tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20646149456279119562024-02-07T04:55:43.526-07:00Trees BreezeWhen I'm walking under trees
I'm free to covet all I please
-Neko CaseSheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.comBlogger156125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-13996666922240898782021-09-14T18:47:00.004-06:002022-03-02T14:53:46.965-07:00Going into the bush for my late father<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhN92qyFhz9nVt-yKM98yzKUc-V6EZGMBgXlaAAtL4KRL7ITubGs1iFgrBXn6bRYCF7Z9w62_rtKspeXT_7HXvzskznSZvjo0xTMPtMnvU3K2jgNR-XwfXx5g4fgLU8Tnx8jrnyVH282wAa0i_DzVHU5kA4WoA4mG6v1VJ-4WkC4192t83l06cTPB0K=s960" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="538" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhN92qyFhz9nVt-yKM98yzKUc-V6EZGMBgXlaAAtL4KRL7ITubGs1iFgrBXn6bRYCF7Z9w62_rtKspeXT_7HXvzskznSZvjo0xTMPtMnvU3K2jgNR-XwfXx5g4fgLU8Tnx8jrnyVH282wAa0i_DzVHU5kA4WoA4mG6v1VJ-4WkC4192t83l06cTPB0K=w264-h472" width="264" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">was drawn to forestry for the obvious benefit of being paid for spending time outside, for contributing to a landscape and an ecology bigger than I can grasp. And I attribute my outdoorsiness to my mother. </span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-3c5f0a3b-7fff-64fb-744a-742f8cec9264"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My mom, Brenda, was a natural and multi-sport athlete at a time when it was uncommon for women to not only pursue, but to excel, in sports. She talked about the hikes and campouts she did as part of school groups - the adventure, scenery, and camaraderie of being on the trail in trying conditions with friends and classmates all sounded amazing and something I HAD to experience first hand. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wasn’t as naturally sporty as her or my younger sister, yet I wanted some of that outdoorsiness too - to have a common-ness, a point of connection, a similar lived experience to her. We did the usual family camping trips when we were a younger family. I specifically remember her as the master of building fires in the early mornings and those fires serving as a place to gather, be warmed, and to socialize and cook over throughout the day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forestry is traditionally a male dominated field, and I now contemplate that perhaps I was also looking for strong male role models, specifically father and brother figures and substitutes. When I was 12, my father died from cirrhosis of the liver, a side effect of a life of addiction. My estranged brother enthuastically follows his self-destructive, substance-abusing footsteps in what we now know as an attempt to cope with sexual abuse from what was a trusted family friend. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have lived more than two-thirds of my life without stable male figures present in my immediate family. A handful of uncles, and cousins lived geographically distant and, while they are great humans, we never cultivated that day-to-day intimacy of living closely. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Summers, and by extension my chosen seasonal forestry employment, are a longing. They are an attempt to reach back and connect with my father and brother. In his premature death, my father was unable to pass along the usual camping and bush skills. Oscillating between drunk and jail, my brother couldn’t, and still can’t, fill in either. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead, as an adult, I listen to tales of my girlfriends being taught to hunt, being told to always carry a lighter, how to paddle a canoe, observing the passage of seasons on the land. And I drink in these stories with equal parts memory and mourning for I am reliant on their stories for shaping them into the friend and fellow adventurer I now have in them. I depend on others to pass on those lived experiences to me. As if I can pretend I was there too. That I was taught those things. That I already knew. But I did not. Amongst their stories, I felt exposed, a father-less imposter literally out in the wilderness. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forestry field work and bush camp were rich experiences that filled some of those knowledge and skill gaps from my youth. I learned to drive quads, build tarp saunas, cook over coals, change a tire in the POURING rain on the side of a bush road, shotgun a Lucky, start a pump, shoot guns, and differentiate between grizzly and black bear prints. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stop a country mile short of saying I found myself in the woods. Rather, I let those huge, harsh, and unforgiving landscapes smooth the unpredictable edges of my grief and yearning. I welcomed the company of my coworkers, weirdos and those on the fringes of society, into the expanse of my inexperience and giddy eagerness. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Relationships that started as coworkers, easily morphed into trusted and lasting friendships. Maybe it’s the nature of the work - the long hours, multi-day, ahem week, shifts, or back-to-back deployments that seemingly never end, the shared misery and physical discomfort of living and working so proximate to the moody elements - combined with the geographic remoteness of the work that expedites and cements relationships. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It worked and continues to work on me. Coworkers past and present, that I’ve spent any amount of time in bush camp with, are some of my treasured and dearest friendships. Nearly everyone else was just so damn capable and confident and open and it’s yet another reason why I just can’t seem to leave this industry, this line of work for anything else. The sense of care that everyone made it back to camp was foreign to me. We genuinely looked out for one another and I relished that sense of personal security and group stability. Hours from cell service and urban settings, I found a community, an industry, and essentially an identity that allowed me to learn and hone the bush skills the supposed-to-be close males from my immediate family could not teach me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My father died too young for me to have a fulfilling and genuine relationship with him or for me to absorb the usual father/daughter lessons. My brother is deep into unresolved trauma and a resulting addiction that leaves little room for meaningful connection. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Through my efforts to find a replacement for the roles I felt a father and brother should fill, I of course, came up short. But not empty. It turns out I wasn’t interested in replacing them or the unreliable childhood memories I hold. No, rather finding ways to honour the space and roles I feel my father and brother should fill. I do this by going into the woods. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-62984363118993727932020-12-31T14:51:00.088-07:002021-01-04T18:32:37.546-07:002020 was an absolute circus, but I thrived with a lot of help from my friends<div class="separator"></div><div class="separator"><p style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </p></div><p>As I look forward to the New Year of 2021, I need to reflect on what will soon be the Old Year (and thank F, aimiright?!?). </p><p>I started 2020 newly single and subsequently about to leave the country, funemployed, and living under someone else's stairs Harry Potter style, minus the magic wand. That's completely untrue - single Sheri DEFINITELY had a magic wand whose powers dimmed the lights for the entire subdivision while in use. </p><p>Leaving the country for nearly two months certainly aided in the process of getting over a boy. I embraced the balm of space and time and let equatorial sunsets, ocean waves, new travel buds, and the best damn cousin in the whole world distract me from mourning my old life and moving towards one whose shape I could not yet see. That act, that conscious decision, to let the people that loved me to care for me cemented some feelings of place and security in the town I now think of as home. </p><p>I've been reflecting on home and place and belonging in a landscape for a while now. No breakthroughs or deep realizations, but a strong confirmation that community matters A LOT to me. Community as a synonym for town, sure, but more intimately as a collection of people that care for and take care of each other. </p><p>Turns out I'm a social introvert that NEEDS human interaction and touch. Having physical contact in the forms of hugs from friends and regular massage taken away for months was gruelling and when I felt the loneliest and lowest