Dear Dad,
Two years ago on this day, I went to bed at 6:00 in the morning after we as a family let you go in the dark of the middle of the night, April 14th 2007. Driving home that early morning, the sun rose into a clear blue sky and the colours of dawn didn’t well reflect the sadness we all felt that day.
This morning, rather than going to bed at six, I got up.
I was awakened today by several things. For one, the sounds of your grandson, happily gurgling away as he lay between Kate and I. For another, Nellie, chomping at the bit to get outside for her morning walk. And last but not least, a dawn no less picturesque than the one 24 months ago, streaming its light through the blinds we forgot to close before bed.
The dog, the baby, and I all went outside together to greet the morning. Sacha in his stroller gurgling happily as we rumbled along, Nellie off her leash, nose hovering just over the grass in search of dew-covered treats as we made our way over to the park.
Sacha doesn’t normally rise in time to come on the morning walks, but I was glad for his presence today. Perhaps he knew I would be thinking of you as I walked today, and wanted to share in that communion?
We know you’re out there watching it all go on, dad, but I just have to say out loud how great it would be for you to see what your family has become since you left. Your first Granddaughter, Aria, was so little then when you were able to hold her. And now, she’s a bright, healthy bubbling two year old. Then came Sacha James last June, and soon after came little Gabby.
Life goes on without you, dad, and though we all suffer a bit at the memory of you, we’re happy, all of us. Jamie, Kari and I, and mum, and all the rest. As I threw balls for Nellie at the park today—another dog owner on the field with me, oblivious to the true nature of my thoughts as we chatted—and as the sun rose over my sweeping viewpoint, light reflecting off the glass towers of downtown Vancouver and the snow on the north shore mountains taking on a pink and crimson glow, and Sacha, my happy, healthy little son who giggled as he watched the dogs run around, the little boy who you’ll never get to hold… well… All of it in the same breath, it’s the joy and tragedy of it all, isn’t it dad? Life goes on without you. You will not be here again tomorrow, and yet, the sun will come up again at about the same time, hopefully just as brilliantly as it did today.
Long story short, dad: we miss you. I miss you. But I’m okay. We are okay. I’ve lost friends and family before, we all have, and everybody does. In any of those circumstances but especially in this one, it is hard to put my finger on it and say definitively “this is okay, we are okay”, but at the same time, it is okay, and we are okay. I guess that’s what I want to say to you today dad, ultimately. We love you, we miss you, and we will be okay, if we are not already.
And so, I will wake up tomorrow with the sun—two years plus a day by then—and I’ll run the dog, and Sacha may or may not decide to be awake and come with us, and after that I will go to work and join the world and be the person you helped me to be.
Really, today is no different than any other day, as I think of you often and in different ways.
But today, in particular, I just wanted to take pause, to stop, and say that I love you, and I miss you.
Love,
Stu
April 14, 2009
January 29, 2009
What the heck is a 'meme' anyway?!
One of the things I love about facebook is that there aren't many real ways to let forwards clog up my account, unless I choose to accept some useless application request that has people sending me things.
Sadly, someone utilized the power of the 'notes' section to create a home for unsolicited forwarding, and as such the 'meme' has begun tearing through the facebook world.
I confess I am not immune, but the hear this:
A)the post below represents the first and last facebook-borne forward that I will partake in, and
B)in my head at least, removing it from facebook to post it in my blog deconstructs the forward, and denies it the opportunity to actually be a forward, since I've removed it from the context of it's normal environment, and I'm not asking anyone else to do it after me...so there.
That precursor aside, the 'forward' in question asks you to list 25 things about you that people likely do not or may not know. I've been chipping away at this for a while, and frankly, I hope you enjoy, because I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself. Perhaps I should have left this on facebook; I wouldn't have treated it with such depth :)
So, without further adieu, 25 things you likely didn't know - or care to know - about Stuart Alexander Chase...
1. Despite a passionate dislike of mathematics and numbers in general, I run the office lotto pool (with an iron fist, no less), and I can recite Pi to the 12th digit, even though I’m not smart enough to remember what the Hell Pi even is: 3.141592653589. See, I did that without hesitation. I won’t look it up, but I know it’s right.
2. I cannot stand the thought of someone using my toothbrush and if I know my brush has breached someone else’s oral cavity, I will not brush my teeth until a new brush has been acquired.
3. Perhaps along the same lines, the thought of eating food off of my baby’s spoon after it’s been in his mouth grosses me out. Despite this, I will happily and unabashedly ask others for their leftovers.
4. In keeping with the baby theme, I can’t stand to hear Sacha cry. Not because it breaks my heart that he is sad about something, but literally because I cannot stand his crying. It hurts my huge ears, and I wear construction headphones around him when he is bawling ad nauseam. Hey, it sounds ridiculous, but it works. Don't judge me--I love my baby, damn you.
