moose, and I even saw a pair of lynx once. It is a privilege to get the occasional small glimpses into the lives of animals we share the earth with. I consider myself very lucky!
Rain clouds hovering over Mount Lorne. Photo by Christa Galloway.
When the snow disappeared (it doesn't melt here so much as it evaporates) it seemed like it happened over night. Spring has arrived in much the same expeditious way. One morning I woke up and once again, the view out my window had changed, the brown greys replaced with bright greens.
Sunshine and cloud and rain collided. Streaks of rain slashed dark, diagonally across the sky, while rays of sunlight slashed light in the opposite direction creating an improbable zig zag pattern in the sky. In the distance a cloud could no longer contain it's moisture and burst in to rain, as if it was spilling it's guts onto the mountain side. The mountain's last remnants of snow formed white rivers, joining and separating down the side. On smaller mountains what looked like patches of faint light here and there were actually the buds of birch trees, so light, fresh and green against the dark gloom that they looked illuminated. Everywhere, the dark green forests were highlighted with sprays of light green.
In the sunshine, incongruous drops of shining bright rain spattered down on my windscreen while a Coldplay song serenaded me gently from the stereo. I thought about the laundry hanging on my clothes line at home and inexplicably I felt a smile on my face. I thought about stopping and taking a photo, but a photo is only ever part of something and I knew the value in this was the experience as a whole. I felt a peace and a lightness, in my joy my troubles and worries melted away.
These moments come when you least expect it. There's that instant when you realise everything is as it should, that life is fundamentally good. You know the moment is fleeting, you'll get a phone call, remember a bill you need to pay or unload your groceries, the storm will pass and you will return to your normal life. The trick is to drink it all in while you can and hopefully remember the truth you know right now, this second, that everything is okay.
I spent a good deal of yesterday, in my head, thinking.
It started with brownies - no, not those brownies, these were super healthy chocolate-free carob brownies.
My successful attempt at carob brownies. Photo by Christa Galloway.
As a professional photographer and an amateur baker, when my baking goes well, I enjoy photographing my baked goods as much as eating them.
I downloaded my card in eager anticipation of showing the world my baking success. I waited while my photo editing program imported the photos. Only it didn't import them. Upon further investigation I discovered that my card was corrupted.
After having no luck with the card rescue program on my computer and several others I downloaded I sent out a plea for help on Facebook and with the advice of an old photographer friend (that is, a friend from a long time ago, not a friend who is old) I managed to recover most of my images with the regrettable absence of most of my brownie photos.
I've just edited my pictures, and while they are not award winning shots, I am beyond pleased to have them back. The idea of having lost them, even though they weren't "important" was a horrible thought.
This made me think. I have a theory of why some photographers do what they do. It's about loss.
Have you ever looked back at some photos and remembered a feeling or a smell and it was like you were there again? Almost like for an instant you could travel back in time and experience it again? Did you realise that if that photo hadn't sparked your memory, that moment would be gone? I have, many times.
I think there is a type of photographer who mourns the loss of moments. We are like walking museums of time, soldiers against entropy. We gather little reminders here and there. We look at them, share them, store them and back them up. We put them together and build a story of the past. We don't live in the past, but we like to keep it safe and accessible.
If you are one of these photographers you probably have a camera with you most of the time. You don't just keep photos, you share them. The more people who see your photos, the more permanent and real the memory is. And if an image is lost, you feel like a piece of history is lost. A feeling, a memory, a lesson is gone forever.
That's why I do what I do. I take photos, I have scrapbooks going back to 1990, I keep a journal and I have this blog, mostly for that reason, to preserve memories.
***
Here are a couple of the photos I almost lost and the memories they keep alive for me.
When I took this photo I was getting ready for a shift and noticed the sun lighting the clouds from below. It struck me how early the sun was coming up in the morning and how long the days were getting. I went outside quickly to take the photo and sucked in the fresh air. I remember having the thought, "Whatever happens today, I have this." Photo by Christa Galloway.