this year. Touch, and not even in a sexual sense, is near impossible to replicate and something I find so soothing and comforting. </p><p>Community takes many forms for many people - book clubs, sports teams, coworkers, housemates, family, many besties. My community, my network, my support is multiple sports teams and clubs, a gaggle of diverse girlfriends, a cousin bestie on speed dial, and coworkers I deeply trust and respect. It took time and effort to build this for myself in Dawson Creek, but the love, support, and returns I've received have been deeply nourishing in what should have been an isolating and lonely year. </p><p>I strongly credit the role physical activity and conscious exercise played towards positive mental health this past year. Frequent power walks around town for groceries, dog walks, errands, or just simply to leave the house and get out of my head. Leisurely bike rides around Dawson Creek's gravel and paved side roads. Hiking the trails around Tumbler Ridge At-home weights and HIIT videos that I did "together" with my friend across town. Swimming. New sports of curling and cross country skiing. As an athlete, I know how to care for my physical body, so that's what I comfortingly returned to and simply hoped my emotional and mental health would follow. It mostly worked. Most of the time. </p><p>So while 2020 was not what or where I thought it would be, I am still pretty damn proud of a handful of accomplishments: </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Bought my first place<br /><br /></li><li>Solo two-night backpacking trip in Jasper<br /><br /></li><li>Received RPF designation<br /><br /></li><li>Recerted NL<p style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15xDpgwVC28wB5WsIq1NX34shU-TJxYZg1UvybNK4lIcbw0BWMG3dgfHlf_b08-Wou3YuVJhJwJTHV-0Jqybdu30B5pnT8Vt5z04WnJq65vhs-Adwty70aqWoRaIq684tzaX0aGZpxgQ/w201-h268/image.png" /></p></li></ul><p></p>My star of 2020 - Millie. How single people without pets in this pandemic year made it remains a great mystery to me. She ensured I never slept in, let me hold her as I wept for times past and uncertainty ahead, and is stellar company. <div><br /></div><div>So, even as I am finishing this year much as I did last - no husband, no job and no f-ing kids - it's in a much better state and headspace. <br /><p></p><p>I hope 2021 sees you enveloped in community and love - whatever, and whomever, and where ever that means to you! </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-69997747812232045232019-12-30T23:41:00.003-07:002019-12-31T10:30:02.269-07:00Reviewing 2019 - mostly highs, then a walloping heartache<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
2019 was all-round a solid year. Notable highlights included:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>My mother visited after a six year hiatus. Mind that it was to help open a new Save On store, but the effort and her presence was appreciated. I was on strike from going to Alberta until some immediate family visited me here. While I do not want my brother to visit and suspect my sister never will, I will now dutifully return to my hometown in the spring. I was thrilled Mom was able to take in my year-end swim meet, even if she was too tired for me to properly show her around the rest of my life in Dawson Creek. </li>
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<li>SO MUCH HIKING!!! From Toad River to Mount Robson and numerous trails in between around Tumbler Ridge, I covered hundreds of kilometers this summer with an ever-changing crew of soccer team mates, friends, and coworkers. They even politely listened as I identified and rattled off random botanical facts. <br /></li>
<li>Swimming as part of a triathlon relay team in the local race. Our entire team bested their time expectations and enjoyed the race-day atmosphere. Unfortunately I was soured against training with the summer competitive club in the future. Largely ignored during practices with no technique corrections given, I dutifully dragged my race-anxious self to the required number of meets and puked my nerves out. I’m well aware that I will never be a provincial champion, but I was still paying to be in the pool and wanted to benefits of being coached. <br /></li>
<li>QUIT MY JOB!!! More specifically I quit a barely-qualified, disengaged supervisor who set poor time management objectives and even worse attendance expectations. I readily took a pay cut, returned to seasonal employment, and joined a high-functioning emergency response agency. <br /></li>
<li>Many, many hours at the pool. As staff on deck as part of a fun, trusting aquatics team, and in the water training alongside my lane besties. </li>
</ul>
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Lowlight delivered early December:</div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Ending an eight-year relationship. Because kids. I would rather jump off a bridge than contribute to overpopulation. It still stung to abruptly have a treasured confidant, adventure buddy, and lover be no more. <br /><br />I had a lollipop moment after I told one of my girlfriends. She simply texted, “I got you” and again whispered it in my ear as we hugged goodbye for the night, tears streaming down my face. That simple phrase allowed me to re-focus on who I still had and wanted, needed even, to be part of my child-free life. My girlfriends, teammates, lane buddies, co-workers, yogis, dear friends near and far, and even some of my family. </li>
</ul>
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-13348952089751514742019-12-13T22:47:00.000-07:002019-12-13T22:47:55.943-07:00Like stepping on a ground nest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I practiced saying it in my head. Then I made myself whisper the words so I could hear them beginning to take shape in my mouth. Once I could confidently utter the sentence, I progressed to rehearsing aloud. Feeling them exit between my quivering lips at conversational volume: <br /><br />Dan and I have broken up. <br /><br />One gut-retching, emotionally-charged, life-altering declaration. <br /><br />A great match for a while, we knew our relationship was a ticking time bomb, and we were destined for failure. Most of the time we could ignore the lingering dealbreaker hanging over us. On Sunday, Dan had reached a threshold where he can no longer deny his desire.<br /><br />Kids. Parenthood. He desperately wants it. I vehemently do not. <br /><br />Being with Dan for eight adventure-filled years was great, nearly effortless, and deeply comfortable. I am, and for a while, will miss him. In time I will be ok again, but I need to grieve. To grieve someone who is still alive. </div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-24027562190709095512019-11-25T16:45:00.000-07:002019-11-25T17:18:01.078-07:00The Wasa Effect<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<img alt="Image result for wasa lake" height="480" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7d/WasaLake.jpg" width="640" /></div>
Wasa Lake is not my home. <br />
<br />
I didn’t grow up there, but there is something deeply homey and comforting about visiting. For as long as I can remember, my Auntie Shauna has either lived there, or is plotting to return. Visit, and it is easy to see why. It is where she spent her formative years, where she is from, and where she is still strongly connected to the land, lake, and the people. Shauna’s place is one of the few structural constants I’ve had since I was old enough to know place. <br />
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We moved a few times within my hometown, Red Deer, each time seemingly marking a family milestone. My parents separating. My father’s death. A Remarriage. Another divorce. By the latter two, I was out of the house and off to university, never to return full-time to my hometown.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I didn't develop that sense of security that I could fully unpack and feel “home” or settled. I quickly learned that attachment to a place, especially a physical house, was futile. Even when we were in one place for a while, our house was rarely our own. We shared it with a courier business, and later parts of another family after my mother remarried. </div>
</div>
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I never felt that feeling of home in a house, yet I still feel intrinsically tied to the prairies. To a larger landscape. I have been grappling with sense of place, and how and if one can truly belong in a greater geography. <br />
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On the grander scale, I am vehemently a proud product of the prairies even though I am not tethered to my hometown. I have always felt at ease on, and connected to, the prairies. My current town of Dawson Creek is embedded in such similar and familiar physical surroundings as central Alberta. <br />
