Food and love... food is love

Like many people in this part of the world, I have a complicated relationship with food.

Thankfully, it’s not the eating that’s the complicated part.. just the cooking.

It’s not really surprising when I think about it. My mother didn’t learn to cook until she got married (at 39) in an era when it was taken for granted that wives were homemakers and cooks. But she grew up in a house with a cook and a maid and so never needed or had an inclination to learn.

It must have been a shock to suddenly realize that she would have to plan and prepare meals, learn to shop and buy food in a Canadian grocery store where so many of the foods were unfamiliar. Like many housewives of the time, she relied on the only thing that seemed familiar: bad British cooking. My childhood was replete with overcooked meat and boiled canned vegetables. Italian food consisted of macaroni and cheese. Fresh fruits and vegetables were unknown to me.

I did however bask in the delicious glory of my mother’s baking. Where she learned this, I don’t know but it was something that obviously came naturally to her. Most of all I remember her bread. The heavy moist smell of yeast rose up from underneath a damp linen tea towel covering her great stoneware bowl on the kitchen counter. My mother’s energetic punching and kneading of the billowing sticky dough. Loaves upon loaves would come steaming from the oven… brown and earthy, white and soft. Slathered in butter, it was the stuff that golden childhood memories are made of.

She made flaky, buttery pastry which became pies filled with blueberries or chocolate cream or lemon meringue or spicy apples. Tall – albeit often ever so slightly lop-sided – layer cakes swathed in butter cream icing. Crunchy, savoury baked fruit crumbles sparkling with her beloved Barbadian brown sugar.

Meal-times however were increasingly a minefield of barbed comments and marital warfare between my parents. We rarely had company over for dinner and so, rather than finding a natural pleasure in sharing food with friends and family, it became a weapon – its value diluted by quick, cheap fixes.

Thankfully, I’ve never had any qualms about eating, somehow managing to sidestep that horrifying generational legacy of obsession with weight and dieting, the fear and guilt over food that women often impart to their daughters. Aside from a brief, humourless fling with margarine, I enjoy eating food that is prepared with whole, natural ingredients (including sugar, butter, and bacon!) in satisfying quantities.

The problem of course is that I don’t like to cook. It’s not that I’m a bad cook – people tell me I cook quite well. I just can’t be bothered. I know I’m not alone… actually that’s a big part of the problem. Cooking for one is no picnic (pardon the pun but it’s actually quite appropriate given that in the summer I often simply make a sandwich rather than prepare a meal). The idea of flipping through cookbooks to find something appealing, shopping for ingredients (because of course there isn’t much in Mother Hubbard’s cupboard), and preparing a meal to be eaten alone isn’t terribly interesting… and to do that seven days a week!? The lead-up to having friends over for a meal is fraught with anxiety (damn you Martha Stewart and your Food Network cabal!).

And so truth be told, despite the fact that I love eating good food; that I champion whole/slow food cooking; that I love watching good food being prepared; that I revile over-salted, nutritionally-poor, prepared food… I eat it all the time. There, I’ve said it. My freezer is usually filled with a variety of pre-packaged entrees and my fridge rarely contains more than condiments, a few beers or a half-empty bottle of wine, and restaurant left-overs.

Chris would be so disappointed – not surprised, but disappointed nonetheless. He loved to cook. He was fearless and intuitive in the kitchen, somehow everything was ready at the same time and the flavours all complimented but never overwhelmed. I was his willing sous-chef, happy to chop and slice, measure and de-bone at his side. Being in the kitchen with Chris was like dancing – he led and I followed. And so now I stand alone in my preposterously well-equipped kitchen with Chris’ beloved Henckels pots and pans, his Wüsthof knives, his gadgets and cutting boards.

I could force myself to cook – hoping that by simply following a routine, I would eventually slip into a practiced pleasure of creating delicious meals from simple ingredients. Probably a naïve proposition…

I could engage the services of a personal chef or food delivery service. Choosing from a menu of options and having nutritious, ready-to-eat meals at the door or in the fridge – expensive but convenient…

I could eat out at restaurants several nights a week, bridging interim nights with left-overs. No doubt the inventory of worthwhile venues and willing company would quickly be exhausted and the exercise become even more tedious than actually cooking…

I could trek to one of those meal outlet stores where they have ingredients already chopped and prepared – you simply have to assemble what you want and cook it at home. Perhaps a practical solution bridging pre-packaged and healthy meals…

I could keep eating rubbish while watching Big Night, Babette’s Feast, Eat Drink Man Woman, Julie & Julia, or any other foodie movie – closing my eyes and imagining the smells and flavours of real food.

Or I could go to Italy or France for a year and learn what it is to simply enjoy good food as a normal part of every day life – without all the fretting and sub-zero refrigeration.

"The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a 'What the hell?' attitude." ~ Julia Child
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How do I love thee... Oh Canada

Love letters come in many formats.

Sometimes they're compilation CDs. Sometimes they're scratched in the wet sand on a windy beach. Sometimes they're fresh-baked cookies.

The obituary I wrote for Chris was a love letter... for him, to him, of him.

Often we find ourselves thinking of the many things we wanted to tell someone we love when it's too late. "If only I had another chance." "If only I could do it differently this time."

What would you do... if you only had one week to live? What would you do differently?

The film One Week is director Michael McGowan's love letter to Canada. Without revealing any spoilers the basic premise of the film is the story of a young man with a full life and about to get married who is told he has terminal cancer.

What would you do?

He decides to hit the road - partly in flight mode, partly in the hopes of clearing his head and coming to terms with the shattering news he's just been given. Riding his motorcycle westward with no real plan in mind, the arc of his physical journey is also the story of his emotional journey.

Most of the time he's alone with his turbulent thoughts, the ever-changing landscape of Canada as the backdrop. Along the way he meets other people, each on their own journeys, and while these encounters are often fleeting, there are lingering changes that impact in ways great and small. By the time Ben reaches the Pacific ocean one week later his life has changed him... and he has changed his life.

