Memories

50 years!

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50 years ago today I arrived in Sedgewick to begin my teaching career thinking that I’d probably stay for a year or two. Half a century later, I’m still here!

I’ll never forget that day. That morning, I boarded a Greyhound bus heading for a little town of less than 1000 people. I’d accepted the job over the phone and couldn’t even visualize a town that small. My high school in Vancouver had had more students than that! The bus stopped in numerous little towns on it’s way across the prairie. Some looked promising and others, with boarded up buildings, looked downright dismal. What would Sedgewick be like and what would I do when I got there? Most of my household goods had been shipped out in advance and I knew that they were waiting for me in a furnished apartment across the street from the school, but I had no idea where that was or how I’d get there with more luggage than I could carry on my own. That was, of course, before suitcases had wheels. When the bus finally pulled into Sedgewick I was the only passenger who stood up to get off, but there was a man waiting at the stop. I remember feeling sorry for him because I thought his wife must have missed the bus. Imagine my surprise when I disembarked and he greeted me by name! He was the school principal. Not only did he know where my apartment was, but he also knew who the landlord was and where he lived! After stopping to pick up the key, he dropped me at my apartment and told me he’d be back to pick me up in an hour because his wife was making dinner for us! That was my introduction to small town living.

But what in the world kept me here for 50 years? A man, of course! Eleven days after I stepped off that bus, I met him at the first staff meeting of the school year and thirteen months later we were married!

2025 has been full of 50 year milestones. 50 years have passed since I graduated from university. It’s been 50 years since I moved to Sedgewick, 50 years since I met my husband, and 50 years since I started my teaching career, but there’s still one more 50 year milestone to come. In October it will be 50 years since I made the life-changing decision to follow Christ.

It’s been a half century of ups and downs, joys and sorrows. I’ve raised a family and welcomed 8 grandchildren. While I envy those who have their families close, we knew that there was nothing to hold our children here, so we gave them wings and watched them fly. We fly away from time to time too, but even after 50 years, Sedgewick still seems like a good place to come home to!

Then and now…

Why traveling together is good for your marriage

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I inherited my wanderlust from my parents who visited 66 countries together, mostly during their retirement years. When I was a child, we took long holidays as a family. We drove the west coast as far south as San Diego and traveled north all the way to Alaska. When I became a teacher, my plan was to spend my summers traveling, but hubby had different ideas. Growing up, his summers were spent working on the family farm. He’d only ever been on one short holiday to visit relatives. He wanted to spend his summers at home playing ball, golfing, and going to the beach.

Marriage meant compromise, but I knew that I wouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t travel. Before we tied the knot, I told him that I would be spending part of each summer traveling. It was something that I simply had to do. He was welcome to join me, but if he’d rather that I went alone and he spent that time pursuing his own interests, I was okay with that. Thankfully, he chose to join me and we have enjoyed so much of the world together! We’ve also learned that traveling together is good for a marriage.

Travel teaches you teamwork and communication skills.

While I do most of our travel planning, I always consult with hubby about major decisions like which flights to take or where we should stay, but there are also small day to day choices to make. Should we walk or take the bus? Where should we go for lunch? It’s often these little things that require clear communication and test our ability to compromise.

Travel teaches you how to work together to overcome obstacles.

When you’re travelling together, problems are shared. When we failed to get off the train at the right stop in Germany last week, we put our heads together and figured out how to get to our destination (with the help of a very kind gentleman). Having had a similar experience in Japan many years ago, I’m sure that either one of us could have dealt with this minor mishap on our own, but it’s so much better when you have someone to share the momentary panic with!

Traveling as a couple teaches you to be more patient with one another and with yourself.

When you’re together 24/7 in an unfamiliar environment, especially one where English isn’t the first language of the people around you, there are bound to be moments of frustration. Whether it’s figuring out directions, handling delays, or trying to figure out how to buy tickets for the train, we’ve learned that there’s always a solution to every problem. Sometimes finding that solution just requires a little patience.

Shared adventure adds spark to a tired relationship.

When a couple gets married, going on a honeymoon allows them time to be fully present with one another and to delight in each other’s company. In time, however, the distractions and busyness of daily life take over. Work, family, household chores, and individual interests often leave little time for one another. Traveling together offers a couple a chance to reconnect and to enjoy uninterrupted time together. The destination is less important than the simple act of spending time together and getting away from the noise of daily life. Even an occasional weekend getaway together can help reinvigorate your relationship.  

Finally, travel gives you lasting memories to share.

