If I met You face to face tomorrow
There’d be so many things I’d want to say
I’d want to thank You
for the things I got to do
for the places I got to go
for the people I got to meet
I’d want to thank You
for all of the fun
I’d want to tell You
that I think I had a good run
If I met You face to face tomorrow
There would be so many things I’d want to say
I’d want to thank You
for keeping Your promise
for saving me from this world
for paying for my salvation
I’d want to tell You
I’m grateful for meeting The Truth and The Life just in time
I’d want to tell You
That I finally understood this life wasn’t actually mine
If I met you face to face tomorrow
There would be so many things I’d want to say
But, if I met You face to face tomorrow
I'd probably stand in awe of You
Not able to say anything at all
I thank God You know my heart
In case I meet You face to face tomorrow
29/01/2008
25/01/2008
ode to an orange peeler
my wife packed in my lunch today
a navel orange, oh no! i say
oh so tasty, oh so sweet
but have to peel, before can eat
open open silly thing
its peel is very annoying
my fingers can not pierce its rind
failure will mark my every try
its juice will squirt into my eye
the sting will make me cry out WHY!?!!
its zest under my fingernails
its pulp locked up in dimpled jail
this little, couloured citrus ball
mocking me from in its shell
but hark! what is this tricky tool
packed with that which makes me a fool?
brother barrett gave as a gift
oh i can feel my spirits lift
it too is orange but plastic-y
long and slender and pointy
one end like a farmer's plow
victory is not far now
its design is clever, fun
(refer below to figure 1)
Figure 1: Profile view of an orange and peeler.
space age tool from dollar store
to rip this fruit from aft to fore
and peel it in little strips
that tangy taste soon on my lips
that silly fruit once made me scowl
but it's pure joy to eat it... now
a navel orange, oh no! i say
oh so tasty, oh so sweet
but have to peel, before can eat
open open silly thing
its peel is very annoying
my fingers can not pierce its rind
failure will mark my every try
its juice will squirt into my eye
the sting will make me cry out WHY!?!!
its zest under my fingernails
its pulp locked up in dimpled jail
this little, couloured citrus ball
mocking me from in its shell
but hark! what is this tricky tool
packed with that which makes me a fool?
brother barrett gave as a gift
oh i can feel my spirits lift
it too is orange but plastic-y
long and slender and pointy
one end like a farmer's plow
victory is not far now
its design is clever, fun
(refer below to figure 1)
Figure 1: Profile view of an orange and peeler.
space age tool from dollar store
to rip this fruit from aft to fore
and peel it in little strips
that tangy taste soon on my lips
that silly fruit once made me scowl
but it's pure joy to eat it... now
23/01/2008
I'm a man, yes I am...
At least I am *trying* to be a man. It is a difficult thing, and perhaps something that should come more naturally. I'm not talking about being a boy, a guy, a male, a male who has (you know), or even a "man's man".
What do I mean then, "man"? Well, let me tell you about a few things I think may apply.
A man is strong.
A man stands up regardless of how hard the wind is blowing, how much the land is shaking or sinking, how heavy the snow is on his branches. His wife, his family, depend on his strength, and should be able to lean on him at all times. And, too, when the wind is soft, the land solid, the snow melted, and the standing is easy. Obviously, the life of a soldier is difficult during times of war, but I understand that their life is also very difficult when there are no more enemies left to fight. I promised to be strong in "good times and in bad", and I think that "good times" is written into that vow for good reason.
A man takes responsibility.
He takes responsibility for all of his family, including himself. The buck stops here. If somebody has a problem with my wife or family or anything they do, they have a problem with me. Anything my family does might as well have been done by me, because the responsibility for those actions is mine. If this sounds wrong to you, I would remind you that when I married I became one person with my wife. She is me, and I she. Thankfully, she is a saint both in the New Testament sense of the word, and in the ( mostly ;) ) blameless sense of the word -- it makes my job a lot easier.
And, just as her actions are my actions, mine too are hers. So as I go through any day, I must consider what I'm doing: "Is this something my wife would want me to do?". At all times, I represent us, so REPRESENT!
A man provides.
A man is typically not great at counselling, or caregiving, or giving birth, or keeping track of everyone's feelings and needs. He can be, though, productive. So, he should work! Whenever, wherever his family needs him to. He should ensure that their needs are provided for completely, so that they can perform their God-given roles.
In this, though, he should remember his values. He may work *under* his boss, but he works *for* his family. We can't lose the perspective that the family is the value, the job is the means to the end. That should motivate us to work, and it should motivate us to go right home when work is done.
A man leads.
There is leading by telling everybody what to do, and there is also leading by doing. A man needs to do a little of both. Instruct when there is error, when actions aren't in line with the will of God. But always hold yourself to the highest of standards, be above reproach, so that people can do as you say *and* as you do.
And at all times the leader is the servant. It is the brave general who leads the charge into battle, he doesn't send his troops in first... Despite the knowledge that this puts *him* in everyone's crosshairs.
A man sacrifices.
A man lays down his life for his wife, just as Christ laid down his life for all of us.
A man excludes.
A man belongs to his family, period. He does not belong to the world, and he should not act that way. Nor does the world belong to him. Already a man divides his attention between his wife and God, he shouldn't divide it further.
I've tried at many times in my life to be the whole "Mr. Sensitive" type, and failed miserably. I failed because I am not that type, but acting that type was rewarded with emotional intimacy and receptiveness from the opposite gender. But a man should not seek or find any emotional dependencies outside of his "significant others": his wife, his family, etc. I think any man who is honest with himself understands who is significant, and who is not. For me, it is and has to be Candice to provide that for me, and I know she sees that as a duty. And yes, it is easier now that I have a wife than it was before, but to all you single men out there... "suck it up"!
This must be tough for those men whose jobs require intimacy in another family. The pastors and doctors and nurses and such. Men who have to, in providing for their own family, participate in another man's family. It must take a special man with a special call to do this in a way that glorifies.
A man is thank-less, but not love-less?
I don't think a man should be thanked for doing this stuff right. After all, that's what he was designed to do. But, he should be *loved* for being a man. (To be sure, though, I feel both thanked and loved.)
A man grows
We are not born men, we grow to become men. Thank God for growth, or I would never become the man I want and need to be. I would be stuck as a boy forever.
Why am I writing about this? Consider it a challenge to all you "men" out there, to look carefully at where you're standing, and how you're standing. Consider it, as well, a public statement, and I ask you to hold me to it.
Please comment, if you are inclined. And don't hold back... I'm (trying to be) a man, I can take it!
What do I mean then, "man"? Well, let me tell you about a few things I think may apply.
A man is strong.
A man stands up regardless of how hard the wind is blowing, how much the land is shaking or sinking, how heavy the snow is on his branches. His wife, his family, depend on his strength, and should be able to lean on him at all times. And, too, when the wind is soft, the land solid, the snow melted, and the standing is easy. Obviously, the life of a soldier is difficult during times of war, but I understand that their life is also very difficult when there are no more enemies left to fight. I promised to be strong in "good times and in bad", and I think that "good times" is written into that vow for good reason.
A man takes responsibility.
He takes responsibility for all of his family, including himself. The buck stops here. If somebody has a problem with my wife or family or anything they do, they have a problem with me. Anything my family does might as well have been done by me, because the responsibility for those actions is mine. If this sounds wrong to you, I would remind you that when I married I became one person with my wife. She is me, and I she. Thankfully, she is a saint both in the New Testament sense of the word, and in the ( mostly ;) ) blameless sense of the word -- it makes my job a lot easier.
