Life

Wilderness epiphany

communications

It was a special spot embedded in the wilderness of the Rocky Mountains. It was a hot spring nestled in a cliff on the edge of Sheep Creek. My Dad and I lived in a shack without running water, so we went there every Sunday for our weekly bath. Even when it was 35 below (Celsius) and the snow was three feet deep, the hot spring maintained lush green vegetation and warmth for a few metres around, an oasis in the icy desert of winter.

The opinionated masses

afaiz

I've stayed in some pits in my time but this place really takes the biscuit. Disgusting. I don't mind shabbyness but this place was just plain dirty. And the staff have a bad attitude to boot.”

Fire and ice

communications

It is Advent! Everyone in the Webber household who lives on the shores of Lac La Hache is hoping for fire and ice. Fire and ice is a tradition that goes all the way back to my own childhood, and in some form or other, back to most rural Canadian childhoods, I expect. When I was a kid, about the beginning of Advent, if the local slough could get a good freeze on it before any snow came, it became a sea of glass. Every kid in the lumber camp would work his or her tail off scrounging wood and dragging it onto the ice. Anything that would burn and wasn't nailed down was fair game, which once caused an outhouse to mysteriously disappear. All of the wood was stacked to form a huge bonfire. At night, whole families would gather for the ritual of fire and ice. The bonfire was lit, skates were strapped on, and soon blades were flashing and sizzling on the virgin ice. You could skate around on the edge of the dark for miles. It was the most liberating experience I have ever had in my life. All the time, the pillar of fire was both a beacon and warmth. All the time, the pillar of fire guided us with its blaze, warmed our very beings and was the centre for hot chocolate fellowship. The pillar of fire provided for our freedom on ice. It was absolutely wonderful.

Trauma, tragedy, tradition

afaiz

The steel girder cross can be found kitty-corner from the World Trade Center site in New York City. Though it did once sit on the site, it is no longer there. It has been moved away from the tourist centre which now surrounds what was once the heart of commerce, trade and, most importantly, human interaction.

It’s Jesus’ birthday

Phil Callaway

As a boy, I began looking forward to Christmas vacation in early September, about the time Mr. Kowalski started handing out those math assignments. By the time December arrived, my parents were whispering more than usual and I was wondering what magical things they had in store. There was little in the way of extra money, so one of those magical traditions was the making of colourful candles we would sell door to door, hoping to earn enough to buy gifts. Not all of the traditions were welcome. Sometimes my parents enjoyed travelling to visit relatives and friends. They had a highly sophisticated method of choosing whom we would visit, which involved the laying of a map of Canada on the floor and the tossing of relatives' pictures in the air. Whoever had their picture land closest to their hometown would receive a complementary weekend visit from the Callaways. Sometimes we'd end up in Carstairs, Alberta, and sometimes in Loon Lake, Saskatchewan. As I recall, my father never used a map, he went on faith. I always felt like the Wise Men must have felt, heading off on those trips.

Morons for the Messiah

afaiz

The problem is these are very good books. Oh yes, that is a problem—because a book with the title The Bible for Dummies sounds like a punch line for some petty, mean spirited joke. Even more so Catholicism for Dummies or Islam for Dummies; as if either Catholicism or Islam are for idiots or that rich theological learning has been dumbed down.

Sharks ahoy!

Phil Callaway

Ever since he was knee-high to a Doberman, the boy was fearless. Take him to the ocean and he'd jump in looking for sharks. Take him to the mountains and he'd see how high he could climb. One day when he was five, I watched in horror as he jumped off a roof—a garbage-bag parachute duct-taped to his back. We couldn't be more opposite, my son and I. I believe God put us on dry land and said, “Lo, I am with you always.” Not Stephen. The higher he climbs, the more he believes God is with him.

Eaglemaniacs

communications

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like bald eagles as a species, I just don't care for their personalities. They tend to be eaglemaniacs. Let me give you a case in point.