Pomp and Circumstance

Don't let the title fool you. I hate pomp and circumstance

How odd then that a few Fridays ago, I found myself a part of a convocation platform party, head to toe in regalia, filing past onlookers and graduands attending one of Kwantlen Polytechnic University’s convocation ceremonies.

This behaviour, I assure you, is vastly out of character.

13 years ago, right about now, I begrudgingly sat through three hours of my high school graduation ceremony. I didn’t want to be there; didn’t see the point. But, the parents obviously wanted me to walk across that stage, so I did. About 650 of us, piled into the local hockey arena (how very Kamloops!). Sitting beside me, Heather Challenger, a friend at least to natter away with and one row in front of me, Craig Black, and Eric Brewer (good old alphabetical seating) passing a Nintendo GameBoy back and forth, over whose shoulders I could look to take my mind of the drudgery of this event. My diploma sits either in a binder or a shoebox. I’m not sure where.

Nine years ago, right about now, I begrudgingly filed my way in to my Langara College graduation ceremony. I didn’t want to be there, either. I believe I was pressured into attending by my mum, dad, sister, and girlfriend. My diploma is not in a shoe box, it has been upgraded to a portfolio binder so I can prove to employers that I have the credential.

And four years ago, right about now… I was flying home from a vacation in Turkey. Ha! you thought I was gonna say I was at a grad. Nope. I skipped my next graduation, this time from…Kwantlen. In Spring 2006, I put my foot down and said I would not be pressured into doing something I had zero desire to do. The Turkey trip didn’t actually conflict with the convocation ceremony; though I believe that is the excuse I used with classmates to keep them off my case.

So why then, was I standing up there last week, shaking the new graduates’ hands just after the hands of the school dean, the university chancellor, and the university president? Do I belong there?

It was last year, right about now, when I got a call from Kwantlen asking if I would consider being a board member for the Alumni Association. After some initial discussions with the exec director from the office of advancement, I decided to put my name forward.

My experience at Kwantlen was, after all, a rewarding and engaging one, and after I left the school I have returned on several occasions to speak with students in the PR program about what I got out of the school and how that has translated into my real world experience. As well, I’ve had prospective students ‘interview’ me about Kwantlen and life thereafter as they consider the school for themselves. As such, when the idea of being a board member for the alum association came up, I decided to go for it. I was brought on to the board, and now I’m Vice-Chair of the thing.

So, I stood there at grad in my role as Vice-Chair of the Alumni Association of Kwantlen Polytechnic University and greeted each grad and welcomed them to the alumni association of which they are now a part (ooh, and I gave them some gifties, too.)

From this perspective, the experience of a convocation ceremony was very different for me. Yes, I had to march in the processional to Edward Elgar’s March #1 of pomp and circumstance. Terribly cliché.

But beyond that, I enjoyed the perspective of watching the experience of others. And this is not to say I have not watched others before. Much as I hate grad ceremonies, I appreciate that they are important to others as milestone markers. But that still doesn’t explain why I was there.

In a world where the University of British Columbia has just raised the minimum grade point average required for entry to an ‘A’ across the board, I think it was in a comment that was made during the Kwantlen president’s remarks to the graduating class that rings true to me. He said that kwantlen does not believe that exclusivity is a requirement for excellence.

And that speaks to simple folk like me. I was never top of my class, but at times a decent student none the less. Never good enough to make it into a ‘big’ school, however. But I was able to get into Kwantlen, and now I have a university degree that in no way do I believe came with a sacrifice in quality of education. The program size was small, so lots of personal attentions with faculty whom I still keep in touch with four years after grad. It is a teaching school, not a research school, which means faculty pay attention to you, and not their next journal article. And by the end of it I won two scholarships; one a small monetary sum that bought a few text books, the other a fully paid opportunity for further study through a short certificate program at the University of Calgary (this was not part of Kwantlen, but I applied at the encouragement and with the assistance of the faculty at Kwantlen, thus, I owe them thanks!).

