England, day 8; Legacy, day 11,070

I'm starting to think that I want every life I see that isn't my own. How much greener could I really expect that other grass to be? Do you know what I've unexpectedly done since I've been here? Set up appointments with two separate professors at two separate universities, and possibly a third, in order to meet and discuss possible research topics. Do you know what I did when I was in my MA? Counted down the days until it was all over and I could break into publishing. Do you know who has't been working in publishing lately? Please picture thumbs pointing at my chest, because it's this one right here. Do you know who said they wouldn't do a PhD? Yup, the same troubled chest-pointer you're reading about.

When I was in Calgary I thought just get through whatever I'm doing and wherever I am and then the adventure will start. When I went to Nanaimo I thought, just get through what I'm doing now and I'll start to really hit my stride. The pieces will fall into place. When I went to Edmonton I thought, just get over this here and it will finally start to pay off. When I left the city I thought, ok here we go. In the country I thought, nothing to do here but be with my books and my thoughts and my notepaper. Now I think, nothing to do here, period. Now I think, get to the largest, busiest city and the most intense university I can find. Get me anywhere but here.

I miss Calgary, I miss Nanaimo, I miss Edmonton, I miss London, I miss everywhere but here and now. I miss feeling like whatever I decide to do, I can't miss.

I've also been thinking, and this is some seriously pathetic "priviledged-people-problems" right here, I've been thinking that I have allowed my incredibly supportive family to be an excuse for me. I've spent a lifetime surrounded by people who say I should go for it, and I think I've been afraid of frustrating them. Not disappointing them. I hate when people say that. If your family loves you then it's hard for them to be disappointed in you. But like I often say, I am always beginning the first day of the rest of my life, and I expect if I say I want to do something one day and then change my mind it's probably pretty exhausting for the people who are waiting in the wings to support me. Seriously, how ridiculous does that sound? Because it sounds pretty ridiculous just typing it. But there it is.

The one thing I feel certain about is that I don't know what I want, and I will probably change my mind. How can I exist like that in a world of loving and living people?
I'm excited about meeting with these professors, but I'm not making any plans. How can I? There's all this wishing and hoping and thinking and praying and planning and dreaming, but there's still that living thing I've got to do. If I can just get through what I'm doing and where I am then...what?

Shit just got real...shitty. But I'm in England, so there's that.

The middle of August, right before I turned 30, I posted a highly optomistic fun post about the advice I would like the older me to give the younger me. Since then, things have happened that the younger me couldn't possibly begin to imagine, and the "older" me is not prepared for.

I don't want to let my dirty laundry blow in the internet airwaves. As much as I'm an open book, I'm not a tabloid. At least I hope I'm not. But some things I will disclose because I feel compelled to write about them.

On August 28 my sister Jordan passed away from a car accident while vacationing in Jamaica. I don't wish that sort of shock and pain on anyone in the world. Jordan was honest, courteous, fun, intriguing, brilliant, kind, beautiful, creative, compassionate, adventurous, she was someone for whom you could ask yourself, what would Jordan do, and if you followed that answer, things would be just fine. Things don't glimmer as brightly as they did three months ago. And the most painful part of it all is if she knew the sort of pain that her passing set off, she would be so unhappy about it. She made everyone feel better, and right now things feel, well, they're tough—really tough.

Oh Jordan, I wish you could tell me what to do.

I've also been going through a...what is it...a 30-year-old identity crisis maybe? A post-graduation depression? A "really,-this-is-where-I-am-now?" state of mind? I've got questions for myself that I really don't know how to answer, and at the risk of starting to throw all that dirty laundry up in the air, I've never felt so low.

So, I did the most extreme thing I could think of. I ran away to England for a couple weeks to visit a dear friend. She's going to university in Durham where she studies in a World Heritage Site. Yup, my friends, Anna goes to university in a bonafide castle.
She took me to the cathedral and into the cathedral library. Things that are on my bucket-list: spend more time in castles and do research in a cathedral library.
The Durham Cathedral is where the English historian, Bede, is entombed. I will never stop loving the relics of history. Sure it's morbid, but bring on the dead!

We spent a bit of time in one of the student pubs in the 15th century section of the castle. Apparently the kitchens are in the 12th century part of the castle and are the oldest operating kitchens in England—no big deal. We also went to an amazing bookshop called Barters Books in Alnwick. It's where the "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster was discovered.

