Give Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's Thanksgiving in Canada and so today, I wanted to take some time to discuss what Thanksgiving means to me.

Growing up, I enjoyed Thanksgiving as it meant a day off school, lots of turkey and time hanging out with family. I do have to admit though, that I always held some resentment towards the holiday. You see... Thanksgiving (in Canada) falls on the second Monday of October. My birthday also happens to usually fall around this time. Sharing your birthday with a holiday always meant issues planning a party as everyone was usually away either on the long weekend or other weekends surrounding it and having the sharing of the gifts as an afterthought at family gatherings. Not that I expect to always be the centre of attention... but on one's birthday, it is nice. Although, I suppose I can't complain too much as, in our family, December 24th is never Christmas Eve, but rather birthday day for my Mom and sister. The one perk of having my birthday near/sometimes on, a holiday is that I did have a much better chance of getting it off of school than most people. That and getting Grandma pies. My Grandma J. makes the best pies ever. I don't care if you think your grandma makes the best... I'm 100% confident that Grandma J.'s are the best that I've ever had or are likely to have. Today, I no longer feel any sort of resentment for having a holiday birthday, but rather Thanksgiving has become my favourite holiday.

Thanksgiving is usually the time of year that I like most. It falls nicely in the middle of October, when usually the leaves are falling, the air is crisp and the sun is still warm enough that being outside is rather pleasant. Trees are a myriad of colours, brightening the landscape. Here, in the UK, however, this is not the case. Some trees are turning colour, and yes, the air is cool, but it is a damp cold that sets into your bones and the leaves are mostly falling because of the rain, but yet, I am still thankful.

I am thankful that I had the opportunity to move here, to live and to work here. I am thankful that I met my future husband here and that I've met some amazing friends and had some wonderful experiences. I am thankful that I am able to travel, able to have a career and able to enjoy life.

I am thankful for my family who have been loving and supportive. I am thankful for my friends, who have been there to have a laugh and also when times have been tough. I am thankful for growing up safe, and with luxuries that many around the world do not have.

I am thankful that I possessed the capabilities and the opportunities to complete two degrees, allowing me to work in the field that I feel called to work in.

I am thankful for a loving God who shows me compassion beyond all understanding, and love beyond comprehension.

I guess... this Thanksgiving, I just really feel thankful and I know that I am so blessed.

Today, please do remember to just be thankful.

-E

Thanksgiving meal... yum!

Pumpkin tarts... made by Ashley. SO GOOD!

Birthday cupcakes thanks to my wonderful fiancee!

More Thanksgiving meal... :)

Engagement Lessons

David and I have been engaged for just under two months now... and what an interesting two months it has been!

It has been a whole range of emotions since the moment David pulled out the ring. From extreme happiness and joy to stress and confusion... the change in our relationship status has been a new experience for sure.

From the very start of our engagement, it was pretty clear to me that I am not like a lot of girls (or at least the stereotype of most females). I have never had a "vision" for my future wedding, nor have I ever sat and looked at wedding stuff in anticipation of my future wedding day. I always knew that I'd like to keep it fairly small and simple. David and I had actually discussed the idea of having a small ceremony and then a party for both sides in our respective countries before we got engaged, but that was the extent of any thoughts or planning that I had pre-engagement. I never thought about colours or themes or dresses. When I went to weddings, or a friend showed me wedding stuff, I knew what I liked or didn't, but that's about as far as my wedding dreams and knowledge went. So when family members and friends started asking questions and wanting to get an idea of what I'd like, I felt overwhelmed. I thought... I like yellow... so let's make that the colour! The only flowers I like are sunflowers... so let's make that the theme! Done.

Ok... it turns out that it was not done. We haven't thought of any complimentary colours yet, and it turns out that sunflowers are very not in season in April (when the date is), and so would be crazy expensive to get, so new flowers it is. I am not a person who cares about flowers in general and usually appreciates wildflowers in the woods more than cultivated gardens with fancy flowers that are "just so". Looking at various flowers baffles and confounds me but I'm sure that myself and my family will be able to sort something out. Although it turns out my tastes seem to run to the eclectic and is not always appreciated by other human beings. So a lot of my ideas for the party have been turned down by any and all people hearing them, and also is usually accompanied with the "Erin. No." face. And here I thought weddings were the time that the bride could go nuts and do what they wanted!