No one that shook my hand on Friday knew me (save a few PR students crossing the stage), or my story. But I am sure there are many who crossed the stage with a similar tale. So that’s why I was there. To celebrate an educational institute that is concerned with being accessible to its community, and just as concerned with making sure its students succeed. It worked for me, and I trust it has worked for the class of 2010 as well. Congrats to all of you.

I’m not about to frame my degrees or anything, but if asked to attend convocation again, I’ll happily stand up to shake some more hands.

Heidi's home!

For whatever reason, our kids just like to show up early and in speedy, dramatic fashion.

Back on April 14th, it took 3.5 hours from Kate waking up in the morning, thinking something was up, to the arrival a screaming pink baby.

Much like an entry I did just after Sacha was born, we have to stress the point that “fast” birth does not equate to “easy” birth. We’ve gotten our fair share of comments along the lines of “oh man, another baby that only took three hours of labour to deliver? You’re so lucky!”

Yeah, and the three weeks in hospital that followed that were a real cake walk. Not.


So, here we are and Heidi is over a month old now, and home with us, thank God. We’ve been debriefing ourselves on the situation over and over again, and we can admit it at this point: having your baby show up quite as early as this is terrifying. The morning of April 14th was a scary emotional rollercoaster, somewhat devoid of the joy that comes along with having your baby brought into the world. It was very fast, it came with a major sense of unease, and to say the least, heart wrenching to have your baby, just minutes old, whisked away from you. Tubes in her nose. Morphine, antibiotics, Tubes in her throat, Intravenous lines in her hand. Heel prick blood sample after heel prick blood sample. Incubators cutting you off from being able to have skin-to-skin contact. All this on a four pound little person just born.

This could not have been further from the quiet home birth scenario we envisioned for our second child. An hour after sacha was born, we were in our own bed with tea and toast. An hour after Heidi was born, Kate was in a recovery room, and I was with Heidi in a busy intensive care unit, alarm bells ringing, nurses and doctors and respiratory therapists and x-ray technicians, not to mention other sick babies and stressed out parents.

But it is the other stressed out parents in this scenario that make us realize the good fortune of heidi’s arrival, early though it was.

Heidi, at 32 weeks gestation, only had a little bit of growing left to do. We live ten minutes from the hospital, and we have a great support network in town. Many other parents in the Neonatal ICU are from North of God knows where, babies born at 24 weeks with open hearts and collapsed lungs, weighing a pound or only a little more. Some of the parents we met had been there for months, and were living in their camper in the hospital parking lot, with not much prospect of going home any time soon.

Heidi was transferred out of B.C. Children’s Hospital after five days since she was doing so well. We were moved out to the Burnaby hospital’s Neonatal ICU, where the pace is slower and there are less babies present. Another 14 days, and we were on our way home.

We’re happy to report that Heidi is doing very well, gaining weight daily (somewhere in the neighbourhood of 6 lbs, 8 oz. at this point). She’s five weeks old now, and feeling quite solid, thank you very much!

Sacha is adjusting as well as can be hoped for, though he is compensating for the
situation by getting up way too early every morning, which just adds to the sleep deprivation that comes free of charge with most every newborn.

We've all managed to get out for a few family outings, which is exciting and maybe just a little nerve wracking at the same time (what? we have to wrangle TWO of these little peole now? ack)


So, I know that what most people really want is pictures, so here you go. hope the few images peppered throughout have satisfied you a little!

Lastly, just a huge thanks to everyone for thoughts, prayers, and assistance (especially the assistance!) during the last month. With so much time spent at the hospital and a needy dog and two-year-old still to attend to, the many helping hands did a yeoman’s service in keeping our household sane. Blessings on all of you!

Dear Heidi Chase...

First of all, welcome to all four and a half pounds of you. You may seem small, but already, you seem bigger than life. Your arrival is something we have been looking forward to, this goes without saying. You are the reality of something we have, until today, only dreamed about.

But it sure was a surprise that you showed up when you did.

