So Much to Say, So Little Coherence

I’m currently holed up in my bedroom with my sister loafing on my bed, basking in the wonderful pleasures of cocoa, Jess’ empathy and acumen, the exquisiteness of my Thievery Corporation playlist, the comfort provided by PJs and quilts, and a reprieve from reading about conditioning, observational learning, and species-specific behaviours. I must warn you that I’m feeling awfully descriptive tonight, and thus this evening’s entry promises to be wordy, convoluted, and rambling; I shall award you a gold star if you make it to the end of this one! Most of all right now, I’m feeling quite confident that the surfeit of flurries that accompany our Canadian winters nears the top of my list of lovely perks of living in this fine nation. While the skies have taken a breather from sprinkling the Edmonton landscape with snow, it’s still good to be reminded of what I actually love about this time of year (when global warming does not limit the snow levels to a light shroud for the majority of the “winter” months). Though I can’t say I’m remorseful about being able to wear ballet flats, spring jackets, and no balaclavas post-Christmas.

If I place more trust in Environment Canada meteorologist Dale Marciski than I do Wiarton Willie (I’m not sure who to have faith in sometimes), we should be enjoying the splendid range of snow endeavours for some weeks to come. Among the greatest aspects of the pseudo-blizzard that Edmonton just underwent were (and continue to be) the fact that my eyelashes get so coated in snow that they freeze within minutes of being outside, I can throw snowballs at my sister when she’s leaving for school, and that I don’t care if I ram into my fellow pedestrians when I’m staring up at the sky watching snowflakes come into focus from the pale expanse above. I love how the sometimes-unsightly grass is now covered in several centimetres of white fluff, and watching the sluggishly adorable snowploughs push it all around the roads of Edmonton pleases me to no end. Walking home from campus through the fields in front of Corbett Hall becomes quite the escapade, and a rather pleasant one especially with the lack of distressingly scantily-clad sunbathers that can be found there in warmer times of the year. Of course, the snowfall has also necessitated some ever-agreeable tobogganing, snow angels, makeshift snowmen, and snow message writing (the traditional Lobe signature on the front lawn is a must with every flurry deluge).

















Perhaps the most thrilling aspect of snow delight from the past couple of days was my appearance on le téléjournal on Radio-Canada Télévision hier soir, likely my favourite news program aside from the obvious ones (National, Canada Now, CBC News: Morning). As I was making my way out the door yesterday, there was an exceptionally Québéçois reporter with an oversized microphone, which at first resembled an umbrella, and bundled-up cameraman standing on my sidewalk. She chatted with me for a while about my excellent choice of footwear (the cameraman even captured a few great shots of my red Chuck Taylors traveling through the drifts) and wished me good luck on my exam when I finally explained that I needed to get to class at some point before the midterms were handed out, though it would have been quite tremendous to spend an entire morning with Francophone darlings. Needless to say, I was overjoyed to see myself on Edmonton’s only French channel, aside from the odd ones that are available with cable, for the first time. Fortunately, I was quite graceful in my walking skills while on camera, because I tripped in the snow a couple of times too many yesterday when walking around off-camera. However, the klutziness can be easily blamed on the icy walkways, the distraction provided by snow-laden trees and house roofs, and my snow-induced inability to distinguish the snow on the road lining the sidewalk from the sidewalk itself.