Something else that has been interesting is people's reaction to our wedding date. We got engaged in August 2013 and plan on marrying over Easter break (we get two weeks here for school holidays), in April 2014. That makes it about an eight month engagement. Now, I know most typical engagements are a year or more which does make sense as weddings are a lot of work and having that time would be useful but it just wasn't something that we wanted. While eight months is still not that quick of an engagement, we have gotten some really crazy reactions. From people hinting that there might be a little reason for us to get married quickly (nope!), to just reacting shocked and then pressuring me to explain why we are "in such a rush" to some amazing people who are simply supportive. It really surprised me how much judgement people have put on us for getting married before the usual engagement gestational period. To me, if you are ready to get engaged, you are ready to marry and so waiting around doesn't make that much sense. We have other reasons to pick April that are more practical but really... we don't want to wait ages to move in and start our life together.

Something being engaged has changed is how our conversations that we have about our relationship and future. There is something very comforting about knowing where the future is leading to and who I will be sharing it with. Wedding talk has also brought up some ways that we are different (I am fighting for some form of TARDIS at the party but David... and my mom... tells me that it's silly but darn it... it would be so cool!), and many ways that we are similar. We both agree that the details of the wedding aren't that important, but it's more the marriage that we are wanting to focus on, which is great and I feel like a healthy way to look at the whole getting married thing. The only problem is... in order to get married, we will need to sort out some of the details first.

Sigh... and so I go to look at more pictures of bouquets.

Night buses.

My first year in the UK, I was really excited to travel and see new places (ok... I still am!), so when a couple months after being in England, and a school holiday came up, I was most definitely looking forward to a trip.

I decided that I didn't want to spend much, and neither did the friend that I was travelling with, so we looked around and found out that you could take a night bus to Scotland for under 10 pounds. Great! We thought we found a deal and booked tickets to go there and back on the night bus. We figured it would save us time (since we could sleep on the bus and not waste a day travelling) and money.

We arrived at the coach station all ready for our trip. Excited and pleased that we had found such a good deal. Little did we know that the bus would be crowded and the seats so close together that you felt like a pretzel trying to sit comfortably. It was also hot. The heat was up and the bus was sweltering. Despite this, we did our best to settle in and to fall asleep.

Pretty soon, however, it was clear that sleep was not happening. The constant kicking of our seats from the guys behind us, and the warm, cramped conditions made sleep impossible. I tried my best to just close my eyes and rest, in the hope that it would make the trip less painful. Half way to Edinburgh, my friend let out a cry. "Gum!" she groaned. I looked over and she was covered in sticky peppermint gum. Someone had left it near the wall on her side and with the heat of the bus, it had melted all over her. Strands of the gum hung as she desperately tried to get it off. The smell was not pleasant.

After that we swore to never take a night bus after that trip.

Fast forward a bit and we were planning a trip to Amsterdam and then Paris. After a week or two of research, we came to the unfortunate conclusion that taking a night bus to the two cities was the only feasible option. We splurged a bit on a nicer bus company and told ourselves that it would mean nicer seats, more leg room and a better trip overall.

The trip to Amsterdam (using the ferry to France) was fairly uneventful, other than some very rude young men mocking my laugh (hmph) and many loud school children on the ferry, but the trip from Amsterdam to Paris really made me question our choice to take another night bus. It started off with the bus driver yelling at a man at the station before we left... threatening to not allow him on the bus (I can't remember what it was over, but I do recall the man not deserving it). Soon, we got on the bus and headed off... across the continent towards France. After being on the bus for a while, the driver decided to put a Spanish horror film on the tv. Now, I'm all for people watching what they want, but there were several reasons why this was annoying and alarming to us.

1. The film was in Spanish with no subtitles. This was a trip from the Netherlands to France. No one on the trip spoke Spanish.
2. This was in the middle of the night and the film was very loud. Most people were trying to sleep but having the film on so loud ensured that no one slept.
3. It was a horror flick. Lots of blood, knives and screaming. Again... in the middle of the night.

We started wondering if the driver was either trying to freak us all out, or was trying to prepare us for our own murderous ends. It was not a peaceful night.

Gladly, we made it to Paris alive and I think both of us were pretty happy that we were taking the train back to London and not another night bus.