And, just as her actions are my actions, mine too are hers. So as I go through any day, I must consider what I'm doing: "Is this something my wife would want me to do?". At all times, I represent us, so REPRESENT!
A man provides.
A man is typically not great at counselling, or caregiving, or giving birth, or keeping track of everyone's feelings and needs. He can be, though, productive. So, he should work! Whenever, wherever his family needs him to. He should ensure that their needs are provided for completely, so that they can perform their God-given roles.
In this, though, he should remember his values. He may work *under* his boss, but he works *for* his family. We can't lose the perspective that the family is the value, the job is the means to the end. That should motivate us to work, and it should motivate us to go right home when work is done.
A man leads.
There is leading by telling everybody what to do, and there is also leading by doing. A man needs to do a little of both. Instruct when there is error, when actions aren't in line with the will of God. But always hold yourself to the highest of standards, be above reproach, so that people can do as you say *and* as you do.
And at all times the leader is the servant. It is the brave general who leads the charge into battle, he doesn't send his troops in first... Despite the knowledge that this puts *him* in everyone's crosshairs.
A man sacrifices.
A man lays down his life for his wife, just as Christ laid down his life for all of us.
A man excludes.
A man belongs to his family, period. He does not belong to the world, and he should not act that way. Nor does the world belong to him. Already a man divides his attention between his wife and God, he shouldn't divide it further.
I've tried at many times in my life to be the whole "Mr. Sensitive" type, and failed miserably. I failed because I am not that type, but acting that type was rewarded with emotional intimacy and receptiveness from the opposite gender. But a man should not seek or find any emotional dependencies outside of his "significant others": his wife, his family, etc. I think any man who is honest with himself understands who is significant, and who is not. For me, it is and has to be Candice to provide that for me, and I know she sees that as a duty. And yes, it is easier now that I have a wife than it was before, but to all you single men out there... "suck it up"!
This must be tough for those men whose jobs require intimacy in another family. The pastors and doctors and nurses and such. Men who have to, in providing for their own family, participate in another man's family. It must take a special man with a special call to do this in a way that glorifies.
A man is thank-less, but not love-less?
I don't think a man should be thanked for doing this stuff right. After all, that's what he was designed to do. But, he should be *loved* for being a man. (To be sure, though, I feel both thanked and loved.)
A man grows
We are not born men, we grow to become men. Thank God for growth, or I would never become the man I want and need to be. I would be stuck as a boy forever.
Why am I writing about this? Consider it a challenge to all you "men" out there, to look carefully at where you're standing, and how you're standing. Consider it, as well, a public statement, and I ask you to hold me to it.
Please comment, if you are inclined. And don't hold back... I'm (trying to be) a man, I can take it!
14/01/2008
He is always there...[the Everything Skit]
We've all been tossed around by the world...Investing too much into unhealthy relationships, chasing materialism, conforming to social pressures, being completely overwhelmed by our situations. A good friend of ours sent this our way; I think we can all associate with it, in whole or in part.
He is there for all of us, always. We just have to ask, and He will do the rest.
Tom and Candice
He is there for all of us, always. We just have to ask, and He will do the rest.
Tom and Candice
12/01/2008
11/01/2008
Ok, Time for a Tutorial!
Alright...Now, we do have a lot of fun sharing our thoughts with you and, possibly contrary to popular belief, spend a great deal of time executing these thoughts onto a blackboard (pun intended). But, do you know what we would enjoy more than hearing ourselves type? Your feedback! Otherwise, it kinda like typing to the wall.
We have changed our settings and now you are able to leave comments anonymously - no other reader will know that insightful/confusing/poorly spelled comment came from you. So we want you, yes YOU to tell us something. Anything!! Absolutely everyone has an opinion. A wise man once told me - "if you haven't offended anyone, you haven't shared your opinion enough". Not that I am anticipating someone wanting to pick a bone with us, but it does emphasise that we all think differently and we can only learn from each other by sharing with each other.
So, lets try a little experiment - voice your opinion by stating your favorite colour. Yup, we're serious. We want to know your favorite colour - this way you can practice leaving a comment and I can prove to Tom that not everyone loves maroon.
So, on that note, I'll hand the keyboard over to my man, who is oh, so good at explaining the technicals:
Okay, first scroll down to the end of this post to where it says "10000 COMMENTS" or "2 COMMENTS", or in a really sad case, "0 COMMENTS". Click on that, smack dab in the middle of the word "COMMENTS". A screen like this pops up:
Type your favourite colour, whatever you want to say, in the box on the right, just under "Leave your comment". Then scroll down to see something like this:
Type in the funny word you see on the screen, into the little box beside "WORD VERIFICATION" (in this case "hcrko"). Then, either:
a) Type in your gmail username beside "USERNAME" and password beside "PASSWORD" (if you have a gmail account and want us to know who you are). If you're not sure what a "gmail" is, go to b) or c) below.
b) Click the little circle to the left of "Nickname", type in your real name or a nickname in the little box to the right of "Nickname". (Remember: "He-Man T-Man" has already been claimed by yours truly.)
or
c) Click the little circle to the left of "Anonymous". (Chicken!!!)
Then, click on "PUBLISH YOUR COMMENT" (the big orange button).
Finally, scroll back up to the top, and click on "No time like the present..." (next to "Post a Comment On:") to come back to the blog.
Now that you know how - comment away.
(C'mon, maroon is awesome, right?)
We have changed our settings and now you are able to leave comments anonymously - no other reader will know that insightful/confusing/poorly spelled comment came from you. So we want you, yes YOU to tell us something. Anything!! Absolutely everyone has an opinion. A wise man once told me - "if you haven't offended anyone, you haven't shared your opinion enough". Not that I am anticipating someone wanting to pick a bone with us, but it does emphasise that we all think differently and we can only learn from each other by sharing with each other.
So, lets try a little experiment - voice your opinion by stating your favorite colour. Yup, we're serious. We want to know your favorite colour - this way you can practice leaving a comment and I can prove to Tom that not everyone loves maroon.
So, on that note, I'll hand the keyboard over to my man, who is oh, so good at explaining the technicals:
Okay, first scroll down to the end of this post to where it says "10000 COMMENTS" or "2 COMMENTS", or in a really sad case, "0 COMMENTS". Click on that, smack dab in the middle of the word "COMMENTS". A screen like this pops up:
Type your favourite colour, whatever you want to say, in the box on the right, just under "Leave your comment". Then scroll down to see something like this:
Type in the funny word you see on the screen, into the little box beside "WORD VERIFICATION" (in this case "hcrko"). Then, either:
a) Type in your gmail username beside "USERNAME" and password beside "PASSWORD" (if you have a gmail account and want us to know who you are). If you're not sure what a "gmail" is, go to b) or c) below.
b) Click the little circle to the left of "Nickname", type in your real name or a nickname in the little box to the right of "Nickname". (Remember: "He-Man T-Man" has already been claimed by yours truly.)
or
c) Click the little circle to the left of "Anonymous". (Chicken!!!)
Then, click on "PUBLISH YOUR COMMENT" (the big orange button).
Finally, scroll back up to the top, and click on "No time like the present..." (next to "Post a Comment On:") to come back to the blog.
Now that you know how - comment away.