Some of our most cherished memories have been made while traveling together. There are big moments like our first glimpse of the terra cotta warriors in Xian, China or seeing the golden Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem come into sight for the first time, but there are others that were also amazing moments for us. Memories like staying in a very basic $12 a night guesthouse in Siem Reap and taking an early morning tuktuk ride out to Angkor Wat to watch the sun rise over the enormous temple complex. Memories of traveling the length of Vietnam on overnight buses and arriving in Saigon late on New Years Eve without a place to stay! We even love to reminisce about the time that we accepted a ride from a total stranger in the middle of rural China! Not necessarily recommended, but it was an amazing experience! You can read about it here.

With all the traveling that we’ve done together, you’d think that I’d have more photos of the two of us, but I love this one taken in Heidelberg last week, so I’ll share it again.

Cropped pants, cuffs, and the psychology of fashion

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Logo by SamI’ve always been very particular about the length of my pants. From the time I was a child, I’ve loved wearing capri pants, or pedal pushers as we called them way back then. On the other hand, I’ve never liked wearing cropped pants. They look great on other women, but they feel all wrong on me.

The difference between capris and crops is simply a matter of a few inches. Capris end at the calf and crops fall 2 to 4 inches above the ankle bone. They’re a great way to show off your ankles, cute shoes or booties, or even a fun pair of socks, but I just can’t convince myself to wear them.

Why is that? Why such an aversion to something that is admittedly stylish and cute? I think it has to do with the fact that I have long legs and back in the day when I was young and terribly self-conscious, I often had trouble finding pants that were long enough. The thought of being mocked for wearing pants that were too short horrified me. Pedal pushers were intentionally short. Everyone knew that. I could wear them and fit in, but cropped pants were not a thing back then.

This summer, I’ve discovered something odd. I have 3 pairs of summer pants that are designed to be worn either full length or with the cuffs rolled up which essentially makes them the same length as cropped pants. Those, I love wearing! Again, I have to ask myself why and again, I go back to my early memories of growing up on the waterfront. When we played on the beach and waded in the tidal pools, it was natural to roll up our cuffs to keep them dry. Now, when I wear my cuffs rolled up, that carefree feeling of childhood play is what comes to mind!

Amazingly, how we dressed as a child or the fears that we might have had back then about not fitting in can affect the way we dress and shop for clothing decades later. Can you think of any examples from your own life?

Which house was it?

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On our way to the coast we stopped in Jasper for a few hours to visit my 98-year-old aunt who lives there. When I told her that we were coming to Victoria, she reminded me that she and my mother lived here for a year when they were young children. It was the beginning of the Great Depression and, like so many other men at that time, my grandfather was out of work. His brother had found employment at the paper mill in Powell River, so he went there to apply for a job and then proceeded to build a small house for his young family. In the meantime, my grandmother and her two little girls shared a single room in a boarding house here in Victoria not far from where his parents lived. Curious, I asked Auntie Norma if she remembered what part of the city they lived in. I could hardly believe it when she told me that they lived on Government Street within a block or two of the BC Legislative Building. That’s less than a kilometre from our hotel! 

I decided that when we got to Victoria, we’d go for a walk down Government Street. I didn’t expect to find a trace of what was there 90+ years ago when two little girls walked down the street and across the parking lot behind the Legislative Building on their way to school. I thought I’d find modern apartment or office buildings or perhaps stores and hotels. Instead, I found a street lined with heritage houses! Was one of them the boarding house where Nana, Mom, and Auntie Norma lived? 

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I was enthralled as I walked up and down the street taking photos of house after house and wondering if Auntie Norma will recognize one of them when I show her the pictures. Of course, they’ve probably undergone many changes since she was here, but I’m hoping that something looks familiar.  

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I love the contrast of old and new in this photo…

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Even if Auntie Norma doesn’t recognize any of the houses, this little confectionary should bring back memories. It’s been standing on the corner of Government and Michigan Streets since 1915! 

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This building, now the Rosewood Inn, is located kitty-corner from the little store. Could it have been a boarding house at one time? 

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What must it have been like for my grandmother and her little girls to spend a year sharing a single room in a house full of boarders? Auntie Norma did say that it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Apparently, the woman who ran the boarding house befriended my grandmother and became like an another grandma to the two little girls while they lived under her roof, but I’m sure that they were all very glad when the little house in Powell River was ready and the family could be together again!  

Take that, Miss Chen!

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My first memory of phys ed was Miss Chen yelling at me for not being able to serve a volleyball over the net. It was grade 6, my first year in a new school, and I don’t think I’d ever held a volleyball before. In fact, I don’t recall having physical education classes at all prior to that year. The small town elementary school that I’d come from was overcrowded. When I was in grade 1, the gym had served as our classroom and after that, I only remember going there for school-wide assemblies.

Miss Chen also taught us health. She was an odd and intimidating person. I remember her standing at the front of the classroom doing callisthenics while she taught. Her explosion on the volleyball court did nothing to persuade this uncoordinated, timid child that physical education was a good thing.