5. I'm pretty sure I will write a book someday. It may be a children’s book, it may be a full-length novel, but I will have something published in my name and I won’t even care if no one ever reads it. I just need to get it out of my system. In part it will be dedicated to my high school writing teacher who made me promise that it will be dedicated to her. For the moment, I get to write for a living anyway, and I couldn’t ask for more.
6. I lost my fingers on my left hand in a sawmill accident in 1999. Despite having a moment most every day since then where I end up wishing I had them back again, if I had the chance, I would never, ever go back in time to call in sick that day or warn myself about it.
7. Unless I am skiing on it, I hate… HATE snow. If I could somehow convince everyone I love to move with me, I would probably go to Mexico, and only come back to Canada between the months of May and August.
8. I have a ridiculously good musical memory. To wit, I sing primarily in front of the radio when it is on, despite being told by many that I have an exceptional singing voice that should be used elsewhere.
9. I miss my dad every day, and his loss makes me wonder if I will die young.
10. I swear I will never move back to Kamloops, B.C. where I grew up, citing the usual ‘that town was way too small by the time I was 16 years old’ reasons. I need a city; I love living in Vancouver, and I love working downtown among the hustle and bustle even more than that. Despite this, I could not have imagined growing up anywhere else, and I remain an avid fan of country music. Go figure.
11. The only volleyball tournament I have EVER won was in grade 12, and I was named tournament MVP. I’ve never won a recreational league championship, a college tournament, or a competitive league championship before that, or since.
12. I opted not to play basketball in grade 12 so that I could dedicate more training to my kayaking for which I went to the Canada games in ’97. The Canada games were bar none, across the board, the worst sporting experience of my life. I have always regretted having quit basketball, even though I probably would have
only made the B team. In the grand scheme of life, this may seem insignificant,but at least I wouldn’t have wasted my time training for paddling quite as much that year, only to be permanently scarred by a kayaking competition.
13. When my best friend Doug and I stopped competing together as sprint race kayaking team boat duo, we split a (roughly) 20 lb. ball of used duct tape—which we had been adding used duct tape to over the course of five years—in half (it's a long story). It took two hack saws to get through. To this day, we both still have our respective halves of the ball.
14. I'm a pack rat, but I'm also a neat freak. It's a tough existence. Luckily, Kate is more...judicious...about what things are kept and what is disposed of, and I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two from her.
15. I have had the opportunity to do a bit of global travel both as a solo backpacker, and with a significant other. Both were wonderful experiences, but given the option to travel the world alone vs. with a best friend or even my wife, I would choose the former.
16. I have been the subject of debate for an entire question period in the parliament of British Columbia…and not in a good way.
17. I do almost no reading for leisure, despite having a desire to write a book someday. I consume news like it's going out of style, I read work-related documents, but novels? one a year, if you're lucky.
18. I believe in One Destination, but I believe that many paths can get you there.
19. Most people that don’t exercise or go to the gym end up gaining weight. I am the opposite. I shed pounds when I sit around on my ass. I have only ever successfully managed to gain weight as part of a conscientiously applied gym program.
20. I love public speaking, and I usually get good reviews when I do so. The only time I have been nervous about it was giving a toast as best man at my brother’s wedding, and I’ve always kinda felt like a I blew it.
21. I was bullied in elementary school (tall, skinny, big ears, braces, glasses, slow-witted… can’t imagine why I got picked on…), and as a result I suspect that as a parent, I will have a really hard time being tolerant of anyone I catch pushing my kid around.
22. I believe that global warming is real, and I actively harass friends and colleagues that drive to and from work and school for no good reason, and who can’t be bothered to recycle.
23. The nearly-30 year old me wonders what the 40-year old me will remember or care about what the 20-year old me was like, like the nearly 30-year-old me right now does on occasion.
24. Right now, life is just like I like it, though we’d all like a little more sleep around our house... oh, and I wish I still wrote poetry.
25. Right now, I'm feeling a lot of shame for having been sucked into this forwarding business, and I'm glad it's over and done with.
Sadly, someone utilized the power of the 'notes' section to create a home for unsolicited forwarding, and as such the 'meme' has begun tearing through the facebook world.
I confess I am not immune, but the hear this:
A)the post below represents the first and last facebook-borne forward that I will partake in, and
B)in my head at least, removing it from facebook to post it in my blog deconstructs the forward, and denies it the opportunity to actually be a forward, since I've removed it from the context of it's normal environment, and I'm not asking anyone else to do it after me...so there.