Although I fully recognize the fact I am blessed to receive my education, and that it will afford me with great opportunities in the future, it is difficult to appreciate the monotony of classes, reading, and homework after an absurdly fabulous week off from the comparative tedium on campus. While my preposterously terrific friends, numerous obsessions, family, and various amusements keep me almost constantly entertained, there’s nothing quite like being completely relaxed and elated at the same time for a period of 7.5 days. Of course, a huge chunk of the incredible joy that I experienced during reading week came from Whistler Road Trip 2006, so forgive me while I indulge in some protracted reminiscence (and more nostalgia may be found at this site). It was a grand Bilbo Baggins-style adventure full of (bear with me; this list is rather disjointed): injurious activities, using Alicia’s vast nursing student knowledge to deal with my injuries from these aforementioned activities, frightening Crystal with gnomes, learning things about cars (such as how to pump gas, what precisely a Hemi is, and how to replenish windshield washing fluid), a great array of occupations on the potentially life-threatening ice in front of Mike’s cabin, star-gazing, seeing how sympathetic (though perhaps inwardly annoyed!) friends will be when I lose my wallet (twice, that is, and not the only thing I lost last week), enjoying Rob and Mike’s serene guitar playing, enjoying Crystals not-so-serene bongo-playing, feeling entirely comfortable to proclaim my love for Jack Layton to the mostly right-wing posse (that is nonetheless brilliant, mirthful, and candid: Rob even admits to being a redneck, albeit a largely open-minded, tolerant one), hiking through some totally gorgeous areas around Whistler, eating double-digit numbers of bacon strips for breakfast, finding numerous gems (as always) in a second hand shop, admiring the graffiti and beauty of the remnants of a train wreck, taking in the sounds and sights of still-running trains across the ice, girl talk, feminist talk, driving chatter/rants and sing-alongs, car games and profligate eating while playing car games, benefiting from the entertainment value and sobriety of non-morning people in the morning, eating Ben & Jerry’s while experiencing the novelty and hilarity Office Space (though Crystal and I called it quits after a rather nasty scene and a few episodes of almost nodding off), having just as much of a blast in the Kids Only Market on Granville Island as I would have in the actual market (despite knowing very little, at least relative to my Thomas-loving amigos, about Thomas the Tank Engine), gleaning info on others’ ranking of a range of cultural figures in Marry Date or Dump, hanging out in the sauna (even after cold water was poured on me by a couple of merciless guys), playing Scrabble with five serious (and two non-serious) other players (and Mike and I were so close to winning! I blame Dusty and Karla’s perpetual appropriation of our word spots), sleeping on a rather chilly hotel floor, enjoying other peoples’ cooking, getting literally car sick for the first time, checking out the ever-dramatic and gripping Olympic action in the cabin and on a giant-screen in Whistler, and of course the super-stellar snowsuits worn by the guys (other than Dustin; he kept his dignity, though may not have had as ludicrous a time as Rob, Mike, and Dusty did).

















Clearly, some great times were had, and I’m still omitting a ton of the outlandish shenanigans we got up to. It was fabulous to spend time with a fantastic group of people, pictured below, and get to know them better in the midst of all the merriment. I think that I can describe them without getting protests from them since Crystal’s the only one of them who I think skims this blog, meaning that I can be obsequious. So the road trip squad was comprised of, from left to right, Dusty (super hilarious, totally comfortable in his own skin and lack of thumbs, knows infinitely more than I do about vehicle-related stuff), Rob (witty and silly simultaneously, excellent taste in almost everything, antithesis of a morning person), Alicia (vivacious and fun, fountain of knowledge on health-related stuff, great cook), Dustin (dutiful chauffeur/considerate wallet-searcher, excellent at singing and dancing to music on Alicia’s laptop, really principled), Karla (great to discuss life stuff with in long car rides, thoughtful, always being kind in ways like cleaning up the cabin while we skated), Crystal (intentional about her faith, insightful and perceptive, so much fun to be harebrained with), and Mike who was taking the picture (a true Vancouver Islander, brilliantly left-of-centre, great to chat about big issues with). It’s so encouraging to know individuals from McKernan who are outside the circle of my school/neighbourhood friends, Zion, or my family who totally know Christ, are an absolute joy to be around, and are genuinely sharp people.