I've not had to take another night bus since that trip, and while I appreciate the low price of the night bus, I don't think I will every be in a rush to take one again.

That Time I Broke My Finger...

So it's back to school time! September is upon us... the leaves are changing...

Ok. Not really. Where I am in the UK, the sun is shining and the temperature is in the mid 20s. It is really more beach weather than having to go into work and work in hot, smelly classroom weather. It is, however, American (and Canadian) football season so that got me thinking about an injury that happened to me when I was in grade nine (year 9).

A bit of a warning... this story is not for the faint of heart. If you aren't a fan of gory details then it's best to stop reading here.

So... grade nine girls PE class. We were taken out to the football field and told to play some pickup football by our PE teacher. I remember being told to not play tackle and that since we weren't wearing equipment we were only allowed to tag one another. Several of us were outraged! The boy PE classes were allowed to tackle when they played and, indeed, they were taught tackling strategies! We quickly realised that since we were girls we were being treated differently. Well... we were having none of that!

Some of us started playing rougher and rougher and were having great fun! One of my good friends tackled me down to the ground when I wasn't paying attention (the game was over at this point) and we got up laughing. It wasn't until a classmate went "AHH! Look at your hand!" and pointed to my hand, that I even begun to suspect that anything was wrong.

I looked down and sure enough... my hand was wildly disfigured. My middle finger on my right hand was unrecognisable as a finger. It didn't hurt at all but it wasn't pretty. After all the other girls crowded around me, and my teacher came over to check out the situation. He looked at my finger and then asked me to come with him to the office so that he could call my parents.

A little while later I was at the hospital getting x-rays and talking to the doctor. He showed me the x-ray and explained that the middle bone in my finger had been pushed over the bottom bone (closest to the palm) and had shattered the knuckle. The doctor explained that it was a pretty extreme break and that it would require a lot more than just putting the bone back to where it belonged. He wrapped my hand all up and told us to come back in a day or two so I could have surgery (I believe they wanted some of the swelling to go down first).

The surgeon placed a pin in the middle bone, sticking out the sides of my finger. The finger was the same, but with a big piece of metal now sticking out of it. A few days later I had to go to the hand therapy clinic (I know... there is such a thing!). At the clinic they made a special splint for my hand, which included a sort of plastic halo around my finger. On the halo, they hooked elastic bands up to it and to the pin in my finger. The elastic bands were supposed to work like braces on teeth. The pulling of the bands would slowly move my bone back into place. They hoped that this would allow the bones to heal better and ensure that I could regain the use of my finger.

I had to wear this contraption all summer. When I went swimming (which was often), I had to put plastic bags over it and keep it out of the water. Same thing for showers and baths. The pin and skin around was not to get wet! I must admit that I looked pretty ridiculous swimming with a plastic bag on my hand, but it was better than missing out on the pool and lake all summer.

Eventually my finger looked much better and new x-rays revealed that everything was where it should be and so the pin could come out. The doctor assured me that it is usually pretty painless, other than some pinching with the skin around the entry site. I lay down and she started to remove the pin. Instantly, my body went into shock. My hand felt like it was on fire. Searing, red pain flowed down my finger into the rest of me. The pain was overwhelming and as much as I tried, I couldn't speak up to let the doctor know that it hurt. After a few moments, my mom luckily saw tears slipping down my face and stopped the doctor. She halted and saw my pain and explained that there must be a nerve she was hitting. She quickly went to get some needles to numb my finger and once they kicked in, she removed the rest of the pin.

The surgery and months of enduring treatments finally worked. I could move my finger fine and other than some slight deformities (the tendon at the top snapped so the top joint is overextended and my knuckle is a lot bigger than the others) my finger works just like new!

My finger now- I promise I'm not trying to give you the finger!

So just another event in my weird (but wonderful) life!

From Tea and Slushies to a Diamond Ring

"Tea please" I ordered. It was our first date and we had decided to go low key with drinks near the train station. I waited for my tea while he paid for it and his juice, then we picked a table and sat down.

The conversation flowed and I found myself enjoying it. He told me all about his time playing American football and I overshared with that time that I broke my finger and had to have pins put in from PE class football (later he told me that he really wished I didn't tell him that story... but you know me... I am so smooth).

