Rehoserification, Part II

Here are my official Re-H stats, compiled since I arrived back in Canada 4 days ago:

# of times slipped on patch of ice: 6
# of conversations I've had about the weather (which is unseasonably mild, btw): 8
# of strips of bacon consumed: 5
# of times I've used "eh" in conversation: 246
# of times I've been to Tim Horton's: 7
# of episodes of Degrassi watched: 4
# of Canadian Heritage Moments seen on TV ("Doctor! I smell burnt toast!") : 3
# of periods of hockey watched: 7

As you can see, I am well on my way to regaining full hoser status. All I need to do is skate around a pond, throw a little Anne Murray in the stereo and go out for supper to Salisbury House and the transformation should be complete.

Rehoserification

"Rehoserification" is the term I have invented to describe the process of re-acquainting oneself to life in Canada when you live elsewhere in the world. Yes, I am back in the Great White North for a much needed holiday and the rehoserification has been intense.

As soon as I landed in Winnipeg, there were signs all around me screaming that I was back in Canada (and I don't mean the literal signs that say "Welcome to Canada" either). The first one was that as I cleared Canada Customs, I noticed that the customs officers were actually friendly and helpful. That's when I got my first "Hellooo!" You actually have to hear this being said in a Manitoba accent to fully appreciate it... music to my ears.

I saw the second sign as I browsed through the newspapers while waiting for my sister to pick me up. The front page news on the National Post, the most widely distributed paper in the country, was about the death of Wayne Gretzky's mother. I mean, come on... what other country in the world would consider the death of an athlete's mother to be headline news?

Thirdly, and my most favourite of all, was the observation that the longest line to be found anywhere at Winnipeg International airport was not at check-in, security, or baggage claim, but at Tim Horton's. Sweet!

Coming soon: complete rehoserification statistics!
And a belated Merry Christmas to all my regular readers (James & Joyce)... see you soon!

Feliz Navidad

For the last 2 years or so I’ve been the official musician for an A.M.E. Zion church just north of Philadelphia, and since then have become a member of this church. If you think the idea of a white Mennonite girl serving as the musician of a historically black church is funny, you would be correct. I started playing as a favour to my “adopted” dad, whose musical coaching included scenarios like the following:

Him: (handing me a hymnal, open to “Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross”) “Ok Larissa, play this song the way you would normally play it..... All right, that was the Caucasian way. Now, put in your cornrows and play it again.”

I do love my choir though. The 9 of us are such a motley crew that you can’t help but laugh. Our members range from the purely amateur to 2 Grammy-nominated singers (really). With a blend like this, you never know what’s going to happen.

Case in point: last night we sang at a Christmas party for the Exchange Club. (I don’t know what an Exchange Club is or does, but it’s clear to me that the minimum age to join must be around 65). Things started out fairly normal – we sang a few gospel numbers, a few Christmas songs, the Exchange Clubbers were tapping their toes, it was great. We started to draw the program to a close with Silent Night when one Ms. Grammy Nominee #1 burst into Feliz Navidad. Unfortunately, she was the only one who actually knew the Spanish lyrics, so everyone else just kinda made something up. It sounded like we were singing in tongues or something. The best part, though, was when Ms. Grammy broke formation and began sashaying among the guests, then plucked a dinner napkin off one of the tables and began swirling it in the air like it was a lasso. And then – I love this – all these little old people in their red Christmas sweaters started swirling their napkins in the air, too! I nearly fell off the piano bench laughing. I know one thing – I’m not in Manitoba anymore!

Maybe it's just me...

I was up at church last night and noticed that someone has taken it upon themselves to replace the good ol' Vaseline Intensive Care lotion with lotion from Victoria's Secret.

Does anyone else think it's a wee bit off to have lotions called Forbidden Fantasy and Pure Seduction in a church bathroom?

I Am a Clean Person!!!

It's so sad that I even have to write that, but I'm feeling a little sensitive after a conversation I had with my mom last night.

Puppy (my cat - long story) had to see the vet because she seems to be losing some fur on her hind legs. I'd been dreading this vet visit because Puppy HATES car rides, and subsequently I hate making her take them. Sure enough, she cried the most hearbreaking cries the whole way, which in turn made me cry, so we were both a sad sight by the time we got to the clinic. One exam and two escape attempts later, the verdict was in - she had fleas. At this point I will admit that selfishness prevailed and my first thought was "Ew, she's been sleeping in my bed. I need to change the sheets first thing." But I procured the necessary medication and she is now - hallelujah - completely healed.

So, fast forward to the evening and I'm talking to my mom on the phone, telling her about the events of the day. When I told her about the fleas, she said "You know, fleas often indicate an unsanitary environment."

What?!? I know she didn't just call me dirty! I will admit that growing up, I wasn't the neatest person - still am not the neatest person - but I am definitely clean. Part of the problem here is that no one can live up to my mother's housekeeping standards. The woman should be on one of those TV shows where they go into someone's skankified house that hasn't been cleaned in over 3 years. She could be the one who examines samples from the moldy food in the fridge and the piles of dog crap on the rug and tells you how it could kill you. That would be her dream job, and my house would be the first on her hit list.

Ooh! I think I just learned how to post video. Just trying to see if this will work...

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"I Wanna Be Like Cinderella...."

When I first went into full-time ministry, a big part of the attraction for me was working face-to-face with people instead of at a desk job. And yet, nearly 8 years later, I find I'm spending more time behind a computer than with kids. It kinda sucks, yet at the same time I find that I treasure my "kid time" all the more when I get it.

This afternoon I spent half an hour or so with some of the 4 and 5 year olds who attend our school and it was such a blast! We danced to a video of the Cheetah Girls. My favourite moment hands down was watching this little 4 yr. old boy named Mujaheed sashay around the room singing "I wanna be like Cinderella" at the top of his lungs. This is the same child who came up to me wearing a tiara and announced that he wants to be a princess. I'm trying to decide if I should run out and buy him some Hot Wheels or just indulge him and get the matching wand for his tiara....

A pic of Mujaheed:

I spoke with my sister on the phone last night for nearly an hour, which is a rare occurence. Part of me is wishing we hadn't spoken because the conversation was pretty depressing. It turns out that my youngest brother, who is 17, had a seizure on Saturday. He's diabetic and his blood sugar dropped too low. Although he's ok, there is now the fallout to deal with... my mom is stressed to the limit because she's scared of this happening to him when no one is around to help him. She is getting up several times every night to monitor his sugars, so she's not getting any solid sleep. Rob is mad because he is now not able to drive for a month. Pretty tough when you've only had your license for a little while, had that taste of independence, and then it's taken away.

As for me, I can't decide if it's better or worse that I'm 1500 miles away from all of this. Part of me feels so powerless because I want to be there for my mom. The other part of me feels glad to be far away because I don't want to deal with the emotional weight of what's going on.

Overall, though, I'm just scared for my brother. I'm scared that one day something truly bad will happen from which there will be no quick recovery. This is my baby and I want only good things for him. It hurts that he has to deal with something this serious every single day.

I have never been one to keep a journal. I guess it always seemed pointless to me since no one was ever going to read it anyway. Why am I writing all this stuff down like it's breaking news, when I already know it happened? I do however enjoy buying journals... there are so many cute ones you can get. Invariably I write in it a couple times, maybe for a week at best, but then I get bored.

All this to say that this blog is my renewed attempt at journalling and I'm hoping that the fact that others may be reading it will keep me motivated.

Right now I'm off to choir practice... should be fun.