(C'mon, maroon is awesome, right?)
Story Update - Husband is Hero
New information has been revealed regarding the Scatliff incident earlier this week. Due to the overwhelming reader response and numerous letters demanding to know where Scatliff's husband was in all of this madness - our reporters dug deeper. This is what they found:
Apparently, Tuesday, January 8th, 2008 was an important day in the Scatliff residence. You see, that very morning there was a very important interview...for a very important job...for a very cute young man. That's right, Mr. Scatliff was on his way to a job interview.
He was scheduled to take the bus that morning, but considering his wife had inconspicuously hid his suit jacket under her fuzzy sweater (in efforts to sabotage his self-confidence, of course) there was some detective work to do and, subsequently, some de-wrinkling and de-fuzzing to do before he was allowed to exit the apartment. And so it was decided, she will drive him to the interview.
As they entered the vehicle at 7:23, Mrs Scatliff patted the dashboard of her old friend and asked "Not this morning, ok? Not this morning". Indicating to the old beast that this was an important day, so don't break down today.
Well, you know what happened...
And there they were, running, he in his best suit and she in her pajamas (just kidding, she wasn't in her pajamas! That would have been funny though...) through the rain - from the broken down car and into a building in efforts to find a phone book and, subsequently, a taxi.
As her husband ran toward the taxi pick-up location, he shouted over his shoulder "Remember, call the Diabetes Foundation not a tow truck!"
A lump developed in her throat. "So, this is it" she thought.
Within moments, the campus security came to aide the damsel in distress [oh, yeah, right!] and said he would go get his partner and they would help push the car to a safer spot. Well, when she knew he was gone, she climbed back into the beast and clearly explained the situation to the girl - using a very loud voice (just in case the car couldn't hear in her old age). "This is going to get even more embarrassing," shouted Scatliff "so lets move it girl!" And, with a great enthusiasm, the car started again. Scatliff took off the e-brake and threw it into gear, knowing that this may be her last chance to get it home, and to get out of there before security boys returned.
Meanwhile, even after a stressful suit jacket hunt, a run in the rain, and a taxi ride through morning rush hour traffic, Mr. Scatliff exceeds the interviewers expectations (surprise, surprise) and they offer him a sweet-deal of a job.
So, as the story goes, the beast is still parked out back..and will still be used (but only along major bus routes) until the new paychecks come in...then Mr. Scatliff may demand that the old friend be kicked to the curb.
Apparently, Tuesday, January 8th, 2008 was an important day in the Scatliff residence. You see, that very morning there was a very important interview...for a very important job...for a very cute young man. That's right, Mr. Scatliff was on his way to a job interview.
He was scheduled to take the bus that morning, but considering his wife had inconspicuously hid his suit jacket under her fuzzy sweater (in efforts to sabotage his self-confidence, of course) there was some detective work to do and, subsequently, some de-wrinkling and de-fuzzing to do before he was allowed to exit the apartment. And so it was decided, she will drive him to the interview.
As they entered the vehicle at 7:23, Mrs Scatliff patted the dashboard of her old friend and asked "Not this morning, ok? Not this morning". Indicating to the old beast that this was an important day, so don't break down today.
Well, you know what happened...
And there they were, running, he in his best suit and she in her pajamas (just kidding, she wasn't in her pajamas! That would have been funny though...) through the rain - from the broken down car and into a building in efforts to find a phone book and, subsequently, a taxi.
As her husband ran toward the taxi pick-up location, he shouted over his shoulder "Remember, call the Diabetes Foundation not a tow truck!"
A lump developed in her throat. "So, this is it" she thought.
Within moments, the campus security came to aide the damsel in distress [oh, yeah, right!] and said he would go get his partner and they would help push the car to a safer spot. Well, when she knew he was gone, she climbed back into the beast and clearly explained the situation to the girl - using a very loud voice (just in case the car couldn't hear in her old age). "This is going to get even more embarrassing," shouted Scatliff "so lets move it girl!" And, with a great enthusiasm, the car started again. Scatliff took off the e-brake and threw it into gear, knowing that this may be her last chance to get it home, and to get out of there before security boys returned.
Meanwhile, even after a stressful suit jacket hunt, a run in the rain, and a taxi ride through morning rush hour traffic, Mr. Scatliff exceeds the interviewers expectations (surprise, surprise) and they offer him a sweet-deal of a job.
So, as the story goes, the beast is still parked out back..and will still be used (but only along major bus routes) until the new paychecks come in...then Mr. Scatliff may demand that the old friend be kicked to the curb.
08/01/2008
Old Friend Leaves Woman Stranded
At approximately 7:45 yesterday morning, a great friend of over 7 years leaves 23 year old Candice Scatliff stranded on the roadside while en route to an important appointment. "I knew this was coming" said Scatliff, "she just hasn't been acting her normal self for a few months now." Apparently, the beginning of the end of this relationship began shortly after the beginning of another relationship in Scatliff's life. "It was around the time that I met Tom," Scatliff's now husband, "that she really started to deteriorate." Yet, the friend still remained loyal during the last few months of life, even moving to Montreal with the newlyweds - against doctors orders. "The move was hard on her. A change in climate can have such a huge impact on health."
Known by most simply as "The Road-Runner", the 16 year old with 299000kms will be missed for her spontaneous smells, cracked windshield, two-speaker sound system, and - most definitely - her one tire that just could not hold a hubcap. Scatliff cherishes many fond memories and takes solace in the fact that her loyal friend will be laid to rest on French soil. The Protégé is home.
Known by most simply as "The Road-Runner", the 16 year old with 299000kms will be missed for her spontaneous smells, cracked windshield, two-speaker sound system, and - most definitely - her one tire that just could not hold a hubcap. Scatliff cherishes many fond memories and takes solace in the fact that her loyal friend will be laid to rest on French soil. The Protégé is home.
06/01/2008
It's all fun and games until someone sucks in a fuzz ball
Yesterday, our heavy weight champs, Milo and Otis, weighed in at a whopping 2.4lbs. [That's right, we know how to raise 'em plump 'round here!] They now satisfied adoption requirements and we had to leave them at the SPCA. And, because of a temporary neighborhood issue, we left the SPCA empty handed.
After running plenty of errands uptown, we headed back to our little home in Ste-Anne. Tom worked on the computer while I made dinner. But, when I didn't have any small animals to fend off when I dropped a piece of salmon on the floor, and when Tom didn't have to lock himself in the computer room so no little furry beasts would get in his way, empty-nest syndrome really sunk in. So, we began to stuff our lives full of things to keep us occupied:
We picked out our favorite wedding pictures and painted cheap picture frames to put them in.
.jpg)
.jpg)
We erected a new shelving unit and a new lamp.
.jpg)
We baked cinnamon buns,
.jpg)
.jpg)
but I think the fumes from the verathane made us a little giddy.
And one of us fell asleep while watching Planet Earth.
(Guess which one!)
.jpg)
But you see, the real fun wasn't over yet. When we nestled into bed I told my husband, "This was such a productive day, I wish it wasn't over yet." And with those words I rolled over to kiss his cheek good night and began to inhale to let out a sigh. And that's when it happened; my life nearly flashed before my eyes. A piece of fuzz from our fleece throw was violently sucked in -- it proceeded to lodge itself halfway down my throat. The next few minutes were filled with hacks... then coughs... then I threw up, many times.
[Picture unavailable.]