For anyone who's travelled across Canada or lived in different parts of Canada, there are certain touchstones and symbols that need no explanations. But this is no hackneyed travelogue, the moments captured are touching and affectionate and breath-taking and ultimately vibrate deep in that collective Canadian psyche. Despite being a story of a young man facing death, there were many warm waves of laughter that rippled through the audience when I saw it in the theatre. This is an unabashedly Canadian story whose cultural reference may or may not resonate with audiences elsewhere.

Twenty years ago this summer, my university roommate and I loaded up her car Zelda and began a five-day journey to Vancouver. We were young and foolish and broke but life was full of adventure and tree-planting in Northern BC sounded like a great way to spend the summer making gobs of money.

We B&B'd with a Henry Fonda look-alike in the Sault and sang ad jingles along the shores of Lake Superior when the radio wouldn't pick up any signal and stood quietly in the shadow of Terry Fox outside Thunder Bay and took the ring road around Winnipeg and marvelled at tumbling tumbleweed and gazed into the blindingly blue cathedral skies of the Prairies and climbed higher and higher into the monstrous majesty of the Rockies and miraculously convinced a BC highway cop that Qubec didn't use front license plates and finally tumbled down through the great green Fraser River valley into Vancouver.

We didn't make gobs of money and I discovered I was a gardener, not a tree-planter, and I used Raid as hair spray and worked under the protective eye of a trained big game sharp-shooter and watched the sun barely slip below the horizon at 11:30pm and got my first tattoo from a guy with nipple rings and ate too much Baskin Robbins and discovered dim sum and spent my waitressing breaks reading on the beach and tasted bear stew with blueberry sauce and had pizza delivered to us on the Via train and cried tears of homecoming joy at seeing the light beacon atop Place Ville Marie and savoured every bite of Montreal smoked meat at 3am.

In the years since that summer, I've been lucky to have travelled to St. John's, Vancouver, and every provice in between for work and vacations. But of all those trips, it's that road trip which always resurfaces with the strongest emotions and memories. Perhaps because it was my first time seeing other parts of the country; perhaps because it was the company I shared; perhaps because it was our last summer of freedom before graduating into "the real world". It was the first time I really grasped the vastness and beauty of this country and how lucky I was to live here. Everyone should be so lucky!

Happy Canada Day - what are you going to do?
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The valley of my childhood

This is me and my childhood friend Glenn. We were pretty much inseparable from stroller to school bus. Our parents were good friends and we lived one block away from each other. Lots of holidays and summer days and nothing special days were spent together until we started school – he at the local English Catholic school and me at the local English Protestant one.

We used to go exploring in our neighbourhood, climbing rocks and trees, poking sticks into dark holes; we snuck popsicles from my house and then his on hot summer afternoons; we went tobogganing at the nearby hill; we played board games in our pyjamas; we divvied up our Halloween treats, bartering what we didn’t want.

As is the usual course of life we made new friends once we started school and began to drift apart. There were still birthdays and Christmases but we saw less and less of each other as the years flew by. Glenn and his family moved away when we were about nine or ten. After that we rarely saw each other aside from the occasional visit during summer vacations but by then our devoted childhood friendship had faded into our parents’ photo albums.

I recently found out that Glenn died last summer from complications of a second kidney transplant surgery. I had always known that Glenn had diabetes. He was diagnosed when we were little kids, but I never really knew much about it. I knew he had to have needles – that was about the extent of my awareness. It never occurred to me back then that he could die.

It’s been probably 20… 25 years since I last saw Glenn. My favourite memories of him feature a grinning, mischievous boy with dark unruly curls. I hope he’s still climbing rocks and trees, and exploring, and finding new adventures.

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WALKINSHAW, Glenn Kevin 1962-2008

On July 16, 2008 at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal, QC at the age of 46 after complications from transplant surgery, Glenn passed away peacefully with his family by his side.

Glenn is survived by his mother Lorraine (nee Ward) Walkinshaw, predeceased by his father Albert. Beloved brother to Brad Walkinshaw (Mary), of Montreal, QC, and Jill Walkinshaw (Steven) of Orleans. Glenn will be fondly remembered by his nieces and nephews Rini and Amanda of Montreal, QC and Alexandria and Anderson of Orleans.

The family gratefully thanks the Dialysis Unit of the Riverside Hospital of Ottawa for their kindness and nursing care, and also the Royal Victoria Hospital Transplant team and the ICU Medical and Nursing teams for their care of Glenn since May 19, 2008.

A Mass in the presence of the ashes will be held at St. Patrick's Basilica, Kent at Nepean Sts., Ottawa, at 2 p.m. on Tuesday, July 22, 2008 with burial in the Botanical Gardens at Beechwood Cemetery in Ottawa.

In memory of Glenn, please consider the Juvenile Diabetes Association and remember to be kind to everyone. Rest in Peace, dear Glenn. We Miss You. "Live Free and Ride".
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An unbroken bond

I just returned from a one-week whirlwind visit with several dear friends. The original timing of my vacation (aside from getting away from my wet basement) was arranged to coincide with the birthdays of two of these aforementioned dear friends who just happen to have been born one day apart. A gathering of the 'clan' was set into motion and a flurry of excited e-mails flew back and forth amongst this group of friends who met [--] years ago in university. We try to all get together at least once a year and, so far, I think we've done pretty well.

We've muddled through life's adventures, lending a shoulder or a hand whenever needed. We've shared a lot of tears but even more laughter. We've been to each others' weddings (but under some unspoken pact, never as bridesmaids - must be the dresses!). Helped each other move (thank god those days are over!) and consoled each other over broken hearts (remember 'I hate men parties'?). We're as different as any group of women could be but we argue and love without question. The bond is taken for granted but not the gratitude or the responsibility it holds.

So it seemed that fate brought us all together again this time, not just for birthday festivities as planned but for other unexpected life-changing events. One of our group received thrilling news of admission to a prestigious graduate program at an Ivy League university. We shared cheers and tears of joy and a bottle of champagne was ordered from the bar! Another of our group experienced the heavy-hearted loss of an elderly relative after a lengthy illness. We shared hugs and consolation and glasses were raised in honour of a passing soul.

And so life goes. Our weekend together was in many ways typical of our long-standing friendships - the celebrations, the losses, many a glass of wine, mugging for the camera, the comfortable mundane catching up on each others' lives late into the night, and the goodbye hugs before returning to our day-to-day adventures... each taking with us the strength of our friendship, topped up for another year.