In high school, I was the gawky kid who hated phys ed, all except gymnastics. I remember the year that each student had to plan, practice and perform her own gymnastics routine to music. I chose the 1967 hit, Love is Blue. Though I wasn’t able to manage some of the more difficult gymnastics moves like walkovers and handsprings, I remember that my routine started with an arabesque and incorporated other ballet poses and moves that I’d learned in the dance classes that my mother had insisted I take when I was younger. My teacher loved it. It was my shining moment in phys ed! She even wanted me to enter my routine in the high school talent show that year, but I was too shy.

Over the years as a teacher in a small rural school, I taught almost every subject at one time or another, but never phys ed. How remarkable then that one evening this week, I found myself in my basement teaching a couple of friends the exercises that I begin my days with as well as the weight lifting routine that I follow three times a week! Me, teaching anyone phys ed? Wow! Take that Miss Chen!

 

25 years of fun and friendship!

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On a September evening in 1989, four young women gathered around a kitchen table and Craft Night was born. They had no idea that they were beginning a 25 year tradition. Though I wasn’t one of the original four, I was invited to join the group a few months later and not long afterward, a sixth member completed the group.

We were all busy young mothers and in the early days Craft Night was as much about having an evening out as it was about the crafts that we did. Whether we were knitting, crocheting, cross stitching or tole painting, we shared our lives and our stories. Sometimes, instead of a craft, one of us would bring a stack of photos to label and we’d share those too. Over the years, we must have handed hundreds of photos around the table; pictures of babies, family holidays, graduations and more recently, grandchildren. Three of us were school teachers and papers have even been graded at Craft Night. If the choice was staying home to get the marking done or bringing it with us, the work got done at Craft Night!

Over the years, in addition to doing our individual crafts, we occasionally tried a group project. One Christmas season, we made a huge batch of antipasto, enough for each of us to take a few jars home with us. Another December it was chocolates and a couple of years ago, we made Christmas centrepieces.

Meeting monthly, we take turns hosting. The hostess provides the wine, an essential Craft Night ingredient, and a snack. Over the years, we’ve tested a multitude of appetizers and shared many a recipe. Though we still call our evenings Craft Night, we seldom bother with the crafts anymore! Instead, we just spend our time visiting. In 25 years, we’ve been through a lot together!

Between us, we have 15 children, 4 of them born since Craft Night began. We’ve watched them grow, sharing their trials and their triumphs. They’ve all graduated from high school and between them, they’ve earned 21 degrees or diplomas. 10 of them are married and 2 are engaged. 3 of us are now grandmothers with a total of 13 grandchildren. Nowadays, our discussions often revolve around aging parents and 2 of us have lost our mothers in recent months. Perhaps the statistic we ought to be most proud of is the number of divorces over our 25 years together… 0! We’re all with the same husbands we were with back then and occasionally some of them also get together on Craft Night to play cards or throw some darts.

Craft Night took a severe blow a couple of years ago when two of our group moved away within a month of each other, but the remaining four continue the tradition. When we met at a lovely restaurant for a 25th anniversary celebration last evening, we were delighted that one our missing members was able to join us. It was a delightful evening of reminiscing; sharing 25 years of fun and friendship!

Best things

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One of the best things about Richard and I both being teachers was our two month summer vacations. When our children were young, we spent many of those summers on the road with our tent trailer in tow. I called it our gypsy wagon. Our kids have been to the northern tip of Newfoundland and seen the midnight sun in Inuvik, NWT. They’ve hiked a portion of the Chilkoot Trail out of Skagway, Alaska and under Utah’s hot desert sun. They’ve stood in an Anasazi cliff dwelling in southwestern Colorado and on the rim of the Grand Canyon. Melaina still has Michaela, the handmade doll she bought from a street vendor by that name in Tijuana, Mexico.

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Every night, as I tucked the children into their trailer beds and listened to their prayers, I asked each one “What was your best thing today?” Their answers often surprised me. We might have toured a historic site that day or viewed an amazing  natural phenomenon but a child’s answer was often something simple like the puppy they played with in the campground or roasting marshmallows over the fire.

Now grown with kids of their own, both Matthew and Melaina have introduced a similar practice into the daily lives of their own children. Every evening, as part of four-year-old Sam’s bedtime routine, Matt and Robin ask him what his best thing that day was. They record his answer in a little notebook and one of them draws a picture to go with it. It’s not about producing great works of art but rather, about remembering the moments that are important in the day to day life of their little boy. They plan to start a similar journal for Nate when he turns three next month. What treasures those little books will become down through the years.

At Melaina’s house, when the family gathers for supper, one of the children asks the other “What was your favourite today?” Soon everyone around the table is asked to share the best thing from their day. What a great way to teach children to show appreciation for the good things in their lives.