After a couple hours, I realised I better get going and as he walked me back to the station, I had a strong urge to hug the boy. This was an odd, weird sensation. I rarely am overcome with such an urge and so I was confused. When it was time to say goodbye, I announced that I was going in for a hug (what? Maybe he was like me and needed warnings. Also... did I mention how smooth I was?) and then I hugged him and that was it!

I left the date feeling giddy. Happy. It was weird. I had never had a date in which I thought that things went well and that I'd want to see him again.

We talked all week. Small text messages asking about our days and he shared some songs with me. I felt pretty optimistic but still wasn't expecting this to become a serious romance. I was intrigued and knew we got along and that I felt happy, but I felt content just seeing what would happen.

The next weekend came along and he asked me to go bowling with him. I had lived in the UK for a year and missed bowling with my friends in Canada, so I was pretty stoked.

We met up and walked over to the alley. He bought us a couple games and he tried to convince me that I must be confused as my feet couldn't possibly be the same size as his (me being a girl and him a male). Well finally, me and my gigantic feet and him and his adorable smile were soon bowling and laughing, talking and hugging when one of us made a good shot. We ended up getting another game and then playing some air hockey (he certainly knew the way to this Canadian girl's heart!). We both won and lost some games and it was just a lot of fun.

I offered to buy him a drink and, fully expecting him to get a pint as that would have been pretty normal, he turned to me and said, "I kinda want a blue slushie." I smiled and had to admit that my eye had been on the slushie machine as well. He grinned and looked delighted at the thought of blue slushie... and well... I'll confess... I knew at that moment that I liked him. The boy who liked blue slushies stole my heart then. I wasn't expecting a great romance but he had surprised me.

We continued the date with dinner and continued our relationship with more dinners, trips, movies, hours of conversation and cuddles.

Now... two years later, the boy who surprised me is now the man who I love and am engaged to.

A couple days after speaking to my parents, David took me to Bayfront Park in my hometown, and dragged me across a terrifying field full of geese. My mind distracted by the birds (see Foul Fowl), David took me to a gazebo overlooking the lake with the sun low, moments before setting. He pulled out a ring and asked me to marry him. It was beautiful and totally worth braving the geese for!

I am a lucky girl to have met him and I am so glad that my broken finger story, on our first date, didn't scare him off. Looking forward, I'm excited to see what God has in store for us, and to move forward together as a married couple.

-E :)

Baby Ben and Beautiful Canada

After much delay and excitement, I'm pleased to announce the birth of my nephew, Benoit Daniel Luc. He was born last Tuesday (July 30th) around 1am. Mom and baby are well and I will tell you that he is perhaps the cutest little baby that I've ever had the pleasure of holding!

Benny and I!

Now, I've been back in Canada for over a week now and am reminded of the many things that I love about this nation. Since being here we have: been to a CFL game in Toronto, went to the Muskokas and enjoyed a local band concert in the park (think less rock and more military marches and jazz music with the average audience age of 90... my mom plays trombone in it so we were there to support her and it ended up being a fun time).

Canada is a funny place. If you ask anyone in Southern Ontario, it is overcrowded, loud and too busy. However, when you compare it to London, it is pretty spacious and quiet. I think because we have so much space in our country, that the big cities do seem far too crowded compared to the massive forests and empty plots of land that are seen elsewhere.

Going up to cottage country is a great Canadian tradition. It's such a common thing to go camping or to a cottage, but for good reason. Canada has lots of lakes. Lakes that are clear, clean and surrounded by giant rocks and trees. When you pull off the main road to my family's place, you can probably drive to at least 5 lakes within 10 minutes. This makes it an ideal area to spend time in the summer. You can swim, kayak, canoe, drive a motor boat, fish, or simply float and enjoy the sun. The air is clean and fresh, less humid than in Southern Ontario, and the nights are clear with the sky full of stars that make you feel like a speck in the universe.

When we were up north, we spent a lot of time out on the lake and even made a trip into Bracebridge to go on the Lake Muskoka cruise. The boat went around and showed us all the "cottages" that cost millions of dollars and are really bigger than a lot of people's houses. Many famous people own places there so it is fun to see how the other half live.

