Yikes, alright, so it’s been awhile. At first I was sitting in Ross River willing the days to count down slower so I could just escape the tedious boredom of this silly town and go home. My days consisted of feeling sea sick, watching TLC shows in the a.m., walking the dog, doing some yoga, watching Dr. Phil and Oprah, making dinner and reading before bed. A tedium any twentysomething can see was filled with lameness. It was brutal.
Then I finally got to fly to Vancouver, where I visited with some high school buddies. We toured around, I bought ridiculously priced yoga pants, and we watched fireworks on the beach that night. It was a beautiful first night away from Ross.
I flew into Ottawa and surprised my sister by arriving a day earlier than she thought I would. It was priceless. I spent my time in Ottawa going to movies on the big, fancy screen, laughing at hilarious childhood movies in the basement, having sleepovers with my best friends, eating deliciously wonderful food and having heart to hearts: soooo much better in person than over the phone. Made some important artistic discoveries like She&Him and the Flight of the Concords (I don’t get out much).
Drove to Maine with some family and relished in the familiar beauty of the seaside town we’d visited many summers before. We played in the waves, ate fried clams, kissed lobsters, read on the beach and got sand into every crevice imaginable. I even went like 5 days without showering. Cuz hey: bathing in the ocean is so much better. In week-long doses, that is.
I said goodbyes to Maine, then goodbyes to family and friends in Ottawa. It was so hard to say goodbye, especially to my mum, because we now had so much more to bond over. We definitely have made the leap from parent-child to a place where we can be friends.
When my plane landed in Whitehorse, I was greeted by husband and in-laws and we set off on a Yukon tour. We stayed a few days in the capital at a B&B that had no beds or breakfast (c’est la vie) before heading up the Klondike Highway for 6 hours to Dawson City. I love Dawson. I really hope we can live there next. It feels like stepping on to the set of an old movie. Then we drove 7 or 8 hours back to Ross River, where our lovely helpers moved us from the brown house around the block to the big, beautiful new house.
And now that the in-laws have had their fill of the Yukon, and it’s back to being husband, myself, Goober and Skylar in this new, beautiful big house, I actually feel happy here in Ross River. Maybe it’s the change in dwelling, maybe it’s the refreshed perspective that comes with a trip home, or maybe it’s not being in a perpetual state of queasiness. But I’m in a place that feels like my home and I can’t wait to make room for one more. 

Labels: family, friends, Ross River, Yukon

Yesterday all across the northern hemisphere was the longest day of the year, the summer solstice when the sun is up for the longest amount of time. Here in the Yukon, it is a notable occasion celebrated in many ways. Like Christmas, each family and group of friends has its own traditional longest day activity. This being my first, I thought I’d start one up.
The sun rose at 4:00 a.m. and set at 23:44, although the hours between sunrise and sunset are not dark. The sun sets only a little bit below the horizon and so the sky stays relatively light; it’s pink on a clear night. Last night was a little cloudy but nonetheless, we took pictures of ourselves holding a clock at midnight to send back to friends and family in Ontario, so they all could see how light it was. I am anticipating it will be really weird to take my trip home to Ottawa this summer and see stars for the first time in months!
Last night I also launched my inaugural annual rib grill-off. I defrosted about seven racks of pork ribs in my fridge starting Thursday after rescuing them from the depths of my frigid deep freezer. At about ten o’clock last night I lit the barbecue up and started slow cooking them. My puppy took advantage of the missing grease trap to lick up all the fat and grease drippings, so I guess that was her longest day treat.
At midnight, I slathered them up with sauce and the husband and I sat down with his boss in the kitchen at midnight to get our fingers all sticky and our teeth full of ribs as we chowed down, sans cutlery, of course. To top it off, we all took sliver-sized pieces of the Georgia Peanut Butter Pie I’d made. I went to bed more full than I’ve been in a long time!
And that was our first longest day, and the first time I’ve lived in a place on the solstice where the sun never really goes down!