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Both are characterized by extremes: harsh winters, chilling winds, long winter nights, short summer nights, and wide open skies. Those wide open skies that display winter’s misleadingly blue skies when the thermometer flirts with 40 below; the skies that build epic summer thunderstorms, then release intensely and move on; the skies that shine and support diverse primary industry - Central Alberta and northeastern BC as working landscapes rather than wilderness. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6xKga-BdiaM95cXVM2RNyN08fjh-2LlrA_zk_UgBZY9z4q-zW4GpH-eYgn8ezFJio7Uf08XyfmzIMm_JOu52l7KmAoaMgLkjI6RcZ0Y3qwkWHGXIpGSgAvpxmZytdKRemjuz979whPM/s1600/Shauna%2527s+cabin.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6xKga-BdiaM95cXVM2RNyN08fjh-2LlrA_zk_UgBZY9z4q-zW4GpH-eYgn8ezFJio7Uf08XyfmzIMm_JOu52l7KmAoaMgLkjI6RcZ0Y3qwkWHGXIpGSgAvpxmZytdKRemjuz979whPM/s320/Shauna%2527s+cabin.jpg" width="320" /></a>Wasa sits midway in the geographic expanse of my childhood, bookended by Red Deer and the Sunshine Coast. It makes me deeply homesick for a place that isn’t my home. <br />
<br />
Shauna's log cabin with the red tin roof, roomy front porch, dodgy wiring, and windows some brave Alaskan vagabond chainsawed out of solid log walls. I can’t remember which relative pointed out the white building, the old Wild Horse Lookout, poised on the mountainside, but from the northernmost beach, I still look for it and am relieved that it’s there. Even though I have yet to hike up to it. </div>
<div>
<br />
In my memory, little has changed since I was young. Except the septic system has gotten worse. Guests now must dutifully trot down to the provincial park’s long drop toilets to poop, and sneak into the campgrounds to use the newly installed solar showers.</div>
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<br />
These minor inconveniences pale in the effort to get to Wasa. Now I am now a 12-hour-no-stops drive away. And it’s in the same province where I live. It takes more planning, more time off, more money to get there. I suppose it always took effort, but as a child I was immune to the work my parents, and later only my mother, put in to going somewhere. To leaving. <br />
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And yet, it’s always been worth it. Even against the backdrop of family drama and veiled conversations it’s a place to exhale, recharge, and take in the interesting objects and stories from Shauna’s life of social justice, travel, and activism. At Wasa, the furniture is worn and comfortable, and invites lingering and conversation.<br />
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Perhaps it’s the simple act of returning to somewhere cozy and familiar that I find so reassuring. Going to Wasa is revisiting an effortless and a deeply happy part of my childhood. <br />
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And I love how that feels. </div>
</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-91058224182412534382019-05-12T19:03:00.002-06:002019-07-30T22:33:53.237-06:00Unhappy Mother's Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
These days are hard. Not because I don’t have a mother, no. My mother, Brenda, lives on healthy and well, and I am very fortunate to be her daughter. <br />
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I grew up in her single-mother household and saw her work so damn hard for us ungrateful, demanding, and selfish three kids. I didn’t know then it wasn’t normal for parents to work in excess of 12 hours a day. For weeks, then months, then years on end. How she still attended our band recitals, sports competitions, and even had time to pursue her hobby and passion, gardening, is beyond me. She must have had some arrangement with the universe’s timekeepers, because otherwise I truly do not know how she did it all. <br />
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No, today isn’t hard because I don’t have a mother. It’s hard because it also serves as an anniversary of my brother’s car accident. An alcohol-fueled accident involving just his vehicle that was in all likelihood an attempt to take his life. It’s a powerful reminder of the role and relentless grip that addiction still has on our family. We had hoped it would have ended with our late father’s passing, but addiction and mental health is a wicked beast. <br />
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Today is hard because it marks another milestone. It’s almost a month until Father’s Day, and I no longer have a father. I have not celebrated a Father’s Day since I was 12. More than the absence of my father, it was hard seeing my mother unsupported by an immediate partner. Perhaps seeing this lack of close companionship in her life forced me to lean on my other communities early on in my own life.<br />
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Sports, band, part-time jobs, church all become parts of a network that made me feel safe, valued, and challenged. Of course I felt those things at home from my mother, but it still felt somehow incomplete without a pair of parents sharing the roles and responsibilities of raising three very different kids. I no longer say it’s a deficit or an absence I feel everyday. Rather, it creeps up at inopportune and unsuspecting moments.</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-67977906369741234132019-05-01T21:09:00.002-06:002019-05-01T21:12:44.714-06:00So long 33, hello 34!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well, 33, you’ve taught me a lot. I stepped out of my comfort zone multiple times, and have been richly rewarded. I suffered defeat in the professional sphere that’s added to my uncertainty of remaining employed in the forest industry. More of that later. Or not – I’m still coming to grips with the possibility of a soft exit strategy from an industry, and ultimately an identity, that I’ve proudly worn for more than a decade. <br /><br />My birthday has long marked a transition point. It’s the start of summer season, the shedding of winter’s cool and dark embrace, a return from foreign travels. From student to worker, from unemployed to frantically refilling my bank account, from office to field, as if the entire bush is open for business on May 1. <br /><br />Summers have always meant work. Silviculture workers are not afforded the luxury of “summers off”, “holidays”, or “a week at the cabin”. Rather, my birthday marks the start of a condensed season of intense physical effort to collect data, wrangle contractors, and maybe even sneak in a lucrative fire deployment. I push my body and demand it relearns how to penetrate thick alder, swim through aspen and cottonwood, traverse over slash taller than me, and delicately dance with devil’s club. <br /><br />And I lose. I fall. Over and over and over again. My body telling the familiar tale as bruises, cuts, and grazes cover my limbs. <br /><br />This year feels different. That familiar longing has waned, my desire drained. Perhaps what was once a novel and desirable way to spend summer has now become mundane. Former excitement and anticipation have been replaced by familiarity and predictability. <br /><br />Too scared to outright quit – for now – I have relished in my after-hours life: The soccer games that carry on til late. Book club gatherings that pass in what seems like minutes as we alternately howl and then cry over the events in the pages and each other’s lives. Intimate live music events that stir the soul. Intense off-mat conversations at the yoga studio. Raucous apres swim socials that shut down the restaurant. <br /><br />Ultimately it’s community and rich relationships that have held me as I contemplate next steps. I don’t have an end destination in mind, but I am thrilled to share the journey with so many supporting friends, co-workers, and teammates. </div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-70752112240408978472018-12-31T11:37:00.000-07:002018-12-31T11:38:19.137-07:002018 in review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deeper
than the physical towns of Dawson Creek or Chetwynd, 2018 fostered connections
and cemented sense of place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
workplace was my first community, and point of contact in Dawson Creek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking a sabbatical abruptly tore me out of
that supportive environment and I was relegated to isolating online studies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I’ve so often done in the past for social,