After running plenty of errands uptown, we headed back to our little home in Ste-Anne. Tom worked on the computer while I made dinner. But, when I didn't have any small animals to fend off when I dropped a piece of salmon on the floor, and when Tom didn't have to lock himself in the computer room so no little furry beasts would get in his way, empty-nest syndrome really sunk in. So, we began to stuff our lives full of things to keep us occupied:
We picked out our favorite wedding pictures and painted cheap picture frames to put them in.
.jpg)
.jpg)
We erected a new shelving unit and a new lamp.
.jpg)
We baked cinnamon buns,
.jpg)
.jpg)
but I think the fumes from the verathane made us a little giddy.
And one of us fell asleep while watching Planet Earth.
(Guess which one!)
.jpg)
But you see, the real fun wasn't over yet. When we nestled into bed I told my husband, "This was such a productive day, I wish it wasn't over yet." And with those words I rolled over to kiss his cheek good night and began to inhale to let out a sigh. And that's when it happened; my life nearly flashed before my eyes. A piece of fuzz from our fleece throw was violently sucked in -- it proceeded to lodge itself halfway down my throat. The next few minutes were filled with hacks... then coughs... then I threw up, many times.
[Picture unavailable.]
04/01/2008
Alright, here we go...(my first day of school)!
Yesterday was full of orientations, course outlines, and a bit of confusion...My official first day as a a graduate student.
I am so thankful that we moved to Montreal before the term began so we could settle in and orientate ourselves to our new home. Although I took full advantage of arriving here early by getting to know my colleagues, the project, and the campus...I was still slightly blindsided by the difference between undergrad and graduate school.
The point has changed.
Undergrads want/need a degree, and for various reasons. Whether it be their parents persistence, a chance to put off getting a "real" job, curiosity, a challenge, a true strive to push ones self further, a desire to be a professional, a desire to write a few abbreviated credentials after ones name etc.
In grad school, you better want to be there - or you won't be there very long. Consider this - an employee with a masters degree, on average, earns about the exact same amount as an employee with an undergraduate degree in the same field [(anecdotal evidence only) I must learn to reference everything].
The experience has changed.
Over my five years as an undergraduate student, I learned a great many things about how to survive in an academic setting. By the time I graduated last spring, I figured that I finally figured this school thing out; how to network, how to plan, how to balance school and personal life, who to turn to with questions, how to write exams, how to effectively use the library system, how to pack a lunch....Well, you get the idea. Yup, I was pretty sure I got it - and pretty sure that a number of students in my graduating class didn't get it at all. Congratulations, Candice! (That took five years, eh?)
Well, in order to get through yesterday I had to employ nearly every school-skill I've acquired, including how to take a test, in order to successfully proceed through the day and not leave overwhelmed. Yup, needed all those skills to get through. The "amazing" part - everyone else got through the day successfully too. Hmmm...
The focus has changed.
Grades do no matter. I repeat, grades do not matter. No one cares how well you did in comparison to the rest of the class. Most exams aren't even held in class. You simply, absolutely need to know this material and it will be applicable over the next two years. Memorizing the material and spitting it back out during a 2 hour exam period will get you no where. Period.
The respect-o-meter has changed.
In the undergraduate world, if you disagree with a professor - the professor is right and you are wrong. I have a friend that once challenged a prof in a business class on a comment regarding spirituality. Not only did the professor shut her down right in front of the entire class, he created a question on the final exam reflecting the disagreement. It was a multiple choice question - both her answer was an option as well as his answer. You see, scan cards used in multiple choice exams can only have one correct answer, all the other options are wrong. Now, which answer do you think the professor made the "correct" answer?
Yesterday, when the professor was explaining a concept in class, a grad student spoke out against it. The example given to explain the concept happened to be in the student's area of expertise (not the professor's). This resulted in a "debate" amongst the students, which was facilitated and encouraged by the professor. All sorts of intelligent comments, concerns, and questions were raised by a number of grad students. My mind was racing to keep up - that little voice of "oh, so much experience" was shouting "get in there and prove you are up to speed on this". So I went for it and got in there with an (intelligent???) contribution to the conversation - well I tried to at least, but got stuck because the word "progression" temporarily escaped my skull - I will be forever indebted to the anonymous student beside me who tactfully whispered it to me under her breath during the odd silence that fell when my mind was racing for the word and my face fell completely blank (and crickets cherped). I finished my oh so smooth "contribution" and the debate continued on, perpetuated by a number of other students. [Great job there "big girl", you almost kept up. Welcome to the big(ger) leagues???] The professor closed off the conversation by validating our points and stating that she withdraws her comments and thanked us for our contributions. Wait a minute...This was encouraged? Our opinions are valued? (Tom warned me about this!)
My drive has changed.
Simply put - I'm not after the degree. I'm after the experience, the challenge, and the ends that this means may get Tom and I. In order to fulfill our duty here on earth, or at least what we think our duty is, we need to get experience and knowledge under our belt. I'm sure Tom will have to remind me of this several times through out the next few years, but I'm sure that this difference will make the difference between a few years of pure stress resulting from the same drive of perfection that propelled me through my undergrad, and a few years of hard work that will lead us to where we need to go.
My ammunition has changed.
In all honesty, I did not do my undergrad alone. There should be 3 names on the certificate I received from the University of Manitoba - my moma's, my fathar's, and mine. They were there every step of the way. Although we were a few-hours drive apart, they were with me through every exam and endured every assignment. Hey dad, do you remember the time during my first year of university when I cried on the phone to you for about an hour about the next day's sociology exam? Yeah, like that didn't stress you out too.
Now, not only do I have my parents, I have the unconditional love and support of my life partner. I could not have even dreamed up a more supportive, intelligent, and life-experienced husband. (Come on, is it not pretty handy that the person sitting beside me on this roller-coaster ride is someone who has been in a masters program before?!?)
In summary:
I have never been given a biger task in my entire life, but I also have never been this equipped or had a better reason to do it.
I have never been more challenged...But, I have never been more ready.
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These pictures are for you momma - you know why!
I am so thankful that we moved to Montreal before the term began so we could settle in and orientate ourselves to our new home. Although I took full advantage of arriving here early by getting to know my colleagues, the project, and the campus...I was still slightly blindsided by the difference between undergrad and graduate school.
The point has changed.
Undergrads want/need a degree, and for various reasons. Whether it be their parents persistence, a chance to put off getting a "real" job, curiosity, a challenge, a true strive to push ones self further, a desire to be a professional, a desire to write a few abbreviated credentials after ones name etc.
In grad school, you better want to be there - or you won't be there very long. Consider this - an employee with a masters degree, on average, earns about the exact same amount as an employee with an undergraduate degree in the same field [(anecdotal evidence only) I must learn to reference everything].
The experience has changed.
Over my five years as an undergraduate student, I learned a great many things about how to survive in an academic setting. By the time I graduated last spring, I figured that I finally figured this school thing out; how to network, how to plan, how to balance school and personal life, who to turn to with questions, how to write exams, how to effectively use the library system, how to pack a lunch....Well, you get the idea. Yup, I was pretty sure I got it - and pretty sure that a number of students in my graduating class didn't get it at all. Congratulations, Candice! (That took five years, eh?)
Well, in order to get through yesterday I had to employ nearly every school-skill I've acquired, including how to take a test, in order to successfully proceed through the day and not leave overwhelmed. Yup, needed all those skills to get through. The "amazing" part - everyone else got through the day successfully too. Hmmm...
