Take me back to the Winter Carnival

Ahh February.  Love is in the air and you can almost reach out and touch spring…before she snatches her hand away and tosses up another blizzard. This time of year always reminds me of one thing (besides Jamaica).  The Winter Carnival. 

When you think of a carnival, you think of summer and roller coasters and sketchy characters, certainly not snowmobile racing. If you grew up in a small northern logging town, however, you no doubt had a Winter Carnival.  Social event of the year, it was.  A whole community came together to celebrate the fact that we are frozen solid for 6 months of the year.  May as well rent the hall and have a thing, eh?  I suppose it was an offshoot of many of the pioneers who had settled there from Quebec, where the carnival is a massive winter celebration.  Complete with a large creepy snowman who is seemingly everywhere.  That crazy BonHomme!

The winter carnival had many, many events packed into a single February weekend and I remember a few of them quite vividly. Aside from the obvious hockey tournaments and curling bonspiels, there were the lumberjack events like the Cherry Picker contest (I had no idea what that was, but what a great name, no?)  I think the contestants would attempt to show off their heavy duty machinery prowess by picking up an egg off of a tree stump using a logging grapple hook or some crazy thing. Artists would carve various things out of blocks of ice or wood using nothing but a chainsaw.  “Look! It’s a squirrel...or a beaver...or a coffee pot, I'm not sure." You can only get so precise with a power saw. Then there would be the trapper’s events like snowshoe races and tea boiling contests.  Knee deep in snow, we all had a blast. 

Weeks before the event, tickets would be printed with the photos of six teenagers vying for the coveted title of Carnival King and Queen. On top of being able to wear the crown and cloak, they got into all the weekend festivities free of charge and had the first dance at the Lumberjack Stomp. The royal couple may as well have been Mr & Mrs Universe to me when I was small.  I dreamt of the day I would stand on the red line at centre ice and receive my crown, but I think I was too lazy to sell tickets when the time came.

The whole weekend was kicked off with…yes, the ICE SHOW, a figure skating spectacular!  In our minds, it was like opening night on Broadway. All winter long, we had diligently practiced our routines to such great songs as “The Good old Hockey Game” and “Music Box Dancer”, depending on the year’s grand theme.  The night of nights would arrive with much pomp and circumstance.  Either it was 40 below or melting.  No moderate weather was possible during the third weekend of February; this is just how it was.  I would don my newly polished skates and my fortrel dress trimmed with Christmas tinsel and off onto the ice I would go to perform my 8 waltz jumps, usually well ahead of the music.  As I skated by my family and friends in the bleachers (usually near tears as I had most likely already fallen down at least twice by that point) they would cheer loudly.  I would end with a dramatic one foot spin, wave to the adoring crowd and would then in a dizzy stupor weave my way off the ice.  Superstar.

We had a large scary mascot of our own to rival BonHomme.  His name was Leo the Moose and I was terrified of him until I was about 10 years old.  He insisted on skating in the “Grand Finale” with us every year at the ice show.  I made sure I was at the opposite end of the can-can line, lemme tell ya. 

So many great memories of life in a northern town.  When I think back to the community spirit required to pull together something like that, I wouldn’t trade growing up in the bush for an all-inclusive two week vacation to Jamaica.  Anyone know where I can go watch an amateur ice show?

Me in the 1982 Ice Show. haha

All-Inclusive, no problem...

 Hey, lots of you know that I am involved with a music society based in Saskatoon.  We are very cool.  You can find out more about us here. Consequently, we've met a lot of fascinating musicians, who I like to call friends and we like to keep in touch via Facebook.  Several of our friends live in the musical mecca of Asheville.  That's right, I said Asheville, not Nashville.  It's in North Carolina, do yourself a favour and check it out. If you haven't heard the likes of Dehlia Low and Town Mountain, leave your rock and do so immediately. 