mental, physical, and ultimately athletic support, I leaned on my sports teams
and clubs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Too scared and injury receptive for game play, I continued
to practice with my indoor soccer team, and enthusiastically rejoined them on
the outdoor pitch for the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
another hard-fought fun season with most games carrying on to Boston Pizza for
“pizza and pop” where we compared bruises and recounted stellar and botched
plays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The progressive party concluded
as we walked each other home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The beginning of 2018 presented an unusual opportunity: free
lifeguard training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attended “tryouts”
and was one of 24 accepted from 49.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
wasn’t an exploration I’d seriously considered until it was right in front of
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confined to studies by day, it was satisfying
to physically work towards something, with what quickly became a close-knit
group, in the evenings and eventual weekends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the end of our National Lifeguard course in May, I was one of about a
dozen to successfully complete the course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I still wasn’t an employed lifeguard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A wet, and then dry interview still awaited
where I continued to (out)compete with my cohort for a spot on deck at the
local pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have savoured the new
working environment – the learning curve has been steep, but I feel well
supported and cared for by my fellow guards and swim club teammates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sabbatical was mostly successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received good grades for all the courses I
was registered for, but fell short the ultimate reason for the sabbatical, my
goal: completing my Registered Professional Forester designation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Invested since 2015, it’s a goal I feel a
sick, perverse even, loyalty to complete, and it’s been fraught with
roadblocks, ditches, and fiery dragons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s felt like each step I take forwards, my professional association is
waiting in the bushes to kneecap me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
coupled with general work dissatisfaction and career disappointment has had me
deeply questioning my long-term role and plans in the natural resource
sector.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it’s the notable, uncomfortable
even, lack of community at my day job that’s adding to my uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day
and be in familiar embrace of one of my athletic communities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-90124342389229798712018-07-23T11:51:00.000-06:002018-07-23T14:48:05.986-06:00Scared? Do it anyways. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCi4HCEGgyCyZAE11k48cCQMkjSXZyrNxoaJMwrnDWLMTqb9Xj0JH6e9-nD-Xj5EUVT8SHSfjOji09dNVny5IYKj3Pd2oY11sidmZkScb51YugaOBpgTJKMhmYHXv-1b0myhXu52Xbas/s1600/IMG_20180718_221358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCi4HCEGgyCyZAE11k48cCQMkjSXZyrNxoaJMwrnDWLMTqb9Xj0JH6e9-nD-Xj5EUVT8SHSfjOji09dNVny5IYKj3Pd2oY11sidmZkScb51YugaOBpgTJKMhmYHXv-1b0myhXu52Xbas/s320/IMG_20180718_221358.jpg" width="240" /></a>My first swimming medal is misleading. And I’m thrilled to have received it. Not because I trained hard and outswam my
peers (full disclosure: I was dead last), but because I was scared to race and
did it anyways.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was nervous, terrified even, of competing in a sport I haven’t
been doing that long, don’t think I’m that good at, and would be subject to the
judging eyes of spectators, coaches, officials, and my teammates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I’ve competed in various individual and team sports
over the years, but the newness, my lack of confidence and overflowing
self-doubt plagued me as I packed my suit, snacks, and sandals for the day: my
start resembles a controlled bellyflop, my turns are a comic work-in-progress,
I am an older athlete, there were few to none registered in my division.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88Otd0AJA4QA8k9EoxfrCvD3Dtoq2uXp6YZ3UUOo7rWUetIJn6XDKD0VR6nP2adQdlG3HuZc4d7bdv-3lGGr-H6pmTAztX0Zl4-P2oSpQF6gv-rBrlz-Z3ueytIHe3Jcf3HNlcgm4vus/s1600/IMG_20180718_221408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88Otd0AJA4QA8k9EoxfrCvD3Dtoq2uXp6YZ3UUOo7rWUetIJn6XDKD0VR6nP2adQdlG3HuZc4d7bdv-3lGGr-H6pmTAztX0Zl4-P2oSpQF6gv-rBrlz-Z3ueytIHe3Jcf3HNlcgm4vus/s320/IMG_20180718_221408.jpg" width="240" /></a>But I dutifully drove to the pool in a torrential rainstorm
that mirrored my roiling guts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked
my coaches and teammates dumb, obvious (to them) questions in an attempt to
still my nerves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet I marshalled for my
event near tears with nerves, with my swim bestie, an athlete half my age,
confidently adjusting her cap beside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I settled down when I stepped on to the blocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d dove off these during warmup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have practiced starts dozens of times in my
home pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The familiarity was
comforting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> First whistle. Second whistle. </span>At the horn, we were off in
to the glacial-temperature water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I
swam hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like I meant it, like I
wanted it, like no one was watching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I touched the wall and looked up at the clock – 15 seconds behind the
fastest swimmer, but TWO WHOLE SECONDS off my previous personal best time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Showing up, racing, and finishing was alone a feat worthy of celebration, but a personal best time - that validated receiving a medal. </div>
<br /></div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-34392873269024738052014-09-12T15:43:00.000-06:002014-09-12T15:46:07.536-06:00First impressions from Churchill<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWw0c_WP3Xc6krit11LZ6pA0BU-YLlhVgQYkPRPuFhq798_QKlwnQkRS6Kzi8m5DL9aHdKBw-YyHnJrqbbwaSsTmJqN7bTJQIn9rrHO-cCeg2lOMeL1_cx1GnQk_x4YuVaS2E0d_Yydk/s1600/DSCF1304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWw0c_WP3Xc6krit11LZ6pA0BU-YLlhVgQYkPRPuFhq798_QKlwnQkRS6Kzi8m5DL9aHdKBw-YyHnJrqbbwaSsTmJqN7bTJQIn9rrHO-cCeg2lOMeL1_cx1GnQk_x4YuVaS2E0d_Yydk/s1600/DSCF1304.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Descending through the clouds, the area south of Churchill, Manitoba revealed a seemingly stark landscape of small lakes, patchy trees and low lying shrubs aglow in fall colours. A bright midday sun illuminated willows yellowing, bearberry reds, larch taking on just a hint of blonde prior to loosing their needles as shallow grasses waved and weaved between it all. A horizon uninterrupted by tall trees or taller buildings. <br />
<br />
I applied to come to Churchill and more specifically the Churchill Northern Studies Centre after an unfulfilled summer of low to dismal job prospects in my northern resource town. As mild depression and feelings of worthlessness, under appreciation and really-what-the-f-am-I-doing?!? were creeping in, I knew I needed to shake up my (lack of) routine and rediscover my direction while deeply reflecting on future plans. <br />
<br />
There's something about isolated places that attracts unconventional people. Living, playing and working alongside and with these goofy, wayward folks is something I have sought out around the world. Aside from university residence halls, the shared intimacy of daily life cannot be harnessed anywhere else. Few other places do we have the opportunity to live closely with people who are not our family. <br />
<br />
Happily I can recall more than half a dozen occasions where I have willingly left the comfort and security of home, friends and family for immersion travel. Satisfying experiences for paid and volunteer work that have taken me to truly great physical places while supporting that parallel journey of personal introspection and soul searching. <br />
<br />
