Something to be remembered

Once when I was in my early 20s and my sister was still in her early teens she came to visit me in Calgary.  I had all sorts of exciting shenanigans planned for her visit, but knowing we couldn't possibly fit them all in I decided to give her the opportunity to choose an activity from among them.

"So, what would you rather do this weekend - ," I asked, "go to the museum or zoo?" Yeah, my shenanigans were that exciting. I had a secret wager with myself that she was going to pick the zoo, after all - cute, cuddly animals that you don't have the opportunity to see every day - how could you not?  In truth I really wanted to go to the museum but I seriously doubted how a feature exhibit on the building the trans-Pacific railway could possibly stimulate a 14 year old brain.  My sister surprised me though when she picked the museum, almost without a second thought.  Oh yeah, I remembered, we are sisters.  Strange things like preferring museums to zoos must run in the family.

When I was travelling in Eastern Canada I had the opportunity to visit my fair share of museums. In fact, at one point in Montreal I reached a point of museum overload when we visited the Place de Calliere, Planetarium, Biodome, Musee de Marguerite Bouregoys, Centre d'Histoire de Montreal, Bank of Montreal money museum, Chateau Ramezay and a few other places I have already forgotten all in the matter of a couple days!  My journal entry from October 1st reads, "Yesterday: too many museums."  That's it.  That's all the energy I had to write!  My brain was so fried that by the time we got to the Musee des Hospitaliares I was doing that thing where you read a sentence, get halfway through and realize you don't have any clue what it is saying so you start reading from the beginning again only to get 1/2 a dozen words in before you realize you can't even recall what they were, so you start again and the vicious cycle repeats itself.  I ended up giving up at that point.  Apparently there can be too much of a good thing.  The good news is: I recovered.  By Ottawa I was prepared to visit museums again, only no more than one a day this time.

The thing about going to so many museums is that you begin to see how they have a tendency to be all the same.  Take First Nations exhibits, for example.  By the end of my trip I was getting seriously annoyed with them.  I voice my frustrations in my journal:

"Canadians seem to think that this is our history, but the truth is that it is us trying to record the vestiges of a dying culture because our ancestors nearly stamped them out of existence.  How many museums have I entered that have told me what the First Nations did, what they wore, how they survived, but have never told me who they were? There is almost never a story of a person, of a soul that represents the soul of his or her people, and that is the real tragedy of these museum exhibits.  History remains a white man thing - with the remnants of the civilizations we have conquered displayed in our halls."

There were exhibits, however, that offered a fresh perspective that I really appreciated.  In the Canadian Museum of History I went through an exhibit entitled "1867: Rebellion and Confederation."  This exhibit told the story of the context surrounding Canada's confederation, about how the American revolution to the south had pushed up the British loyalists who had a superiority complex over the French Acadians and the only reason these two cultures completely at odds with each other came together was because they were worried about being annexed by the States. I found it extraordinarily amusing that the origin of Canadian identity was in the desire to NOT be American.  Despite our close ties to the US today, this one fact remains a pivotal expression of Canadian identity.

What I really pulled away from the 1867 exhibit, however, was the fact that when Canada became a nation, it was in fact not a nation.  People in Canada still thought about themselves as British subjects.  They still carried British Passports.  It wasn't until World War I, as I learned later at the Canadian War Museum, that Canada was recognized on an international stage as its own unique country.  It was because of World War I that Canadians decided to take over their own international affairs, that we began to take pride in saying that we were Canadian and began to seek out symbols of our cultural identity. 

A few days ago we celebrated November 11th, Remembrance Day here in Canada.  That day I had the opportunity to help my church serve coffee and hot chocolate to the hundreds of people who came to participate in the ceremonial process of remembrance and I did not hesitate to take a few pictures.  War is a tragedy.  It has a huge toll in the cost of life that it demands.  And yet, I feel so grateful for those soldiers and people who have represented Canada in war.  At the museums I visited on my trip I learned that the adversity of war is what helped birth our national identity.  We are not a warlike people; we have not sought conflict as the Americans have throughout their revolutionary history.  But it is through the fires of war that we have discovered who we are and what we believe in as a nation.  It is because of the sacrifices of these people that we can have pride in being Canadian.

For that, soldiers and veterans, I thank you.