That precursor aside, the 'forward' in question asks you to list 25 things about you that people likely do not or may not know. I've been chipping away at this for a while, and frankly, I hope you enjoy, because I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself. Perhaps I should have left this on facebook; I wouldn't have treated it with such depth :)
So, without further adieu, 25 things you likely didn't know - or care to know - about Stuart Alexander Chase...
1. Despite a passionate dislike of mathematics and numbers in general, I run the office lotto pool (with an iron fist, no less), and I can recite Pi to the 12th digit, even though I’m not smart enough to remember what the Hell Pi even is: 3.141592653589. See, I did that without hesitation. I won’t look it up, but I know it’s right.
2. I cannot stand the thought of someone using my toothbrush and if I know my brush has breached someone else’s oral cavity, I will not brush my teeth until a new brush has been acquired.
3. Perhaps along the same lines, the thought of eating food off of my baby’s spoon after it’s been in his mouth grosses me out. Despite this, I will happily and unabashedly ask others for their leftovers.
4. In keeping with the baby theme, I can’t stand to hear Sacha cry. Not because it breaks my heart that he is sad about something, but literally because I cannot stand his crying. It hurts my huge ears, and I wear construction headphones around him when he is bawling ad nauseam. Hey, it sounds ridiculous, but it works. Don't judge me--I love my baby, damn you.
5. I'm pretty sure I will write a book someday. It may be a children’s book, it may be a full-length novel, but I will have something published in my name and I won’t even care if no one ever reads it. I just need to get it out of my system. In part it will be dedicated to my high school writing teacher who made me promise that it will be dedicated to her. For the moment, I get to write for a living anyway, and I couldn’t ask for more.
6. I lost my fingers on my left hand in a sawmill accident in 1999. Despite having a moment most every day since then where I end up wishing I had them back again, if I had the chance, I would never, ever go back in time to call in sick that day or warn myself about it.
7. Unless I am skiing on it, I hate… HATE snow. If I could somehow convince everyone I love to move with me, I would probably go to Mexico, and only come back to Canada between the months of May and August.
8. I have a ridiculously good musical memory. To wit, I sing primarily in front of the radio when it is on, despite being told by many that I have an exceptional singing voice that should be used elsewhere.
9. I miss my dad every day, and his loss makes me wonder if I will die young.
10. I swear I will never move back to Kamloops, B.C. where I grew up, citing the usual ‘that town was way too small by the time I was 16 years old’ reasons. I need a city; I love living in Vancouver, and I love working downtown among the hustle and bustle even more than that. Despite this, I could not have imagined growing up anywhere else, and I remain an avid fan of country music. Go figure.
11. The only volleyball tournament I have EVER won was in grade 12, and I was named tournament MVP. I’ve never won a recreational league championship, a college tournament, or a competitive league championship before that, or since.
12. I opted not to play basketball in grade 12 so that I could dedicate more training to my kayaking for which I went to the Canada games in ’97. The Canada games were bar none, across the board, the worst sporting experience of my life. I have always regretted having quit basketball, even though I probably would have
only made the B team. In the grand scheme of life, this may seem insignificant,but at least I wouldn’t have wasted my time training for paddling quite as much that year, only to be permanently scarred by a kayaking competition.
13. When my best friend Doug and I stopped competing together as sprint race kayaking team boat duo, we split a (roughly) 20 lb. ball of used duct tape—which we had been adding used duct tape to over the course of five years—in half (it's a long story). It took two hack saws to get through. To this day, we both still have our respective halves of the ball.
14. I'm a pack rat, but I'm also a neat freak. It's a tough existence. Luckily, Kate is more...judicious...about what things are kept and what is disposed of, and I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two from her.
15. I have had the opportunity to do a bit of global travel both as a solo backpacker, and with a significant other. Both were wonderful experiences, but given the option to travel the world alone vs. with a best friend or even my wife, I would choose the former.
16. I have been the subject of debate for an entire question period in the parliament of British Columbia…and not in a good way.
17. I do almost no reading for leisure, despite having a desire to write a book someday. I consume news like it's going out of style, I read work-related documents, but novels? one a year, if you're lucky.
18. I believe in One Destination, but I believe that many paths can get you there.
19. Most people that don’t exercise or go to the gym end up gaining weight. I am the opposite. I shed pounds when I sit around on my ass. I have only ever successfully managed to gain weight as part of a conscientiously applied gym program.
20. I love public speaking, and I usually get good reviews when I do so. The only time I have been nervous about it was giving a toast as best man at my brother’s wedding, and I’ve always kinda felt like a I blew it.
21. I was bullied in elementary school (tall, skinny, big ears, braces, glasses, slow-witted… can’t imagine why I got picked on…), and as a result I suspect that as a parent, I will have a really hard time being tolerant of anyone I catch pushing my kid around.