This photo was taken as I was arriving at my house with my family. I jumped out of the car, grabbed my camera while my husband took care of our son and brought everything in from the car without complaint. I could see the ferocity of the storm while my surroundings were perfectly calm and sunny. This photo makes me think of how power and peace is a matter of perspective and reminds me to be grateful for my husband. Photo by Christa Galloway.
P.S. The brownies were fantastic.
As part of my job as a flight attendant for Air North, I got to fly to Fairbanks and spend Friday night in Dawson City. It's a tough job, I know.
A main dirt road in Dawson City. Photo by Christa Galloway.
On the way I had the opportunity to get some neat photographs during the ferry flights between Whitehorse, Fairbanks and Dawson City. (Ferry flights are flights with no passengers)
One of the pilots, Daniel, was kind enough to give me a lovely, mostly accurate tour of Dawson, having only been there a couple of times before himself. While we meandered the town, Corie, the other pilot, went for a jog up the "Dome," a five mile round trip up a 1700 foot hill with 360 degree views. I'm saving that for a trip when I have a few days, a few less pounds and a lot more stamina.
Dawson City is a long meandering town of 1400 people with old-fashioned store-fronts, historic buildings and quirky shops (and some good deals I'm told.) Some of the main streets are still dirt with clapboard sidewalks. If you took away the cars and the streetlights, you could believe you were in a small gold rush town in the 1898. Parts of the town remind me a bit of the show, Deadwood.
Some western-style shops in Dawson City. Photo by Christa Galloway.
A farmer from Mayo enjoys an ice cream from Klondyke Cream & Candy in Dawson City. Photo by Christa Galloway.
The Yukon River in Dawson City. Photo by Christa Galloway.
After touring the town we met up with some more Air North crew for dinner at El Dorado, then we checked out the sourtoe phenomenon at the Downtown Hotel. If you haven't heard of the sourtoe, it's a Dawson City tradition where you have a shot with a toe in it. Not a fake plastic toe, or toe-looking olive, an actual severed human toe. For $5 you get to take the shot with the toe in it and you have to let the toe touch your lips to get the sourtoe certificate. My brother did this years ago when he came to Dawson for work and delighted in grossing people out with the pictures.
For a while, there was no toe. The story I heard is that someone took the shot, drank the toe on purpose and slapped down the $500 fine. How many thousands of disappointed tourists were formed after that unfortunate incident, I can't even guess. Eventually a new bigger toe was donated and the toe swallowing fine is $2500. On Friday night, visitors flocked to the toe, eagerly lining up for their shot. I spoke to one gentleman who seemed a bit grossed out by the whole thing while his wife did the sourtoe ritual with an ear-to-ear grin.
Dawson City visitor Joy Hinson gets the pre-sour toe spiel before taking her shot. Yes, that's a real toe. Photo by Christa Galloway.
I know what you're thinking... did I do the sourtoe? Not this time. But I'll be back, so who knows?
Corie and Daniel flying Air North's Hawker Siddeley 748 C-FAGI on a charter to Fairbanks, Alaska on Friday. Photo by Christa Galloway.
In this day and age it seems like people are quick to criticize, whether it be complaining about bad customer service or pointing out someone else's mistake. While it is important, in general, that wrongs be righted, we must not forget to recognize the positive that already exists. Sometimes we need to praise someone for a job well done, or point out something done right.
Over the week-end I was the flight attendant on a charter flying cruise ship passengers from Fairbanks to Dawson City. It was the first such charter of the year and there were a few wrinkles to be ironed out. It was my first solo flight on the Hawker and I enjoyed being my own boss in the back of the aircraft. Lets say the "control freak" aspect of my personality was quite sated.