I'm here for twelve more days, and in that time I will continue to blog, clear my head, think about what I want and, I don't know. Of course being here, near a university, nearly jobless and lost, I can't stop thinking about a PhD. When things get hard that's what I do. I run back to the harsh but oddly comforting arms of academia.
Oh Jordan, wherever you are, I sure could use your reasonable mind right now.

Here's to another trip around the sun

I turn thirty tomorrow. (In lieu of gifts, donations can be made in the form of purchases at your local bookstore.) Of course turning thirty makes me typically self-reflective and slightly philosophical. So I was thinking today about those blogs, songs, essays, et cetera that offer advice to the me of the past. Sometimes that gets turned on its head to offer a child's advice to his or her future self--don't forget to eat candy, it's ok to get dirty, that kind of stuff. I'd like to try something different. In preparation of my thirtieth year, I would like to offer a list of advice and comforts that I want my future self to tell my past self.

Things the 30+ Me Wants to Tell the 30- Me

1)You are REALLY good at something.

2) You are more patient.

3) You are less critical.

4) You don't care about Facebook anymore.

5) Write more, stupid!

6) The concept of God is only as complicated as you need it to be in order to learn what you need to learn at that moment.

7) That thing you find so difficult isn't so difficult anymore.

8) That other thing you find so difficult is still difficult, but also really fun.

9) That other thing you find so difficult, you don't care about it anymore.

10) That decision you agonized over turned out different than you expected, and also better.

11) Stop taking yourself so seriously.

12) Take more advice from yourself and less advice from others.

13) You are sometimes wrong.

14) Learn to meditate.

15) Eventually you figure out what to do with your hair. It looks fantastic!

Well, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to you, here's to another year of questions and wonder.

Shameless Self-promotion

It's been a great few months, if I do say so myself. I've settled in to my office at home and I'm working on settling into a routine. I have to admit, I think I may have suffered a brief bout of post-masters depression and found myself in a little crisis of identity for a bit. Who am I now that I'm not an enrolled student? What am I supposed to do with all this time? The result was a frenzy of volunteer sign-up and a handful of small jobs and projects. Yet, I'm now doing a lot of really great things that I wouldn't otherwise have taken on.

I participated in a Habitat for Humanity house build in the nearby town of Three Hills. The town is about to celebrate its centennial and, in partnership with the Elks, sponsored a 100 hour build to commemorate the occasion. I spent two days at the site, first helping with the refreshments and meals, and then painting and clean-up. There were so many people helping over the 100 hours that by the time I arrived there wasn't much to do. My only real complaint, however, was I had to wear borrowed Habitat steel-toed boots. My feet have been itchy ever since!

I've also been volunteering as an English tutor and helping out with a summer reading camp at the Three Hills Library. I enjoy giving over some time to causes that make me feel useful. It's nice to put all that book learnin' to good use, by which I mean for the good of others. I'm up to about seven hours a week volunteering now, so I promised myself I had to stop taking things on.

Among all the volunteering I've started to become work busy! I'm happy to report I've found some freelance work writing for an academic press (not sure if I can name it right now) doing introductions and annotations for upcoming anthologies. I've also been helping out at the local paper, the Three Hills Capital.

On top of that, my first official publication is now released! Back in March, I was invited to contribute a chapter to a book titled Alternative Futures for Publishing sponsored by the Book Publishers Association of Alberta. It is available for free download, although be patient because it's a big file. Other contributors include my friends and colleagues Mark Leslie and Todd Anderson. I'm delighted to have worked with these and the other authors, and am indebted to Jerome Martin of Spotted Cow Press for his support. Mine is chapter four, "Look Who's Talking, Really: The Dialectic Relationship Between Author, Reader, and Publisher."

photo taken from Mark Leslie's Blog

Finally, I am beyond excited to say that I have been accepted to The Banff Centre Writing With Style residency program! I will be spending a week at the gorgeous campus in Banff where I'll be revising my thesis and turning it into the novel I know it should be. I'm so excited to be part of this inspirational and invaluable workshop, and I can't wait to tell you all about it.

Well, I guess I'd better get back to work. Those introductions won't write themselves. Thanks for reading, and don't forget dreams really do come true, if I can do it you can do it, keep your fork, a bird in the hand, and never put your hat on the bed.