22. I believe that global warming is real, and I actively harass friends and colleagues that drive to and from work and school for no good reason, and who can’t be bothered to recycle.
23. The nearly-30 year old me wonders what the 40-year old me will remember or care about what the 20-year old me was like, like the nearly 30-year-old me right now does on occasion.
24. Right now, life is just like I like it, though we’d all like a little more sleep around our house... oh, and I wish I still wrote poetry.
25. Right now, I'm feeling a lot of shame for having been sucked into this forwarding business, and I'm glad it's over and done with.
January 7, 2009
A Midwinter's Tale
Christmas 2008 will be remembered as the first cross-country white Christmas in Canada since 1973, which is pretty cool. Well guess what? Christmas has come and gone, which is great, because I don’t have to be cheerful about the snow any more. When it comes to the white stuff, unless I’m skiing on it, I’m a total Grinch.
As far as living in Vancouver with snow goes, it’s your basic pain in the backside. Given Vancouver’s relatively mild climate, snow isn’t falling as real snow around here anymore like it was at Christmas. It’s falling as Teflon coating. It would be nice if the vast majority of drivers had sense enough to put snow tires on early in the season, regardless of the forecast. But, they haven't and guess what people, the plows aren’t coming, so suck it up and get some decent tires and a shovel while you're at it, pLeASE!
I’m pretty sure I spend more on coffee in a year than Vancouver does on snow removal, which is no big deal, usually. Generally speaking snow doesn’t much come ‘round these here parts, which is one of the major reasons that I love Vancouver. This year’s snow fall has been an anomaly not seen for decades. Usually, we get three inches of snow at most, and within 72 hours, it’s gone. But this year, it’s just kept coming. A metre of snow later and a few rainfalls, and we’re all pretty sick of it.
With these curmudgeony thoughts in mind, sumitted for your approval, A Midwinter’s Tale:
Kate and I drive home from dinner at her mum’s house the other night. It’s 7:30 pm, and the snow is falling fast. We loop downtown to drop off a friend who joined us for dinner. All is well. Then, we begin our ascent back up to our house on the hill in the ‘burbs.
And it begins.
First, we see Knight Street traffic has started coming to a standstill. A heads-up play, and we’re able to divert over to Commercial Drive before we hit the snarl. As we head up Commercial, it happens again. In the few blocks that Commercial Drive turns into Victoria Drive, this rapidly evolving SnowMaggedon has taken hold, and is giving way to CarMaggedon. The base of the hill is a graveyard, articulated buses strewn all over the place, bent awkwardly in the middle as they try to scramble away from the curbs, only to get stuck. A semi truck can’t get any traction in the snow; he too has abandoned hope. Smaller vehicles without snow tires try to get up the hill, but any wavering in momentum, and they are done for. We do a little dodging and weaving, a little side street action (which, ironically, are more passable than the main roads at this point despite having never been plowed in the last three weeks of snow), a little waiting behind more snarled traffic, and at last, we make it home.
I decide that before I go inside for the night, I will do some shovelling of our walkways so that come morning, I’ll have half the load to move.
Alas, my efforts are thwarted. You see, while Kate and I were out for the afternoon, some ill-mannered, ill-prepared individual has let themselves onto our property, onto our porch, and stolen our snow shovel. Our beautiful metal-edged, wide bucket snow shovel.
Of all the low down, dirty rotten…
My snow shovel? Really? I am forced to chip away at the snow and ice with our narrow flat-head garden spade. If being irate melted snow, my property would’ve been tropical right about then.
Any vestiges of Christmas spirit have officially been sucked out of me. Next morning, I leer out my windows at the neighbours dealing with their own sidewalks and parking spots. Is that my shovel? Is that my shovel? No one is above suspicion.
On Monday, resentment still courses through me. Nellie and I go out for a walk, Sacha strapped in a pack to my back. A low-riding souped-up Honda civic with a grumbly muffler and all-season tires has beached itself trying to turn a corner at an intersection. Three of its four wheels are off the ground, its belly resting on the middle-of-the-road rise of snow. CarMaggedon continues. “that’ll learn ya,” I grumble to myself, thinking/hoping that maybe this is a Karmic return for stealing my snow shovel. Is it? No one is above suspicion.
But then, Nellie, Sacha and I cut through a playground. There, at the base of a slide, a discovery. All the while that Mother Nature has been busy kicking ass all over the place, she’s still had time to fold her laundry. Beautiful.
We walk past a school yard. There is an army of snowmen in the fields, slushily advancing from behind a number of snow forts, seemingly set to wage wintery war with the school kids happily frolicking in amongst them.
And, as we move on down the road to another park, Nellie gets lost in the joy of bounding through snow drifts, diving after snow balls; a headless black smudge on a white landscape as she digs down for her prize.