The focus has changed.
Grades do no matter. I repeat, grades do not matter. No one cares how well you did in comparison to the rest of the class. Most exams aren't even held in class. You simply, absolutely need to know this material and it will be applicable over the next two years. Memorizing the material and spitting it back out during a 2 hour exam period will get you no where. Period.
The respect-o-meter has changed.
In the undergraduate world, if you disagree with a professor - the professor is right and you are wrong. I have a friend that once challenged a prof in a business class on a comment regarding spirituality. Not only did the professor shut her down right in front of the entire class, he created a question on the final exam reflecting the disagreement. It was a multiple choice question - both her answer was an option as well as his answer. You see, scan cards used in multiple choice exams can only have one correct answer, all the other options are wrong. Now, which answer do you think the professor made the "correct" answer?
Yesterday, when the professor was explaining a concept in class, a grad student spoke out against it. The example given to explain the concept happened to be in the student's area of expertise (not the professor's). This resulted in a "debate" amongst the students, which was facilitated and encouraged by the professor. All sorts of intelligent comments, concerns, and questions were raised by a number of grad students. My mind was racing to keep up - that little voice of "oh, so much experience" was shouting "get in there and prove you are up to speed on this". So I went for it and got in there with an (intelligent???) contribution to the conversation - well I tried to at least, but got stuck because the word "progression" temporarily escaped my skull - I will be forever indebted to the anonymous student beside me who tactfully whispered it to me under her breath during the odd silence that fell when my mind was racing for the word and my face fell completely blank (and crickets cherped). I finished my oh so smooth "contribution" and the debate continued on, perpetuated by a number of other students. [Great job there "big girl", you almost kept up. Welcome to the big(ger) leagues???] The professor closed off the conversation by validating our points and stating that she withdraws her comments and thanked us for our contributions. Wait a minute...This was encouraged? Our opinions are valued? (Tom warned me about this!)
My drive has changed.
Simply put - I'm not after the degree. I'm after the experience, the challenge, and the ends that this means may get Tom and I. In order to fulfill our duty here on earth, or at least what we think our duty is, we need to get experience and knowledge under our belt. I'm sure Tom will have to remind me of this several times through out the next few years, but I'm sure that this difference will make the difference between a few years of pure stress resulting from the same drive of perfection that propelled me through my undergrad, and a few years of hard work that will lead us to where we need to go.
My ammunition has changed.
In all honesty, I did not do my undergrad alone. There should be 3 names on the certificate I received from the University of Manitoba - my moma's, my fathar's, and mine. They were there every step of the way. Although we were a few-hours drive apart, they were with me through every exam and endured every assignment. Hey dad, do you remember the time during my first year of university when I cried on the phone to you for about an hour about the next day's sociology exam? Yeah, like that didn't stress you out too.
Now, not only do I have my parents, I have the unconditional love and support of my life partner. I could not have even dreamed up a more supportive, intelligent, and life-experienced husband. (Come on, is it not pretty handy that the person sitting beside me on this roller-coaster ride is someone who has been in a masters program before?!?)
In summary:
I have never been given a biger task in my entire life, but I also have never been this equipped or had a better reason to do it.
I have never been more challenged...But, I have never been more ready.
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These pictures are for you momma - you know why!
31/12/2007
I really love...
I suppose Candice and I were thinking along the same lines... We both had a "love" themed blog in the queue. I think hers is better, but here is mine, anyway. :)
I really love...
... This town. It's bright and alive. Full of things to explore, although it may have a few things that I (as a Christian man) will NEVER explore. People from everywhere have converged on this place, so that it absolutely sparkles with diversity. Sometimes you want to go whereeverybody nobody knows your name. You are forced to tackle something "new", almost every moment. You learn to love the "new". You realize your actually pretty good with "new", and that "new" isn't scary at all.
I love to hear three or four different languages spoken every day. I am beginning to understand that it's a privilege to understand what someone is saying, not a right. I don't get upset anymore with a tv station because it is in french, I feel challenged to learn french so that I can enjoy that station.
And why find a pattern? Why shop at the same place? Every bagel shop here is probably very good! Why should I return to the same one? And there are a hundred paths to work, each one with its own set of discoveries! I am beginning to feel liberated from routine! It's wonderful...
I suppose a lot of that has nothing to do with Montreal as a city, but with Montreal as a "new" city to me. Maybe it could have been Vancouver or New York or Timbuktu. In fact, I'm sure it could have been. I'm sure I would have, or will in the future, love those towns, too.
I really love...
... My wife. I suppose everyone needs a little bit of solid ground. I know I do. And I have that in Candice.
She loves me and takes incredible care of me. She's the ace up my sleeve. She makes the rest of life so easy, like walking into an exam when you know you're already guaranteed an A in the course, even if you bomb the final. She's my miracle cure, my get out of jail free card. Oh Lord, may I never take her for granted!
Because: Can anyone ask for more from a wife than someone who loves you and cares for you? Can anyone ask more from a partner than one who inspires you and supports you?
I really love...
... My Creator. I suppose too, that everyone needs a context and meaning to their life. Candice and I often remind ourselves that we are here to pursue His plan for us, as best as we know that to be. For now, it seems to go through Montreal and Panama; we don't know where after that.
And He has given us such amazing grace. Life, love, joy. Energy. Enthusiasm. Confidence. Strength.
When I remember this, when He is the center of my life, life makes sense. When He gets the praise, my life fills with reasons to give Him more praise. Problems disappear, because what is a problem in comparison to the Ultimate Good? It is when I fall into the trap of selfishness, of self-centered-ness, that things are hard.
***
This post is not to brag, or to lecture. Just a few thoughts that I needed to get down. Perhaps you're looking for a good story, and have no real interest in a list of things I love. Because this may not be a good story, but, hopefully, it will be the basis for a great one.
... This town. It's bright and alive. Full of things to explore, although it may have a few things that I (as a Christian man) will NEVER explore. People from everywhere have converged on this place, so that it absolutely sparkles with diversity. Sometimes you want to go where
I love to hear three or four different languages spoken every day. I am beginning to understand that it's a privilege to understand what someone is saying, not a right. I don't get upset anymore with a tv station because it is in french, I feel challenged to learn french so that I can enjoy that station.
And why find a pattern? Why shop at the same place? Every bagel shop here is probably very good! Why should I return to the same one? And there are a hundred paths to work, each one with its own set of discoveries! I am beginning to feel liberated from routine! It's wonderful...
I suppose a lot of that has nothing to do with Montreal as a city, but with Montreal as a "new" city to me. Maybe it could have been Vancouver or New York or Timbuktu. In fact, I'm sure it could have been. I'm sure I would have, or will in the future, love those towns, too.
I really love...
... My wife. I suppose everyone needs a little bit of solid ground. I know I do. And I have that in Candice.
She loves me and takes incredible care of me. She's the ace up my sleeve. She makes the rest of life so easy, like walking into an exam when you know you're already guaranteed an A in the course, even if you bomb the final. She's my miracle cure, my get out of jail free card. Oh Lord, may I never take her for granted!
Because: Can anyone ask for more from a wife than someone who loves you and cares for you? Can anyone ask more from a partner than one who inspires you and supports you?
I really love...