Psst...Want to Know a Best-Kept Secret?

There is a narrow road off highway 21, about two kilometers north of the sleepy country town where I live. Drive down that road another fifteen kilometers and then look to the right—keep looking; don’t blink. Without warning, through the dust of the road that casually turned from paved to gravel somewhere along the way, beyond the sporadic trees and tall grass, you will witness the earth drop away from farmers’ fields and the weight of time slide down steep plateau hills into a deep roaming valley. Welcome to Dry Island Buffalo Jump, one of my favourite places in the world.

Dry Island is named for the flat-topped butte that stands above the Red Deer River. This unusual landmass was eroded by wind and the soft, crumbling layers of bentonite clay buried beneath untouched native prairie grasses. It has never been surrounded by water, but stands prepared like Noah’s Ark. This is also the site of an historic Cree hunting ground, where herds of bison were driven off the steep cliffs, fashioning enough meat and natural resources to see a tribe through the winter.

There are two ways to take in Dry Island. First, the viewpoint at the top of the valley, where you look out over the expansive landscape with its raw edges and rolling turns. Stroll along the cliff; read the points of interest signs that briefly describe the land, fauna, and history; feel the flutter in your stomach as you picture yourself as a bison chased by ancient hunters before tumbling over the edge onto the rocky bed below. Once you have pictured this place a thousand, a million, a billion years ago (and you will) then drive down the steep, barely passable, hair-pin road into the depths of the valley.

Park the car near a cluster of picnic sites arranged in no conceivable order, head toward the river and look out for the dozens of species of birds and insects that make this place their home.
Skip some rocks along the river surface. If you have a canoe, use it—there is no place better for a casual paddle. Life slows down here, and it is a different kind of adventure. Once you have finished at the river, do what I love to do the most. Pick a direction, and start walking, because this is the best part of Dry Island. There are real paths. No manicured trails shepherd visitors to the best viewpoints. There are no fences and rails to keep you out or in. Climb through the hills, wander between the trees, experience this place.


People like to talk about the mountains and how they make a person feel small, but there are more ways to be big than simply by being tall. To me, the badlands are the best at making me feel little, both in size and in age. You can almost see dinosaurs wandering around these hills. This is a place of permanence. This is a place I come to remember that I am part of something so much bigger than myself. This is the prairies, and this is my Alberta.

How real people craft

Hi, my name is Jessica, and I am a crafter. There, it’s out. Judge me accordingly.
I don’t know if there is a direct connection between Pinterest or my newest discovery, Craftgawker, and my rejuvenated crafting habit. I think it’s more likely that I’ve been crafting due to the sudden lack of school deadlines. Whatever it is, I have taken to crafting like my husband takes to glass Coke bottles at Christmas—I just can’t get enough.

The thing is, I'm actually not very good at crafting. I don’t have original ideas, and I am not a visual perfectionist. If I was an artist, I’d be a throw paint at a tarp and walk away kind of artist.

Nevertheless, I thought I’d do what the serious bloggers do and make a tutorial of the craft I made today. Here is the result.

Materials:
Lamp shade
Mod Podge
Paint Brush (mine was too wide to fit in the bottle of Mod Podge)
Old calendar page (in this case a calendar of old world maps)
Butcher paper
Wooden Spoon
Cutting board
Utility knife (Probably should have used an exacto knife, but the utility knife was closer)
Lint Brush
Paper
Tape
Grafting Paper
Pencil


Step 1: Remove fake flowers from previous crafting atttempt on lamp shade. Don't bother picking off the hot glue. It will be covered by paper anyway.

Step 2: Use lint brush to remove years of cat hair from shade. What does she do, sleep curled around the thing?

Step 3: Lay shade on calendar paper and stare at it for a while. Accept that you don't understand enough math to put a square piece of paper evenly on a rounded lamp shade.

Step 4: Roll shade over calendar page while trying to trace pattern with pencil.

Step 5: Notice that you can’t see the pencil marking on the calendar page.

Step 6: Tape two pieces of printer paper together to make template.

Step 7: Repeat step 4 on blank paper.

Step 8: Now HERE is one of my more brilliant ideas. Place a stolen piece of graphite paper between new template and and calendar page. Trace curvy lines onto calendar.

Step 9: Flip graphite paper the proper way so it leaves markings on the calendar paper and NOT the template paper.