Sacha is off of my back now and smiling happily as he sits propped up in the snow, watching while I launch snowballs for Nellie.
I pause. The air is crisp, silent. Then, somewhere off in the distance, a car engine roars and wheels spin.
If I encounter that car on my way home, maybe--just maybe--I may help push it out, and on its way.
As far as living in Vancouver with snow goes, it’s your basic pain in the backside. Given Vancouver’s relatively mild climate, snow isn’t falling as real snow around here anymore like it was at Christmas. It’s falling as Teflon coating. It would be nice if the vast majority of drivers had sense enough to put snow tires on early in the season, regardless of the forecast. But, they haven't and guess what people, the plows aren’t coming, so suck it up and get some decent tires and a shovel while you're at it, pLeASE!
I’m pretty sure I spend more on coffee in a year than Vancouver does on snow removal, which is no big deal, usually. Generally speaking snow doesn’t much come ‘round these here parts, which is one of the major reasons that I love Vancouver. This year’s snow fall has been an anomaly not seen for decades. Usually, we get three inches of snow at most, and within 72 hours, it’s gone. But this year, it’s just kept coming. A metre of snow later and a few rainfalls, and we’re all pretty sick of it.
With these curmudgeony thoughts in mind, sumitted for your approval, A Midwinter’s Tale:
Kate and I drive home from dinner at her mum’s house the other night. It’s 7:30 pm, and the snow is falling fast. We loop downtown to drop off a friend who joined us for dinner. All is well. Then, we begin our ascent back up to our house on the hill in the ‘burbs.
And it begins.
First, we see Knight Street traffic has started coming to a standstill. A heads-up play, and we’re able to divert over to Commercial Drive before we hit the snarl. As we head up Commercial, it happens again. In the few blocks that Commercial Drive turns into Victoria Drive, this rapidly evolving SnowMaggedon has taken hold, and is giving way to CarMaggedon. The base of the hill is a graveyard, articulated buses strewn all over the place, bent awkwardly in the middle as they try to scramble away from the curbs, only to get stuck. A semi truck can’t get any traction in the snow; he too has abandoned hope. Smaller vehicles without snow tires try to get up the hill, but any wavering in momentum, and they are done for. We do a little dodging and weaving, a little side street action (which, ironically, are more passable than the main roads at this point despite having never been plowed in the last three weeks of snow), a little waiting behind more snarled traffic, and at last, we make it home.
I decide that before I go inside for the night, I will do some shovelling of our walkways so that come morning, I’ll have half the load to move.
Alas, my efforts are thwarted. You see, while Kate and I were out for the afternoon, some ill-mannered, ill-prepared individual has let themselves onto our property, onto our porch, and stolen our snow shovel. Our beautiful metal-edged, wide bucket snow shovel.
Of all the low down, dirty rotten…
My snow shovel? Really? I am forced to chip away at the snow and ice with our narrow flat-head garden spade. If being irate melted snow, my property would’ve been tropical right about then.
Any vestiges of Christmas spirit have officially been sucked out of me. Next morning, I leer out my windows at the neighbours dealing with their own sidewalks and parking spots. Is that my shovel? Is that my shovel? No one is above suspicion.
On Monday, resentment still courses through me. Nellie and I go out for a walk, Sacha strapped in a pack to my back. A low-riding souped-up Honda civic with a grumbly muffler and all-season tires has beached itself trying to turn a corner at an intersection. Three of its four wheels are off the ground, its belly resting on the middle-of-the-road rise of snow. CarMaggedon continues. “that’ll learn ya,” I grumble to myself, thinking/hoping that maybe this is a Karmic return for stealing my snow shovel. Is it? No one is above suspicion.
But then, Nellie, Sacha and I cut through a playground. There, at the base of a slide, a discovery. All the while that Mother Nature has been busy kicking ass all over the place, she’s still had time to fold her laundry. Beautiful. We walk past a school yard. There is an army of snowmen in the fields, slushily advancing from behind a number of snow forts, seemingly set to wage wintery war with the school kids happily frolicking in amongst them.
And, as we move on down the road to another park, Nellie gets lost in the joy of bounding through snow drifts, diving after snow balls; a headless black smudge on a white landscape as she digs down for her prize.Sacha is off of my back now and smiling happily as he sits propped up in the snow, watching while I launch snowballs for Nellie.
I pause. The air is crisp, silent. Then, somewhere off in the distance, a car engine roars and wheels spin.
If I encounter that car on my way home, maybe--just maybe--I may help push it out, and on its way.