Something political (part 3)

Who knew an election could be so lively? I had never been anywhere public to watch the national election results before, but the hum of energy in the theatre where I am sitting is tangible.  For a moment I regret that I am unable to hear the election coverage commentators over the myriad of conversationally engaged people around me.  But then I realize that not only can I still see the important stuff on the screen, but the ebb and flow of voices from the theatre are providing their own unique commentary. 



IPhone selfie with my popcorn!

The NDP* get a seat! They cheer! *New Democratic Party

The Liberals get a seat!  They cheer!

The Conservatives get a seat!  They boo!

A Conservative cabinet member gets upset!  The Liberal party wins the seat.  They cheer! LOUDLY.

An NDP member gets upset.  The Liberal party wins the seat.  There is a mixture of both disappointment and acceptance.

I take this all in and feel a tickling sense of amusement.  Just by the responses alone it is not hard to tell that I have found myself in the midst of a young vocal university crowd, a demographic that is notorious for being left-leaning.  I suppose it should be no surprise, as the cinema is in the middle of the University district of Toronto, but the unabashed vocal engagement of the crowd gives the sense that we are just as engaged in the results of the federal election as we would be in an epic Canadian hockey game! 

~Cue hockey announcer voice~ "That Liberal came out of nowhere, straight down centre ice.  It's a breakaway!  He shoots, he scores!  It's a Conservative upset!!!!" ~Cue massive fan cheering~ 

Olivia Chow, widow of the late Jack Layton former leader of the NDP, gets defeated.  Suddenly the deafening hum of voices in the theatre go silent all at once.  You could hear a pin drop.  The silence speaks volumes and you feel how stunned, sad and full of respect the population of the theatre is for her.  Coverage switches to show Olivia giving her concession speech and the crowd around me remains silent, listening intently for the duration of the speech.  Then the election results resume, and just as though someone flipped a switch, suddenly the voices pick up where they left off, robust as ever, drowning out the sounds of the television announcers.

It's only about 20 minutes after the polls in Ontario and Quebec when a message flashes across the screen LIBERAL VICTORY.  The voices in the theatre falter and I can hear the announcer on tv saying, "The analysts are calling it a Liberal victory.  The Liberals will be the ones to lead our next government."  Confusion rolls through the stunned theatre.  "What?" I can hear a dozen voices saying, "Isn't it way to soon to be calling this?"  After all, only a handful of ballot boxes in our most populous provinces have been counted.  I myself am skeptical and think that the guy sitting next to me is summarizing the situation perfectly, "Well, they better hope they are right or this is going to be the biggest embarrassment of Canadian news reporting history!"

It turns out the analysts were not wrong.  As the night goes on, the red Liberal wave sweeping the nation become apparent.  It is not even an hour later when the announcers update their announcements.  It will be a Liberal majority and the Conservative party will form the official opposition.  I find myself breathing a sigh of relief at the word "majority".  To me this means that the new government can be effective.  They  don't have to get caught up in trying to negotiate between warring factions, and they will have a chance to prove themselves, 4 years to be exact.  In the meantime Canadians won't have to return to the polls right away and we will have a chance to observe and see whether these politicians will live up to their promises.

The Canadian government before the 2015 election:
Conservatives 166  NDP 103  Liberals 34  Bloc Quebecois 4  Green 1

The Canadian government after the 2015 election:
Liberals 184  Conservatives 99  NDP 44  Bloc Quebecois 10  Green 1
(This is a massive change in government.  The Liberals gained 150 new seats).

As the night concluded and I went back to the hostel dorm to watch the after-election commentary on the internet until 3 in the morning (for the first time on my trip missing my BC time zone which meant I would have gone to sleep at midnight instead of 3am), I had only one thought go through my head:

A new government, a Blue Jays win, and a Star Wars trailer - it was truly a great night to be Canadian!


Canadian Parliament Buildings framed by the Canadian Museum of History

 



Something political (part 2)

It's already dark as I step out from the Toronto subway.  There is a hum of energy around as people walk down the sidewalks with purpose.  This is probably typical of Toronto, but for a moment I allow myself the illusion that they are headed to their destination with the same purpose I have: to imbibe on a refreshment of their choice (in my case popcorn, oh what a party animal I am!) and watch the election results.  I orient myself on my phone using the Google maps app and set out in the direction of the cinema.