... My Creator. I suppose too, that everyone needs a context and meaning to their life. Candice and I often remind ourselves that we are here to pursue His plan for us, as best as we know that to be. For now, it seems to go through Montreal and Panama; we don't know where after that.
And He has given us such amazing grace. Life, love, joy. Energy. Enthusiasm. Confidence. Strength.
When I remember this, when He is the center of my life, life makes sense. When He gets the praise, my life fills with reasons to give Him more praise. Problems disappear, because what is a problem in comparison to the Ultimate Good? It is when I fall into the trap of selfishness, of self-centered-ness, that things are hard.
***
This post is not to brag, or to lecture. Just a few thoughts that I needed to get down. Perhaps you're looking for a good story, and have no real interest in a list of things I love. Because this may not be a good story, but, hopefully, it will be the basis for a great one.
30/12/2007
Molly Update
To any possibly concerned readers:
Upon arriving back in Montreal, we checked on Molly, the little grey ball of fur that stole our hearts, as soon as we could and were happy to learn that she was fostered out shortly after being returned to the SPCA. We know that that little girl could melt anyone's heart - so we are sure she is in a good home.
As for our home? We have welcomed two new little kitties. They should be bunking with us for the next 2 weeks until they are heavy enough to be adopted out. You see, if you were a kitty, you would need to be at least 2 pounds to have a shot at a permanent home.
Say hello to Milo and Otis.
Upon arriving back in Montreal, we checked on Molly, the little grey ball of fur that stole our hearts, as soon as we could and were happy to learn that she was fostered out shortly after being returned to the SPCA. We know that that little girl could melt anyone's heart - so we are sure she is in a good home.
As for our home? We have welcomed two new little kitties. They should be bunking with us for the next 2 weeks until they are heavy enough to be adopted out. You see, if you were a kitty, you would need to be at least 2 pounds to have a shot at a permanent home.
Say hello to Milo and Otis.
28/12/2007
Canadian Christmas?
Brianna, a friend of ours, is currently doing missionary work in Cambodia where we visited this past May. As a part of a Christmas pageant, she was asked to do a speech on what Christmas means in Canada. She had a tough time thinking of anything besides a materialistic holiday in which people spend way too much money in order to purchase the perfect gift for someone who already has too much [Brianna's Blog] She pleaded with her fellow bloggers to help her think of the positives – sadly, nothing immediately came to my mind.
During the days leading up to Christmas, I tried to search for positives in mainstream Canadian Christmas, but the materialism was blinding. Soon I realized that I too was being sucked into the perfect-gift façade. To ensure I didn’t get carried away and solely focus on the material goods that we were going to supply the individuals on our gift list, I decided to purchase useful, meaningful gifts instead [WorldVision's gift catalog] similar to my girlfriends doing last year. I truly believe in the cause and the work that is being done by Christian organizations around the world, and I truly could not think of anything better to give. Yet, to my surprise, I often felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to run to the store and buy something to “supplement” these gifts. You know, just a little something the “receiver” could keep for themselves. I (mostly) restrained myself – only having to head to the returns desk once and only wrapping a few extra little things.
Interestingly enough, at a Christmas gift exchange one of the recipients of what I thought to be a meaning gift decided to enlighten me as to why it is “a waste to give any handouts to those people” Wow! When we were deciding whether or not to give these gifts I remember thinking “What is the worst reaction possible?” That one didn’t cross my mind!
[Hey, Bri? Can you please not tell the extremely impoverish children you work with everyday that a well-to-do Canadian can even fathom to think that way? Our little secret, k? Thanks.]
Alright, back to searching for something Bri could actually include in her speech…but honestly, by now it was too late to help Bri, but I had to continue searching for the sake of my own sanity. Seriously, how far has Christ been removed from his own birthday?
But, eventually, it hit me. Love.
God loved us so much he sent his Son. On the first Christmas, people traveled from afar to show their love by offering gifts, or even a song on a little toy drum. Canadians still celebrate by traveling from afar and offering gifts to each other, even songs on a little plastic guitar (yeah, you know what I’m talking about you guitar heros out there). Is this not a beautiful thing?
Love is still why we gather together at Christmas. People from all over this vast country make great pilgrimages to share time with the ones dearest to them, even if the people around the table don’t see eye-to-eye on all issues, we are there because of love.
Love. It drives it all. Why else would someone wrap up each little stocking stuffer? Why else would someone get up at 4:00am to roast a turkey? Why else would someone drive across the prairies, alone, to share a few short days with family?
This is love and we are commanded to love one another. But the meaning can be so easily lost once we take the focus off of why we are traveling, celebrating, and loving. Why? Jesus was born on Christmas. Jesus, our only way to heaven.
So yes, I agree that materialism is polluting our celebrations, but I don’t think we can forget the love behind all of it. People travel out of love, gifts are wrapped out of love, turkeys are roasted out of love. We are to love one another, and that’s what drives these gatherings and celebrations.
But, we must keep at heart why we are to love – for Christ’s sake.
During the days leading up to Christmas, I tried to search for positives in mainstream Canadian Christmas, but the materialism was blinding. Soon I realized that I too was being sucked into the perfect-gift façade. To ensure I didn’t get carried away and solely focus on the material goods that we were going to supply the individuals on our gift list, I decided to purchase useful, meaningful gifts instead [WorldVision's gift catalog] similar to my girlfriends doing last year. I truly believe in the cause and the work that is being done by Christian organizations around the world, and I truly could not think of anything better to give. Yet, to my surprise, I often felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to run to the store and buy something to “supplement” these gifts. You know, just a little something the “receiver” could keep for themselves. I (mostly) restrained myself – only having to head to the returns desk once and only wrapping a few extra little things.
Interestingly enough, at a Christmas gift exchange one of the recipients of what I thought to be a meaning gift decided to enlighten me as to why it is “a waste to give any handouts to those people” Wow! When we were deciding whether or not to give these gifts I remember thinking “What is the worst reaction possible?” That one didn’t cross my mind!
[Hey, Bri? Can you please not tell the extremely impoverish children you work with everyday that a well-to-do Canadian can even fathom to think that way? Our little secret, k? Thanks.]
Alright, back to searching for something Bri could actually include in her speech…but honestly, by now it was too late to help Bri, but I had to continue searching for the sake of my own sanity. Seriously, how far has Christ been removed from his own birthday?
But, eventually, it hit me. Love.
God loved us so much he sent his Son. On the first Christmas, people traveled from afar to show their love by offering gifts, or even a song on a little toy drum. Canadians still celebrate by traveling from afar and offering gifts to each other, even songs on a little plastic guitar (yeah, you know what I’m talking about you guitar heros out there). Is this not a beautiful thing?
Love is still why we gather together at Christmas. People from all over this vast country make great pilgrimages to share time with the ones dearest to them, even if the people around the table don’t see eye-to-eye on all issues, we are there because of love.
Love. It drives it all. Why else would someone wrap up each little stocking stuffer? Why else would someone get up at 4:00am to roast a turkey? Why else would someone drive across the prairies, alone, to share a few short days with family?
This is love and we are commanded to love one another. But the meaning can be so easily lost once we take the focus off of why we are traveling, celebrating, and loving. Why? Jesus was born on Christmas. Jesus, our only way to heaven.
So yes, I agree that materialism is polluting our celebrations, but I don’t think we can forget the love behind all of it. People travel out of love, gifts are wrapped out of love, turkeys are roasted out of love. We are to love one another, and that’s what drives these gatherings and celebrations.