December 5, 2008
Yuletide 2008
Since our family has multiplied and spread out in the past few years like a bunch of doukhabours (no offence, doukhabours), it was decided a while ago that we would no longer try and get together for Christmas every single year, and just try to regroup every few years instead.
With mum, Jamie and Dina in Kamloops, Dina's parents up in Prince George, Kari and Matt living in England, and Kate and I being in Vancouver with her family being spread all over the place, the logistics just become too mind bending to try get "the core family" together Christmas.
undoubtedly, this happens to every family at some point. We all love to let the nostalgia of our childhood Christmases wash over us, remembering those times of the immediate family unit in the living room on Christmas morning. But the older we get, the harder it becomes to make this a reality as the definitions of 'immediate family' expand to include a cast of thousands.
None the less, this year it's time to try and get us all together again. We're headed up to Kamloops to spend the holidays at mum's house. Kari and Matt are flying in, and, despite Jamie having to work on Christmas day (the scheduled life of a firefighter...), he'll at least be around, too. The new additions to the melee this year are, of course, our Sacha and Jamie and Dina's latest arrival, Gabrielle. This will be Aria's 2nd Christmas, making her a seasoned pro.
The holidays this year will be, overall, very busy! Between the 20th of December and the 1st of January alone, we have: Kate's dad's 60th b-day, Sacha's Christening, Kate's Birthday, a Christmas eve party, Christmas day "stuff", our wedding anniversary, and a wedding.
in short, the tail end of 2008 will go by in a hurry. Rest assured, however, there will be ample opportunities to pause and be thankful for the year that has seen the arrival of our first-born, Good health being on our side for most of us, and successful battles for those who had to put up a fight against ill health, happiness, employment, travel, and lots of time with friends and family. This will be the first time that we've gathered for Christmas as a family without Dad, so that will be tough, but it needs to be done. At the end of the day, we'll still be able to pick up and keep dancing.
So, have a merry Christmas, happy Chanukah, kwazy Kwanzaa, a tip-top Tet, and a solemn, dignified Ramadan. All the best for your holidays, however you celebrate, and best wishes for 2009!
Cheers,
the Chases
With mum, Jamie and Dina in Kamloops, Dina's parents up in Prince George, Kari and Matt living in England, and Kate and I being in Vancouver with her family being spread all over the place, the logistics just become too mind bending to try get "the core family" together Christmas.
undoubtedly, this happens to every family at some point. We all love to let the nostalgia of our childhood Christmases wash over us, remembering those times of the immediate family unit in the living room on Christmas morning. But the older we get, the harder it becomes to make this a reality as the definitions of 'immediate family' expand to include a cast of thousands.
None the less, this year it's time to try and get us all together again. We're headed up to Kamloops to spend the holidays at mum's house. Kari and Matt are flying in, and, despite Jamie having to work on Christmas day (the scheduled life of a firefighter...), he'll at least be around, too. The new additions to the melee this year are, of course, our Sacha and Jamie and Dina's latest arrival, Gabrielle. This will be Aria's 2nd Christmas, making her a seasoned pro.
The holidays this year will be, overall, very busy! Between the 20th of December and the 1st of January alone, we have: Kate's dad's 60th b-day, Sacha's Christening, Kate's Birthday, a Christmas eve party, Christmas day "stuff", our wedding anniversary, and a wedding.
in short, the tail end of 2008 will go by in a hurry. Rest assured, however, there will be ample opportunities to pause and be thankful for the year that has seen the arrival of our first-born, Good health being on our side for most of us, and successful battles for those who had to put up a fight against ill health, happiness, employment, travel, and lots of time with friends and family. This will be the first time that we've gathered for Christmas as a family without Dad, so that will be tough, but it needs to be done. At the end of the day, we'll still be able to pick up and keep dancing.
So, have a merry Christmas, happy Chanukah, kwazy Kwanzaa, a tip-top Tet, and a solemn, dignified Ramadan. All the best for your holidays, however you celebrate, and best wishes for 2009!
Cheers,
the Chases
November 10, 2008
Lest We Forget
Remembrance day, November 11th each year in Canada, is a time to reflect on the sacrifices that were made by men and women in the past wars of the last century.
Most specifically, of course, we think of World War One, and the gruesome images of close-combat trench warfare, poisonous gas clouds, and all that such a mode of combat entails. And, we think of World War Two, where war was elevated to a level of mechanization not seen before, and we think of the Holocaust and the millions lost in concentration camps. There are the Vietnam and Korean wars, too, that we must be mindful of when remembering the fallen. Though the number of lives lost in these conflicts was not as great as the first and second World Wars, the sacrifices made were no less significant.