Part of my job is to write up a report on my flights. During my three ferry flights (ferry flights are flights with no passengers) I had lots of time to write up my report, using up every inch of white space available. Yes, there were a few wrinkles, some to do with my own inexperience, but I also made a point to report on the positives. The grooming of the aircraft in Dawson City was impeccable and the personnel in were very open to my suggestions, even though I am a relatively new addition to the company. I made sure to verbally pass on the positive feedback to the personnel involved, as well as the suggestions. It really is a great company to work for, and you can tell by the standards of their employees.
Jesse, one of the ramp/grooming crew in Dawson City, did a fantastic job and was cheerful about it to boot. I love Jesse's Yukon story. He was living in BC and saw a photo of Emerald Lake in the Yukon, and decided to move here. It's a great reason if I ever heard one. Photo by Christa Galloway.
As for my own mistakes, I wrote myself up as well (e.g. The flight attendant should remember to fill out her own customs form before arriving at customs, duh) and did my traditional metal self-flagellation, lambasting myself for my stupidity.
And then something amazing happened. It was on my second passenger flight. I had a little extra time having ironed out a few of my own wrinkles from the first flight. I used that time to do some extra service, chat with passengers and hand out candies. During one of my passes a woman filling out a comment card stopped me and asked for my name. I told her adding, "I hope it's something good!" Before landing I was handed two comment cards. When I finally got a chance to take a look at them after the passengers had deplaned I got a funny warm feeling in the cockles of my heart and I could feel my eyes well up.
The fact that a passenger would take time out to give me positive feedback, especially considering it was my first solo Hawker flight, meant the world to me. I immediately embarrassed myself by telling anyone who would listen.
I was embarrassed, but unashamed.
In the same way we are quick to criticize others, I believe we often criticize ourselves. We obsess over every flaw, every mistake and we consider it a faux pas to self-praise. I find myself in disagreement with that concept, although I am often guilty of it myself, with that. I am grateful to Rosalie and Pamela for their comments and I am proud of myself for providing good customer service. In addition the positive feedback has given me some much needed self-confidence. While I do think constantly remarking on your own awesomeness would definitely become a source of annoyance to just about everyone around you, occasionally patting yourself on the back seems like nourishment for self-esteem and maybe even the odd shout from the rooftops should be acceptable.
So here's a thought. The next time someone gives you great service, or goes that extra step for you, or does a good job... let them know! And if you get praise... embrace it! Roll around in it, let it pour over you and through you, let it settle to the core of you and immerse into the fibres of your being. You deserve it.
Family self-portrait on the Taiya from our camping trip in Dyea, Alaska on the week-end.
I realized something important this past week-end. It was while we were enjoying our camping trip in Dyea (pronounced DIE-EE, good to know so you don't spent ten minutes embarrassing yourself in front of the customs agent at the US border). I was sitting in a camp chair on the Taiya river with my husband Rich writing in his journal beside me and my son Oscar merrily throwing sticks for our dog. It was one of those pure happy moments. It could have been in the movies as one of those slow motion happy montages about someone who just died or that touching scene just before a meteor hits the earth. It should have been a simple happy moment but there was a bittersweet element to it.
Oscar climbing a fallen tree on the bank of the Taiya river.
I should back up. If you've been reading this blog, you know how much I love the Yukon. I love the Yukon to the point where part of me thinks it's the obligation of the universe to keep me here. When I found out Rich had to go to Edmonton for four months for university, I've been giving the universe plenty of opportunities to do just that. I tried to get family to come out and help babysit Oscar during my crazy flight attendant hours, I hit up Air North for a 9-5 job in about five different departments (once even accosting the COO who was on a flight), I scoured YUWIN for other 9-5 job possibilities and I looked into getting an au pair or a nanny. My success rate has been approximately zero percent. It slowly began to dawn on me that with a three-year-old in daycare, a distinct lack of disposable cash and Richard's uni and bills to pay for, my pipe dream of a long and happy life in the Yukon is not likely. Hence my frostiness towards the universe lately.
So what should have been a pure happy moment was bittersweet because instead of enjoying the moment I was having, part of me was resenting the future moments I wouldn't have.