Thanks for the memories girls, and for all those yet to come!

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2 x 2 = wonderful

Just in time for Valentine's Day, Canadian Blood Services announced on February 12 that it has officially launched the national Living Donor Paired Exchange Registry.

This is wonderful news for families waiting for kidney transplants. Research has shown that living donor kidneys are often more successful than cadaveric transplants and patients' families and friends are encouraged to be tested for compatibility. Unfortunately, many patients are unable to find compatible donors among family or friends and thus remain on the transplant waiting list, sometimes for many years, until a suitable match becomes available from a deceased donor.

The registry already has 23 pairs of donors/recipients registred through pilot programs in Ontario, Alberta, and BC and other provinces will be added shortly. [It is unclear whether Quebec will be included in the registry. The province maintains an agency called Héma-Québec which operates a parallel but separate blood and human tissue service.]

This national registry will open up a much wider pool of willing and eager donors who can more quickly be matched with closely-matched recipients, it will enable those remaining on the waiting list to receive cadaveric kidneys more quickly, it may offer opportunities for altruistic donors who are not paired with anyone, and will ensure a more equitable access to donor organs across the country.

I had begun the testing process to see if I was a possible donor match for Chris but because of his unstable health, he was withdrawn from the waiting list waiting list (don't ask!). If his health had been stable and I had ultimately been found not to be a match for him, I'm sure that Chris would have consented to us being placed on the Paired Exchange Registry. A pair of strangers somewhere in Canada would have possibly been our match. What a lovely thought... what a wonderful gift to give and to receive!
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Close encounters of the Canuck celebrity kind

Inspired by a recent rambling conversation with a friend that included a chapter on celebrities* we had met, here's my list (to the best of my recollection):

• Jean Beliveau
• Ed Broadbent (prompting Chris to exclaim to me "I love you!")
• Kim Campbell
• Joe Clark (a regular shopper at the bookstore where I worked)
• Northrop Frye
• Herb Gray
  
• Paul Gross (many years ago during summer stock theatre)
• Rick Mercer
• Ovide Mercredi
• Mila Mulroney (also at the bookstore but an altogether different type of shopping encounter!)
• Rex Murphy
• Pierre Pettigrew
• Joe Schlesinger (another regular at the bookstore)
• René Simard (he kissed my cheek & my mother forced me to wash it after four days)
• Evan Solomon
• George Stroumboulopoulos
• Pierre Trudeau
• Michael Wilson (by telephone - but that's another story!)

* Readers will notice a preponderance of political and public broadcaster personalities - that's what you get for living in the nation's capital!
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Turning the page...

As I've mentioned previously, I've been thinking about my writing and this blog and my journal and my journey, and I had a bit of a revelation that's helped me to make a decision.

Last week I finished reading one of the several books I had on the go: The Alchemy of Loss. (It was on my Christmas list but didn't make it under the tree, I guess Santa thought it was a bit grim!) Now before you get all worried because you think I'm reading too many 'widow' books, read on...

This remarkable book was written by a young Canadian woman, Abigail Carter, whose husband Arron died at the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. She wrote her story as a way to recover, a way through the fog of her widowhood, a remembrance for her young children who will have very faint memories of their father by the time they're old enough to understand what their mother struggled through… As she wryly notes, she wrote the book that she had hoped to find when she was struggling through the early years of her loss.

What especially struck me about Abigail’s story was the raw honesty of her writing. She talks candidly about her ever-changing roller coaster of emotions, ranging from crushing love to raging frustration with her children; gratefulness and anger at her parents; disappointment and eagerness in her eventual albeit tentative re-entry into the dating world; disillusionment and gratitude with her husband’s company legal representative; and so on across the cast of many people who helped her along her journey.

I couldn’t help but wonder what they all thought when reading passages about themselves in this book. Whether Abigail told all these people what she had written or gave them a preview before the book was published is unknown; she does thank many of them in her introduction. But I was impressed by her unflinching honesty. She told her own story – in all its pain and rage and love and helplessness and appreciation and humour and oddness. It was her way forward and she knew that the people who meant most to her would stick by her, for better or for worse.

When I began this blog, I thought it would be a communal place where Chris’ loved ones could bring their stories and we could share our memories and our sadness. But in the end that wasn't really what it was about… it was about me and my journey. Because I knew that many of Chris’ friends and family were reading this blog, I kept many things to myself (or to my counsellor!). But in recent months, I’ve found myself feeling constrained in my writing by the knowledge of who many of my readers are. I didn’t want to upset people or worry them but I’ve grown frustrated by that self-imposed embargo.

I considered abandoning this blog and perhaps beginning another one – anonymously, without notice - where I could express my pain and joy without judgement or fear of causing worry among loved ones. Or I could simply continue self-editing and use my journal – and my counsellor – to breathe… or both… or neither…

But then I read Abigail’s story and I realized that I was tired of worrying about what everyone else thought and that I just wanted to tell my truth. So dear readers, loved ones and strangers, you may read a different shade of me now. You may read things that are upsetting or worrisome. You may also read things that are amusing and deeply personal. If you know me, you'll recognize me - if you don't, you'll get to know me.

Fear not, I’m not falling into a dark pit of despair. Like everyone, I have dark days and light nights interspersed with humdrum errands and busy appointments. You mustn’t fuss and fret. I wouldn’t have thought it possible a year and a half ago but look how far I’ve travelled. I’m making up the roadmap as I go along so let me stretch my legs - I couldn’t have come this far without you.
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Meeting Fríða and ghosts of Iceland past

As promised (a month ago!), here is another Iceland trip posting - my second to last. It seemed that as our trip wound into its final days we tried to pack more than ever into each one! After a week together, climbing rocky mountain roads and crawling through cloud-cover and fog, we bade farewell to our trusty Škoda Octavia at the airport drop-off before being picked up by a shuttle bus which took us to the Íshestar riding stables on the outskirts of the city.

We had booked a half-day of horseback riding to experience beautiful Icelandic horses up close and personal. They are an internationally recognized breed known for their smaller stature, stamina, friendly nature, and their unique tölt gait. To protect the health of the breed, no other horses can be imported into Iceland – although Icelandic horses can be exported and are bred around the world.