It’s a total blessing to have people in my life with which I can have a great tête-à-tête over coffee at Starbucks, or hesitantly explore the world of cocktails while savouring their gourmande-style dinner of couscous, perfectly marinated bison, roasted peppers, and staggeringly tasty soufflé. There’s no better way to connect with a friend than some serious play viewing, trip planning, chatter about guys (typically with female friends), Whyte perusing, dialogue over books, theological/political conversation (whether debate or concurrence), or simply openness and accountability about God and life concerns. Friendship is certainly a balance of extreme fun and sharing (of burdens, gratitude, joys, confusion, wisdom), and it’s this dichotomy of the serious and the silly that enriches life inestimably. Hopefully these relationships mirror those that Jesus built with those around Him, and my relationship with Him. Though it’s vital for me to have honest and deep discourse with God in my devotional, prayer, and worship times, it’s equally essential for me to just giggle at the sometimes-absurdity of and humour in His creation and do happy dances to Tim Hughes songs. For those of you who know me well, you’re quite aware of the fact that I’m easily enthused, but only He can get me to my maximally ecstatic self, that point where you can’t do anything but lift your hands, sing, and praise Him for His undeserved goodness to me. However, I don’t want to say that life is easier when one has received salvation as many Christians misconceive, because that’s such a mistaken assessment of the Christian life; rather we can take solace from God when our struggles and uncertainty are particularly testing. We are totally blessed that Jesus allows us to give Him our burdens, but this is still a fallen world, and we continue to encounter disappointment, heartache, temptation, and weariness. My small group was examining the significance of joy in our walks with God, and we were challenged by Scripture’s clear command to rejoice in the good things in our lives, be they our favourite foods or people in our lives who we love. Yet I was disturbed by one author’s statement that it is a sin not to take joy in life, mainly since I’ve grown up knowing many Christians who faced depression and knowing how much of a hardship it was for them to delight in their lives. But perhaps joy is something that does not require happiness, and is instead about purely recognizing the hope we have and just praising God for the gifts of life and a communion with Him.

As of late, I’ve been particularly struck by the hedonism that is so prevalent in our society, even amongst Christians, and have been trying to come to terms with what exactly God’s intent for the spectrum of emotions was. My more obscure choices in films, music, artwork, and plays have often perplexed my friends who fail to understand why I would want to watch/study/listen to things seemingly designed to produce feelings of sadness, frustration, or remorse. I do feel strongly that God uses these sentiments in our lives though, whether to offer us an opportunity to love or empathize with another person, realize of our sin’s consequences, create a desire in us for personal change, cause us to take action on something that disturbs us, or recognize our dependence on Him for ultimate contentment. There’s something beautiful about crying at the end of a tragic film, feeling strongly about the strong message of a painting, or shedding a few tears at some heartrending lyrics in a gorgeous song. And I think it’s truly unwise to expose oneself to constant despair, but usually once a week I’ll indulge in an hour or two of contemplative emotionality, be it through a movie, book, stroll through the art gallery, or walk outside with the iPod and some particularly emo tracks. At least in my life, these experiences allow me to feel whole and sincere as an emotional being. It’s so important to not get caught up in the stress, antagonism, and despondency of the world, but it’s equally important to sometimes feel the pain of this lost world as Jesus did. Unless we address the reality of others’ lives and the sometimes-sorry state of humanity, I don’t believe that we can’t affect real change.

Outside of my silly artsy-diversions, I typically find myself emotionally struck most powerfully by observing others. Despite largely finding immense glee in people’ diversity, individual perspectives, and insight into life, I’ve found that sometimes I’m strongly influenced by negative observations of others. Opportunities to observe human egocentricity, greed, intolerance, ignorance abounded this summer when I would close the café on Wednesday nights, and walking home down Whyte listening to Sigur Ros or Nick Drake allowed me to consider hideousness of sin and our selfishness. Those 3:00-11:00 shifts provided me with ample occasion to encounter rude inebriated customers, a fight going on across the street, the creepy advances of complete strangers, theft from our tip jar, massive amounts of garbage that had been thoughtlessly littered, and people who would continue to sit in the café after we closed despite our polite requests for them to head out. While the vast majority of our customers are sweet, appreciative folks, it would only take a few disturbing ones later in the evening to sadden me. It was tempting at times to become angry at these said disturbing few, but I don’t think that anger is very constructive when it’s directed towards people I’ve never met, so I would try to limit myself to grief for their lack of reliance on God. I suppose that I struggle in general with when to let myself feel anger, because I truly don’t want emotions of acrimony and aggravation to fester into hatred or complete insolence.