In addition to getting back into shape physically, I’ve decided that another step toward banishing my “why bother” attitude ought to be to begin looking for the best things in each of my own days. Even the most mundane or difficult days have blessings in them if we take the time to look for them.

Today was one of those days when it would have been easy to focus on the negative but choosing the best thing was easy. My best thing was arriving home safely after our drive to the city and back for a long awaited MRI on Richard’s shoulder. We expected winter driving conditions, of course, but we didn’t expect rain at -16ºC (3ºF) and we certainly didn’t expect the lunatic driver who flew out of a side road and spun out on the icy road right in front of us! Richard managed to swerve and avoid what could easily have been a deadly crash. I think there must have been angels watching over us! Come to think of it, maybe that was really the best thing.

Packing 105: To fold or to roll, that is the question

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Though some people roll their clothing to pack it in a suitcase claiming that it takes up less space and doesn’t wrinkle as much, I prefer to fold most of ours.

I learned to fold and pack from a master. When I was a child my father spent several years commuting between Powell River and Vancouver almost every week. Every week my mother did his laundry, starched and pressed his dress shirts and repacked his suitcase. I remember watching her with fascination. She could fold a shirt so that it looked like it had just come out of it’s original package.

Every summer, our family of six would pile into the big blue and white International Travelall and set off on a camping adventure that often lasted several weeks. Mom would pack everything we needed into the back of the vehicle. There was no such thing as a nylon tent in those days but she could fit the bulky canvas tent, six sleeping bags, foam sleeping mats, the Coleman stove, dishes, food, clothes, life jackets and fishing gear and a multitude of other things into the space behind the back seat.

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One summer we chartered a float plane and flew into Garibaldi Lake nestled high in the coastal mountains. Mom had to weigh every single item that went on that trip to make sure that we didn’t exceed the plane’s weight limit. Yes, she was definitely a packing wizard!

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But I digress! Though I fold the majority of our clothing, I often roll things like pyjamas to fit into small unused spaces between other items. On our upcoming trip to China, I’m also going to try a packing technique that I’ve never used before. By packing bulky items in ziploc bags and squeezing the air out before sealing them, they’ll take up much less room in a suitcase. Richard’s navy blue fleece hoodie is two sizes larger than my red one but look at how much less space it needs.

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And before I bring this packing series to an end, here’s one last tip: It’s amazing how much you can pack inside the shoes that go into your suitcase. Stuff them full of socks, underwear, pantyhose, pill bottles, anything that will fit!

Do you fold or roll?

Christmas magic

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In one of her recent posts, LouAnn who writes On the Homefront, asked a pertinent question.

So what proof do you have of the magic of Christmas? What is your “kernel” of Christmas magic?  

My mind immediately went back to one of my most poignant Christmas memories. Ten years ago, it captured the imagination of Laura Eggertson, now a self-employed writer, editor and freelance journalist who was, at that time, writing for Homemaker’s magazine. Here’s the introduction to her December 2002 Special Feature entitle Christmas Kindness.

“The knock on the door came late on Christmas Eve, as Elaine and Richard DeBock were putting their children to bed. The family had just returned from a service at their church in Sedgewick, Alta., a small town southeast of Edmonton.

The DeBocks’ four-year-old daughter, Janina, was home from hospital after an eight-week stay. She was dying of leukemia. Though Elaine still had hope, she knew this would likely be Janina’s last Christmas. As she tried to make it a joyous occasion, she also battled her sorrow.

When she opened the door, the bearded figure on the front stoop was one the children were expecting – though a complete surprise to the DeBocks. There stood Santa Claus and, without a word, he nodded to the adults and strode in, gifts in hand for Janina and her two-year-old brother. Barely stopping to register the children’s wide-eyed delight, he waved a mitten-clad hand and was gone.

“To this day, 20 years later, we have no idea who the kind stranger was who helped make our little girl’s last Christmas a magical one,” says DeBock, a teacher who still lives in Sedgewick. “I believe in Santa Claus.”

The anonymous Santa gave the DeBocks a Christmas they will never forget. Though the circumstances were exceptional, the gesture was born of a more ordinary gift: simple kindness.”

We’re approaching our 30th Christmas since the one described above. Many people helped lighten our load during those dark days but none was quite as magical as the anonymous Santa. Such a simple act of kindness, yet we were blessed so profoundly.

I often thought that if I learned the identity of the unknown Santa, the magic might be lost but not so.  The mystery was solved just a few years ago when his mother, back in town to play in our annual ladies golf tournament, happened to mention the incident to me. He was just a young man with a big heart. Like the rest of our small community, he knew what we were going through and wanted to help.

Maybe that’s the magic of Christmas… reaching out in love to help someone in need. After all, isn’t that what the babe in the manger was all about?

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”  

John 10:10

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