Congratulations. You upstaged your brother. At 9:30 in the morning on April 14th 2010, you arrived. In a state of hurried panic on the part of your parents, you arrived even when we were saying aloud to ourselves that ‘now is not your time.’ You had other ideas, and indeed, there was no stopping your entrance. What’s more, you showed up in a hospital, which was not the plan. You were supposed to be born comfortably at home eight weeks from now. But, what should we expect. It was your brother’s plan to be born at a hospital, but he was born at home, early. So, go figure; we respect your right for independent thought and action.

Gestationally speaking, let it be know that you decided it was showtime at 32 weeks. This, for the record, is more than just a tad early. Your brother Sacha…he was a ‘tad’ early at 37 weeks. You, our adorable little beauty with your velvety soft skin and crop of dark hair, are ‘way’ early. But, as an Aries—a Ram, no less—it would seem that you needed to have it your way.

The prospects of what your astrological sign may make you both thrills and horrifies. Gung-ho and enthusiastic; fearless as the gods (yahoo!), but an ego and lack of pragmatism to boot (uh-oh).

But the better parts of your sign make you an ideal candidate for what you’re dealing with right now.

Your tiny cries haven’t been heard by many ears yet, nor will they for a few weeks perhaps, until you’re allowed to come out of the hospital. We’ve got to get you up to speed on a few things you weren’t prepared for, like how those lungs work, and how to eat food. You’ve got a few tubes in you at the moment, but don’t worry about those. You’ve got the grit to take care of that situation.

By being born under Aries, being courageous and forceful, you will forge your way ahead in this. With this new endeavor called ‘life’ undertaken, you’ve got the goods to make it through a tough few days and you’ll come out shining.

Now, this may sound like we’re hinting at something very dire, but it’s really not that bad. You just need a kick start, and then you’ll be fine. You're in great shape, especially compared to some of your roommates. Always count your blessings, little Heidi, remeber that. Really, we as your parents just don’t want to see you connected to monitors, and we want to hold you. Soon enough. And then you’ll start discovering what this life is all about.

As we told Sacha when he was born, this is a great world to be a part of. People care, most of the time, and don’t be afraid to let them in to raise you up when you need the help, just like your doctors and nurses are doing for you now.

Life can be like that, you know. Just when you think things are awful and frightening, you get surrounded and carried to a better place. May you know the comfort of rescue when it’s needed and it comes, and may you know the feeling that comes from being some else’s rescuer, too.

And while we’re on the subject of rescue, maybe we can just ask you to make sure you do some good in this world. On little scales, on big scales, whatever. Just do things that make you happy and proud of yourself. Oh, but the same comment applies to you as what we told Sacha on the day he arrived: if you want to be a champion at something, make sure it pays well, so that you can fund our retirement for us.

Lets talk about your names for a second. Heidi: there is no significance; it’s just a great name and we know you'll wear it well. Ballem, on the other hand, is more significant. It is your mother’s maiden name. It comes from your Grandy’s side of the family. If it brings to you what it has to others who carry the name, then we can be fairly sure you’ll be brilliant, charming and attractive. Which reminds your father… he’s going to go out and buy a new Louisville Slugger right now, for use in scaring off potential suitors when you get to your teenage years…

So anyway, it’s hard to say where to go with all of this. Need it be said aloud, your arrival today was about as big a surprise as we could’ve imagined. There is joy at your arrival mixed with a melancholy for not yet being able to hold you and seeing you hooked up to machines. The day was melancholic to begin with, which you might later understand: April 14th is the day your Granddad lost his battle to cancer, three years before you were born, so the fact that you chose to show up on just this date…well, lets just say there is a whole ‘nother circle of life conversation that could be had over this whole affair.

But we don’t need to focus on the death side of things today, now that we have your new life. Your joyful life, just begun and soon to flourish. And we can’t wait to watch it happen before our eyes. Early as your arrival may have been, we are so glad you’re here.