Labels: family, Yukon

Overnight bag is packed and I’ve masking-taped a printer paper to our guest room door that reads “Please do not pack this room” in purple Crayola marker. Inside the room are the bags, the animals’ beds and bags of their food, food dishes, a board game, a cooler for a last-minute run to M&M’s meat shop and the furniture we have to send over to a friend’s house. (We borrowed it/stored it for someone who moved waaary up north so now it’s being passed on in the borrow/storing circle)
Our freezer is full of sustenance and our pantry is packed full of granola bars, chips, meal replacement shakes (in case we really run out of food), cereal, crackers, soups, sauces, spreads and animal food. We’re living with friends while our stuff is packed, loaded and driven. We’ll be in Ross River by Friday and I’ll be starting my new job as a substitute teacher/tutor next week. The school called today to let me know I would in fact not be tutoring the young lad with Oppositional Defiance Disorder. What is ODD? Is it worse than ADD? It sounds like I’m sure to meet my share of characters. This is excellent. Boring people are no fun; variety is the spice of life, n’est pas?
I think I‘ve remembered everything I have to do. See you on the rural side!

Labels: moving, Yukon

One (Yukon gold) nugget of wisdom my favourite professor gave me, upon learning I was moving to Whitehorse, was to stay open-minded as long as possible, or indefinitely. He said I was likely to find people who, just by wanting to help me out, would tell me all about people, places that I should be weary of. Opinions will come tinged with their own negative experience, and it’s up to me to experience things for myself, come to my own conclusions, he said. Simple advice, but solid. I have made a conscious effort to do that since living here. I have found things out for myself and made friends with some great people who were previously warned to me to be ‘weird’ or ‘stuck up.’
Now that I am moving again, I find myself reacting almost comically to what people, well-wishers no doubt, have tried to impart to me about Ross River.
I haven’t been to Ross River yet, and probably won’t before we move there next week. To me, that means the little town of 400 is a clean slate to me. I am preparing for the four hour drive to take me to one of many of the many possibilities I may find at road’s end. It could be an oasis, a paradise, a secret haven. It could look like the slums of ghetto-set movies I’ve seen. I don’t know, and that’s the point. And yet, so many have thought to tell me exactly what they think when I tell them Ross River is my next destination, perhaps hoping it’ll help me to be geared up for something terrible.
“Oh no! Be strong,” said one RCMP wife to me today.
“Yeesh, that sucks,” said countless others.
“You’re going to absolutely hate it. How horrible,” said my editor.
Thank you?
And when our move was finalized, i.e. we crossed the no-turning-back threshold, people really let us know what to expect.
“Be safe, OK? Don’t let them scare you.”
“You guys are the kind of people who won’t be devastated by it.”
and my favourite: “I feel so bad for you.”
The way I see it, it’ll be as good or as bad as we make it. Nobody, and no place, has the ability to dictate my propensity for joy. I’ll be disappointed with myself if I leave miserable, because to me, that just means I let something negative get to me.
Haha, we’ll see if these posts steadily decline in morale and you find me clinging to literary life after two years. No, no, we’ll do just fine thankyouverymuch.