That's when I realized something important.
It was like the universe had enough of my self-indulgent mental whining and gave me a good invisible b**ch-slap.
Yes, the river was nice, and the mountains and the fresh air, but the happiness had less to do with the pretty scenery and more to do with the family I was with. I am one of those very lucky people who loves my husband, has a wonderful child and gets to be with them almost every day. We are in good health, we have a close and honest relationship and we laugh every day. Even my dog is great. She's not super bright and she could create a new dog with the amount of hair she sheds every day, but nice and gentle and great with Oscar.
Whether we are in the Yukon, or Edmonton or Timbuk Two, we will be together. That's what matters. Bitterness was replaced with gratefulness, the universe and I have mended fences and the rest of the trip was pure sweetness.
We stopped in Skagway for some halibut and ice cream on our way back to Whitehorse from Dyea.
The south Klondike Highway between Whitehorse and Skagway is one of the most picturesque road trips I've even taken.
on the Taiya River.
Oscar didn't miss his toys back home as he explored the forests and rivers.
We stayed at the Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park. The camping is free from September to May and the sites are nice and private. Ours had a little path to the Taiya River.
on the Taiya river with no one around.
I love how he eats it so delicately but it still ends up all over his chin.
When I worked in the photo lab on cruise ships I used to roll my eyes every time I printed this touristy picture. Who knew one day I would take it!
This lake is called Emerald Lake, and even with a coating of ice over it, you can see why. Photo by Christa Galloway.
The drive from our house to Skagway is only about two hours on the Klondike Highway but it takes us through the Yukon, British Columbia and Alaska. There is also a surprising variety of landscape. We drove to Skagway this week-end for a Mother's Day camping trip. This time of year we saw everything from desert to icy emerald lakes to snow-covered misty mountain ranges.
The Carcross Desert is an interesting mix of evergreen trees and sandy desert, overlooked by mountains. Photo by Christa Galloway.
A welcome sign near the Alaska border on the Klondike Highway at White pass on the Coast Mountains. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Oscar throwing rocks in Kookatsoon Lake, just south of Whitehorse. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Why is it that the best picnics are unplanned? Whenever I plan a picnic, it rains, or it's too cold, or I can't find my picnic blanket I bought for that purpose, or I get called into work.
The other day we stopped at Kookatsoon Lake on our way home from Whitehorse. It was 20 degrees, blue sky with light fluffy clouds, we had the whole place to ourselves and I had my lunch in a cooler which I hadn't eaten, so I called Rich and we a lovely impromptu picnic. Oscar threw rocks in the lake and played on the slide and merry-go-round. Rich and I soaked up some rays and enjoyed the view. The only downside is the mutant Yukon mosquito which is about double the size of the average Ontario mozzie and sound like small aircraft. Fortunately they are slow and dumb and easy to swat!
This lake is about 15 minutes towards Whitehorse from where we live. I feel so happy and blessed to have this summer here. I feel like I will look back on these memories as the best time of my life.
They say that people who come to the Yukon either love it or hate it. From what I've seen, this appears to be true. Count me on the "love it" side!
My shiny new Hawker wings. Photo by Christa Galloway.
The cold metal of my new Hawker wings felt like vindication in my hot little hands on Friday after take two of my Hawker line indoc. I have now passed all of my exams, drills and line indoctrinations which makes me officially a real flight attendant. I overcame my latest hurdle and now feel comfortable and confident to be a solo flight attendant on the Siddeley Hawker 748. My sore back and feet from my ten hour day of hard work on the HS-748 felt good, like a job well done. The celebratory beer when I got home was even better.
My celebration is short-lived. It seems no sooner have I risen to this challenge than I am itching for the next one. With our future blurry and in flux as it is, I won't have long to wait. I have a half-baked plan to convince Air North (or anyone) to give me a full-time 9-5 job although I am fairly convinced that full-time 9-5 jobs are a myth from the 50s that no longer exist, like unicorns and record players.