Love always,
Your parents

A trip to the dump

Over the Easter weekend, Kate, Sacha and I headed on up to Kamloops to spend time at mum’s house. The usual visitations took place, Church on Sunday and a big family visit were in the mix as well. Also, mum asked me if I would be willing to make a ‘dump run’ for her.

One of Kamloops’ dumps is conveniently located quite nearby to the house, so, with an uninsured trailer it’s not a problem to fill up a load and transport your garbage without getting pulled over for your use of a fall-apart trailer with non-functioning taillights and an out-of-date license plate.

This particular weekend, mum asked if I would go into the backyard and empty out the root cellar space that’s under our mudroom. Translation: get rid of a bunch of crap that dad had stored under there for years for no reason.

The task was a trip down memory lane, both for the stuff that was revealed and because of the fact that the guy who put most of the junk there--my dad--has been gone for three years now, coming up almost to the day.

This photo shows a pile of miscellany, no doubt about it. But it's also a patchwork quilt of family history.


The door used to serve as the exit into our backyard; it was scratched to bits by successive generations of impatient family dogs. Why dad kept it is somewhat of a mystery, but my brother now plans to use the windowed portion of the door to create a mirrored wall hanging.

The yellow buoy came out of Shumway Lake, the location of my many years of sprint kayak training sessions and race weekends. It was adopted into our home (who knows why in the first place), and quickly became a giant dog toy for the then-family pooch, Rump. Rump would grab the thick rope that was attached to it and swing it around in circles like a hammer toss. Hilarious to witness, I assure you.

The swing—homemade, with chains that would pinch your hands if you weren’t careful—used to be attached to a lower limb of one of our two tall pine trees in the backyard. Luckily, childhood disappeared before the trees succumbed to an early death, thanks to Pine Beetle infestation. To have been a kid and witnessed not only the loss of your favourite climbing tree, but also the swing attached to it, would’ve been nothing short of devastating. I could go on about the tree as I think about it; climbing to the top of its great heights in swaying winds. That was a time before my fear of heights kicked in and a time before a parent would be criticized for letting their little kids climb 80 feet into the air, untethered and unsupervised.

The GT snowracer. The property of my brother and sister; a joint purchase that I said I wasn’t interested in. Truth be told, I was perhaps foolish to pass up the investment and I may or may not have had pangs of regret as I watched them scoot down snow covered hills with such speed and control.
Jamie made sure to remind me at every opportune moment that I was not party to ownership of said sled, and thus best keep my hands off of it, which I did with surprising restraint given the impetuous nature of my age at that time.

The big white thing: a rooftop car carrier. This carrier sat atop our Chevy Lumina van for innumerable Chase family trips; the car packed with three kids, two parents, some luggage and often one family dog, and the rooftop carrier took all the rest. It's last trip was to attach it to Kate's Toyota Echo, however. The tiny car had in it: me, Kate, My sister, and Matt, her now-fiance-then-boyfriend, and nellie the dog. The Eggshell, as the carrier was known, was strapped on the roof. Tiny car, huge carrier, ridiculous image. We were using the Duffy lake road to access Whistler, from Kamloops. a few too many switchback corners at speed, and we all heard it: "pop pop pop pop woooosh" as all four straps gave up on their vain attempts to cling to the Echo's roofrack, and the carrier shot off the side of the car. Thankfully, it came to rest in a ditch, rather than the raging river we had just crossed over. small blessings. the carrier was retired permanently after that weekend, but not thrown out until now.

And the last item in the photo: a testament to the scavenger who was my father. This red and white striped tarp is actually an awning from a KFC store. Undoubtedly, when one of his stores was under a renovation phase, he probably asked “what’s going to happen with that awning tarp?” and when someone said it was going to be tossed out, he said “you’re kidding?! Well, I’ll take it off your hands”… and it was promptly folded up and stored under the house, never to be used. A heavy duty, quality tarp is indeed what it is. Could be used for all sorts of things, and now that it has been revealed, maybe it will be.

Not pictured here are a myriad of other items one might wonder why anyone would keep, but dad did anyway:

• Two saw horses, so rickety and broken down you wouldn’t dare use them for fear of serious bodily harm while operating a saw as they collapsed underneath your project being held up by them at the time.