Labels: moving, Ross River, Yukon

In our short time here in Whitehorse, we have met some wonderful people. I didn’t think it would be a big deal to move out of the city, because I figured I hadn’t been here long enough to be affected by cutting ties.
Now that we’re 10 days away from leaving, I am clinging to the comfort of friends I have made since arriving here on 07/07/07.
When we announced our move day out to Ross River, I figured we’d have last tea and coffee dates with our buddies, load up the pickup with Wal-Mart and Superstore supplies and head on out. What happened was not one but two going-away parties were planned for us. It made me feel oddly welcomed, strange that a party would be thrown for us when it’s seems we’ve hardly had a chance to be more than a reference note in people’s lives.
This last weekend was the first of the two, and what a perfect Yukon night it was.
We went outside of the city to our friends’ house for a bonfire. We arrived before sunset, because that isn’t happening until about 9:30 p.m. these days. I learned a new way to build a fire (lots of newspaper, haphazardly thrown kindling and lots of blowing before the logs) and, more importantly, how many people cared enough to spend their Saturday night seeing us off. It was touching, and as I mentioned, a little odd to be the guests of honour!
It was a perfect night for weather, it never really got cold, especially in front of the fire, not even by the time we left at 4:00 a.m.! The sky was clear and for hours we were treated to dancing green northern lights. I learned that if you whistle at them, it’s akin to taunting and they recede for a bit, at least that’s first nation folklore.
We drank and made fireside confessions that will never go beyond the orange glow, and laughed louder than the music, which was allowed to blare in the rural neighbourhood. Besides that, if there was a noise complaint called in to the police, it would be redundant, as on duty officers joined in the fireside party sporadically.
It was a ,marvelous night spent among friends that genuinely wished us well, offering us places to stay when we come back in to ‘the big city’ to load up on supplies at retail prices. (As opposed to insane Ross River prices on limited selection)
Next weekend’s another, only it’ll be a swanky cocktail party, complete with requisite dress code and fondue!! I can’t wait, but I can. It’ll be bittersweet.

Labels: friends, Yukon

When I had just finished my second year of university, my two best friends and I flew to Santorini in the Greek Cyclades islands. For two weeks, we swam on black sand beaches, ate saganaki and spanakopita, rode donkeys, hiked a volcano, toured an ancient city, went to a baptism, and visited Oia and Athens. At the time, I remember thinking the experience was enjoyable and exciting, but maybe not life-changing. The people were great, we walked everywhere and the food was delicious. I’m not sure what experience I was looking for that would be life changing. I thought maybe the peak of a 20 year old’s life-changing experience is the time she tries absinthe.
Now that I have had the subsequent time to reflect on my trip and what it meant to me, I realize the life-changing experience was the journey. The dedication to explore, broaden my understanding, add a new platform from which to view the world.
Greece was beautiful and I have since explored bits of Jamaica, Turks and Caicos, and now, a far corner of my own country.
This isn’t a vacation, which is a difference, but northern living sure is life-changing. When we were getting ready to move, I was really excited to see what kind of person Id become in the Yukon. More confidant? Relaxed? Appreciative? All those are revealing themselves as true, and it is exciting to reflect upon what imprint a different lifestyle can leave on your person.
I am still me pre-exploration, minus the teen angst of course. The chance to discover more about myself and what it means to be a part of the decision-making world population is a continually life-changing experience. I don’t doubt the same thing could happened had I stayed home in the comfort of my home surroundings. But I am sure it would not occur to the degree it is now. Removing myself from my comfort zone and finding joy in somewhere far away and different provides a new comfort: That happiness come from experience, not shoes, and that no matter where I am it;s things like sunset walks and cuddling on the couch that make my days worth living.

Labels: life on the other side, travel, Yukon

The Quest is over, and I can sleep!
The champ won the final race, 15 minutes ahead of the next guy. I gleefully covered as many finish line arrivals as I could, spending hours reading in my truck, looking up to Shipyard’s Park every now and then for a musher’s silhouette.
The wait was worth it, the sense of accomplishment and relief oozing off of the mushers as they arrived at the final checkpoint, knowing they could sleep in a warm bed, with warm clothing. I asked about the biggest challenges, the greatest memories, and their tired eyes would again light up as they recounted tails that they will surely recount the rest of their lives.
At the Finish Banquet Saturday night, one musher proposed to his girlfriend after accepting his prize, and of course my eyes watered up, blurring my vision through the camera lens as I still tried to capture images for Monday’s deadline. Another musher cried when he won the vet’s choice award for supreme dog care on the trail. Again, those hormones had my eyes all ablaze with moisture.
When I had finished taking notes and snapping shots, it was time to mingle around the tables of mushers, handlers, race staff and volunteers that had patiently answered my questions and let me intrude on their adventures for the last week and a half. It was a little like saying goodbye on the last day of summer sleepaway camp.
Who knows when or if I’d ever see some of the musher’s wives again? Or chat with a four-time champion musher about breakfast preferences? It’s a little bit of a let down after a week of highs, adrenaline, and excitement that swept me up into the Quest hurricane.
At the same time, it’s nice to be able to catch up on work e-mails and stories from my regular municipal beat that have been cast aside. Though at times the Quest was cold toes, smelly hair, nutritional sacrilege and missing the husband, I am already hoping they ask me to cover it again next year.