Step 10: Feel very proud of yourself and cut out curved shape from calendar paper.

Step 11: Roll eyes when you realize the calendar paper is much too small to cover entire lamp shade.

Step 12: Repeat steps 9 and 10 on spare piece of butcher paper found lying around (don’t worry, readers. It is previously unused).

Step 13: Dip paintbrush that is far too wide as deep as you can into the bottle of Mod Podge and manage to cover the tips of the bristles in glue. Paint a thin layer of glue on the backs of calendar page and butcher paper, and surface of the lamp shade.

Step 14: Line butcher paper onto shade first and press down. Ignore the fact that the shape isn’t perfect and doesn't quite reach the edge of the lamp shade in some places.

Step 15: Attempt to use wooden spoon to smooth out wrinkles. Forget that, too much effort.

Step 16: Apply a thin-ish layer of Mod Podge over surface of butcher paper, trying to stick down edges as best you can.

Step 17: Repeat with calendar paper over space not covered by butcher paper.

Step 18: Cut little corners of butcher paper to cover places your math skills are just too lacking to account for.

Step 19: Realize the level of Mod Podge has dipped too low in bottle for paintbrush to reach and dump a puddle of Mod Podge onto cutting board instead.

Step 20: Paint three new layers of Mod Podge over entire shade, allowing 15 minutes to dry between coats.

Step 21: Put new fancy shade back on lamp and feel very proud of yourself.

Step 22: Turn on lamp and discover you can see the dates from the back of the calendar page.

Step 23: Find it all quite hilarious and love your little Mod Podged lamp shade anyway.

Next time: Hand-knit sweaters for everyone!

An unexpected treasure

I spent the first part of my childhood in High Level, Alberta, touted by many as the last real stop before the Northwest Territories. To me, the Peace River Country was a place of magic and merit. In the summer there wasn’t quite a midnight sun, but there was midnight twilight, when the sky only darkened to a milky grey before the sun rose again, and when it was at its highest it burned so intensely I knew what it must feel like to be microwaved. High Level also got all the bragging rights of the cold and the bugs like any other part of the north. It was the sort of place that made you aware that the world was bigger than you, and you could be tougher than you ever thought possible.

So imagine my delight when I was looking through a bookshelf in the old family house today and I found a book called Poems of the Peace River Country by Jessie M. Bresnahan, published in 1960 by Arthur H. Stockwell Ltd. out of Elms Court, Ilfracombe Devon. I can’t find much information about Bresnahan, but according to the frontispiece she was a district nurse in the Peace River Valley and Mackenzie Basin. I know from reading Dr. Mary Percy Jackson’s biography A Homemade Brass Plate that there was a call for nurses in the UK to immigrate to Northern Alberta around the turn of the twentieth century, and based on some of her poetry, I have a suspicion that Bresnahan was one of the nurses who answered the call.

This blog post is going to be a little different, because there is no easy research to bulk up what I learned from reading Poems of the Peace River Country. Instead I’m going to offer a selection of her poetry here so that you can learn a part of history of an important Alberta place through the eyes of a wonderful Alberta pioneer, just like I did.

“Mystery of the Little Smoky”

On the mysterious supposed death of O. Hansom while hunting whose horse returned without housing or saddle

If horses they could speak
How one could tell and solve a mystery so dark and deep,
How a stray bullet from a poacher’s gun did
Strike its master’s head and falling headlong on the ground
That strong man lay and bled.
Soon shaking hands beside him knelt
And tried to staunch the flow, but all in vain,
The life had fled, that life, they had laid low.
Then guilty hands the saddle loose and other housings too,
He’s off to free and open space, then stops and stands to view,
Those guilty hands then carry him,
Whose life had lately fled, they pause and think, just
On the brink, of Little Smoky’s bed,
They hesitate to make their sin, a deeper darksome crime,
Then on they drop in a pool where sun doth never shine;
Dead men tell no tales, they say.
But guilt will make them shudder
In days to come, we know someone
The crime will have to utter.

“In Alberta”

I thank Thee, Lord, thou broughtest me here,
I did not want to come,
It seemed so very far away,
From my first dear old home.
Aye! Thou art leading still,
I came, I saw, was conquered
Almost, against my will.
When once you drink from mighty Peace,
The aged Indian said,
“You will come back. You must not break.”
He shrugged and shook his head.
I drank its water, turned away
And left for other lands.
Thou called be back again to tread
Alberta’s sunny strands.
My three score years and ten have passed.
The tide may come this year,
To bear me through the Sunset Gate,
But I’ll be waiting here.