I, as a Gen-X’er, consider myself to have a tangible connection to several of these conflicts. My parents are essentially the genealogical by-products of the end of WWII – The Baby Boomers. My mum, in particular, remembers growing up in her earliest years in post-war Britain and all that that held for her and her family. Her parents were a part of the war effort. My dad, born a few years later and in Canada, had a father – my grandfather – who was in the Canadian Navy and was deployed during Canada’s “forgotten war”, the Korean conflict which began in 1950. I remember, in 1996 after a trip to Halifax, I was showing my granddad some pictures I took of the naval vessels moored up in Halifax harbour. He laid his eyes on one photo of a Frigate.
“That’s the HMCS Sackville,” I remember him saying without blinking or pause. “Spent some time on her,” he said. The man knew his boats. And in that moment, I was connected to his past. The Sackville was a corvette class frigate built in the Second World War, and deployed in that conflict to accompany convoys and attack submarines. It was kept in service after the war, and that’s how my granddad came to know it, during his time in the service.
He passed away two years ago. My grandparents on my mom’s side have long since passed away. My own father is gone now, not that he was ever one to regale us with stories about his dad’s time in the service. The connections to that era are now frayed, to say the least.
My brother, though, spent some time as a reservist with the Rocky Mountain Rangers, and was deployed with the Princess Patricia’s Light Infantry Third Battalion for a sixth month tour in Bosnia, as part of the NATO stabilization forces deployed to that region after their civil war / war of aggression (the debate continues) was over. He was fortunate enough to occupy the region as a peacekeeper, and not to have to engage in conflict.
And I, a few years ago, took part in a Military Journalism program that allowed me some time in computer graphically-simulated battle zones, and some real time driving around in tanks and TLAVs. I don't think this qualifies as military service.
So the question is this: aside from being able to ask his uncle about what war might be like, where, in digging through the annals of my personal history,
can I find a tangible connection for my own son, who as he grows older, will come to know of ugly things like war and why we ought to strive to avoid conflict?
There is the broader picture to look at, of course. We have WWII vets who still stand solemnly on Remembrance Day, and I can say “look son, these men fought so that you and I can be here today.”
I get that, but will he? How many years must past before the notion of old men fighting old wars becomes nought but pages in history texts? These vets won’t last forever, either. Their numbers grow fewer by the year. And what of WWI, the primary reason we recognize Remembrance Day on November 11th, which commemorates, as our generations know, the signing of an armistice peace accord at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month back in 1918. From this conflict, Canada has but one surviving veteran, and he, undoubtedly, will be gone before Sacha ever knows what they did for his freedom. The country has promised a state funeral for the last veteran to pass away. Even if Sacha was old enough to take in such a spectacle and understand it by the time it happens, this veteran has expressed no desire to be recognized in such a way. How very Canadian.
Long story short, how can I ask my son to Never Forget something to which I myself cannot literally remember, and to which he will have almost no connections?
The past will always be important, but perhaps the present should be more relevant to the next generation in learning why, as the literature says, War is Hell, and why it should be avoided. Sadly, there are plenty of other things going on in our world from which he can come to understand this brutal thing called war. War in Iraq, conflict in Afghanistan, etc.
I’ve read something along the lines that in the last century, there have only been 100 plus days of our collective global recorded history which do not show conflict. That’s pretty much only one day per year for the last hundred years where nobody is fighting about something. Christmas maybe? Who knows.
So, when Sacha will wear his poppy in the early days of November as we find it respectable to do in memory and thanks to those who have fallen for our freedom, perhaps that little red flower pinned to his lapel should stand for more than Flanders fields. It was bad enough when I, as a teenager, would stand in silence at my high school Remembrance Day assembly, only to hear people snickering. Even then, there were those who didn’t get it. I fear that by the time Sacha is in grade 12, he’ll have classmates who understand the true significance of that moment of reflective silence even less than those of my generation.
Perhaps that little poppy on his lapel needs to help him know more of Master Corporal Erin Doyle than it does to help him “remember” A/Lance-Corporal John Babcock. Does it dishonour the memory of the latter to think this way? I don't believe so.
One might hope that in learning about a soldier that his uncle Jamie knew, Sacha and all those like him will have a portal through which they might come to know of the sacrifices made by many men and women made today the world over, which in turn will also hopefully give Sacha and his contemporaries an appreciation for the courage that was showed by the brave ghosts of Canada’s past.
One way or another, it would be really nice if my son’s generation figured out ways which would mean no one would ever have to stand in silent remembrance of the violent sacrifices that they have made for peace. May it be so.
Most specifically, of course, we think of World War One, and the gruesome images of close-combat trench warfare, poisonous gas clouds, and all that such a mode of combat entails. And, we think of World War Two, where war was elevated to a level of mechanization not seen before, and we think of the Holocaust and the millions lost in concentration camps. There are the Vietnam and Korean wars, too, that we must be mindful of when remembering the fallen. Though the number of lives lost in these conflicts was not as great as the first and second World Wars, the sacrifices made were no less significant.