Labels: quest, Yukon

In Ottawa when it is colder than -35 degrees Celsius, the government issues weather warnings to stay inside, keep an eye on children and the elderly and everyone has fun shopping, going to movies, having sleepovers with best friends and stuff like that. Well, we had friend sleepovers, anyway.
In Whitehorse, when it is that cold outside it is called ‘winter’ and everyone bundles up and plugs their cars in. I think they issue warnings when its colder than -50. This week it’s averaging between -35 and -40 something. I nearly hospitalized myself filling the truck up with gas. (An exaggeration for you southern folk. My fingers just got really cold. Even inside my mitts!) Our truck didn’t start at all Monday as all the oil and engine had frozen. We used a creative technique involving a hot lamp, blankets and a forceful shove from another car, pushing ours into our garage to remedy the situation. Our garage door, it turns out, is built to close 3 centimeters short of our truck length. Hoorah!
At work, we all run down every hour or so to turn on our engines so they don’t freeze up, and when I got to the indoor track for lunch runs, I just leave ‘er running. (No riverside runs in this weather, oh no, my pretty blond head would likely cryogenically freeze or something!)
The usually insanely busy Superstore has a barren parking lot, and all the good movies are rented out.
There is this phenomena called “ice fog” that magically impedes my vision as I try to figure out where I am going by where the tail lights in front of me are headed.
The poor puppy pees closer and closer to the door, and lifts her poor little paws off of what I assume feels like a frozen pole you are not supposed to lick. No walks for her so she takes out her unused energy on our clothing and our carpet.
I wear like a bajillion layers to go 100 metres to get the mail, with only an eye slit left exposed so that I may see where I am walking.
Steam comes out of our front entrance when I open the door.
I am forced to stay in my living room on my comfy couch eating fruity popsicles with my puppy and kitty while husband works night shift, and that in its own is not an unwelcome break.
It is unwelcome when it is repeated for days on end and there is no good TV because the writers are still on strike. Curses!
Oh, and we found out this spring we are moving somewhere further north and colder in this freezing frigid territory of ours.
[Shudder]