So, as I've outwardly oggled the recent northern lights and polar bear in my first week, I am also consciously monitoring inside for the redevelopment of creativity and passion. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-OBJqUMDscG6b5CNBBhx69E0BaZCLzbsC2EjE_fBYCnC1dVlwsqtt0IEOkhGpZOtzEJNwruCNCeKIshjsM0sUlS3k-sEBIHiPFZPiQHR1nnKIBWE2HNk7BF3dK1MRaINnOxNPBlnA5E/s1600/DSCF1305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-OBJqUMDscG6b5CNBBhx69E0BaZCLzbsC2EjE_fBYCnC1dVlwsqtt0IEOkhGpZOtzEJNwruCNCeKIshjsM0sUlS3k-sEBIHiPFZPiQHR1nnKIBWE2HNk7BF3dK1MRaINnOxNPBlnA5E/s1600/DSCF1305.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views from my bedroom towards Hudson's Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaMN673IuI_eTFRJrHEhw9UOskNBlco_q2sZyW6QhUemY8rgnlzhMCBAz4b64Yow1jfbNWqnzWw9VU8NkJKQ_syvHmXueQ8vVaWga4sLRny30X-3EgSM24LNF5NMxO8YLIyj_5TRXbsg/s1600/DSCF1306.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoaMN673IuI_eTFRJrHEhw9UOskNBlco_q2sZyW6QhUemY8rgnlzhMCBAz4b64Yow1jfbNWqnzWw9VU8NkJKQ_syvHmXueQ8vVaWga4sLRny30X-3EgSM24LNF5NMxO8YLIyj_5TRXbsg/s1600/DSCF1306.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Returning from field work</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb454MSz18L5anZlwAhzGTw2-qJ7hbAPWV2voKl9dpkn3-7iqlk2H-L9Dt-I2qXGlunDGtcJcRnWHz_mS8AmbzZ4FF3xsYEf0ag4cMIevUkywkqsEakh_pl7UrO3XGToTQKssUug50mVg/s1600/DSCF1312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb454MSz18L5anZlwAhzGTw2-qJ7hbAPWV2voKl9dpkn3-7iqlk2H-L9Dt-I2qXGlunDGtcJcRnWHz_mS8AmbzZ4FF3xsYEf0ag4cMIevUkywkqsEakh_pl7UrO3XGToTQKssUug50mVg/s1600/DSCF1312.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Churchill River</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEBmmCXmj2BZl3abYZYFR63KpB7kRBQCaUzSXbCrPy862lZgHdMvNoUUV81AACMPUvHscFLfxZqgZndXX75uNqlc4lO2gILPpJLl90Mpibh4vyy0mdnP2vdMNpc0auXgYisx8lqvsmuo/s1600/DSCF1329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEBmmCXmj2BZl3abYZYFR63KpB7kRBQCaUzSXbCrPy862lZgHdMvNoUUV81AACMPUvHscFLfxZqgZndXX75uNqlc4lO2gILPpJLl90Mpibh4vyy0mdnP2vdMNpc0auXgYisx8lqvsmuo/s1600/DSCF1329.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Churchill's own beach to Hudson's Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-43362219513710344132014-09-04T15:39:00.001-06:002014-09-05T13:25:37.556-06:00Upcoming (more) northern visit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I think I have a thing for apex predators. <br />
<br />
Living and working in northern British Columbia in prime black and grizzly bear habitat, I regularly see these beauties cruising the powerlines, cutblocks, roadsides looking for a feed. In all the sightings and interactions on foot, none have given me any grief or cause to worry.<br />
<br />
Two previous stints took me to volunteer at the <a href="http://www.biminisharklab.com/">Sharklab</a> on beautiful Bimini in the Bahamas with a variety of shark species. <br />
<br />
On Sunday, I will be arriving in Churchill, Manitoba to volunteer for six weeks at the <a href="http://www.churchillscience.ca/">Churchill Northern Studies Centre</a>. Situated on the aurora oval and adjacent to Wapusk National Park which protects the inland denning area of the polar bear, I'm looking forward to the opportunities to view northern lights and migrating polar bears. <br />
<br />
As at the Sharklab, it's the spectacle of these apex predators that lures in most visitors and volunteers. While I fall into that category, I have to remind myself that these places are SO much more than the critters they're known for. <br />
<br />
Bimini has endemic snakes, migrating birds, massive turtles and tiny seahorses while Churchill is also a birding haven, botanist's wet dream as three biomes converge, an active archaeological dig and there's even seasonal beluga whales! And then there's the people I met and have yet to meet. <br />
<br />
Yeah, I had a great time longlining, observing and acoustically tracking juvenile lemon sharks, swimming with reef sharks and pen building at the Sharklab, but it is the relationships I developed and continue to nurture that were the greatest prize from my time spent in Bimini. So again, I'm looking forward to a new place and new faces to share this great next adventure. </div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-28421926914563983672014-07-28T15:37:00.000-06:002014-07-28T15:40:10.377-06:00Summer photos so far<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Various mountain, river and work days</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0h9_cercKqcJVdJ7Evn9NNEv8EWhyphenhyphenzHTqgIlKTRVMa0HosGoCORJ7ek5u0VQnqQdz4Mj46s40BwJ72Ia2r521xKbXDzc0ux7DiZ4jMcG8Afmf2NnsVSEclovZa_xQvi6K0Vrl8K6cPw/s1600/DSCF1002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP0h9_cercKqcJVdJ7Evn9NNEv8EWhyphenhyphenzHTqgIlKTRVMa0HosGoCORJ7ek5u0VQnqQdz4Mj46s40BwJ72Ia2r521xKbXDzc0ux7DiZ4jMcG8Afmf2NnsVSEclovZa_xQvi6K0Vrl8K6cPw/s1600/DSCF1002.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-35770964990361033622014-06-03T21:37:00.000-06:002014-06-03T21:37:00.983-06:00Spring on Bickford<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Still in its infancy, the Chetwynd Outdoors Society is committed to continuing its restoration of a decommissioned fire tower on Bickford Mountain. I hiked up on Saturday with four other members of the group to document how the tower fared in our brutal northern winter and begin planning a work bee later in the summer. <br />
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There was no shortage of lingering snow. Nearly all were prepared with gaiters and waterproof hiking boots and layers for the wind and rain. A tough slog up the melting trail and over a swollen creek was worth the view from the tower and summit. <br />
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-45414869327913676692014-05-24T16:03:00.000-06:002014-05-24T16:03:22.750-06:00May there be spring!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On a recent helicopter flight for work, our pilot commented that the Peace is two weeks behind his hometown Vernon. The rivers here are filled with silt and not yet at their high water level for the year, snow still lingers in the bush and makes roads inaccessible, vegetation here is in various stages of leafing out while Vernon has had leaf out, flowers and is snow free!<br />
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We northerners cherish our summers. <br />
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It's rare for gardeners to plant before June due to lingering frost risk yet we're out on riverboats enjoying the snowcapped peaks and high water that makes areas inaccessible in warmer months. Music festivals run into the never-dark night. Black out shades sell out from the local hardware store a month before summer solstice as we attempt to adequately rest before launching ourselves into another high activity day of weeding, hiking, fishing, BBQs. Even with our long days, it seems there's never enough time to fit it all in.</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-15023192987652402972014-05-02T15:06:00.001-06:002014-05-04T14:51:08.880-06:00Disconnected travelers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I didn't intent to take a break from blogging this past trip. It wasn't a conscious electronic departure. Ample internet access was available as cafes and on a tablet thing when my dear friend Jaana was around. <br />
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On my last two trips, I've been deeply annoyed at wifi's pervading presence in guesthouses, restaurants, dive shops, bars and even places of worship. In the latter, I can assure you users were not communicating with the divine. <br />
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Yeah, it's great we can stay connected with friends, family and colleagues while we're away from our for-now homes but I fear there's a disturbing trend of travelers that aren't engaging with the locals or their fellow travelers. <br />
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It used to be easy as a solo traveler to meet new people or invite yourself to share their table. Now, when an ENTIRE table has their faces lit up by computer, tablet or phone screens, I'd rather dine, drink, explore sites, sleep alone than feel like I'm intruding on their electronic time. <br />
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An uneasy feeling of loneliness and isolation sets in as travelmates ignore you in favour of sending gang emails, updating statuses, posting photos or applying for jobs back home when the very people they are electronically "connecting" with are sleeping! <br />
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Such is the blessing and curse of the internet's popularity and deemed necessity. <br />