The stable staff got us each properly seated and stirrups adjusted before we set off single-file, heading out beyond the suburban edges of the city. Soon we were looking out across a rocky, scrubby landscape surrounded by hills – the weather was alternately sunny, drizzly, and breezy (pretty typical!). After about an hour we stopped in a grassy clearing to stretch our legs and let the horses graze. On our way back to the stables, we got in some cantering which was exhilarating and surprising for a beginner tour!

Back at the stables, we had lunch with the staff and then wandered out to the corral with some carrots and apples we had brought for the horses. We were immediately surrounded by dozens of velvety, inquisitive faces – supple, muscular lips quickly lapping up juicy treats and greedily pushing their noses into pockets and hands searching for more. We also met Fríða, the lovely but shy Springer Spaniel who lives at the stables – she seemed quite smitten with Mark!

To pamper our now sore buttocks and stiff legs, we spent the afternoon soaking up the decadent and soothing mineral waters of the world famous Blue Lagoon. The spa is a hidden other-worldly gem surrounded by an angry, blackened volcanic landscape. It’s a naturally occurring lagoon which has been developed into a state-of-the-art geothermal spa and power plant! The milky blue mineral-rich waters are high in sulphur and silica and are considered very therapeutic.

Before getting to the main spa building, guests walk down a craggy corridor cut through the volcanic rock. We hadn’t seen a glimpse of anything but black, jagged rock and then suddenly – this beautiful building suddenly rose up in front of us and through the windows the wondrous vision of steaming blue water. We ignored the shops and restaurants, heading directly for the check-in where we received our blue snap-on bracelets which served as our locker keys and tokens of admission – very cool system.

Boys and Girls went their separate ways here and entered the worlds of unabashed European nudity! I’m no prude but when you grow up in North America, your sensibilities are in for a shock when you hit the Blue Lagoon locker rooms! BTW the locker rooms are very nice – forget your memories of high school phys-ed, this is a world-class spa. We had been forewarned about the strict hygiene standards enforced at Icelandic pools and spas – they don’t use chemicals to purify the water and expect everyone to scrub down thoroughly before using the facilities. I wasn’t going to be the one to catch the attention of the stern-looking older woman patrolling the shower area ensuring that everyone upheld these standards.

When you step out onto the wooden deck surrounding the Lagoon, you realize how bloody chilly you are and then you step into the steaming milky blue water… mmmm, ahhhhh. The water is quite hot (40 °C / 104 °F) and it feels sooo good, like a wonderful hot bath. We wandered about in the shoulder-deep water with white silica mud slathered on our faces, peering through the sun-streaked steam to the bizarre landscape of volcanic rock and geothermal power plant towers. The waterfall feature gives a fantastic shoulder massage but make sure those shoulder straps don’t slip ladies! We heard languages from all over – I met a couple and their daughter from Paris who had been to the Saguenay region – the world really is strangely small!

After three superbly relaxing hours lolling in the spa waters we showered and hopped the shuttle bus back to Reykjavik. A surprise awaited us in town – unbeknownst to us, a huge celebration rally had been organized to welcome home the silver Olympic medal winning Icelandic handball team. (To give a sense of the importance of this event, Iceland has won a grand total of four Olympic medals – summer and winter – in its entire history. This was a BIG deal.) Tens of thousands of Icelanders had gathered downtown where a stage had been set up with giant screens. There was music and dignitaries – including the Prime Minister – the entire handball team was on stage, the crowd was euphoric, cheering and clapping. We celebrated by lining up with hundreds of Icelanders to indulge in the national favourite: pylsur and Coke!

As if the day hadn’t been full enough, we then went on the Reykjavík Haunted Walk tour which led us through the city centre telling tales of murder and ghosts and mysterious events. Coincidentally, the tour route passed directly in front of our apartment building leaving us to wonder if there was some gruesome history our landlords had omitted from the listing! The tour ended after dark, deep in the heart of the old cemetery where we saw mystifying and strange sites… you’ll have to take the tour to see for yourself.

To cap off the day we dropped by a nearby club which was one of the sites for the Reykjavík Jazz Festival taking place in the city that week. I quite enjoyed the music of Tepokinn (Teabag) – a young, up-an-coming Icelandic jazz band. The boys were very patient – they lasted a good hour or so before they couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to leave! Although I could have stayed for several more hours to enjoy the music, I was bone tired after a very full day and it was a good thing they dragged me home!
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The crowning Perl and a big wax fish

It’s hard to believe that two months have passed since we were in Iceland! I’ve been lax in my post-travel updates so I’m going to try and do that this week. Just to mix it up I’m going to hop around a little chronologically so bear with me! (Credit for the IKEA & wax fish photos goes to M & D!) Come along as we travel back in time to the land of fire and ice…

Tooling around Reykjavík
After a week of non-stop travelling and sight-seeing we were kind of worn out so we decided to tool around the city and do whatever struck our fancy. And what better way than to visit the IKEA outlet?! Believe it or not this small island nation whose entire population hovers around 320,000 has a gigantic two-level store that would be the envy of… well, frankly London (pop. 350,000)!

My goal was to get an Icelandic IKEA catalogue as a souvenir. We had a quick lunch of the ubiquitous Swedish meatballs with gravy & mashed potatoes and then launched into our cross-cultural shopping expedition. Mark drolly speculated whether the product names would all be English and perhaps the Scandinavian names we were used to seeing at IKEA were just a big joke being played on North Americans!

I noticed that the kitchen appliances were consistently smaller sizes than what we’re used to (no Costco I guess!), shower stalls (instead of tub/showers) and dual-flush toilets were in every bathroom model, and there was a big emphasis on space-saving items and furniture. I ended up buying a lovely set of sheer curtains that were dirt cheap on sale and at the check-out scored my coveted catalogue!

Our next stop was the Perlan, a beautiful but interestingly utilitarian building set on a hilltop overlooking the city airport where we had flown from at the beginning of our trip. Perlan gets its name from the reflective glass dome that crowns the ring of five gigantic water tanks which hold geothermally-heated water used in the city of Reykjavík. The hilltop site features walking/cycling paths and hundreds of trees planted in ongoing efforts to restore forests to Iceland. Outside the main entrance is an exuberant jazz quartet sculpture and I couldn’t resist dancing to their beat!