Lake Muskoka

That night was beautiful, so I got to build a fire. My boyfriend learned how to toast marshmallows over a fire and even made some s'mores (graham crackers, chocolate and toasted marshmallows)! It was a fun, and typical, Canadian evening.

Just call me the Fire Queen!

As I'm here, I really am reminded of what a great nation Canada is and I feel very blessed to have been born and raised here and to be able to come back and enjoy the gorgeous nature and friendly people. If you are Canadian, be proud and grateful for what we have here and if you are not Canadian, I'd encourage you to come here and enjoy what this country has to offer!

Culture Shock: A Brief Guide to British Sayings and Shopping

Summer holidays have officially arrived and I could not be happier. I love my job but the breaks are very much needed!

I kicked off the holidays yesterday by heading into London to spend the day in Camden with a group of friends. It was a beautiful day full with chocolate bacon, some random craft beer, and lots of laughs. In a couple days, my amazing man and I are flying back to Canada for a couple weeks. I'm really looking forward to seeing my family (including my soon to be born nephew!) and friends. As much as I've made my home in the UK and feel quite settled here, Canada will always be "home" for me and it is definitely in my heart.

In honour of my trip, I thought I'd write a quick guide for other canucks on what to expect when coming to the UK, but that no one thinks to tell you. These are the things that when I moved here, I desperately wished I knew about the language and where to buy things.

Sayings:

There are the usual ones that most people know about (ie: football for soccer) but a ton of others that took some getting used to:

You alright/alright/ok?- A pretty standard greeting, but not one I was used to! When I moved here, I wondered for about a month why everyone kept asking if I was alright. I was worried that I looked sick or upset, as that question back in Canada usually means someone doesn't look happy or well and you are worried.

Pavement- This is said instead of sidewalk... it took me ages to figure out what they called sidewalks as I knew they didn't use that word, but pavement to me is any sort of paved surface so why it's used for a sidewalk, or walking path, I don't know!

Love (or other terms of endearment)- It's fairly common as a female to be called love or dear by random men, such as bus drivers. It's  bit unnerving at first, being referred to in such a familiar way, but it's usually done in a friendly way and quite harmless.

Shattered- Knackered is a word that I had heard before I moved here and is pretty well known to mean tired or exhausted but shattered (meaning the same) was new to me.

Fringe- Bangs (think hair)

Chuffed- This just means really pleased about something (chuffed to bits)

Gutted- Really upset or disappointed.

Pants- Now clearly we use pants in Canada but in Britain it means something else! Instead of meaning trousers (which is the term used here for pants), pants refer to underwear. I'll never forget the day that I forgot this and told a student to roll down his pants after he had rolled them up to his knees to make shorts (which is against uniform). This cheeky chappy then stood up and said, "Ok Miss!" and started undoing his trousers. I was horrified and instantly realised my mistake to which he stopped and grinned. I'm much more careful about using the word pants now.

There are a ton more (some not so nice!) but these are just a few that I had to learn.

Shopping:

After I had been in England for a week I moved into a house in Clapham Junction. I moved my stuff in the morning and then set out to buy sheets, blankets, towels and other things that I would need. As I had only been able to bring a big suitcase and carry on, I knew that I would have to buy these things but up to this point I had lived in a hostel that had provided them. I had no idea where to start. I had figured out where to buy groceries, but sheets and towels? No clue. In my North American mind, I thought that I'd head to the nearest mall as there was bound to be department stores and such that I could find what I needed in. I looked it up and the easiest one to get to was the Westfield Shopping Centre in Sheppard's Bush. So I got on the train and headed out. I got there and walked into the first entrance I saw. Unfortunately, it was the posh side of the centre and all I saw was shops full of designer bags, Tiffany's and all sorts of places that would definitely not carry reasonably priced sheets and towels. Overwhelmed and regretting my decision to move here, I continued on walking and found some more normal shops. I was still very lost and confused and eventually asked someone where I could just buy some sheets. I ended up getting some but left Westfield completely culture shocked. Clearly it is important to have some basic knowledge of where to buy things when moving to another country!

Homestuff- If you're looking to buy stuff for your home (like towels or sheets or kitchen things), you can get some really cheap, but decent quality, stuff at Tesco and even ASDA. Argos will also have things that can be really good too. In my town, we have a lot of discount shops that will carry things for really good prices. If you have a bit more cash, John Lewis, BHS, or Marks and Spencer will have some nice things.