The idea is to stay in Whitehorse. As much as I love change, I also love the Yukon. The dryness (no allergies), the views, the mountains, the people and the wildness all draw me to this place. However, once Richard leaves for university in Alberta, I no longer have someone to watch Oscar during my crazy hours on airplanes. Daycares aren't open by 6am, nor on week-ends, nor do they stay open until 10:30pm. Hence the need for a 9-5 job.
Failing that, the only option is Edmonton.
To be honest, living with my son AND my husband is not such a bad idea. And although I am not a city person, four months in Edmonton might actually by fun, being how it's temporary and all, and assuming there are lots of free things to do in Edmonton. That said, there's a good chance that after four months in a tiny apartment with a talkative three-year-old and a needy golden retriever, I might become slightly insane. At least then I will fit in better with my family back in Ontario. Sorry Thompsons, you know it's true and you know I love you.
After Edmonton, Richard will get his equivalent of wings, which I suspect is a piece of paper saying he is a certified teacher. Not as cool as wings, I know. But that piece of paper gives us the freedom to go anywhere in Canada. Well, anywhere there is a job for the best teacher ever. Most likely it will be NWT, could be northern Alberta, or we could come back to the Yukon. If my allergies come back in Edmonton I will most certainly be pushing for the Yukon.
Whatever way it goes, the future is coming and it's exciting. To quote Buzz Lightyear from a movie I have seen far too many times, "To infinity, and beyond!"
The Yukon River in Whitehorse, steaming on a cold March morning. Photo by Christa Galloway.
I was looking through my photos today and I came across these two of the Yukon River that I had taken before training one morning and forgotten about. Since I froze my butt off to take these (not to mention my toes and fingers) I thought it was about time I posted them!
The icy bank of the Yukon River in Whitehorse. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Home-made sushi courtesy of Richard. Photo by Christa Galloway.
1. Hand-made sushi. My husband, Richard, went to a cooking class last night and learned how to make sushi, and it was scrumptious. He took an Indian cooking class last month, also a success. He is the main chef in the house. The fact that my husband does not care about traditional gender roles is very endearing and the fact that I enjoy delicious homemade food is downright fantastic.
2. Piggy back rides. Not for me (I'd have to lose a few more pounds), but for my son. And all the other hands-on father stuff he does. He takes Oscar to the pool to swim, he takes him to daycare, packs his lunch, picks him up, gives him his bath, brushes he teeth, reads him stories and a million other things that make me very proud.
Richard and Oscar, out for a walk. Photo by Christa Galloway.
3. Ironing. I don't iron. I either buy clothes that don't need ironing or I wear them wrinkled and assure myself it's the style. Sometimes, however, something must be ironed. For example, my uniform for work, which I'm told requires special attention such as using distilled water and placing a cloth between the iron and the clothing. It is always meticulously ironed by my wonderful husband. Did I mention he is fantastic?
4. Wine and support. When Richard knew I stressed about my new job he would have a glass of wine and a pep talk ready for me when I got home. His absolute belief that I could do anything and that he loved me no matter what helped me keep perspective and gain confidence. He makes me a better person.
5. Driving in foreign countries. We've travelled been to ancient Roman baths in Spain, mountain trails in New Zealand, historic Route 66, and a remote guest farm in South Africa. Not by bus, not on tour, or on someone else's schedule, but by car, on the back roads and in tiny little random towns. All this is possible because Rich can drive anywhere and shares my desire to go everywhere. I'd keep him just for that!
A collection of my old photos. Photo by Christa Galloway.
A women is driving down a residential street in the winter. The kids on the sidewalk are walking home from a nearby elementary school. She sees a girl thrown forcefully into a snow bank by another kid. She stops the car and dashes out to help to help the girl. To woman's surprise and horror the girl in the snowbank is her own daughter.
The woman was my mother. The girl was me.