I, as a Gen-X’er, consider myself to have a tangible connection to several of these conflicts. My parents are essentially the genealogical by-products of the end of WWII – The Baby Boomers. My mum, in particular, remembers growing up in her earliest years in post-war Britain and all that that held for her and her family. Her parents were a part of the war effort. My dad, born a few years later and in Canada, had a father – my grandfather – who was in the Canadian Navy and was deployed during Canada’s “forgotten war”, the Korean conflict which began in 1950. I remember, in 1996 after a trip to Halifax, I was showing my granddad some pictures I took of the naval vessels moored up in Halifax harbour. He laid his eyes on one photo of a Frigate.
“That’s the HMCS Sackville,” I remember him saying without blinking or pause. “Spent some time on her,” he said. The man knew his boats. And in that moment, I was connected to his past. The Sackville was a corvette class frigate built in the Second World War, and deployed in that conflict to accompany convoys and attack submarines. It was kept in service after the war, and that’s how my granddad came to know it, during his time in the service.
He passed away two years ago. My grandparents on my mom’s side have long since passed away. My own father is gone now, not that he was ever one to regale us with stories about his dad’s time in the service. The connections to that era are now frayed, to say the least.
My brother, though, spent some time as a reservist with the Rocky Mountain Rangers, and was deployed with the Princess Patricia’s Light Infantry Third Battalion for a sixth month tour in Bosnia, as part of the NATO stabilization forces deployed to that region after their civil war / war of aggression (the debate continues) was over. He was fortunate enough to occupy the region as a peacekeeper, and not to have to engage in conflict.
And I, a few years ago, took part in a Military Journalism program that allowed me some time in computer graphically-simulated battle zones, and some real time driving around in tanks and TLAVs. I don't think this qualifies as military service.
So the question is this: aside from being able to ask his uncle about what war might be like, where, in digging through the annals of my personal history,
can I find a tangible connection for my own son, who as he grows older, will come to know of ugly things like war and why we ought to strive to avoid conflict? There is the broader picture to look at, of course. We have WWII vets who still stand solemnly on Remembrance Day, and I can say “look son, these men fought so that you and I can be here today.”
I get that, but will he? How many years must past before the notion of old men fighting old wars becomes nought but pages in history texts? These vets won’t last forever, either. Their numbers grow fewer by the year. And what of WWI, the primary reason we recognize Remembrance Day on November 11th, which commemorates, as our generations know, the signing of an armistice peace accord at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month back in 1918. From this conflict, Canada has but one surviving veteran, and he, undoubtedly, will be gone before Sacha ever knows what they did for his freedom. The country has promised a state funeral for the last veteran to pass away. Even if Sacha was old enough to take in such a spectacle and understand it by the time it happens, this veteran has expressed no desire to be recognized in such a way. How very Canadian.
Long story short, how can I ask my son to Never Forget something to which I myself cannot literally remember, and to which he will have almost no connections?
The past will always be important, but perhaps the present should be more relevant to the next generation in learning why, as the literature says, War is Hell, and why it should be avoided. Sadly, there are plenty of other things going on in our world from which he can come to understand this brutal thing called war. War in Iraq, conflict in Afghanistan, etc.
I’ve read something along the lines that in the last century, there have only been 100 plus days of our collective global recorded history which do not show conflict. That’s pretty much only one day per year for the last hundred years where nobody is fighting about something. Christmas maybe? Who knows.
So, when Sacha will wear his poppy in the early days of November as we find it respectable to do in memory and thanks to those who have fallen for our freedom, perhaps that little red flower pinned to his lapel should stand for more than Flanders fields. It was bad enough when I, as a teenager, would stand in silence at my high school Remembrance Day assembly, only to hear people snickering. Even then, there were those who didn’t get it. I fear that by the time Sacha is in grade 12, he’ll have classmates who understand the true significance of that moment of reflective silence even less than those of my generation.
Perhaps that little poppy on his lapel needs to help him know more of Master Corporal Erin Doyle than it does to help him “remember” A/Lance-Corporal John Babcock. Does it dishonour the memory of the latter to think this way? I don't believe so.
One might hope that in learning about a soldier that his uncle Jamie knew, Sacha and all those like him will have a portal through which they might come to know of the sacrifices made by many men and women made today the world over, which in turn will also hopefully give Sacha and his contemporaries an appreciation for the courage that was showed by the brave ghosts of Canada’s past.
One way or another, it would be really nice if my son’s generation figured out ways which would mean no one would ever have to stand in silent remembrance of the violent sacrifices that they have made for peace. May it be so.
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