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I acknowledge I could not travel without it but I long to travel alongside people and connect face-to-face. To hear their stories first hand, not a polished online version of it. To laugh at cultural missteps, share advice on that delicious restaurant, cool elephant rescue place, warn against a dodgy overnight train, not read Tripadvisor reviews. <br />
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Ironically/fittingly/fortunately email, facebook, couchsurfing facilitates meeting with locals, distant family, friends of friends and expats. An online community persists when it feels like there isn't one. <br />
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As surfer, host and traveler at large, I have contacted and been contacted by members of the traveling community. I have dispensed advice and sought it. <br />
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I connected a dear friend and classmate who would be living and working in eastern Africa for overlapping timeframes. My mother's cousin's best friend's son let us stay with him in New Zealand and I have since visited him and his new family in several Canadian cities. My cousin and I continue to celebrate her birthday outside this country. <br />
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Yes, the world is opening up, and there's no shortage of people who've been there to consult with, but I caution amongst these marvel of being connected, we're guilty of not connecting to those around us in real life. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haptule's mosque is meters and meters away from our rooms</td></tr>
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"Would you look at those speakers!" Jenny, a recently retired Aussie school teacher and Sri Lanka tourmate, exclaimed as we oggled the imposing green mosque adjacent to our hotel. <br />
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"There's roosters out the front," Paul said joining us as we marveled how the size and sheer number of speakers was disproportional to a) the size of the mosque and b) the size of the town. Cursing our good luck we wouldn't need an alarm clock the following morning the multi-national Intrepid tour group keenly walked around Haptule after a stunning - and predictable delayed - six hour train journey from Kandy. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Female pickers in the fields</td></tr>
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Impossible slopes supported one of Sri Lanka's
biggest exports - tea. Nestled in lush valleys, the train skimmed
along the ridge to a dizzying height of more than 1800 meters before
descending into the mist. Workers (mostly female) precariously
perched at all elevations were clinging to the hillsides to collect their
quota of 18 kilos. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gaaahh! The gradient!</td></tr>
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After an interrupted night acclimatizing
to the elevation and cooler night temperatures, our group set out for an
overnight hike into the tea plantations. Using the roads (and that's a
generous term) and pathways the workers or lorries do to move the raw leaves and later final product to market gave our group an appreciation of the physical effort involved in a morning cuppa. <br />
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Ten kilometers over a ridge, through villages and vegetable patches, we arrived at our hillside house. <br />
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Mercifully unplugged from wifi and phone signal, our group was expected to provide musical or dance entertainment for our hosts in the hills. They sang traditional Tamil songs accompanied by a sorry looking but powerful drum and we countered with national anthems, Waltzing Matilda and Savage Garden hits from junior high. <br />
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Much giggling and a too many rounds of carrom later, we dropped into
comfortable beds and waited for the neighbour's roosters to rouse us. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guide Siva explaining a typical day in the plantations</td></tr>
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Keen to get moving before the heat of the day, we set off along the tracks dodging sluggish tractors, transports and motorbikes. How they gained traction and had confidence on the paths was mind boggling. <br />
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Our knees were crying out on the downhill, we struggled to adequately replace the sweat that drenched us and we stopped often to inadequately photograph the stunning surrounds and still we slipped and slid down the paths. <br />
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Glimpsing Sri Lanka's highest water and later the bravest of the boys swimming in its plunge pool we were refreshed and grateful to be back to our starting point in Haptule - even if it was in the shawdow of the town mosque. </div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-85734397222682375092014-01-27T10:45:00.002-07:002014-01-27T10:45:51.010-07:00Foster cat update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Rarely am I involved in meeting adoption candidates for our foster animals. Friday I had the pleasure of delivering Ella, a black beauty of a kitten, to good friends in Chetwynd. They were looking for a companion for their male Pomerian and the male of the couple has always had cats around. I did not hesitate for a second to recommend them as new owners to On Our Way Home's President. </div>
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From the update I've received, she's settling well into her furever home and getting along with the dog while providing the humans hours of entertainment. I'm glad she'll be close and we can monitor her maturing. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millie and Ella snuggling/battling</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millie and Ella again doing top kitty priorities</td></tr>
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Carl joined us the same night we dropped off Ella. Freshly neutered, he was still a bit dopey and sleepy from the drugs, so we set him up in the basement for a healing, restful night before introducing him to the house and Millie. She's kind of a bully! It takes her two to three days to welcome a kitten in and then they're fighting and chasing and having a grand kitty time. She's still hissing at Carl. They seemed to have worked out some sort of truce and he'll only be with us until we leave for holidays next Monday. </div>
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Isn't he handsome?!? I swear there's a storyteller trapped in his body as he's very vocal. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carl chilling in the sunshine</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This handsome boy loves to snuggle and purrs like a chainsaw</td></tr>
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-13354920592685594742013-12-31T13:32:00.002-07:002013-12-31T13:36:53.142-07:002013 highs and holidays lows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Winter is reserved for dreamtime in several aboriginal cultures around the world. A time of reflection, rebuilding, contemplation, planning, cleansing. As 2014 looms on the horizon for the western world, I, too, am meditating on this past calendar year. <br />
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Along with my boyfriend, cousin and friends I hadn't met yet, I journey to the Great Continent after my usual months of Canadian employment. Stunning diving; sunrises over sand dunes; terrifying car hires or, more specifically passing; seeing amazing creatures rumoured to be and actually in decline from poaching and habitat encroachment; coming face to face with the aftermath and rebuilding efforts of South Africa's apartheid; hilarious hostel mates all awaited. <br />
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A proposal to move in with my sweetie came while we were in Johannesburg. I immediately dismissed it. I reconsidered after my girlfriend that I usually rent from announced she was selling her house. Mostly in cohabitation bliss, I was keen to add animals to the mix. Every other week I was dog sitting, feeding cats or checking on fish but I wanted some critters actually in the house. <br />
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Enter: On Our Way Home Animal Rescue. Within two days of expressing interest in fostering, we had two fraidy cats in the basement hiding in the walls, drawers and under the sofa. They went to a barn where I hope they're chasing mice and snuggling together. Two kittens (adopted quickly) and another adult female cat (that we'll likely keep) followed. <br />