But, we must keep at heart why we are to love – for Christ’s sake.
21/12/2007
Dear Molly,
Last night we dropped you back off at the humane society here in Montreal; because you are only a few months old, you will probably never understand why this happened. You see, we were only your foster parents – you came to live with us because you were sick and had to leave because you got better.
We want you to know that we love you very much and didn’t have to leave because you did something wrong. You are the most wonderful cat I’ve ever known. Tom says that you are the smartest cat he has ever met – considering all of the internet surfing you have been doing at such a young age.
We were so proud of you for being so brave when your mother was returned (because she got better) a few weeks ago and we are proud of you for staying so strong during the car ride last night (if you can’t remember it – it’s because you were sleeping). We will miss your constant purring and will now have to throw our own papers and pens on the floor.
When we return to the city on Wednesday, I promise to check in on you. Although it would give us such joy to see you again, it would be more joyful if you were adopted before we returned.
We love you and we miss you,
Tom and Candice
(she's in the paper recycling basket - not the garbage!)
19/12/2007
Hot chocolate ice cream cones...
How to make an hot chocolate "ice cream cone", using an engineered approach (a.k.a. the hard way).
Okay, this is a somewhat difficult process to describe in words.
First, you need to make a cone out of cardboard. You may wonder where you are going to get the cardboard, but then you'll remember that cereal doesn't need to be in a bag *and* in a box. One or the other is good enough.
Bend a square piece of cardboard into a round pipe, then tighten one end of the pipe until the hole closes completely. On second thought, actually, leave just a tiny whole, you'll see why later. This should result in a cone shape... Tape the cardboard together so it holds that shape. Duct tape, of course.
Stick the cone, pointy end first, inside a clear plastic bag, so the point is buried into the corner of the bag. Wrap the rest of the bag around the cone, and tape it to itself with clear tape (yes, you can get clear duct tape). You now have a cardboard cone inside a clear plastic cone. Good job, but we're not done yet.
At this point, it is best to have a wife. Foremost, she able to help you in what has become a four-handed process ("Need a hand?").
She is able to guide you in focusing on the task at hand ("What in the world are you doing?"), and aid you in developing proper process justification ("Why are you doing that?"). And very important to any engineering process is recognizing the resources you have at hand ("Look at the mess!!!"). Then she gives you a little wink and you remember who you're doing this for.
Hold the cardboard cone upright, while your wife carefully pours hot chocolate mix into into it. For a big freezer bag, we found about 2/3 of a cup to be about right. Slowly pull the cone out of the plastic bag so the hot chocolate pours out of the small hole and into the plastic bag. Once all of the mix is in the bag, place the bag *inside* the cardboard cone. (The cardboard one will help it hold its shape while you do the next few steps.)
Shake things carefully so that the mix settles down into the bag. Your belly may jiggle a little bit as you do this, so distract your wife while you do it... "Look over there! Is that cat eating your casserole?". Pour a few (1/3 cup) chocolate chips into the cone, and then put a few (2/3 cup) coloured mini marshmallows. Tie the top of the bag shut with a twist-tie.
When you pull the clear plastic cone out of the cardboard one, you should see something resembling an ice cream cone, with the hot chocolate mix as the cone, the chocolate chips as chocolate dip, and the marshmallows as the ice cream? And your wife will tell you its beautiful, even though it probably isn't.
Now, start again, and try to salvage some of the hot chocolate. Because at this point you will realize that you don't have nearly enough hot chocolate mix to make as many "ice cream" cones as you wanted to. Don't fret, 'cause a quick walk in a snowstorm for the two of you should get you the extra chocolate chips you are going to need.
Clear as mud? Actually, it doesn't matter... Like the best things in life it is about the process, not the product. And a walk in the falling snow can be kinda romantic.
If the response to this is good, next week I'll describe how to make your own version of the space shuttle's hydro-pneumatic thrust affectors out of expresso beans, milk, and a steam injector. It may feature an early morning metro ride and a quiet movie night out.
Okay, this is a somewhat difficult process to describe in words.
First, you need to make a cone out of cardboard. You may wonder where you are going to get the cardboard, but then you'll remember that cereal doesn't need to be in a bag *and* in a box. One or the other is good enough.
Bend a square piece of cardboard into a round pipe, then tighten one end of the pipe until the hole closes completely. On second thought, actually, leave just a tiny whole, you'll see why later. This should result in a cone shape... Tape the cardboard together so it holds that shape. Duct tape, of course.
Stick the cone, pointy end first, inside a clear plastic bag, so the point is buried into the corner of the bag. Wrap the rest of the bag around the cone, and tape it to itself with clear tape (yes, you can get clear duct tape). You now have a cardboard cone inside a clear plastic cone. Good job, but we're not done yet.
At this point, it is best to have a wife. Foremost, she able to help you in what has become a four-handed process ("Need a hand?").
She is able to guide you in focusing on the task at hand ("What in the world are you doing?"), and aid you in developing proper process justification ("Why are you doing that?"). And very important to any engineering process is recognizing the resources you have at hand ("Look at the mess!!!"). Then she gives you a little wink and you remember who you're doing this for.Hold the cardboard cone upright, while your wife carefully pours hot chocolate mix into into it. For a big freezer bag, we found about 2/3 of a cup to be about right. Slowly pull the cone out of the plastic bag so the hot chocolate pours out of the small hole and into the plastic bag. Once all of the mix is in the bag, place the bag *inside* the cardboard cone. (The cardboard one will help it hold its shape while you do the next few steps.)
Shake things carefully so that the mix settles down into the bag. Your belly may jiggle a little bit as you do this, so distract your wife while you do it... "Look over there! Is that cat eating your casserole?". Pour a few (1/3 cup) chocolate chips into the cone, and then put a few (2/3 cup) coloured mini marshmallows. Tie the top of the bag shut with a twist-tie.
When you pull the clear plastic cone out of the cardboard one, you should see something resembling an ice cream cone, with the hot chocolate mix as the cone, the chocolate chips as chocolate dip, and the marshmallows as the ice cream? And your wife will tell you its beautiful, even though it probably isn't.Now, start again, and try to salvage some of the hot chocolate. Because at this point you will realize that you don't have nearly enough hot chocolate mix to make as many "ice cream" cones as you wanted to. Don't fret, 'cause a quick walk in a snowstorm for the two of you should get you the extra chocolate chips you are going to need.
Clear as mud? Actually, it doesn't matter... Like the best things in life it is about the process, not the product. And a walk in the falling snow can be kinda romantic.If the response to this is good, next week I'll describe how to make your own version of the space shuttle's hydro-pneumatic thrust affectors out of expresso beans, milk, and a steam injector. It may feature an early morning metro ride and a quiet movie night out.
11/12/2007
Montreal Myths
Before moving to Quebec, we heard some wild rumors about the “backwards, French speaking, non-Christian city” we were planning on moving to. Its time to put some of these puppies to rest:
1. In Montreal, Christians are hard to come by.
FALSE. We have seen just as many churches and fish stamped bumpers here as we did in Winnipeg. We’ve met a number of Christians at church as well as in passing. I firmly believe there should be more of us here, however I think that of all places on this earth.
2. In Quebec, milk comes in bags.
TRUE. However, you can buy milk in cartoons too – its just $2 extra to do so. (Our milk comes in bags!)