Clothes- Again, John Lewis, BHS or M&S all carry nice things, but if you are on a budget, Tesco usually has some really nice clothes and of good quality. Both Tesco and ASDA also carry a huge range of sizes, so don't worry if you aren't a size two (also be prepared to be a larger size in clothes here and a smaller size of shoes, as the sizes are different!). Other shops that are good are: Dorothy Perkins, New Look, Next and Top Shop. There are clearly lots of other places but these are the ones that stand out to me.


Anyways... that's all for now! If you have anything to add about British sayings or anything else, feel free to add in the comments.

-E :)

Indecisive Me: A short story

"Okay," thought Eddie as she stepped into the cool, air conditioned shop. It was that time again.

Time to get the grocery shopping done.

She sighed as she glanced down at her list and made her way over to the bread aisle. She never understood why, but the decision of which loaf to buy plagued her. It was a source of anxiety every time Eddie did the shopping.

Every. Single. Time.

It was a big decision you see... she could buy the sliced kind. The kind that would easily slip into the toaster, allowing her to slather the toast with delicious, melty peanut butter that dripped down and caused her such delight. Or she could buy the homemade kind with seeds on the top. The yummy seeds that helped give such needed protein but also had a tendency to fall off and cover her flat in seeds, and randomly popping up weeks later.

Then again, should Eddie buy white bread? Certainly a much better choice for sandwiches, but not a wise choice according to any sort of nutritionist.

Eddie sighed in frustration, knowing that she probably would pick the same kind she got last time, but yet doubts kept springing up. She understood that, at the end of the day, it really didn't matter what bread she got. Whether it was soft or crusty, fresh or not quite as fresh, brown or white. It wouldn't change her life nor would it really bother her that much but yet she still struggled to make her choice. In that moment, it felt mountainous.

She finally bent down and picked up a loaf, felt it for freshness and placed it in the basket.

There. It was done.

 Eddie turned around, narrowly avoiding two school children and their mum, sighed again and then made her way over to the frozen section.

Now... which chips to get?



 *This is clearly a work of fiction but yet sort of based on me. I always said the decision to move to the UK was easy, but which loaf of bread to get... now that is a hard choice. It's silly and clearly the story is a tad hyperbolic but I thought it would be fun to write something a bit different.
-E :)

Cool Thoughts on a Hot Day

The past few weeks in England have been gorgeous. Hot... very hot (25-30) and gloriously sunny. My school recently had a sports day which meant outside track and field events at a nearby sports park. After sitting in the sun for less than 20 minutes, everyone was boiling, sweaty and oh so thirsty. I managed to get some pretty interesting tan lines that day, but I'm just thankful for any sort of colour as my usual colour living in this country is deathly pale.

In honour of the heat wave, I thought I'd switch things up and tell a story about the time I got hypothermia.

It was May 24 weekend (a holiday weekend in Canada), in the spring after my first year of university. I had gone up north to the camp that I had worked at (and been a camper at) with a friend to help him set up stuff for the summer. He was going to be the head lifeguard and as I used to guard with him, I came up to help and to see a play that some other friends were putting on.

So on the Saturday, one job that my friend wanted to do was to bring the raft that had the slides on it, over to the swimming area. The raft was down the shore near the trailer park, which was maybe a two minute walk away. We figured that we could just get in the water and walk the raft over. My friend's girlfriend (at the time... now wife!) got in a canoe and roped herself to the raft to go along for the ride.

My friend was smart and decided to wear his wetsuit, but I forgot mine so was just wearing a bathing suit. Now, if we were actually swimming, I wouldn't have gone in as the water was very chilly and really not safe to be in for a long period of time. However, we figured, meh it would take five minutes and we would be done.