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It has been my favourite volunteer gig. There's always the 'isn't it hard to give them away when they're adopted?' question from others outside the Rescue. Naw, I'm pumped that they're desexed and rehomed to loving and worthy owners. It's also heartbreaking as hell when parvo rips through a foster's home and puppies die. Despite the setbacks, it has been very rewarding to be a part of this great organization and watch its influence grow. <br />
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A few slow starts and underemployment marked this past summer and I finally had the time to take the Level 3 first aid course. A rewarding and challenging two-week course that currently has me examining options on the way to paramedic. Sitting on a construction project from Dawson Creek to Chetwynd reading my weight in novels every two week shift has been the reward. And a fist full of cashola. <br />
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Dan and I recently returned from a great holiday that covered off Victoria and Calgary. I am consistently blown away by the love within and generosity of his family. I genuinely attempted to make it to Red Deer but Alberta in the winter still has tricks up her sleeve and our bus was turned around when the highway was closed due to REALLY scary conditions. <br />
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Bummed I wouldn't get to spend more time with my mother but also pleased I didn't have to watch my brother treat my mother SO poorly, I see it was a mixed blessing. How much of Kevin's awfulness is brain injury and how much is him truly being an acewipe I do not know. <br />
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More cousin visits and playing pictionary into the night instead. <br />
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I have two favourite aunties. One of them kindly and immediately opened her doors in Calgary when Dan and I were not able to make it to Red Deer. Her father has been doing poorly for years and he finally passed in to the next world to join his wife. I didn't know him well but truly I felt the joy and release of his ailing, tired and shell of a physical body. <br />
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So, thanks 2013 for new places and faces. <br />
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2014, Here's to health, fitness, travel, family, friends, job insecurity and animal rescue!</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-52867007311241808082013-12-19T20:45:00.000-07:002013-12-19T20:47:55.756-07:00Holiday begins!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"To freedom," Lou and I clinked wine in short tumbler glasses in our shared Dawson Creek apartment. Today is our last day of work til January 4, 2014. That's in, like, a whole different year!<br />
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Good work news: nobody has cut their leg open, severed their hand off, had a concussion or otherwise given me any business. A few slow speed maneuvers ditching trucks and equipment has been the extent of my worries. Bad work news: I'm way too excited to see this company in my review mirror in January. <br />
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My coworkers are flying, driving back to where they're from tomorrow morning- with a few sneaking out early this arvo - and I can't wait to see my sweetie tomorrow night. <br />
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It has been four years since I was in Canada for Christmas and I'm feeling medium about the whole thing. This snow and cold continues to be dreadfully inconvenient, the shortening days are playing with my happy hormones and I miss the cat. And Dan. <br />
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My immediate family never large on presents with our relationships floundering in the vicinity of functional, or recently, civil, it's the investment of time I'm most looking forward to spending with family - mine and otherwise. Generously given from tomorrow til Jan 4th off, Dan and I are visiting Victoria, Calgary and Red Deer to cover off our respective families. Can't wait!</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-6287885402584592612013-12-09T19:24:00.001-07:002013-12-09T19:24:59.578-07:00I haven't seen this month in a while<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Normally countries and countries and countries removed from Canada at this point in the calendar, my body is rebelling at the temperatures, shortening photoperiod and difficulty of cultivating even window box herbs. I repeatedly resemble a sleeping bag whenever I venture beyond centrally heated buildings or warmed vehicles. <br />
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Last week, as temperatures dipped in the mid thirties on the minus side accompanied by teeth-shattering north winds, I repeatedly questioned "What the F am I still doing here?" Mercifully I was spared from working in it as I was on my scheduled week off and snuggled under most of the blankets in the house wearing at minimum four sweaters with a cat furnace somewhere in the mix. <br />
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Maybe Dan has a firmer hold on my heart than I have outwardly acknowledged. Perhaps it's that the foster kitties continue to be SO freakin cute! Or I am pumped to be meaningfully involved in the community as a volunteer, book club joiner, yoga doer, lady who lunches, member of the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/chetwyndoutdoorsociety/">Chetwynd Outdoors Society</a> and small business advocate. All of the above in combination, sure. I may be dreaming of warmer climes to come, but for now, I'm enjoying tea parties and hot meals with friends while gaining some first aid experience. <br />
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Well, kinda. Nobody has needed my services yet. It's still very puzzling to me that the job I am hired to do/requirement I am to fill I have yet to actually do. </div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-47259347981267812922013-11-24T19:46:00.001-07:002013-11-27T20:25:19.774-07:00Visitors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Currently relocated to Dawson Creek for newly found work as a First Aid Attendant on a BC Hydro construction project, I was over the moon when Dan and the current kitties visited last night. True, I have only been here a week, but a week away from where I'd rather be none the less. <br />
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Work days have been slow and the crew has not given me any business (good) I gave myself a goal of finishing one novel every two days. A few town days and training sessions and I'm still on track. Yan Martel's Beatrice and Virgil - spooky, twisted ending; Rajaa Alsanwa's Girls of Riyadh that points out the common threads of women everywhere; and Paul Theroux's latest and rumoured last travel memoir The Last Train to Zona Verde: My Ultimate African Safari - a brilliant first hand account of western Africa travel - are on their way back to Chetwynd's library.<br />
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When the temperature plunged to -29 with a windchill of -36 I earlier this week, I undoubtedly confronted Theroux's driving question: What am I doing here?<br />
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Taking advantage of a bigger center's Arts Scene, I was pleased to drop in on a great acoustic session by Winnipeg's <a href="http://www.reverbnation.com/chriscarmichaelband">Chris Carmichael</a>. Dawson Creek's Art Gallery hosts concerts throughout the year and Carmichael visited on Tuesday. Among the sparse audience numbering fewer than a dozen, his original rock, alt/country, blues, surf blues and cover songs were a welcome break from hanging out in my fancy, furnished apartment yearning for my friends and family elsewhere. <br />
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-51174611160499162812013-11-07T14:34:00.001-07:002013-11-29T19:16:07.050-07:00Wilma, new foster kitten<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYQovTfCX-LwoeUOaBm9p98oK0zPmlxZg3oSbFyfbw8iDdCwFMR6q__4y6ONbstQijFyVrMrfDOS35DJM3uWg2xd7434egFtAwcTe_aEVr5MJy2RD5LpN5uc4S_G46A0N3AdS2aQyMXk/s1600/1379365_10153446479680035_913530842_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYQovTfCX-LwoeUOaBm9p98oK0zPmlxZg3oSbFyfbw8iDdCwFMR6q__4y6ONbstQijFyVrMrfDOS35DJM3uWg2xd7434egFtAwcTe_aEVr5MJy2RD5LpN5uc4S_G46A0N3AdS2aQyMXk/s400/1379365_10153446479680035_913530842_n.jpg" width="400" /></a>Wilma joins us from a busy foster home in Fort St. John where there were three dogs and another cat. In our comparatively quiet home, her and Millie are now mostly friends. Mostly. <br />