There is a greeter at the door when I arrive.  I mention I am there to watch the election results and a big grin lights up her face.  "Welcome!" she enthuses as she quickly gives me an orientation on where I can buy my popcorn.  Popcorn: very important for an election night - I am glad that she recognizes this.  I walk to the popcorn line, which is empty.  I've arrived over 20 minutes early, being the keener I am, so that is no surprise.  I look at the sign on the cashier's desk.

MEDIUM POPCORN

$3.38

(The number of seats in the House of Commons)

 

FREE REFILLS!

 

Excellent, this night was starting out excellent!  I swiftly purchase my popcorn, yes extra butter please, and then I go pick out a seat in the sparsely populated theatre.

 

I am surprised to see that the screen is already on and election results are rolling in from the Maritimes.  A few of the ridings are being slightly schizophrenic, tumbling between a Liberal/Conservative identity crisis, but otherwise the Atlantic provinces are looking decidedly red.

 

Very little happens for the next 40 minutes.  I watch the commentary that the political analysts are providing on the tv as the Maritimes decide that they are going to be 100% Liberal after all.  The seats in the theatre around me fill up. A dull roar from the hum of voices surrounds me, it is becoming increasingly difficult to hear.  On my left a young couple settles down in their seats and pulls out their refreshments, a clear liquid in a soda bottle that is definitely not water and plastic cups to drink it with.  We chat a bit about our anticipations for the evening and he offers me something to drink from the bottle.  Nah, I'm happy with my popcorn, but thank you.  On my right three young girls of east Asian descent who look like they are barely out of high school and old enough to vote sit down.  They chatter loudly, enjoying their own refreshments, holding pieces of paper in their hands. I glance at the piece of paper "Election Bingo" it says.  HOLD THE PHONE! The cinema is giving out Election Bingo and I didn't get one?!  I briefly consider whether it is worth it getting up to hunt down my own piece of paper, but then I consider the swelling theatre population and decide the effort isn't worth it.  I like my seat too much.  Maybe I'll get one when I go for a popcorn refill.

 

The stage is set, my first helping of popcorn is almost finished, and there are only 10 seconds before the polls in Quebec and Ontario close.

 

"10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1."  The dissonant hum of voices unites into a singularity of anticipation and cheers echo as the announcer on the tv declares that the polls are now closed.  Now things get interesting.

 

Part 3 is up!

Something political (part 1)

 What does one do when they are away from their home riding at a time a national election is taking place?  This was the conundrum that faced me while I was on my epic two month journey 3,904km (give or take a few hundred kilometers) away from home.  If I were to point to my normal election habits I would vote, go home and curl up in front of the tv alone to watch the election results and be riveted to the screen for 3 hours or so before I decided to call it a night.  But I was travelling and these were hardly normal circumstances - after all I did not have a tv!  Since I'm slightly passionate about Canada (give or take a few degrees of passion [mostly give]) I knew that not watching the election coverage results first hand was not an option, so other arrangements would have to be made.

First of all, voting - I made arrangements a month in advance of the actual polling date to vote by mail.  I might have snorted very loudly in amusement when I opened the envelope from Elections Canada to discovered that it was like a Russian nesting doll inside, with one, two, three more envelopes and a ballot required for use in order to return my vote.  I had to write my vote on the ballot, put it in an envelope, seal and sign.  Then I had to put that envelope in another envelope and seal and sign.  Then I had to put that envelope in yet another envelope, address it, attach my own postage (Seriously Elections Canada no pre-posted envelopes?  I'm so disappointed in you.) and mail it.  Talk about a process!

Second, finding a place to watch the election coverage - I just happened to be in Toronto for the week that the election was taking place so I figured that there was some place out there showing results for the public.  After all, this was Toronto: the city that blew my mind as I entered it and realized how absolutely huge it and the greater surrounding area was.  We're talking about an area that is half the population of Ontario, equal to the population of BC or three times the population of the Maritime provinces put together!  If there was no place in a city this big to watch the election coverage results then I was going to eat my toque, or hat (for those non-Canadian readers out there).  Still there was the chance that finding a place might be difficult since the election night conflicted with an all-important Toronto Blue-Jays baseball playoffs game, and an equally important debut of the new Star Wars: The Force Awakens trailer during Monday night football (priorities, people, priorities).  After looking online, however, I realized that my fears were in vain.  The problem was not finding a place that was showing the election results; no, the problem would be narrowing down which place out of all the plethora available that I wanted to spend my night.