Silly us! As soon as we started, the wind picked up and soon we realised we were being pushed further and further out into the lake.  We were quickly over our heads and struggling to swim the raft (which had turned into a giant sail) back to shore, let alone to the swimming area of the camp. We got to the point where we were unsure if we could even get the raft back or if we would have to leave it and find a boat to rescue it later. We decided to keep at it and eventually got the raft back to where we started. At this point we had been in the water for some time, which was no good. I had been focused on the job but as soon as we got the raft back, I felt it. I started walking out of the water and fell. I couldn't feel my body and I couldn't think straight. I was confused and yet I knew what was happening. My friend and his partner quickly walked me over to the showers so that I could warm up (because of our first aid training we knew that a good way to deal with this was to start in a cool shower or bath and to slowly warm it up). When I got in the shower... I started it off cool and the water felt like fire. My body was so cold that the water seemed just so hot, even though I knew that it was actually more lukewarm than kettle hot. Finally, I started to be able to become less numb and I could think with a bit more clarity but I still felt out of it and just so cold. After a good amount of time, I went back to my room and changed into several warm layers. We did an assessment and determined that I wasn't bad enough to go to the hospital, but I would just have to be careful and let them know if I felt worse at all.

I spent the rest of the day shivering and never really felt warm, despite the amount of clothes that I had on! I woke up the next day with bruises from falling (which didn't even hurt at the time, as I was so numb) and with a headache, but luckily that was all. A not-so serious case, but definitely enough to make me wary of swimming in cold water!

Hopefully this tale has helped you cool down a bit in this blistering heat. It's all just part of my weird and wonderful life! 

Just Call me Ariel

Prom.

I went to school in Canada, and I don't recall prom being a big deal. We had another dinner/ dance that a lot of people went to, and graduation but prom wasn't a thing... not a big deal and certainly not something that most of my friends went to (if indeed my school even had one! I can't remember).

I went to my first prom in England, at another school that I was teaching at, two years ago. It was glorious. The hair, the makeup and the dresses. The big, colourful, and blinged out dresses. I also remember a great deal of orange skin, as fake tans are very in these days. I stayed and had a good time and just remember thinking how very different my school experience was.

This time around, I went with a few friends for only an hour or so. We wanted to see the students arriving and have a drink but not spend the entire night. There were less fake tans (probably as it's been very sunny lately and so lots had real tans... and burns...) and plenty of nice dresses, but still lots of sparkle and fanciness. Some kids even arrived in an old red double decker bus! That was a lot of fun. It was great seeing students again and to see them so happy and looking so grown up.

On the way home, we started talking about this blog. I explained why I wanted to write and we mused on possible topics. One that came up was the time I lost my voice. It was a pretty odd event and, on reflection, an experience that taught me a lot.

During university, at the very start of the year, I got a throat infection that moved down into my esophagus. This caused my throat to swell and so it was off to the emergency room for me as I couldn't breathe. They gave me some medicine which helped me breathe and sent me home when things had settled. The next day my throat was really sore, and I couldn't speak, but I figured things would come back to normal when the infection cleared up more. A week later, I felt much better but still could not speak. It was as if I was Ariel in 'The Little Mermaid' and some evil seawitch stole my voice.

I'll spare you the details, but after one horrible specialist and one really helpful one, I was able to get a diagnosis and start voice therapy. After almost four months, and hours of vocal exercises, I was finally able to talk again! I was so happy. I remember feeling as if I looked different, and that everyone (even strangers) should be congratulating me on being able to speak, even though it's a pretty basic thing that most people can do with ease. Ordering a coffee caused me extreme joy... because... because it was so normal. It was so easy. And after four months of struggling to do the most basic things, such as ordering a drink, it was a relief to interact in a very normal way.

The months I lived without being able to speak were very weird. It was also very enlightening. Whenever I wanted something, like a coffee, I had to write down my order. Some people just stared at me and then got what I ordered. Others tried to talk to me and then were very awkward when I just smiled back. Some openly told me that I was being difficult by writing things down and "why don't you just tell me? I don't have time to read everyone's orders". As if I was deliberately trying to make their lives more difficult and that I could communicate verbally but wanted to be lazy or demanding. Those were the times that I really wanted to scream. Scream at them that it wasn't my choice! I wasn't trying to be difficult! I just wanted a drink! Those were the times when I wanted to rant about people with disabilities being treated fairly and with respect. What about those who are deaf or mute? Those people who would never be able to verbally communicate?

I learned very quickly that some people either do not know how to act around someone who is different, or can be openly hostile to those with differences or disabilities. Not all disabilities are visible and a lot of people didn't seem to either understand that or know how to deal with it. Plenty of people treated me as someone who was mentally delayed or that I had a low level or intellect, as if my vocal chords had something to do with my intellectual capacity (and yes... I know... there are lots of jokes that could be made here!).

