Giving Thanks...and Wishing

On Monday morning, our family bought fourteen frozen turkeys. The four of us, each with our own cart, marched in a line, one after the other. We went to the frozen section at the supermarket, got our turkeys, two each, filed back to the registers, through the parking lot, and loaded them all into the back of our van. Then we got in and drove to another store to get six more. That was our family outing. Needless to say, we couldn’t stop laughing and whispering how weird the whole endevour was. No, we are not a group of gluttons (in fact, my sister is vegetarian). No, these turkeys are not for us.

Every year, my dad cooks the turkeys for a Thanksgiving feast to be consumed by over three hundred University students and other “Victorians” at a local church. The day after the feast, my dad will use the remaining carcasses (don’t you just love that word?) and make enough turkey stock to last us a year (and then some!). This is our family tradition. On October 1st, 1999, my mum, dad, sister, and I left Ontario, Canada for a new chapter in our lives, which happened to be in Austria. Mittersill, a tiny village between Innsbruck and Salzburg, became our home for the next four years. It was our first time living away from any extended family and, sadly, the last time we would ever live in the same time zone as them. We moved back to the other side (West Coast) of Canada in 2003, and have been here ever since. With only the four of us, our Thanksgivings and other family-type gatherings, have taken on new traditions and ways of celebrating. Over the past fifteen-plus years, we’ve had students, friends, and other “stragglers” without family nearby come for a supper. We’ve also had some years without any sort of special meal or typical Thanksgiving festivities enjoyed by Canadians. We might eat leftovers some years, or other food not consisting of turkey, stuffing, and the like. But while these traditions are wonderful, and I love taking part in them, I don’t really care about the food. In fact, I’m not even a huge fan of turkey. What I love and miss most about living away from more family is the time together. I miss sitting around, talking about whatever comes to mind, playing “Just Dance” with my cousin, cuddling with another, being engulfed in great big uncle hugs, soft and gentle auntie and grandparent hugs. I miss playing games that need more than four players. I miss hearing the hearty laughter that always come with get togethers. Don’t get me wrong- we still see our family, but it isn’t as often as we’d like. Plane tickets cost way too much to jaunt across the country (and south to the states to visit my mum’s side) every month, or every major holiday, or even every year. Last October, I got to see my mum’s sisters and my cousins on that side for the first time in over ten years. I’m so thankful that I got to see them twice in the last twelve months. Unfortunately, and also fortunately, the last time we went to visit our Ontario crew was last December after the passing of my grandma and grandpa. It was great to see everyone, even if the occasion was a sombre one. I’ve been missing them a lot lately (my grandparents, I mean). I get angry that the last time I saw them was five years before then. I was still sick. I wish I could have seen them after I got better. I wish we could have spent more time together. We lived just a block away until I was five.

I feel cheated out of the other years. I feel cheated and angry that I missed so many years with extended family. I wish we lived close enough to take each other for granted. I wish going to my aunts and uncles’ houses didn’t involve packing a suitcase. I wish I got to see my little cousins grow up in person. I love seeing pictures and keeping updated over the internet, but it isn’t the same. I ache to see them, to hug them, to just be with them. I wish for a lot of things, and sometimes I forget all the blessings that God has given me. I’m healthy. My parents and sister are healthy. We live in a beautiful house with wonderful neighbours. We have plenty of food and clean water to drink right from the tap. We belong to a church family that supports us, that loves us, that we love. We live in a country with education, freedom to express our faith, and healthcare. We have an adorable new puppy. We live in a city full of nature, hippies, and eclectic communities. We have friends. I've even made new friends over the past couple years and have grown incredibly close in a short span of time. We have work. I get to have free time, not having to work all day, every day of the week just to make ends meet. My family has a great relationship with one another. There is so much to be thankful for. Sometimes I need to list them out to be reminded of just how many blessings I have. Yeah, I miss my extended family. Yeah, not everything is perfect all the time, but with special outings with parents and my sister to go buy fourteen turkeys that we won’t even eat, what do I have to complain about? I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving. Not just for one day, but for every day.