It was a tough decision, but in the end I settled on a cinema up in the university district that was hosting a free screening of the election coverage. I was secretly hoping they would be selling popcorn too! Having made my decision, I announced my evening intentions to my international roommates in the Toronto hostel I was staying at, giving them the opportunity to join me, only to receive incredulous looks all around.  The Swede declared that this was absolutely fascinating - that Canadians actually get together outside of the home together to watch election results!  This was something she has never heard of before, which I find absolutely fascinating.  I guess Canadians are comparatively very passionate about their politics, something that was apparent only after receiving an outsider's perspective.  Despite the fascination, however, she declined to join me for my exciting evening on the town.  No problem, having been single for so long I am used to going to the cinema on my own!

Decision and arrangements made, it was the evening of October 19th. I bundled up and stepped out into the heart of downtown Toronto.  My mission: to spend my evening at a cinema celebrating with other Canadians our democratic right to vote.  It was to be a unique, fun and historic night.

The story continues!

Something grave

"Graveyard!" I exclaim excitedly to my travelling companion Josh, who had joined me for the first two weeks of my foray to Eastern Canada.  We had driven up the east coast of Nova Scotia and were now in Cape Breton Island on our way to hike the Cabot Trail.  During this first week of being together I had caused no shortage of eye rolls from him in my enthusiasm for pointing out the multitude of neat little graveyards that dotted the sides of the road.  They had little crosses and headstones!  This was exciting to me!  After all, I had grown up in a place where headstones were uncommon.  Plaques parallel to the ground were used for easy lawncare purposes so that graveyards looked merely like rolling grassy hills than a place that monumented where people were buried.  So any graveyard that looked like an actual graveyard thrilled me.

Someone cleared their throat beside me.  "Perhaps you can tell me why you find a graveyard exciting?" A female voice spoke from the passenger seat, her tone not at all approving of my lighthearted appeal for a place of the dead.

I winced, even as I kept my eyes on the road ahead of me. I had forgotten for a moment that we had passengers travelling with us to go hiking who were complete strangers to us.  How does one explain a fetish for graveyards to a person they had just met?  Things in the car had just become very, very awkward.

I blame my childhood. This was before my small town had internet and our TV had only one channel, CBC, so I had a lot of free time.  And I used that free time to read, voraciously.  I steadily made my way through my mom's bookshelves of the books she deemed fit for me to read so it was there that I stumbled upon a Canadian author known as L.M. Montgomery, known internationally for writing the Anne of Green Gables series.  She also wrote a trio of lesser-known books called The Emily of New Moon series.  If I had to point to the instigator for my love of graveyards those books would be the culprit.  In her stories L.M. Montgomery made graveyards out to be mystical storied places where one can reflect upon and celebrate the lives of the people who came before.  They were places for exploration, discovery and adventure - not merely places to mourn.

Even years after growing up, L.M. Montgomery's influence remains on my perspective.  Before I left to the East Coast I spent a few nights visiting my dad's grave on a mountain hillside where I sat on the grass and looked at the moon next to the plaque that held his name.  For me that wasn't a tortured place.  It was a peaceful place. The grass was soft, the air was warm, the breeze was cool, the hills were illuminated with the pale light of a full moon and I felt closer to my father just by being there, enjoying the wonderful moment in his presence.

I explained all this to the woman in the car, feeling for a moment like a graveyard evangelist.  I proclaimed that they can be places of story, history, discovery and celebration of the lives that have come before.  Likewise they can be places of peacefulness, rest, and yes tearful remembrance, but remembrance that can be flavoured with thankfulness for the lives that were.  It was actually very impressive that I was able to explain myself without stumbling awkwardly over my words and so I felt superlatively elated when she admitted that she could see my point.  Score one for positive graveyard indoctrination!

Something trippy

Field trips. What do those two words bring to mind for you?  I think of gold mines, railway museums, and now-abandoned towns full of people pretending that they lived 100 years ago and had just started making a new life on an untamed land. 