I need to take this opportunity to tease because according to Facebook, Ashevillians are not receiving the sort of winter they would like. Unseasonable warm temperatures have caused some of them to gripe about the spring-like conditions they are experiencing in January.  "This weather is disturbing." "I miss winter!"  "I agree! I want snow, not spring", they chorused. 
I replied that I had a fair amount of snow I was willing to part with, and we could decide on a price later.  This got me thinking that maybe I was missing out on a golden business opportunity.  What if we ran all-inclusive winter vacations to Saskatchewan?  Betcha we could haul in quite a few unsuspecting southerners who are looking for that authentic winter experience.

It would all begin at the airport where guests will be greeted enthusiastically and issued their winter gear; a snow suit (something old school that zips from the bottom of one pant leg all the way to the throat), a Co-op Feeds toque, and a pair of Kamiks two sizes too big, in order to accommodate at least two pair of wool socks.  We’ll hand them a double-double and the keys to their rental pickup so they can experience the joy of winter driving…in Saskatoon.   Guests can choose from any of the following amazing packages:

The ‘It’s Snow Wonder’ Package
You’ll experience Saskatchewan winter just like a local, as you become the Snow Angel for a whole city block.  Grab a shovel and start clearing!  Unfortunately, there won’t be time to check into your hotel first, the City is watching! Won’t this be fun?  Too bad you didn’t upgrade to the Snow Blower package! 

The Ski-doo Rally Package
We’ll make the trek to Anywhere, SK for their annual community snowmobile rally.  Guests will be placed on the back of various snowmobiles, given their own flask of Cherry Whiskey and taught to hang on for dear life.  They will end the night with a complimentary bowl of chili and a bottle of Pil at the community hall.  Purchasing an arm’s length of 50/50 tickets is not mandatory, but it is encouraged.  We don’t want to be seen as cheap visitors, now do we? 

The Minor Hockey Game Package

We’ll spend the night in Anywhere at one of the well-appointed small town hotels available to us.  We’ll attend a Minor Hockey League tournament.  Guests will receive a complimentary rink burger and will be encouraged to try and eat it with their mitts on.  Witness a real ‘Hockey Mom’ in action as she berates the ref and her husband starts a fist fight in the stands.  Guests will be given a pair of skates and be asked to scrape the ice at intermission. 

The Culinary Package

We'll spend time in a real Saskatchewan kitchen and use all the seasonal ingredients available to us…potatoes, canola oil and the last jar of beet pickles.  Oh yeah, and some lentils.  Maybe you know what to do with them, because we don’t. 

The Curling Package

Guests will be introduced to the fast-paced world of curling.  They will be given 4 rye & cokes, a broom and a pair of shoes with a piece of Crazy Carpet attached to the bottom of one sole.  They must sign a waiver preventing them from asking too many questions.

If this interests any of you folks south of the border, now is a good time to come.  With the windchill factored in, the last two days have been close to -40 degrees Celsius.  Lucky for you, that's easy to understand, as it's equivalent to -40 Farenheit and yes, you read that right. 

On Parking Lots and Ticket Slots

So it seems we have turned the usual corner here in Saskatchewan.  Our futile complaints about the early winter have given way to grudging acceptance and after much reluctance we’ve all adjusted to the terrible winter driving conditions.  I’m quite proud of the fact that I screeched in before the Snow Deadline and had winter tires put on.  Now the sensible Mom-car is even more sensible in its new winter kicks.  I can confidently resume my job as a reluctant Taxi Driver whose territory is "All over Hell's Half Acre". 

Speaking of driving (endlessly), it would seem that everywhere I need to go lately is outfitted with a parking lot.  Hospitals, malls, airports, you name it, they all have that one thing in common: The dreaded automated ticket machine at the exit. 
The concept is simple.  Pay for your ticket at the machine inside before you leave (after said machine spits it out the first 8 times. “Stripe down, you idiot!”), and out you go.  Yeah right…Who made these machines? The people laughing their heads off, that’s who.  It is clear once you pull up to these little beasts that it is not simply a case of opening your window and placing the ticket in the little slot.  N-O.  I’ve found that it always shakes down the same way:

First, with your foot on the brake, you try to reach over and insert the ticket but the evil machine is too far away. So then you must sigh heavily and remove your seatbelt.  Of course, you still can’t reach it.  You must then swear loudly, put your car in park and try it again.  Fail.  You now must kneel with one knee on the window ledge placing your opposite foot on the chest of your passenger in order to gain enough leverage to manoeuver the ticket into the slot.  Dazed and confused by the whole process, you then need to gather the presence of mind to get back into driving position so you can gun it to make it under the very temporarily raised arm. 
If you find yourself in the unfortunate position of trying to leave the Saskatoon Airport parking lot; good luck to you, my friend. The machine is about half a city block back from the arm.  I suggest blasting the soundtrack to Top Gun on your car stereo and flooring it.

I know what you’re saying, ‘Why don’t you just go to the kiosk?’  Some people have the luxury of driving up to the kiosk and dealing with an actual human being, not the parking machine from hell.  These people are special, they have something called Cash.  Cash is coin and paper currency; something I have not seen since my children began attending elementary school.  All the Cash in the house from that moment on went to things called Book Orders and Hot Lunch Days and Teacher’s Gifts. 

Mrs. Neat-as-a-Pin has Cash and always seems to be in front of me in the lineup to leave the parking lot.  She shares a laugh with the kiosk attendant as he raises the arm for her.  She is in no hurry.  She has no melting ice cream or sullen teenagers in her back seat. No, she refastens her seatbelt, zips her wallet closed, has a sip of Evian and re-applies her lipstick.  Only then does she put the car in gear and drive under the arm.  No fear has she of the arm coming down on the roof of her Buick.  No sir.  She has All the Time in the World to exit.

Alas, I should be grateful that I still have the kids with me in the car.  Soon, I will give them the rest of my Cash, they will buy their own cars, and I will have All the Time in the World too.  I don’t look forward to that…Drive safe everyone!

Road Trippin'

The Lalonde Clan just returned from a real-live road trip.  This doesn’t seem like a big deal to most people I’m sure, but to us it was HUGE.  First of all, it’s summer time and as my husband keeps reminding us, we do not travel in the summer: We are Lake People.  He insists there are two kinds of summer celebrants… Lake People and People who Go to The Lake.  There is a difference, he says with great emphasis.  Lake People will turn down weddings, reunions, and other inconvenient get-togethers because --don’t you know?? --they will be ‘at the lake’.  People who Go to the Lake go if there’s nothing else going on, and if there is not a cloud in the forecast.  

Secondly, we are not car people, and when I say we, I mean me.  My mother said that from her earliest memory, I screamed when I entered a car and did not stop screaming until we arrived at our destination.  I totally believe her.  Vehicle travel is a necessary evil for me.   In the 70s, our family car was a new Chevy Impala.  I believe the Chevrolet people, in their infinite wisdom, took the new car smell Too Far.  The comforting smell of vinyl and formaldehyde never did leave that car and if I could find it today in some junk heap, it would STILL smell like that.  I am willing to bet my life.  You could take samples of that odour, bottle it and use it against your enemies to invoke a wicked combination of headache and car sickness.  The whole car-smell experience did nothing to appease my barf-inducing hatred of road trips.

So only for my dear, dear friend and former band mate, Doll, would we make an exception to leave our lake utopia and travel to Southern Manitoba.  We decided to go via Montana and North Dakota to make it a bit more interesting.  I’ve made the trip to Brandon many times and always joke that I’m ready to slit my wrists by Moosomin.  If there’s such a thing as flatter than flat, the landscape is pretty close to that.  Zzzzz. “Look kids! It’s another freakin' canola field!”  Good thing the kids are too old to play that game where you have to spot all the things on a list.  They would have checked off a crow, a fence post and a grain bin in the first 5 miles and the rest of the items would remain blank.

  “Ooooh!  Is that a fox in that field, Mom?” 

“Nope. Rock.” I would confidently say, without even looking.  

I have to say, in Doll’s area, south of Brandon the landscape does change and it becomes quite scenic, but the stark contrast between north and south Saskatchewan never ceases to amaze me.  No wonder people call us The Gap!