3. In Montreal, you have a huge problem if you don’t speak French.
FALSE. So far, its been terribly easy to get by in English. However, you can’t help but feel a little ignorant for not knowing French, considering everyone around knows at least 2 languages.
4. In Quebec, margarine is white.
TRUE. The dairy industry has patented the colour of butter, leaving the margarine industry to leave their products looking like lard.
5. In Quebec, you can’t use your spousal name.
UNFORTUNATELY TRUE!! You must use your maiden name for anything concerning the government (drivers license, health card, social insurance number, etc.) Talk about a pain.
These are the five that I remember wondering about. Have any questions? Maybe I can answer them from other side of the border.
1. In Montreal, Christians are hard to come by.
FALSE. We have seen just as many churches and fish stamped bumpers here as we did in Winnipeg. We’ve met a number of Christians at church as well as in passing. I firmly believe there should be more of us here, however I think that of all places on this earth.
2. In Quebec, milk comes in bags.
TRUE. However, you can buy milk in cartoons too – its just $2 extra to do so. (Our milk comes in bags!)
3. In Montreal, you have a huge problem if you don’t speak French.
FALSE. So far, its been terribly easy to get by in English. However, you can’t help but feel a little ignorant for not knowing French, considering everyone around knows at least 2 languages.
4. In Quebec, margarine is white.
TRUE. The dairy industry has patented the colour of butter, leaving the margarine industry to leave their products looking like lard.
5. In Quebec, you can’t use your spousal name.
UNFORTUNATELY TRUE!! You must use your maiden name for anything concerning the government (drivers license, health card, social insurance number, etc.) Talk about a pain.
These are the five that I remember wondering about. Have any questions? Maybe I can answer them from other side of the border.
02/12/2007
Christmas Giving
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVqqj1v-ZBU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVqqj1v-ZBU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVqqj1v-ZBU
23/11/2007
New Parents
Alright, so now that we have been in the same place for more than a week, we got a little restless. I love animals and started pushing for a pet. My husband, on the other hand, is more realistic and knows that we aren’t going to be living here long enough to commit to an animal. So, happy compromise: we became a foster family for a local animal shelter. We decided that we should help out with a straight forward case, as we were going to be new at this parenting business.
Well, if you know us, we tend to not take small steps. We saw this mom and baby couple, sniffling away in their contamination-room cage, which had a beautiful view of a huge German Sheppard. “We’ll take those two.”
So we get home in one piece and plop the animals down in the spare bedroom. The cats were fantastic! The little 7 week-old baby (Molly) started eating and playing right away. Momma cat (Mary) purred and rubbed against us. She kept rubbing, rolling around on the floor, rubbing, rubbing….We thought “is she super itchy?” Then we hear “MEEEEOOWWW!!!” Nope, not itchy – she’s in heat.
So, picture our first night. We have terrible scream-like meows coming from all rooms in the apartment keeping us (and probably all the neighbors) wide awake. I had no idea how to calm her, tried everything from distracting her with toys to reasoning with her over the logistics of the request. We also have a terribly cute kitten trying to cuddle up in bed (between us), but is sneezing every 20 seconds – including in our faces.
I struggle with patience and over the last while I’ve been praying for more. Well, did I honestly think that I would receive some in the mail? Nope, I was blessed with this opportunity to gain some.
So, all night, whenever Mary started screaming, I got out of bed and tried to reason with her. Talking tended to calm her down a bit. Whenever the kitten started to sound super congested I would switch her position to ease the pressure on her lungs. But, although my patience got a good exercise, my energy started to run low. I would nudge my husband to get out of bed and help whenever Mary started screaming and I no longer have the energy to content with it. After my poor husband of endless patients returned from carrying out the ridiculous requested task of talking to the strange in-heat cat, he would return to bed and hear “Make sure you don’t squish the kitten!”
Come morning we were exhausted! Molly was sure to pounce on us when she thought the day should start. So all three of us hung out in bed for a bit, Molly separating us and ensuring we had no time for each other. We laid there until Mary started screaming again, ensuring we had no energy for each other.
I looked at my husband and asked “is this how it is when you have kids?”
He answered “I think we will wait to find out.”
Well, if you know us, we tend to not take small steps. We saw this mom and baby couple, sniffling away in their contamination-room cage, which had a beautiful view of a huge German Sheppard. “We’ll take those two.”
So we get home in one piece and plop the animals down in the spare bedroom. The cats were fantastic! The little 7 week-old baby (Molly) started eating and playing right away. Momma cat (Mary) purred and rubbed against us. She kept rubbing, rolling around on the floor, rubbing, rubbing….We thought “is she super itchy?” Then we hear “MEEEEOOWWW!!!” Nope, not itchy – she’s in heat.
So, picture our first night. We have terrible scream-like meows coming from all rooms in the apartment keeping us (and probably all the neighbors) wide awake. I had no idea how to calm her, tried everything from distracting her with toys to reasoning with her over the logistics of the request. We also have a terribly cute kitten trying to cuddle up in bed (between us), but is sneezing every 20 seconds – including in our faces.
I struggle with patience and over the last while I’ve been praying for more. Well, did I honestly think that I would receive some in the mail? Nope, I was blessed with this opportunity to gain some.
So, all night, whenever Mary started screaming, I got out of bed and tried to reason with her. Talking tended to calm her down a bit. Whenever the kitten started to sound super congested I would switch her position to ease the pressure on her lungs. But, although my patience got a good exercise, my energy started to run low. I would nudge my husband to get out of bed and help whenever Mary started screaming and I no longer have the energy to content with it. After my poor husband of endless patients returned from carrying out the ridiculous requested task of talking to the strange in-heat cat, he would return to bed and hear “Make sure you don’t squish the kitten!”
Come morning we were exhausted! Molly was sure to pounce on us when she thought the day should start. So all three of us hung out in bed for a bit, Molly separating us and ensuring we had no time for each other. We laid there until Mary started screaming again, ensuring we had no energy for each other.
I looked at my husband and asked “is this how it is when you have kids?”
He answered “I think we will wait to find out.”
22/11/2007
We will always be home.
It’s morning and we walk out the backdoor of the apartment. The Mazda awaits its journey into the city. She sits, blanketed with oranges and yellows that fell from the maple above. We drive, in awe of the city around us. Auto routes bustle. Parking lots packed. Signs with unknown cautions. Almost a rip in our map.
The boxes are gone as well as the happenings of our first month of marriage; the view in Toronto, the beaches of Mexico, the goodbyes in Winnipeg, the snowstorms of Ontario, the hospitality of Ottawa, the wonder of Montreal, the comfort of #4 Maple.
We are home. Actually, we have always been home, but now we have walls surrounding an area that is ours. A place to learn, a place to grow, a place to meet up after the hustle of the day is over and our real day begins. Over time the apartment number will change, the city lights will change, the type of currency will change - but we will always be home.
Here is to day thirty-one.
The boxes are gone as well as the happenings of our first month of marriage; the view in Toronto, the beaches of Mexico, the goodbyes in Winnipeg, the snowstorms of Ontario, the hospitality of Ottawa, the wonder of Montreal, the comfort of #4 Maple.
We are home. Actually, we have always been home, but now we have walls surrounding an area that is ours. A place to learn, a place to grow, a place to meet up after the hustle of the day is over and our real day begins. Over time the apartment number will change, the city lights will change, the type of currency will change - but we will always be home.
Here is to day thirty-one.
21/11/2007
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