Inside, the central atrium is lit from all sides by glass walls between the tanks – bizarrely there were several large palm trees huddling in a corner looking very lost and out of place. The atrium is used for receptions of all sorts, there was an art exhibit on display when we visited. We strolled around the wide observation deck that encircles the glass dome at the top of the building where the entire city spread out below us framed by stunning views of distant mountains and fjords.

Downstairs, we visited the Saga Museum which has been created inside one of the de-commissioned water tanks. Told through a series of dioramas populated by startlingly life-like mannequins, we learned about the very bloody and colourful history of the island from when it was first settled. We had a great chat about the building with the museum attendant who had visited Canada.

Tired from our busy day we decided to head home and came upon a couple of evil little hooligans throwing rocks at the birds on Lake Tjörnin near our apartment! The initial effect of my loud angry “NO – STOP!” lasted for less than a minute until they realized that I was just a silly tourist who wouldn’t give them a good verbal thrashing in Icelandic. (I did briefly entertain the idea of throwing stones at them to see how they liked the sensation.)

Our evening ended with yet another delicious meal at a nearby restaurant that had been recommended by several people. It’s housed in a rabbit-warren series of second-floor rooms in an older apartment building. At first glance it feels like you’ve arrived at a great-aunt’s home stuffed with 19^th century antiques and crocheted doilies. To add another element of other-worldliness, the maitre’d was from Montreal! After chatting in French we were seated in one of the four dining rooms – ours featured a large fish carved of wax and mounted on the wall… weird.

There was nothing weird about the food though! I splurged and ordered the scampi. Expecting the usual four or five, I was flabbergasted when presented with a heap of nine large beautifully grilled tails and salad! (Yes, I did eat them all - along with wine and chocolate ganache with crème fraiche & fresh Icelandic blueberries for dessert.)

Stay tuned for a few more updates... coming soon to a computer near you!
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Happy birth day

Today is Chris' birthday. I'm not sure what to do, it seems wrong not to mark the occasion somehow. It's a very special day for me, for his family, for his friends because that was the day he came into the world - on his way towards coming into our lives.

We're all changed in some way because of having Chris in our lives. Just as we are by having each other in our lives. We may not know how much but each tie makes a difference... in how we look at the world, in how we think about the events that transpire around us, in how we treat each other. And in turn we affect others - even those we may not know by name.

In that spirit, a group of us including Chris' family and some close friends will once again be walking in memory of Chris in the Kidney Foundation's annual organ donation awareness campaign on Sunday, September 21.

Last year the walk took place on our first wedding anniversary and our team of 16 (including 2 dogs) raised over $4000 towards this important cause. The weather was perfect and we had a great time, met some really nice people, and enjoyed a BBQ as well!

In honour of Chris' birthday, consider organ donation and - most importantly - talk with your family about your wishes. Many people do not realize that their family's decision will be the final one regardless of what is indicated on their donor card or driver's license.

Please consider making a donation to team Carpe Diem Chris in memory of him and the incredible gift of life that organ donation can offer to the thousands of families still waiting.

Becoming the wind and the rain and the sea

Where to begin!? Apologies to those devoted readers who've been waiting for an update on our trip around Iceland. It´s been an incredible few days since I last posted to the blog.

We're now in Reykjavík, staying at a huge apartment overlooking the "floating" city hall and downtown lake populated by ducks, seagulls, and a pair of swans!! The weather has been alternately windy, rainy, sunny, cold, damp, and refreshing - sometimes all in one hour. We're eating really well and somehow not spending a bloody fortune (tonight we've pledged to try puffin).

When last I wrote, we were headed to the Látrabjarg bird sanctuary where hundreds of thousands of sea birds nest during the spring and summer - including one of the largest puffin colonies in the world. It's also where we decided to scatter Chris' ashes. The place is ridiculously inaccessible - mountainous hairpin turn gravel roads cut into the sides of steep cliffs. But the reward once you get there is truly awe-inspiring (a word I've gotten used to using every day)!

We climbed to the second-highest peak, seeing puffins, guillemots, seagulls, and other birds all along the way. We stopped at a grassy spot with a stunning view out to sea and decided that this was a place where Chris would be free to become the wind and the rain and the sea. The wind whipped up from below the cliff edge and carried his ashes up into the cloud-torn sky where they disappeared. Ironically he probably might not have been able to get up to that place, even with a transplant, and so it was even more significant that he become part of the wild freedom of that beautiful place.

Later that day we took the Baldur Ferry to the little town of Stykkishólmur where we stayed the night at Hótel Breiðafjörður. Arriving too late to eat dinner at any of the restaurants in town I had a pylsur at the local gas station grill - yummmy!

Next day we headed for Snæfellsjökull, pushing our sturdy Skoda Octavia even further than we already had. Up, up, up further and further into the never-ending switch-back turns of the mountain gravel road we finally ended up in clouds, our windows misting with drizzle. The landscape up there was truly lunar, nothing visible beyond about 50ft and only lava rock and acid-green lava moss. Earlier visitors had left many Inukshuk-like rock piles and they sprouted around us like the elves that are reputed to live all around us. The road down to Hellnar was washed out so we had to turn around and drive all the way back!!

The drive to Reykjavík was positively boring in comparison and I actually napped along the way. We arrived to a Happy Anniversary banner and chilled champagne for David & Mark's 4th wedding anniversary (planned weeks ahead with my accomplices at the guesthouse). We lit up the disco ball on our living room ceiling and kicked back thinking that if we left the next day, we would already have had an incredible trip.

Our first full day in Reykjavík coincided with the city marathon AND the annual culture night Menningarnótt which is basically a big city-wide street party celebrating music, painting, theatre, etc. Galleries have open houses, mimes do performance art, painters show kids their techniques, shops offer sidewalk sales, etc, etc, etc. It´s a free-for-all that has something for everyone!

Art installation of front-load washing machines all "vomiting" water down the middle of the street! Just one of the dizzying array of things going on for Culture Night.