• A collection of metal poles used to hoist our old canvas tent trailer into position. The tent trailer is long gone, I can’t imagine why the poles would not have gone with it.

• My old basketball rim, once attached to the roof of the garage; I booked a lot of hours out front of the house, practicing to be a high school basketball star (editors note: Stu was NEVER, even remotely, a high school basketball star). it was so bent and broken where it used to attach to the garage that one would have to do some welding to get it back into shape. I had no idea that it had been saved, and as much fun as it was to reveal it, it was added to the scrap metal pile for delivery to the dump.

So, with the trailer all loaded up with “stuff”, I hitched it to mum’s car and retraced the path of one of dad’s favourite weekend activities: a drive to the dump.

The recycling section of the dump has been closed recently; some woman tripped, split her face open and sued the city, so they can’t have a “used” section any more. One of dad’s favourite things to do at the dump—whether in the used section or straight out of the trash heap—was to rummage for stuff to bring home after he’d dropped off his own crap. I can’t say for sure, but he probably bought home more than he took on more than one occasion. I sure do miss that…but at least the root cellar is finally cleared out.

April 14th marks the third anniversary of the passing of Jim Chase. We miss you dad.

Olympics, come and gone

Well, it’s all over. Years and years of planning, all leading up to the last 17 days which have just come and gone.

Monday, March 1st felt a bit like the hung-over morning after a one night stand. On the one hand, the city had a glow about it that won’t soon fade. On the other hand, it’s kinda like the world arrived, romanced us, then used up the city and ran out before the sun came up. I had to arrive early to work that morning; my final shift in the BC International Media Centre where I spent 24 of the 28 days in February.

The revellers from the Men's Gold medal hockey game had moved on by the time I got to work; even those that managed to parlay Canada’s Storybook overtime goal celebrations into post-closing ceremonies shenanigans had at least found an alley way or door enclosure to pass out in at that point.


But the litter on the street on Monday will not be a lasting memory from the past month.

The images I will take with me are of a nation cheering in the streets and at Olympic venues, unabashed in its love for itself and pride for its athletes.
I will remember being up close to our athletes mere hours after their wins, as they would look down at the medal around their neck, the pride of victory on their face.






I will remember the hoots and hollers of tourists as they flew across Robson Square on a Zip Line ride that they waited six hours in line to get on, and all the families that came down to Robson Square to partake in all sorts of activities.





I will remember the national anthem, ringing out in the streets in impromtu chorus day after day.

I will remember trading pins with media from around the world, little old ladies I met on the street, colleagues, and excited kids.

I will remember a city that did not sleep for more than two weeks.
I will remember gathering with friends--hockey fans and non-hockey fans--to watch the big games.




I will remember cherry blossoms showing themselves to the world in the middle of a Canadian “winter”, where sunny skies and moonrises over the downtown core took place everynight for the better part of a week--no small feat in Rainy Vancouver.

I will remember feeling so fortunate to have been live and in the flesh when our athletes achieved their goals and had the best days of their lives.





and everyone will remember Joannie Rochette, who achieved one of the biggest goals of her life amidst some of the worst days of her life. And Kate can say she was there to see it happen.



I will remember politicians proudly donning our maple leaf rather than the usual suits; a nice change of pace if you ask me.



And Lastly,I take with me the sense that, as john Furlong noted in his speech at the closing ceremonies, perhaps now the world knows who we are as Canadians. I hope that vancouverites keep with them the lesson that it is in fact okay to say ‘hi’ to strangers on the street, as they have been dong for the last few weeks. It has been awfully nice for the city to lose any pretention it had before!

I hope that as the Paralympics comes through town in two weeks from now, we can show the world that we can do all of this not once, but twice, and that our spirit as Canadians will endure to the world even beyond that. GO CANADA!




oh, and n case you missed it, here's a whole bunch more photos in high speed ;)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-KAPio1Prk