Today I felt anger as I pondered the misfortune of landmine victims who Amnesty encourages people to remember today, but outside of general, diffuse anger and my pseudo-anger in political/feminist rants about Harper and Bush (both of whom I really do strive to love!) I try to steer clear of rage. It’s enormously cathartic and stimulating to have passionate debate on big issues, and engage in anti-school banter with friends, but true anger turns me off a bit. Anyone who’s ever seen me truly cross knows that when something’s incensed me, I avoid saying anything at all and try listening to music to suppress my feelings. While we discussed the fallacy of the hydraulic theory (that suggests that one must vent periodically to avoid going ballistic) in Social Psych, I’m not sure that it’s entirely healthy for me to be a continually passive pushover. My parents love to nag me about my inability to say no to requests and inconvenience others for assistance, but as my barista buddy Andrew tells me, I’m overly wary of confrontation. Instead of addressing something at work, in a friendship, or at school, I often take an excessively Pollyana-inspired approach, determining that the situation is not grave enough to require candor. Despite the fact that optimism is unquestionably one of my favourite things in life, I suppose that I sometimes take it to an extreme where I neglect to deal candidly with others. Jesus definitely allowed himself to experience and express fury, with of course the most obvious example being His reaction to the temple being used as a marketplace. Thus, it’s not as if I can be moralistic in my restrained ire. After all, some of the greatest movements in recent history have been driven by anger, including abolitionism, feminism, the French Revolution, and women’s suffrage. As the Monty Python song “Always Look On the Bright Side of Life” suggests, sanguinity can be taken too far (because it’s just not natural to look on the bright side of drawing your terminal breath).



















In my introspection recently, I’ve also been pondering my potentially hypocritical feelings on gender issues. I am very keen on considering gender issues in conversation with my dad and friends, but am beginning to see the difficulty that guys have in being honest and politically correct at the same time. I really take pleasure in asserting my love for guys’ Chuck Taylors, strange hair, tight/ripped pants, vintage attire, and excellent noses. However, if a guy friend ever started going on about his love for girls in tight pants, I might feel somewhat uncomfortable, and would likely go so far as to scold him for objectifying the opposite gender. This is the new problem with gender; women are now very free to dress like men, pursue typically male hobbies, and live out their ambitions in the workforce. Conversely, men are socially constrained and would find it difficult, without at least some level of scorn, to wear even a bag (man purse?), watch figure skating, or let his wife be the bread-winner. While there is still a great deal of progress to be made for women’s rights even in Canada, I feel that I should be more aware of areas that we have reached equity in. The glass-ceiling may still remain, along with the fragile woman stereotype, but at least I can blather on about the wonders of guys’ fashion without fear of a Cait-style assail. Of course, if I’d been born a guy, I hope that I’d be one to face those barriers (though I’m not sure that most guys necessarily care about these concerns, but it still strikes me as unjust). I’m sure I’d embody everything that is the exact opposite of machismo, and would cry just as easily at sentimental or poignant things as I do now. Baking would still be a superb amusement in my life, clothes would be just as charming, good conversations would thrill me, and acute danger would cause me mild perturbance. I could even form my own movement and christen it “masculinism.”

Sadly, even though I’ve only exhausted the first few points on my page-long list of things to blog about, I must get to the Learning and Behaviour textbook that is beckoning me to hang out for the evening. I will certainly have to hit a few more matters when I have another hour to type with some good tunes and Jess’ moral support, perhaps this weekend between all of the craziness. In fact, a pre-Oscar blog is surely required as there will be rumours, excitement, and predictions to discuss. And of course, I will have to commemorate the one-year anniversary of my dear blog on Monday along with some reaction to the academy’s decisions, and the prettiness of dresses and tuxes. Finally, if you have made it to the end of tonight’s horribly tortuous and lengthy entry, congratulations! But please comment; my dear British Chris is so loyal in his commenting, and many of you have left him to enter me pleasant messages on his own. I know that some of you scallywags have never even commented at all, therefore, I must thank Jess, Kirsty, Jeremy, Michael, Jay, Sarah, Christian, and especially Chris. Hope you have a lovely third day of the third month tomorrow! I’m positive that I’ll be up at three in the morning to celebrate it with all of the studying that’s in store for me right now.

Arrivederci!