Late that night we grabbed some more delicious Icelandic baked goodies and headed down to the harbour along with thousands of other people for the big fireworks - what a show! We just happened to sit down on a little hill and the fireworks were literally set off right in front of us! The sky was clear as a bell but being Iceland it was barely dark even though it was 11pm. We cheered and clapped along with everyone else and afterwards, families and friends wandered along the harbourfront. To celebrate, we popped into one of the many hopping bars along the busy shopping strip and bought beers which we simply walked out onto the street while drinking - when in Rome! The streets were packed with families and merry-makers, laughing and strolling and drinking. What a great energy in the air!

Yesterday we drove along the south-west coast through Selfoss where we visited Bobby Fisher´s grave at a tiny church with a beautiful interior. Then it was on to Hella where we ate our picnic lunch overlooking a river before visiting a craft shop filled with handknit sweaters, ceramics, and hand-carved wooden bowls. We stopped for awhile at Skógafoss where we walked up to the pool at the base of this thundering waterfall - Iceland's highest. We got soaked in the spray and loved it! There is a wonderful museum there as well highlighting Icelandic life up until the 20th century including buildings around the museum grounds that you can walk into and see how people lived as far back as the early settlers in turf/sod houses.

Unbelievably, the day just kept getting better and better despite the driving rain. We decided to take the Lonely Planet suggestion to walk on Sólheimajökull glacier nearby and took the gravel road definitely less travelled by car, walked the last kilometer or so before climbing a rock pile and there lay a glacier before our eyes... It's so hard to put into words that experience - and everything that being there represents - how is this possible, why is it allowed!? We walked across the silt and gravel streams that pour out of the base of the glacier and then actually stepped onto it. There was not a single other person or man-made object as far as the eye could see, we were the only ones there... incredible.

We drove onwards towards the town of Vík and turned off down a country road that led us to a breath-taking view of a long curving black volcano sand beach where the icy cold waves crashed endlessly. Behind us rose a long line of basalt stone columns resembling a huge formidable cathedral organ. Above in the cliffs, hundreds of birds circled - including puffins. In the misty sunlight at the far end of the black beach stood the huge rock formation of Dyrhólaey glowing as if lit from the inside. It reminded me of our famous Percé Rock in the Gaspé region. The entire scene was almost too much to take in.

We left the crashing waves and birds to their ageless cycles to find a delicious dinner of tender marinated lamb in a tiny, bustling pub called Halldórskaffi. The drive back to Reyjavik was a late one but rewarded with a perfect crescent moon sliding out from behind the clouds.

We´ve seen so many incredible things and this snippet doesn´t nearly do it justice but I will continue to scribble and will elaborate when I return home.

Until next time...
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Icelandic poppies and fresh bread

Greetings from Ísafjörður!

We had a good flight punctuated by several notable things: feather pillows and large fleece blankets for everyone; a yummy, hot dinner (served at the very continental hour of 10:30pm!); and a dizzying array of films, videos, music, and Icelandic travel info at our touch-screen fingertips. The sum total of sleep between the three of us was perhaps 4-5 hours!

We arrived bleary-eyed at 6:30am to a grey drizzly Keflavík airport outside of Reykjavík and took a quick shuttle into the city where we dropped off our bags and wandered about for several hours. Not much was open but we did walk through beautiful downtown gardens and pop into city hall where we saw a cool scale model of the entire island - those mountains we'll be driving through are really freakin' high!! Our sleep-deprived bodies got a charge from croissants and coffee before we headed to the tiny bustling city airport for our flight up north.

The clouds cleared for our decent and the view was SPECTACULAR!! Sheer mountains dropped into water that sparkled in the afternoon sunlight and the little town of Ísafjörður is wrapped around a peninsula in the deep finger of the fjord. The shuttle driver spoke no English but we got to our guesthouse which is delightful - six thumbs up from the three of us!

We wandered around for several hours - mouths agape and cameras snapping madly at the natural vista and charming town around us. Dinner at Tjöruhúsið in the Ísafjörður Maritime Museum was incredibly fresh fish, served in the pan at the table. Cold beer is always good and Viking brand rounded out our meal. We stopped into the tourist office and spoke with Kirsten who was very nice.

I slept in this morning but made up for it asap before we went out walking some more around town, taking yet more amazing picture. There are tons of cute, friendly cats wandering around who've all been getting chin scratches and photo-shoots. The architecture is really interesting - lots of mid-century modern! For a laugh - and because I love them - we popped into the local hardware store. Holy nice fixtures batman! Gorgeous modern stuff that would be special orders at Home Depot are fully stocked in a town of 3500! And of course everyone is blond and beautiful - even the crusty old guys down on the docks!

"Spiral Kitty"

We had an amazing afternoon boat trip out to Vigur island where we saw puffins, arctic tern, seals, and eider ducks. The family that owns the island run an eiderdown "farm" where they harvest eiderdown from the nests to make eiderdown duvets.

Having a Georgia O'Keeffe moment at Vigur Island...

It's hard to put into words how beautiful it is here. The air is cool and fresh. The sea and sky are ever-changing lifeforms. There are an astounding number and range of flowers everywhere: yellow and orange Icelandic poppies; heavenly scented wild roses; lush purple lupins; etc. The bread and baked goods are to die for! The smell... omg.

So much to describe! How to put these experiences into words? I will have to flesh out these on-the-fly postings once I get home.

Tomorrow, we're off to Látrabjarg in our rental car - cross your fingers and wish us luck!

A bientôt!
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One helluva life!

Chris will have some very dear company now. The Dixon clan lost a long-cherished friend this week with the death of Ron Laidlaw. The Laidlaws were like a second family to Chris and were among the first people to meet him when he was just a baby.

Ron and his wife Vips welcomed me into their home at Christmas- time several years ago when I visited them with Chris and his mom and grandmother. I was a bit nervous because Chris had talked about them so much and in such a warm and affectionate manner that I wanted to be sure to make a good impression. I need not have feared any stern inspection! At the Laidlaws, strangers quickly became friends and friends became family.

Even though he was 88 when he died, Ron was never old. He was passionate about current events and curious about people, he had a wry (sometimes even corny) sense of humour and loved to share cartoons and jokes with loved ones near and far via his computer, he loved a good bottle of vino and had been helping his younger son build up a small vineyard in the Niagara region. His life-long passion was photography which he continued to practice up until his death.