During this time, I had to carry around a note, to explain why I couldn't talk... complete extra work in my courses to make up for the participation mark and completely adapt the way I did things. I would hang out with friends, and while most of them were really good at including me, I often felt like an observer as I couldn't join in on the conversation or impart any of my famous humour and wisdom (hahaha...). It was in a word: difficult.

I am very grateful every day that I can speak (although I'm sure not everyone is happy that I regained my voice!). It means that I could work in the career that I wanted to work in. It means that I could continue to communicate with my friends and family without everyone learning sign language, but it also means that I am not judged, mistreated or even yelled at, for something that is beyond my control. I respect and admire those who do have to live with any sort of disability; especially those who may come up against any rudeness or hostility. When I could not speak, those who I felt the most comfortable around, were those who weren't afraid to talk about my issue, who took it seriously but never pitied me or let it change the way they acted around me. Those who were understanding and accommodating but knew that it didn't make me helpless or hopeless. I love my family and my friends and am so thankful that I had such good ones to support me during my silent months. Although... if you ask my Dad... he'd tell you it was a great four months!

This experience taught me a lot and while it was difficult, it was part of my weird and wonderful life.

Foul Fowl

Birds.

I really do not like birds. Well... most birds.

And I know what you are thinking... why then dedicate a whole post to these awful, horrible creatures? Well... because. Because I can. Because I want the world to understand why I feel so strongly that birds should never be anywhere near me.

Ok... let's start at the beginning.

When I was growing up, my Dad used to always refer to seagulls as "dirty birds". They were not to be fed and my sister and I were taught that these birds were gross. I think my Dad is pretty wise to pass this information down to us.

On a trip to the eastern coast of Canada when I was younger, we driving along in our van and one of these "dirty birds" started flying along in front of us. The ill-fated seagull had a fish in its mouth, which suddenly slipped. In an effort to save the fish, the seagull dived and flew right into... our windshield. That's right. Dead bird everywhere. Feathers, guts, blood and other seagull bits covered the window and presented us with a horrifying sight. Forget bugs on the windshield. We had seagull.

Fast forward 10+ years and there I was.... in Paris, France. Enjoying the sunny weather, sights and nutella crepes (mmm) when my friend and I decided to wonder over to Notre Dame. I was excited to see this famous church, after all, I had seen the Disney film! We arrived at the square in front and what did I see?

Pigeons. Hundreds, no, THOUSANDS of pigeons. Bobbing their heads, flying around, begging and fighting for food.

Panic struck and I couldn't move. I was surrounded. I now know what a criminal must feel when he/she is in a building and the police say, "We've surrounded the building. Come out with your hands up!". It felt like the pigeons were just waiting to make their move. It also really didn't help that my friend insisted that the situation was funny and kept laughing when I was in the grip of such terror. Sigh.

I somehow survived the hoards of evil birds but realised afterwards that the whole thing left me with a stress rash on my chest! I was so confused as I've never in my life had heard of such a thing, but apparently it can happen if you have a experienced a lot of anxiety.

Birds. Rash inducing monsters.

So that has been my experience with birds. Can you blame me when I say that they are just fowl?

Bonjour, Hola, Holla and Hello!

So... I will admit it.

I've blogged before. At the time, I was moving from my hometown in Canada to England (first to London and then to a nearby county) and I had lots of things to share with my family and friends at home. I was travelling, experiencing new things and meeting new people. It was exciting! Sadly, since I have been living here a few years now, life has become a tad more mundane as I've settled down, work full time, and things aren't as new and exciting anymore. Now, don't get me wrong... I am extremely happy with my life here but most of my day to day living is more about marking whilst waiting on my Tesco order or watching old tv shows with my amazing boyfriend. All this has meant that I gave up on my old blog and haven't been writing as much in the past 2 years.

Lately however, I've been getting a lot of comments about how weird my life has been (despite being only in my mid-twenties) and how I need to write a book. Now, I'd love to eventually write a book, or several, but I figured I'd start with the internet and get used to writing again. I will give a warning. My life (despite being wonderful) has been weird. I get hurt a lot. I've had some real health scares. I've also had just odd things happen. And that... is what this is all about. My weird and wonderful life.