We didn't have much money in those days. My dad worked in a factory and my mom did what she could while trying to be home with us including having a home daycare and being a part-time church secretary. It made very little difference to me. My childhood was great for the most part. I have wonderful memories of climbing up trees with the neighbours, going camping with my dad, visiting my Nanny's cottage and our yearly trip to Canada's wonderland.
My parents had purposely moved to the fringes of the school district of Cameron Street School which was meant to be the best school in town. Unfortunately it was also the school where a lot of children of wealthier parents went and my hand-me-down clothes and DIY hair styles were not up to their standards. The day I wore a second hand cape to with my dress for Grade 5 picture day I was on the receiving end of such verbal abuse from "rich girls" at school that it even got the attention of the teachers. My first attempt with a hair krimper met with a similar response. On one occasion I remember being worried about getting blood on the principal's car as he drove me home. I'd been hit in the head by a piece of sharp piece of ice, courtesy from a boy with a hockey stick taking shots at me as I stood against the red brick wall of the school.
At the time I did not identified as being bullied. My report cards would say something like, "Christa is shy and having a hard time making friends." I just thought I was weird and different and there was something wrong with me. I've buried these experiences deep down, with some effort in the years since. It actually wasn't until recently when I saw To This Day that I actually sat down and realized I'd been bullied.
I'm not telling you this so you feel sorry for me. Pity is a horrible side effect of bullying. I'm telling you because my past has haunted me in subtle ways for a long time and I feel like this is a step towards becoming clean. And if writing about my experience helps anyone at all, then it's worth the embarrassment. I don't know what the solution to bullying is, but I know it is not silence.
The problem isn't so much the immediate bruising or tears. Its the buried long term effects. The voice inside that tells you that you're boring or ugly or gross. It tunnels inside of you like a parasite, it makes you wary. You see hidden taunts and disdainful looks everywhere.
A turning point came when I was 18. I was again thrown into a snowbank, this time by a group of four teenage girls from another high school. The reason? Well, they wanted gum and I wouldn't give them any. It wouldn't have mattered. I was beaten and my wallet was stolen. I never hit back. For several months after, I was afraid to go out at night. I eventually decided I'd had enough and attended some kickboxing classes with my brother. In college, I took more self-defence classes. I gained some confidence in my ability to defend myself. I made a promise to myself that if I was ever attacked again I would defend myself with everything I had.
My bruises healed. I started lifting weights. My parents got me a weight bench for my room and a punching bag for the garage. I became physically stronger. I have never been physically attacked again. After college while working at a newspaper I even earned the nickname "Crusher" because of my interest in kickboxing and self-defence.
The emotional scars are more tricky to deal with.
I've heard the comment that I'm very quiet around new people. There is a reason for that. Every time I was taunted, kicked or shoved, my self-confidence took a hit, and those hits are difficult to repair. I've spent years re-inventing myself, trying to overcome my gut feeling that I'm not good enough, that people don't like me and that they are laughing at me behind my back. I have a carefully constructed a bullet-proof shell around myself. It takes a long time for me to trust other people.
I've developed emotional self-defence strategies. I learned to embrace the parts of me people once mocked. I am a geek, a Trekkie, I'm a computer nerd, I'm awkward, I have a big nose. I shout it to the world. It's a defence. I can't be mocked for being a geek if I'm the one who says it first. At the same time, in other ways, I try to fit in, to wear the same clothes other people wear. Maybe that's why I love jobs with a uniform, no one can see that I'm different. It's part of my camouflage.
I'm older now, I have my own amazing child and a loving husband. No matter what happens, I know I am loved by my family. I know I am lucky. When I'm home I feel secure. It's when I'm in the world, out of my element, that the old fears still haunt me. Every time I join a new crew on an airplane I see myself through the eyes of the bullies of my past. I worry the passengers think I'm awkward, the other flight attendants think I'm too quite or dull or useless.