But most of all he loved his family and his friends and they reciprocated in spades. Although I didn’t know him long or well, I could see the deep, abiding love and joy that Ron felt when he was surrounded by those he loved. He just bubbled with energy.

After his wife died several years ago, Ron described himself as a ship without its sail. He has rejoined his beloved Vips and I know they will enjoy smooth waters together forever more. Bon voyage – we will miss you.

Ron enjoying Iceland's Blue Lagoon this past May
(photo courtesy of Christian Laidlaw).

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Fairy godmother

This year I've seen a bumper crop of babies in my circle of friends, acquaintances, and family. It's practically raining babies!

After a dry spell of several years when most of my friends seemed to have completed their childbearing - either by choice or Mother Nature's whim - suddenly I'm up to my chinny-chin-chin in baby announcements. The first was a late arrival in the first week of January and since then a new one has arrived every few months like clockwork (one more to come!). I feel like Mary Poppins!

I never really considered myself the maternal sort. Never really had the urge or desire to have a baby (much to my dear mom's ever-lasting disappointment). Not sure why, the longing just never really kicked in. Oh, I had a brief phase when I thought how nice it would be but that was a passing fancy. I used to joke that knowing my luck, it would be my kid who would be the axe murder - best not to tempt fate!

Don't get me wrong, I love children - as did Chris. We were both very concerned about child welfare issues and the importance of protecting and nurturing growing minds and bodies - encouraging little spirits to find their wings and soar, no matter what their dreams. We knew early on that we would not have children but that we could support and encourage the children in our lives.

I guess I’ve grown into my nurturing skills as I’ve gotten older. Maybe I tried too hard not to be maternal when I was younger, tried too hard to be different, thought that being a feminist meant not being maternal, who knows… But now I enjoy cuddling squirming babies and making them laugh, playing silly games and listening to adventurous plans of eight-year olds. I get to be a kid again! But I’m also not afraid to be strict and lay down rules. There’s a reason we’re the grown-ups – too bad more of us don’t act that way more often.

This past year has been one of heart-wrenching loss, sorrow, and grief but it also been one of spiritual renewal and deep gratitude for the circle of loving support that has surrounded me on this journey. I see the love and support that Chris gave his friends, family, and students reflected every day in the faces of those I love.

I’m one of the luckiest people I know! I try to honour that by “paying it forward” to my fairy godchildren. I hope I can help them find their wings.

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Every day can be Canada Day

Today is a very special day for Canadians around the world. It's Canada Day (Dominion Day for the traditionalists in the crowd) a day when we celebrate and recognize our beautiful land, our colourful history, our vibrant cultural crazy quilt of immigrants and native peoples.

Our maple leaf flag flies proudly from every balcony, car window, and flagpole this week like it rarely does any other time of year. Bright red maple leaves will be tattooed, painted, sprayed, sewn, and carved in every imaginable material from cakes to sidewalks to cheeks (and other body parts!).

On Parliament Hill in Ottawa and all across the country, families and friends will gather in backyards and outdoor parks to listen to music, watch parades, and - of course - oooh and aaah over tonight's fireworks.

Chris and I were both proud Canadians - we sang along to the national anthem; we loved all those hackneyed Canadian symbols like mounties on horseback, rugged mountain vistas, maple syrup, and the McKenzie brothers. We were proud of what we knew Canada could be at its best: its public healthcare system, its vast and beautiful environment, its openness to diversity, its peaceful social democracy.

Despite many challenges and difficulties, the fragile promise held in shining moments throughout our shared memory reveals a lot about who we can be: Terry Fox and his Marathon of Hope, Expo '67 in our Centennial Year, the federal government's recent apology to the Aboriginal peoples of Canada. There are many, many moments - both small and large - that speak to who we are as a people and what kind of land and country we can to leave to our children. It's up to us to become the change we want to see.

So go out and celebrate Canada Day every day: eat delicious Indian food, visit a mosque, care for a Japanese bonsai, learn to speak Spanish, play the bagpipes, give up your seat for an elderly war vet, knit an Icelandic sweater, teach English to a new immigrant, see a blind woman, offer a hand up to a teen down on their luck, donate blood, learn to canoe, teach your children to say "excuse me" and "thank you", join an African drumming circle, shovel your neighbour's walk, speak up against prejudice and intolerance, and oooh and aaah over the fireworks in your life - whenever and wherever they occur.
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Another kind of family

Last month I attended the annual dialysis memorial service organized by the staff of the hospital dialysis program. This very touching event is becoming more and more common in dialysis clinics as staff come together with families to share their grief at the loss of people who are more than just patients.

Unlike most other healthcare settings, dialysis staff and patients spend many hours together several times a week over the span of months and often years. Despite rotations in shifts and changes to schedules, patients and staff get to know each other well - sharing stories of children and grandchildren, work goals and travel photos, happy news and difficult struggles.

I visited Chris fairly often at dialysis. We would catch up on our day or watch TV together... I once got corralled into refereeing a trivia challenge. Family members are welcome in the unit and I got to meet many of the "other women" in Chris' life - especially the hardworking, kind, generous, funny nurses who took care of his dialysis regime while he was hooked up to the machine. There were also nurse practitioners, doctors, dieticians, and technicians who all played vital roles in maintaining Chris' health - indeed his life.

For these staff, the losses of patients each year must take a difficult toll. Like cancer care, death is sadly an all too common part of dialysis care but the people who choose such a career path seem to be especially resilient and caring individuals who somehow manage to share the burden of chronic illness but also the joys of life.

This year, 44 dialysis patients who passed away last year were honoured at the memorial service. Several staff spoke from their hearts or read poems, their voices thick with emotion. Families and friends were invited to light memorial candles. The theme of this year's service was The Spirit of Transformations and that transformation was represented by butterflies which was especially touching to me... almost like a secret gift. I felt Chris smiling with me at the bittersweet coincidence.