P.S. Here are some photos of Islay, the latest addition to our family:

Freyja

Freyja was a sweetheart. She was a bit of an odd duck- er, dog...
When she played with you, she would groan and play-growl, she would run circles around the yard without me even doing anything. She lifted her leg to pee like a boy. She wouldn't squirm when you picked her up. She rarely barked, and when she did, it sounded like a pubescent boy yelling--not at all intimidating or ferocious. Her fur was soft and golden. Her breath didn't stink. When she was really tired, she would lie on her back, legs sprawled, her side pushed against the wall. She was a pretty chill dog, unless new people or guests were around. She was content to relax during the day, having a lie down wherever the sun his the floor. She was sensitive. If any of us ever argued or even raised our voices, she would cower in a corner. She NEVER bit you.

She wasn't always perfect, mind. She liked mud and puddles but hated baths and having her nails clipped. In fact, every time she had them done (we couldn't even do it ourselves), my mum and I both would have to hold her down while the woman at the grooming place clipped them. Many scratches ensued (for me anyway). She shed...A LOT! This wasn't the greatest for my nose...or the vacuum. She didn't like being brushed. We never managed to teach her how to walk with us and not pull the leash. We never could get her to stop jumping up on people. When we had guests over, I would have to be with her in my room. If I left her for even a few minutes, she would get into my garbage and strew tissues everywhere. She preferred people to dogs.

But Freyja had the best quality, one that far outweighed any of her mischief--love. She was good at showing love. She would look out the front window for you. She knew someone was home before any of us. She didn't hold back. When she was happy, everyone knew it. You felt special every time she bounded up to you, wanting to smell you, to be as close to you as she could.

In 2016, when she was nine, she got sick.
It's been two years since she left us. We miss her. All of us still will catch ourselves looking for her in the window when we drive up. She was special. We miss her.

A lot has changed since then, and not just in the lack of hair everywhere. But that I think will have to wait for another day. Today, I just wanted to remember Freyja and share my continued love and affection for her with you.

I hope you all are having a great summer. I've been loving the heat!

God bless,

God is not a Stick Bug

Last week, my cousins were visiting and one of the things we did was go to the bug zoo (super cool, by the way).

Now, I'm not really a bug person in the sense that I want to have an ant farm or have any insects as pets, but if they're in the garden that's fine. So you'd think a bug zoo would not be a place I'd want to hang out. However, insects are pretty interesting and amazing to look at, especially the big ones (as long as they are in their tanks). It's a pretty small museum, being only two medium sized rooms, yet we ended up staying for over an hour and a half.

Not only did we get to see different types of insects and tarantulas, (which, although scare the pants off me, I actually held!) we also got to learn a ton about them from the guide.

And a lot of what we learned was stuff I never knew, like that tarantulas are incredibly delicate and, due to a fragile exoskeleton, will basically die if dropped.

One of the things that I found both interesting and bizarre was about stick bugs and their way of laying their eggs. The females essentially “flick” their eggs and let them land wherever they land. Not the greatest mother role model, eh?

While it sounds kind of funny, it got me thinking.

Why am I here? I don't mean why I am alive. Why am I here?

Why am I in Canada? Why was I born where I was? Why was I moved? Why am I where I am today?

Sure, my parents had a lot to do with the moves, but I don't really believe in chance.

Why wasn't I born into poverty, unrest, violence?

It's easy for me to say that I was put here for a purpose; that my home has always been in a relatively peaceful, tolerant place because that's what God intended for me and my family. But the truth is that I do believe it. It isn't fair that I have plenty to eat and drink, while others have to fight for their lives every single day. And there are plenty of people who have more than I do. It's not because of anything I did to deserve it, in the same way that those living in third world countries, dangerous surroundings, etc, are not to “blame” for circumstances. Our place of birth has nothing to do with what we did.

So how did we end up where we are? Were we basically “flicked” randomly into the world? A lot of people would probably say yes. Personally, I don't believe it. Having a faith in Jesus has taught me that God's love is too deep to be random. “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16). I'm aware that saying I “have a relationship with Christ” might sound wishy washy or stupid. You might have stopped reading at those words. You might think that I'm some narrow-minded, religious nut. You can think whatever you want, but anyone who knows me knows that isn't true.

The point I'm trying to make is that, while I don't know a lot, I feel pretty confident in saying that I wasn't just “flung” randomly into the world, to land wherever and have to fend for myself from the start. Believe what you will, but I don't think God's a stick bug.

Happy April :)