Field trips are the educators attempts to remove children from the plain boring history of rote and plunk them down in a setting where the past comes alive for them.  At least that is their hope - that the children will be able to engage with the physical environment in such a way that they realize that the events of the past actually mattered.  Warning: there is more to the world than whatever it passing through your twitter feed right now.

The thing was, I grew up in a place that did not have much history to boast of.  Growing up, my field trips consisted of the incredible unexciting opportunity to go on smelter tours! Woo-hoo.  How many ways can you melt rock?  Or mines: how many ways can you hit a rock?  Or settling a village on the edge of the Rocky Mountains: how long will it take you to grow a garden in a field full of rocks?  Don't mistake my words - I love rocks!  But, there has got to be more to life and history and Canada than rocks.

The first day I arrived in Halifax I immediately became aware of a fundamental shift in the nearness and realness of history.  Instead of a railway museum I walk into a Via Rail station where people can still take the train as a passenger across Canada.  I take a tour of a church where a piece of shrapnel is buried in the wall from an explosion that tore the city apart 100 years ago in the middle of the first World War.  I walk into an old garrison on citadel hill where people dressed up as soldiers tell me how in this place they built this fort to be an impregnable defense for the city against invasion 200 years ago.  I might have had a friend who stuck his head into a cannon from the 1850's. He had the same deprived childhood I had so all this history was very new and exciting. 

Very exciting indeed.

Canada is not a country with much history, but the history we do have is irrevocably rooted to place.  And the places where we Canadians live will ultimately determine the history we know and experience.  It is the places we live that shape who we are, and I don't think one can have a conversation about Canadian spirituality without having a conversation about place and its central importance to our national and personal identities.  The Spanish philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset wrote "Tell me the landscape in which you live and I will tell you who you are."  That seems like something worth pondering.

Something Canadian

Exactly how big is Canada?  I can't even find the number online to tell me how much it would be from Atlantic to Pacific if someone were to draw a straight line across it! Suffice to say that it is big - 9.85 million square kilometers big.

That sort of abstract number is a bit difficult to wrap one's head around.  Recently I had the chance to travel to the east side of Canada and one day I had a conversation with a foreign visitor where I ruminated on the possibility of driving back to my home in British Columbia. 

"Oh yeah, how many hours will that take?" He asked.

I almost laughed at him. I stopped myself in time. That would not have been very nice of me. But the very fact that he was trying to estimate the journey in hours instead of days proved to me just how naïve he was about the size of Canada.

"Um, it would take three days," I try to break it to him softly  "if I drove almost around the clock." The look of shock on his face was priceless.  I admit I was experiencing that slightly sadistic inner sense of glee that most Canadians get when we get to blow people's expectations out of the water with how awesome Canada is.

 

The discussion of distance came up several times on my journey with the various tourists from other countries.  One girl from Belgium was simply amazed that it took me 4 hours from my hometown to get to the biggest Canadian city nearby (Kelowna BC , which even isn't that big).  It takes less than four hours for her to travel from one end of her country to the other. 

So many of the tourists complained about how expensive it is to travel across Canada.  Yeah it is, I tried to explain it to them, that's what you get when your country is so big and things are so spread out.  It is part of being Canadian.  The sad thing, however, about that fact is that the stereotype that Canadians don't travel to visit their own country is true.  I met more Germans at the places I stayed, than I met Canadians.  In my conversations I found more Australians that had travelled from Pacific to Atlantic Canada than I met Canadians who had accomplished the same feat. 

And yet, despite this divide from east to west of this very, very big country, everywhere I went in Canada felt like home.  Even in the fifth biggest city in North America, Toronto, I found Canadians who were pleasant and polite, bucking the expectation of  self-absorbed and rude big-city-folk that I secretly had (I suppose that wasn't very nice of me).  And even though the landscape was incredibly diverse, everywhere in Canada still had a picturesque beauty to it that I think sings to the souls of Canadians, shaping who we are.

Over the next while I'm going to spend a bit more time blogging about my journey and experiences, and the thoughts I had along the way.  I always figured that if I did a Master's Thesis or PhD it would be on the essence of Canadian Spirituality, which I am fully aware is a currently undefined and esoteric notion.  But having travelled across this country I am convinced now more than ever that it is a thing.  Somehow, Canadians are Canadians and there is something spiritual there that is binding us together, despite the enormous distance it may take to cross this land from sea to sea.