Our joke -- We travelled to the south to see 'The Tree'

I try to make sure we have everything we need in the car when we’re on the road.  A cooler filled with great snacks and drinks, pillows, books, a small pharmacy...you name it.  Against my will, I took many road trips as a kid and there was never anything in the car but a box of Kleenex and a dusty map of Alberta.  Summer was unbearable; no air conditioning and water wasn’t invented yet. (okay bottled water wasn’t invented yet).  I was the only kid in North America who didn’t drink pop so you could usually find me dehydrating quietly in the back seat unless I wanted to treat myself to a mason jar full of warm water that had rolled around back there the whole trip.  Sigh…good times. 

Speaking of snacks, one trip stands out in my mind.  We took a month to travel through Alaska and the Yukon.  Me & my parents.  In a ¾ ton truck with a camper on the back. I was 12.  Now Alaska is breathtaking but you see one mountain, one stand of tamarack, and one waterfall and you’re all done as a 12 year old.  On top of this, Mom & Dad had packed ‘snacks’ before we left.  Was it cookies and fruit?  No. Trail mix?  No.  Radishes and green onions from the garden? Why, yes!!  I spent the first week on the road listening to classic country, enduring nasty radish burps and begging to ride in the camper.   Why couldn’t we be a normal family, go to Disneyland and eat ice cream??  

Well, fast forward 30 years and now I know the answer to that.  I have memories and experiences that are not ‘normal’ and I am very grateful.  We had a lovely time on our little road trip with friends who are like family to me.  I hope my kids have taken some memories with them, even if they are just their Dad singing out of tune to 80s classic hits and their Mom yelling for him to turn around because we are certainly hopelessly lost.  Maybe I’ll even get to read about them someday ;)

Buffalo Jump near Cartwright, MB

Life of the Party

I recently returned from a great relaxing weekend up north.  I am on the board of directors for a music festival and we retreat up to our festival grounds, a great place in northern Saskatchewan called Ness Creek.  I get a huge kick out of some of the American bands who come up to our festival and call it The Woods.  "Y'all spend much time up here in The Woods?"  As if they are expecting a real live lumberjack to come ambling out of the bushes at any given moment.  One of them asked if we had a pistol he could carry in case he encountered a bear down at the creek.  "Umm...ya, check your welcoming package...one pistol per musician." 

Anyway, we were invited to go into town to support the local minor sports association, who were holding a Ladies Night.  Yikes. This qualified as a Social Event, which was sure to be full of Acquaintances.  If you are unaware of my social awkwardness, you should read this post first. We did go, but only stayed for the dinner, which was great.  The ladies came out in great numbers to show their support.

My experience with Ladies Nights are varied, but mostly bad.  High heels, high voices and high blood alcohol levels.

I'm kind of a different cat.  When people say, "Let's Party!", I hear "Let's go spend the evening in a dark, noisy room sitting on hard plastic chairs and shouting at one another in order to be heard above the driving music."  Killjoy much? 

I have too many strikes against me when it comes to partying:

Strike One:  I'm not much of a drinker.  I still have vivid memories of my college days, holding my head and muttering, "LordhelpmeJesus" over and over again. I also have no patience for drunks.  Their breath is intolerable and they are spitty talkers.

Strike Two:  I hail from a family of klutzes, so tottering away from the buffet table in a pair of high heels, full plate in hand, is difficult enough.  Being dizzy with drink would just create conditions ripe for a shit show, I'm afraid.

Strike Three:  I am a terribly self-conscious dancer and while all the Other Women have no problem shaking their booty, I feel completely ridiculous on the dance floor.  I fear people will judge my bizarre and erratic movements.  I know you're supposed to dance like no one is watching but PEOPLE ARE WATCHING!  I over-think it..."Would now be a good time to do the arms above my head thing that I've seen the cool people do?"  Ugh, and it always comes down to that circle thing where people go in the centre and do their moves.  I don't have a move. Even if I did have a move I wouldn't do it because I'd feel preposterous. I prefer a good two-step where there is no doubt about what your arms and legs are supposed to be doing.