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When not duking it out in the Kitty Battledome, they`re parkouring off the furniture and wrestling on top of our sleeping bodies. <br />
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They`re both total cuties and we`re still on the fence as to whether we`ll keep Millie or not. Luckily we`ve been able to postpone that decision as no one has shown any interest in adopting her. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4zU7uhgb4fEwBnWP_XWRo6AnWv1s7A811QmCIfWxQlsb5rQOii-sO61ng-tc1zDf5zgGxLft7w8a6E84ZwnXyrBA2PxCFKcX5OIPVqD8036PMKp2MiyWtU_TXGMRkMhvsTVpu0bC5pg/s1600/PB070041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4zU7uhgb4fEwBnWP_XWRo6AnWv1s7A811QmCIfWxQlsb5rQOii-sO61ng-tc1zDf5zgGxLft7w8a6E84ZwnXyrBA2PxCFKcX5OIPVqD8036PMKp2MiyWtU_TXGMRkMhvsTVpu0bC5pg/s400/PB070041.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
At the prompting of a well-connected woman, who is quickly becoming a favourite friend in Chetwynd, I attended a volunteer orientation at one of the primary schools at lunch. <br />
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<a href="http://slbishop.blogspot.ca/2012/07/carfree-of-carless.html">Car free</a> and usually care free, I debated the merits of walking or cycling in a developing northern snow storm. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMFw6kgBt3WGCNxiMWt9tK1hbRbHQUOjT0dUpeBWHwc3zosFyQK7PPmyUi8uMIIk_FKLLPElNiSpVWIn4hSEcuxcgTu8CeU3COgKjFXAiKClIW7SqIGTJBxQeriZZSbHj3emFkG_CKmY/s1600/PB070042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMFw6kgBt3WGCNxiMWt9tK1hbRbHQUOjT0dUpeBWHwc3zosFyQK7PPmyUi8uMIIk_FKLLPElNiSpVWIn4hSEcuxcgTu8CeU3COgKjFXAiKClIW7SqIGTJBxQeriZZSbHj3emFkG_CKmY/s400/PB070042.JPG" width="300" /></a>Both would get me out of the house. Pro. I could get there faster cycling and read a novel longer. Pro. I was going to a school and they would have a bike rack. HUGE Pro. A book club mate and the inviter to the event had recently dislocated her shoulder from a cycling fall - on dry pavement - hmmm, possible con. <br />
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I cycled there. It was chilly. I felt hardcore. The wind blew snow into my exposed face both ways. Con, con, con.<br />
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There was delicious carrot soup waiting when I arrived at the school and two fun kitties when I returned home. Pro. <br />
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-83256283914822445512013-11-03T13:39:00.000-07:002013-11-03T14:20:00.024-07:00Least liked ice breaker<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Billed as <a href="http://www.theminimalists.com/do/">Life's Most Dangerous Question</a>, I dislike it when I am working and even more so when I am not - and the latter is often. <br />
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"So, what do you do?" <br />
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I inwardly grimace and roll my eyes when meeting new people and sulk that this is their idea of small talk. It's not an inquiry to my hobbies, volunteer interests, books I read, mountains/hills I scale, how I have mastered bread making or counties I would like to visit. No, it is an imploration in to how the workforce values me and a subtle inquiry of income, status and rank.<br />
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Are we that bored or programmed that we can find no other common ground discussing things we like and are passionate about rather than the jobs we loathe?<br />
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I don't care if you're a stay-at-home Mom, science teacher, physician, farmer, bus driver, painter, cake decorator or struggling student. What I am interested in is what you care about, where your dreams and passions lie, if we have similar hobbies. If I wanted to network, I would have gone to a conference, professionals meet and greet or cruised around on <a href="http://linkedin.ca/">Linkedin</a> not attended a social gathering. <br />
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I was a member of my current book club for a half year before anyone asked me "what I did" or (and this one I liked) "what I did for the community." The former forced me to admit after being laid off I had taken on a role that was inappropriate for my location and education while the latter allowed me to expand on the great work the local rescue, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/366210526770212/">On Our Way Home Animal Rescue</a>, has done in re-homing and rehabilitating surrendered, abandoned animals in the B.C. Peace while strengthening its presence from Mackenzie to Fort Nelson.</div>
Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-37946027049110609102013-10-28T13:41:00.000-06:002013-10-28T13:41:13.692-06:00Leveled up, first town snow and Millie has a twin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
An overnight wet snow thwarted my cycling into my Occupational First Aid Level 3 practical exam. I had been cycling in each morning the three-ish kilometers (uphill) from home and was annoyed I wouldn't be able to do it for the final day. <div>
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Cycling clears my head, the gentle incline into town revs up my heart rate and the twelve minute ride allows me to ponder and prepare for my day ahead. I courageously cycle on the right hand shoulder of the highway for a couple hundred meters where a recent construction project by the town has destroyed a once-perfectly-usable pedestrian path (in its place is an awkward switchback with deep gravel that even those walking in get bogged down). </div>
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For the past two weeks, I have been at the (allegedly haunted) Northern Lights College completing OFA Level 3. It's a course I have been encouraging employers to put me through - when I had employers - and decided to do it myself when I had the time. </div>
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Struggling to find work in the environmental field, successfully completing this course will hopefully give me a few more options in town and outside when I move on from the Peace. </div>
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2064614945627911956.post-47020280978572604642013-10-07T13:49:00.002-06:002013-10-07T13:49:52.671-06:00Millie and Mabel photos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There's rumours brewing Mabel (Surerus) is being adopted on Thanksgiving weekend. I snapped a few photos before we send her on her way to her furever home. <br />
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When we received Mabel (our name), she was barely off a bottle and in to wet and dry foods. Now she's easily doubled in size and Millie has accepted her as a playmate and snuggle buddy. I think Millie will miss her kitty girlfriend more than Dan and I will. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrozllxZ4qSiSGfWE1nh4VP9fiGk1leVfezWxrN02gKZN2VzLUXW-_EYYlZuzcQGEdXbiQLjH6mPOCNPFol7viYJJFiBvDywwFxtlcoDCNI79z6d5P3lcJv0_y3cz_4oxhF9mqvtJtDg/s1600/IMG_0410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihrozllxZ4qSiSGfWE1nh4VP9fiGk1leVfezWxrN02gKZN2VzLUXW-_EYYlZuzcQGEdXbiQLjH6mPOCNPFol7viYJJFiBvDywwFxtlcoDCNI79z6d5P3lcJv0_y3cz_4oxhF9mqvtJtDg/s400/IMG_0410.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dan and Mabel shortly after we agreed to foster her</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILN_lIMr_XNgQwvc9qEk67U3vcJRHZS52PEgTF0MpWlpi0PyNYraydaFPzMA_jE-y52tcdz9ceO_0_QjaXsr6RGM4yw4lSyISK7kDSoIuEc5pz-Iuq8jMHrjxr5xScro1Ra03PNc2KJI/s1600/IMG_0417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILN_lIMr_XNgQwvc9qEk67U3vcJRHZS52PEgTF0MpWlpi0PyNYraydaFPzMA_jE-y52tcdz9ceO_0_QjaXsr6RGM4yw4lSyISK7kDSoIuEc5pz-Iuq8jMHrjxr5xScro1Ra03PNc2KJI/s400/IMG_0417.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millie found Dan's headband</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNctBsMPMRawZihKXBvL9ohuHqz8JIFb8uQQJOgCKc5FHbiAf_yBqc7_3FBWh3-PFosZTEOjeR7p0pX_y4ywlXksIwVQMImjrGT1HgdGeaeq2mQhyphenhyphen_p7IA92gJYrNH_JhPhYXswPJMCg/s1600/IMG_0420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNctBsMPMRawZihKXBvL9ohuHqz8JIFb8uQQJOgCKc5FHbiAf_yBqc7_3FBWh3-PFosZTEOjeR7p0pX_y4ywlXksIwVQMImjrGT1HgdGeaeq2mQhyphenhyphen_p7IA92gJYrNH_JhPhYXswPJMCg/s400/IMG_0420.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mabel after morning kitty cuddle time</td></tr>
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Sheri Connollyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18206404960271431045noreply@blogger.com0