Labels: moving, winter, Yukon

There are some up here who don’t even own a TV. They have nature and skidoos and have no need for sitcoms, they tell me.
I need my MTV, as the saying goes. Especially since MuchMusic stopped playing anything but the O.C.reruns and VJ commentary shows. I need my brain-dead celebrity TV that robs my of intellect, and the sappy dramas that wind me in with their stylish actors and scandalous plot lines. I make no apologies-- I am a twentysomething who may have left behind her crazy bar days but will fight tooth and nail to retain the right to be a Gen Y-er who is sometimes apathetic and easily amused by what pop culture tells me is cool.
SaturdayNightLive is one of my favourite turn brain off outlets, and has been since Grade 6 when I was allowed to start watching it. I love “getting” all the witty refernces in Weekend Update, laughing at the bathroom humour and recurring characters. Last year’s addition of Digital Shorts was genious and has given me something fun to look up on YouTube and pass around the next day before they’re all taken down.
The situation with SNL and I was even better when I moved to the west coast, with its Pacific time zone and television show airings. Usually, I missed the truly live SNL episodes, being out and about (read: hammered) with girlfrends in the market. Now, it’s on at 8:30 p.m. my time. This is convenient because 1- I don’t have to worry about missing it most times and 2- I am lame and old and don’t usually stay up that late anymore, even on weekends.
But now, what am I to do? Like so many other outlets of entertainment that help me escape the monotany of my 9-5 and give my active, analytical brain some reprieve, SNL is in reruns. All the shows will soon be in reruns. Why can’t the stupid writers’ strike end already?
The Golden Globes were reduced to a press conference, people. I threw my hands up awhile ago, why can’t the writers and their bosses do the same? It is that easy, I’m sure. Is this a bore-off, whoever runs out of things to do first succumbs to the others’ demands? I suggest turning on the TV to speed things up, if that’s the case.
Bring back my TV! Leno did! I know in theory reality TV (among my fave brain-killing activities!) should be able to keep taping without writers, but for some reason they need them. Maybe so the hosts know what to say? Regardless. Stop not-working, writers, and let my shows come back. Get drunk at the staff party and get the boss to agree to a raise then! Or privately challenge them with a bogus sexual harssment suit like the rest of us do when we want extra cash! But don’t make me, the poor Yukon twentysomething whose husband is working night shifts, be deprived of the one thing that allows me to turn off my thought-maker, stare, eat chips without thinking until the bag is empty. I need that!

Labels: reality TV, Yukon

Ah, the small pleasures of simple living. I alluded to them last post, and one has led me off on a tangent in my life I think would only be possible in the Yukon. Or in my Yukon life.
I’ll take this and back up a bit.
When I was “training’ for my 10k race last year (meaning, doing what all runners do: run with some regularity while sloooowwwly upping my distance), I remember getting so down on myself about ‘only’ running 3 or 4 times a week. That sounds lame, I know, but hear me out. It just seems like it was something to try really hard to fit into crazy journalism school schedules and interviews, work events and interviews, family visits, and the obligatory ‘we’re almost done!’ weekend drinkfests. Its a rough life, and busy.
I knew I could be doing more to reach personal limits and test myself. Granted, huffing and puffing and sweating and cursing were indicators that I was working hard on my runs, but I always knew I wasn’t really pushing it. I did my 10k and honestly, I didn’t feel like dying or collapsing afterwards. I just remember thinking how I had totally had it in me to get a better time. Competitiveness with myself? Maybe, and maybe my upbringing in a competitive, consumeristic, pressure-filled world is to blame. Maybe not?
So, anyway, I half-assedly brought running with me to the Yukon. First, I complained that the elevation change was too dramatic to keep at my regular running schedule and so I stopped. Or I’d run on the gym treadmill once a week and be satisfied I’d done something. It was a poor excuse for a fitness regimen. Granted, I’m not pudgy or jelly-ish (Destiny’s Child!), and it’s not like pounds were starting to pack on. But that’s not REALLY why I run, either. Its good for my heart, certainly better than sitting around not exercising my heart, and I wanna be a healthy old fart one day.
I went home for the wedding though, and had the whole, dramatic, I-don’t-fit-into-the-dress fiasco. That was the first time ever I didn’t fit in something. I used to be the stick-skinny girl people started bulimia rumours about, for crying out loud. I don’t GET bigger!! Well yes, I do. And I did. So I got back to running in Ottawa, and I fit in my dress and all was well and good.
I ran on my honeymoon, even leaving new husband alone at the hotel to run the Kelwona waterfront. I was so dedicated. We returned to the ‘Horse and I was still all ‘Ya, I’m totally for sure gonna keep up my running’ and thinking it wouldn’t even be hard because I’d already been running the last month regularly.
But then it got cold. Like, gross cold. So I didn’t run outside. And getting to the treadmill took some effort,.Like, the effort required to decide to go, pack stuff, run and come home. Exasperating! I’m not sure when, but ‘too cold’ and ‘too treadmill-y’ became solid reasons to return to the butt indentation on my couch and stay put.
For Christmas, my Dad got me a subscription to a women’s health magazine, which was really what I needed. In glossy, pretty pages, the message to me became clear: You are lame. Get up and do something. Wanker.
So I signed up for their online save your body or die program (although their name is more suitable and less scary) and began by logging what I eat to see how many calories I’m taking in a day. This was relative to little to no physical activity at this point. Baby steps.
That part turned out OK. I was eating enough. I don’t want to lose weight or anything so that can stay as is and I can stop logging calories for everything I eat, which is relieving. I don’t know how many calories are in Lindor chocolates but I don’t want to either.
This week, I got a gym membership at the Canada Games Centre, this awesome facility with an indoor track (real running! no cold!), a pool (I could so get back into that! And do aquafit hahaha!) so there’s step one. I replaced my broke-down old iPod with this tiny one the size of an eye shadow compartment so I had something to listen to on my runs besides the sound of my laboured breathing.
And my magazine web site thingy tells me what to do. When to run, how long, how hard. I can add in all the other fitness-y things I’m making myself do, like hikes with the puppy, yoga and well, that’s it for now. But soon swimming! I promise!
So the long and short of it is (if you were smart and skipped down to the bottom to avoid reading all of that) is that the simple pleasure of my magazine subscription has re-inspired me to get into running and being active, with a little bit of accountability involved.
I even signed up for pole dancing for fitness at the games centre. I wonder what I am supposed to wear to that? Anything? Anyway, I figure I’ll keep things interesting by switching things up, logging what I do, and planning in advance when I’m going to do it. Yukon time gives me a whole lot more to my day, even with the full-time j-o-b, so I know I can do it.
This is totally the year of seeing how far I can go. There are some extreme races here in the summer, so I’m excited for the chance to push myself and see where these legs can take me.

