On A Sunny Sunday...

...one might

• ride bikes
• find a new bench upon which to smear peanut butter
• walk dogs
• chase Meeker
• snoop in bookstores
• visit friends
• nearly obliterate a K-Model BMW, two brand new Kias, a pair of adorable dachshunds, and one elderly rottweiler under 400 lbs of steel belt all season radial rubber, one wine rack, some cedar planking and a wheel barrow
• knit

The Big Book of Manitoba

Chapter One:
Prairie Virtues


Manitobans are a practical lot. They have a solid grasp on reality and will not allow it to be shaken by silly emotions like optimism or exuberance. *see also "Dailing back the happy, being asked to."*

Which is not say Manitobans are strangers to joy; attend a Jets game, if you doubt me. 

Typically, this practical nature is expressed in one of several ways. In rural areas, if you don't sow, you don't reap. Biblical metaphors aside, that's about as practical as it gets, and I fully support it on account of really enjoying food, and not dying of starvation. 

In the city, this straightforward perspective on Life, the Universe and Everything is still in evidence: if you don't jam the nose of your car into the tiny gap between vehicles in the next lane, some other bugger will, and your virility will suffer a set back such that any remaining ability to produce healthy young you may have possessed, dissipates as quickly as exhaust on an autumn wind.  

Practical. Sensible. Easy to understand. 

Listen to The Music

When asked I will say
I am firmly against early rising.
It shows a weakness of resolve,
And a marked disrespect
For the eight hours spent
Masterfully rumpling sheets
In my sleep.

Except when You come home.

Then, I raise early,
Make coffee, read quietly,
And listen to my house,
As it suddenly becomes Home again.
All the sleepy breaths,
And slow heartbeats,
Together.
Playing my favourite song.

Triplicate is My Favourite Form Of All

Vogon: I am sorry ma'am, but that signature is not correct. It does not appear to be yours.

Me: I just signed it in front of you. You watched me do it, that's what "witness" means. How can a signature be incorrect?

V: It doesn't match the one on your passport. Can you do it again?

M: Can I have a few practice goes?

V: We aren't allowed to permit that, no.

Me: How's this?

V: Try making the "d" a bit loopier.

Twenty agonizing minutes later...

V: If you could just look into the camera... 

M: *vacant expression*

V: Let me try one more, you look neutral but it might not be neutral enough.

Fifteen minutes after that...

V: Are you a felon?

M: No.

V: A drunk driver? A drug user? An addict of any kind?

M: No.

V: Do you wear glasses?

M: Yes. Seriously, though, that's on the same list?

V: You're a shifty bunch. 

(I'm starting to like this guy)

Thirty Minutes Later, Oh My GAAAAAAAAAWD

V: (rather smugly, I felt) Can you tell me the exact date you were issued your first driving permit in Canada?

M: (equally as smugly) December 10, 1993. It was a rainy Friday. 

V: I...you...that almost never happens.

M: Mazel tov.

After spending two days attempting to navigate the murky sea of red tape of Manitoba Public Insurance, which is the Manitoban Ministry for Driver's License, Motor Vehicle Registration, and Muggle Befuddlement, I feel like I can safely cancel that pending appointment for an exhaustively thorough medical examination.

Winnipeg Welcomes You

Right. Let's get this over with as painlessly as possible. 

I can see your house from here.
Meeker ran away, and we watched him go for three days.
Gosh, what is up with that corner, it's, like, super confusing, eh? 
That Luis Riel, he sure was a scamp, and no mistake.
Anyone want a Slurpee?
Call that a parka? You're going to need three more.
There's a Winnipeg on Mars now, and this one is still colder.
Come on down to the social at the curling rink and we'll listen to The Guess Who while we discuss the history of the Bluebombers, and Canadian Medicare.
Oot and aboot. 

I think that just about sums up everything I've heard from all the people I've met who, pointedly, are not in Winnipeg. 

From the people of Winnipeg themselves, I have repeatedly heard only the following:

Welcome. It's really nice ta meetcha.  

Blending In With Albertans

The Final Chapter

Today we head east. The family will make a new home in Winnipeg, Manitoba, hopefully one with as much to teach as Cold Lake.

I have learned a lot from Albertans during my residence here. I have learned how to properly complain about the weather; which obnoxious truck to buy and how poorly I should drive it; and to which city I should swear my undying fealty - the big C-City of Edmonton, not the small c-city of Calgary. 

Albertans have given me countless opportunities to cultivate patience behind the wheel of my car, in drive-throughs, while waiting in line at Wal-Mart, living on my street, and while mistakenly thinking I had the right of way at intersections. 

They have taught me that no matter how dry it is, it can always get drier, unless it's flood season and then it can always get floodier. Unless it's wildfire season. Or Mosquito season. Or January.
 

I think Albertans are some the toughest, most adaptable people I have ever met and it's probably significant that a lot of them are not from here. I am not suggesting that born-Albertans are not tough, far from it. I am attempting, rather clumsily, to explain that this can be a hard place to live; beautiful,certainly and fun, but hard. Alberta does not forgive foolishness or lack of foresight. To discover that so many people who describe themselves as Albertans are from so many other provinces and places, is testimony to how wonderful life can be here, if you'll allow it. 

We did. We'll miss it.

Good bye, Alberta. Thank you for everything.

Amish Paradise

The movers have boxed up
the AppleTV, my iMac,
all of my art supplies,
all of my crochet hooks,
and every precious book that I own.

Today is the day
I learn how to beat box.