I still encounter adult "bullying", it's just more passive aggressive, less blatant and it bothers me less the older I get. I think the change is not so much in other people, as it is with myself. There are snobs and mean-spirited people everywhere in the world. They are probably struggling with their own demons. I'm embarrassed to say there are times in my life I know I've been mean-spirited or snobby myself. I'm working on being a better person. I can't control what other people do, I can only change myself.
People throughout my life have helped me redefine my image of myself. My husband, my family and some fantastic friends I've made over the years.
It's much easier for me to make friends and see the best in people now. I can see positive aspects of myself through the actions of other people, even people I've just met. Just last week, Katie told me I did a good job on my first Boeing flight, Miriam smiled encouragingly at me when I was stressed during drink services, David gave me a warm hug, Naomi and I shared an obscure Star Trek joke and even a passenger who discovered I was new, reassured me I was doing a great job. They may seem like small gestures, but they mean a lot to me, in just because of the act itself, but in my ability to recognize it.
My childhood experiences do not define me by any means, but they have affected me. It has been a long road to get to where I am now. I have belief in myself stemming from my family support, positive feedback from friends, and my own ability to create art, to write, to inspire my son and to love.
How can we stop bullying in ourselves and our children? I don't know the answer but I have some suggestions.
See the best in people.
Be a good example to your children.
Embrace the differences in people.
View others with affection.
Be the person who steps in and stops bullying.
Believe in yourself.
If you see something worthy of praise in someone, by George, tell them!
The much-awaited letter from Alberta Education has finally arrived.
A few weeks ago, Richard finally got The Letter. This is The Letter we've been waiting for since August, the one from Alberta that would confirm that Richard's degree from the UK is legitimate and he can be certified. As we expected, The Letter also said he has a few more hoops to jump through.
I must say, governments seem to enjoy hoops, red tape, and other frustration-related objects. I bet they love tangled Christmas lights, the ones where one light is broken but you don't know which one until you've tried replacing them all, one by one.
One hoop is an online course. No problem, an expense but a hoop easily hopped through. Where we start to get tripped up is the courses at the U of A. Rich needs to spend four months in Edmonton doing taking classes and doing practical studies in a classroom. There is the cost of university, housing, food, daycare and the loss of an income (maybe two) not to mention some difficult choices ahead.
Now that we have fallen in love with the Yukon, do we give up our life here and move to Edmonton, or do we split up until Richard comes back in December? I won't get into the details of why each option is complicated and far from ideal, but trust me, we are in a pickle.
In our quest for the least bad plan the last few weeks, we've been discussing, making plans, scratching those plans, making new plans, and on and on. The average life span of any given plan is a little less than 24 hours. So far we are no closer to a decision than the day we got the letter.
I'm hoping our life is like the Upper Dewey Lake trail in Skagway. Every time we climb a steep hill and mentally congratulate ourselves, we turn a corner and see another climb ahead and grumble a bit. Maybe sometimes we feel like this climb will never end. But occasionally we stop and take photos or pick raspberries. We can feel ourselves slowly getting stronger with every step. Hopefully, one day, we will stand at the top, having climbed 1500 meters, looking out at a magnificent vista of rocky peaks and glaciers, and we'll know it was all worth it.
Chic Callas and Erin Evangeline perform "My First Fish" by Erin Evangeline at the Alaska Yukon Coffee House put on by the Whitehorse Folk Society on Saturday.
Listen to "My First Fish" by Erin Evangeline, or better yet, buy some music and listen to it anytime!
I found the perfect bag for all of my flight attendant training books. It's a sturdy maroon Samsonite in pristine condition. Unfortunately my flight attendant training is now over. However, due to my slight obsession with all things bag related, I still picked it up. I am planning on taking a Herbalism course at some point, so it will come in handy. Photo by Christa Galloway.
Rich found this Italian single cup coffee maker. I gave it a good clean and it turned out pretty well. This find is very fortuitous because our $9 french press just broke and it looks this "new" coffee maker will last generations. The world in which I do not have to go without coffee is a better place. Photo by Christa Galloway.