Labels: Journalism School, running, Yukon

In more ways than one, I’m getting bit by the reality bug as the products of so many of 2007’s big decisions become permanent.
Decision One: Agree with husband that yes, moving to the Yukon would be so cool!
Is that adjective biting me in the butt now. It is only December, or, the second month of Yukon winter, and it is -40 degrees Celsius. Summer here was beautiful. We climbed mountains, sun tanned, walked everywhere, soaked up intense amounts of vitamin D cuz the sun didn’t set till 12 at night. Summer, I have heard, lasts only those two months I experienced here, July and August. Then it was back into the 8-10 month cold stretch. This is where I find myself. Call me seasonally affective, but it’s all a little depressing to be freezing cold all the time, missing my riverside runs, lamenting my super-dry skin (I have to moisturize like 6 times a day!) and with Christmas coming, I kind of just want to be at home.
Granted, it’ll be nice to have my first married Christmas here on my own, but Christmas is all about family and traditions and visits, right? Not this year. I’m discovering Bailey’s in my hot chocolate and numerous comforters on my bed make the Yukon winter blues go away.
Decision Two: Buying a puppy, because they are, like, so cute and fun!
Yes, but they also whine, poop, pee, destroy, chase kitten, eat clothing, gnaw hands and need attention when I really want to be painting my toenails.
I love Skylar the dog. She is cute and has the epitomous puppy-dog eyes and when she does snuggle up and sleep on my lap, it is the most relaxing feeling ever. (Especially when Goober the kitten joins in the sleeping snuggling mix). But man, I am realizing that taking care of a new puppy is a significant amount of work! I sleep less, I worry about my home’s destruction, I am gong through urine and poo remover/cleanser in alarming and likely carcinogenic amounts.
To both of these things I know comes the answer, “I’ll get better.” And I know that’s true. But a carpe diem-ing twentysomething sometimes needs more than assurances things’ll get better later. Like, I would prefer to have things get better now, so I can go back to being carefree. Or is that what being a grownup is?

Labels: winter, Yukon