I do love to have a good conversation, but in a party atmosphere, you just can't hear, so you either shout until you lose your voice or you have to stand uncomfortably close to someone in order to hear them.  This violates my Personal Space Rule.   Anyway, it becomes progressively more difficult to attempt a conversation and by the end of the evening, most go something like this:

     Me (sober): "Hey, *Acquaintance* good to see you!  How are you doing?"
     Them (not sober): WOOOOOOO!!!!  

Easy there, Party Pants. 

At this point, you're probably thinking that you know clergy who are less boring than I am.  Maybe so. Come to a party in my weird little world.  We'll sit on overstuffed couches, wear sweatpants, eat lots of dip and have fabulous conversations. You can mix yourself a drink, and I might even play you a tune or two.

When we returned to the Cantina at Ness Creek, this is almost exactly what we did.  I'll take that any day.

Premier Mom

I'm a Saskatchewan girl, but I've been following the race between the two female-led political parties in Alberta with much interest.  Okay, so not that much interest, it's politics after all.  Not since Ralph Klein's boozy hijinks have I really given a hoot, but this caught my attention.  See, I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with that province. They've always been kind of like our snooty next door neighbour who invites us over once in a while to use the hot tub.  They're all, "OOOh, we have a great big mall and Banff and a giant Easter egg and stuff..." Yeah, okay...

I'm forced to make nice with Alberta, though, because most of my family is there.  Yes, it managed to vacuum out half of my siblings in the 80s when there were no jobs to be had here in Saskatchewan.  Not true anymore, is it? HA!  Stick that in your giant Fantasy Land roller coaster!  Plus we had Corner Gas so...winner, winner chicken dinner, that's what I say.

Anyway, no matter the outcome, the victim lucky winner charged to lead Alberta to utopia will be a woman, and the official opposition will also be a woman, so let's hear it for the girls!  Of course when I hear this, my mind has to wander to the challenges women must face in what is traditionally a man's world.   Immediately, I consider the consequences of an ill-fitting bra or a particularly restricting pair of nylons on one's level of concentration.

So these women must either really have their act together, or they have People, don't you think?  Curious how they can go on those long, dreadful bus rides and yet appear perfectly groomed before the cameras.  I can barely manage to be in charge of one house and family, I cannot imagine having to deal with being in charge of Alberta as well.  Talk about stress...my slogan would be 'Alberta...Just One More Thing That Needs My Attention'.   If I suddenly woke up and found myself Premier, I probably wouldn't last a day because I'd approach it far too much like a Mom.

First of all, waking up would be a problem.  I would think the Premier would have to wake up extra early and read boring things I imagine to be called Statutes and Resolutions...what a drag.  No longer would I remain in my housecoat until the very last minute slugging coffee, and reading the obituaries while I bark out lunch-making orders to the kids:  "Bread and Miracle Whip is not actually a sandwich!" or "For God's sake have a vegetable in your life!" No sir, I would be careening around the house, digging through the laundry baskets looking for something to wear. "I have to be at the Legislature in an hour! Who has seen the stiff & scratchy suit jacket they made me buy?"

I am certain my advisors, in a frustrated huff, would eventually give up on me.
"Madame Premier, there is an angry mob of environmental activists outside, challenging your decision about the oil sands."
"What? Ok, um...just give them a snack...Who doesn't love a snack??  Run out and grab some Tang and Timbits; economical yet patriotic, what more can you ask of me?" 
"But Madame Premier, there is one particularly irate person who is refusing to calm down unless you agree to meet with him."
"Hmmm...okay fine, let him in, but tell him to try going to the bathroom first. That's probably what his real problem is.  A lot can be solved with a trip to the bathroom."

My first act as Premier would be to pass legislation for all teenage boys to pull their pants up.

Ms. Redford, Ms. Smith, I wish you luck.  I have a feeling that scratchy suits and binding nylons may be the least of your challenges...