I will be forever grateful to the staff of the dialysis unit who helped Chris live his life to the fullest. There were many other places he would rather have been but if he had to be there, I'm glad he was in such caring and capable hands. Thank you for all you do.
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Gift of life

This is National Organ and Tissue Donation Awareness Week (April 20-27)

As many of you know, Chris was lucky enough to receive a kidney from an anonymous deceased donor in 1994. Unfortunately, after seven years the kidney failed in 2001 and Chris went back on dialysis. His doctors had hoped that he would be able to receive a second kidney transplant. His dad, his brother, and I all volunteered to be tested to see if any of us were compatible to be living donors for Chris. Unfortunately he passed away before that could happen but his corneas were donated and he was able to give the gift of sight to two individuals in Ontario.

According to Medline Plus, the organs and tissues from one deceased donor can save or help as many as 50 people! Organs which can be donated include:

• Internal organs such as kidneys, heart, liver, pancreas, intestines, lungs
• Skin
• Bone and bone marrow
• Corneas

Please take a few minutes this week to consider your wishes regarding organ and tissue donation, sign your organ donor card, and - most importantly - talk with your families and friends about this important decision. After your death, they will have the final say on whether your wishes are fulfilled.

Gift of Life
Canadian Blood Services
Canadian Association of Transplantation ~ Public Information
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Legacy of learning

A couple of months ago I wrote about the scholarship I wanted to create in Chris' memory and now - with the help of friends and family - that initiative will come to life.

Several months after his sudden death last July, I met with representatives of the library school where Chris & I met as grad students to discuss ways in which his life could be honoured. It was quickly agreed that one of the best ways would be to support the same passion in a new generation of Library and Information Science (LIS) students.

Chris' curiosity and openness to new knowledge led him not only to PhD studies but also to explore interests as varied as cooking, travel, music, Russian literature, and mini-golf! He had the rare gift of true joy in learning and generously shared his knowledge with others. Many of us have had the experience of leaving a get-together with Chris more energized and excited about our own endeavours than when we arrived.

We've established an award named the Christopher Mathew Dixon LIS Memorial Scholarship. It will be awarded once annually to a Master's or Doctoral LIS student who not only shows the same passion for the field in which Chris studied, but who also exemplifies a commitment to making his or her community a better place through active and ongoing volunteer work.

I've donated some "seed money" to start the ball rolling and now we're appealing to faculty, alumni, staff, colleagues, family, and friends to help build the endowment so that this scholarship can be awarded to deserving students for many years to come.

To make a gift you can donate securely on line. If you prefer to make a donation by mail or telephone, or if you have any questions, please contact Karen Boddy, Alumni & Development Officer, by e-mail or call (519) 661-2111, ext. 87463.

This living legacy would not have come to life without the dedication of several people in particular at the faculty who are very dear to Chris and me. I affectionately think of them as the Three Musketeers (3M for short) - I hope they know how much I appreciate their support.
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You, me... and we

I realize that it's been awhile since I posted any updates on the blog. I have been writing, just not online. Like many people in northern climes, I struggle through February. Perhaps it, not April, is the cruellest month. My mother often wondered if she suffered from SAD - quite possible, given her predisposition to mild depression. Thankfully (at least to my mind) this has been a bright snowy white winter for the most part, banishing the grey, damp weather that passes as an excuse for winter in these parts.

It's been a difficult month - probably only in part because of the winter blues. The mother of a dear friend of mine passed away recently after a long struggle with Parkinson's. I sat with her several afternoons in the week before her mom died, keeping her company, making sure she got out for a walk in the fresh air and a regular bite to eat. We talked, I knit, she held her mom's hand, sometimes we just sat quietly together. Looking on her mother sleeping, I remembered many tender, intimate hours spent with my own beloved mom in a similar setting.

It was an honour to be among the close circle that supported my friend during the precious waning days of her mother-daughter time. To quote a wise and simple line from Lars and the Real Girl "That's what people do." If we're lucky, we feel an empathy for those around us who are in pain and we do what we can to help them through. It's part of being human and, hopefully, in turn makes us ever more human.

Marking the first ever International Rare Disease Day, tonight's episode of The Agenda on TVO focussed on rare diseases and how people deal with everything that comes with them. One of the guests was Alison Agar, born with Polycystic Kidney Disease and a three-time kidney transplant survivor (obviously that caught my interest). Another of the other guests was Ian Brown who wrote so very eloquently and honestly about life with his son Walker in a series of articles, soon to be expanded on and published as a book. Each of the guests spoke not only of the medical condition but of how it impacted on everything in the family's life and beyond.

A chronic illness becomes second nature, a lifestyle - albeit not one of choice. Illness - rare or not - never afflicts just the person with the condition. Like a pebble into a pool, it's effects radiate outwards to spouse, children, parents, friends, workplace, school, and so on, and so on. Illness is a "we" diagnosis, not an "I". Nonetheless, it often creates families where no blood ties exist even while we struggle to maintain the bare bones of a semblance of normalcy in the face of seemingly hopeless chaos. That's one of the few blessings of chronic illness... it can make us more human all the while robbing us of our physical strength and even our dignity.

I seem to have rambled on about lots of disparate topics but I guess at the core everything relates to being able to reach out, to help another may help to ease the weight of our own burdens, to feel for one another, to recognize the "we" in each other, no matter what that other face looks like.
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Bumped out of first place

I recently came to the sudden and somewhat stupidly stunning realization that I am no longer the most important person in anyone's life.

I don't mean that I'm not important to or well loved by many dear friends and extended family. And I don't mean to imply that I think I should the most important person in their lives. It’s just that all those people have others in their lives who have top priority: their spouses, their children, their parents…

What suddenly occurred to me was that while Chris and I were the most important people in each other's lives and I was the most important person in my parents' lives, but they’re now gone from me and I have no siblings or children to fill that role, to take that cherished and honoured place of ‘most important’.

By important I mean that person(s) whose existence and presence is the most precious thing to you, whose day-to-day life causes you worry and pride and that indescribable warm glow; that person for whom you would give your own life, your own happiness to secure theirs – without thought or second guess; the person you first turn to in times of joy and sorrow.

Maybe it seems self-centred or self-pitying or both. I’m an orphaned, childless, widowed, only child. That’s a state of being but it doesn’t have to be a state of mind. I guess it’s part of figuring out my new life - something to come to terms with, to roll about in my mind. I just have to be careful not to let it take hold somewhere deep within me where it will take root.
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