Do I still get to call myself a student?

I expected when I started this blog that I would talk about life as a graduate student. Yet here I am two years later and I think I hardly spoke about it even in passing. Now it's all over. I can breathe a sigh of relief; I somehow managed to fool everyone.

Eventually I plan to do a post about tips for surviving graduate school, but first I have to think about what those tips might be. At the moment I feel like the overlooked average kid. The one that doesn't stand out, doesn't need extra help, just goes where they know they're supposed to and makes it through to summer vacation hardly scathed. I also know this is sarcastic humility, and I am very sure there are some things I did exceedingly well, and some things I would go back and do differently. But that's not what I'm going to talk about here.

I'm going to talk about my newfound freedom in working! I guess I need to start by saying that I have too many lucky stars to count. I'm barely two weeks outside of my degree and I'm already working in publishing, a field I've always wanted to be a part of. I am rediculously lucky to join Todd Anderson at Henday Publishing as the managing editor. Together, we intend on creating community development, social economics, and education material with an interdisciplinary approach, a keen interest in technology, and an open mind for new material and methods. I am not so bold as to say we are the new face of academic publishing, but I am bold enough to say that we are pretty darned determined to carve out a space for ourselves in this strange uncertain and ever-changing market. Stay tuned and keep your eyes out for Henday Publishing.

In addition to my work as an editor, I am also thrilled to start a long-overdue artistic partnership with my dear friend Dusty Hagerud. Dusty is ony of my oldest friends, and he has been a designer/illustrator for as long as I have known him. I am a huge fan of his work and his sense of humor, and we have a number of plans in the works. Stay tuned for loads of hilarious, irreverant tales of myth, mischief, and marionettes.

Finally, after all the time I have spent working on courses, school deadlines, and that big old monster I called a thesis, I can't wait to get going on my portfolio. The first thing I'm going to do is put that thesis in a drawer for a few months and not think about it. Next I'm going to free-write to my heart's content and enjoy every indulgent moment of it. Then I'm going to do what any recently graduated, aspiring writer would do—pimp myself to anyone who will listen and brag like crazy when someone puts my work into print.

So, this is unfortunately one of those self-satisfying diary-esque blogs that doesn't serve much other than to promise awesome things to come. Hopefully I've done enough already that you are intrigued enough to believe me. Exciting things are certainly to come.

Studies show eating ______ is good/bad/necessary/horrible for you

Are you healthy? I quit smoking four months ago. I like fruits and vegetables so I eat them. I'm on the go all the time so by default I tend to do a lot of walking. And I was in a curling league this winter. Am I healthy? I honestly have no idea.

When it comes to the topic of health, this past year has been eventful to say the least. There have been some health scares with people who are very close to me. I lost an aunt to cancer a year ago, and my mother recently lost a cousin her age as well. It has me thinking a lot about what it means to be healthy and what we can do about it.

What can we do about it? If we take our advice from any magazine, from tv experts, or from the late-night supplement commercials, we will spend thousands of dollars and hours dedicated to consuming oils and supplements, repeating lunges and palates moves, and wearing yoga pants and magnetic bracelets. Will any of that make us healthy? Must we contribute an hour to meditation, ten minutes to stretching, half an hour to walking, forty-five minutes to bird watching, and seventy-five dollars to organic kelp smoothies each day? Should maintaining our bodies and our minds really be this complicated?

I had the idea to do a blog series where I research all the advice given by the likes of Dr. Oz or any Oprah-endorsed personality, all the health magazines, all the supplements, a general practitioner, a naturopath, the old wives-tales, and any other bit of health advice roaming around the airwaves to date and do them all. I think it could be an interesting experiment on the chaos of our quality of life. Someone really should do that blog—but that person is not me. Honestly, I don't have the time or the money, or probably the patience. And I have a sneaking suspicion doing it all will kill a person.

So while I was thinking about this conundrum I asked myself as I often do—what would my grandma do?

My grandma (we called her babcia) lived to be 92. In August, my husband and I are going to Winnipeg to celebrate his grandma's (he calls her baba) 90th birthday. Many of my babcia's siblings are still alive and well, with their wits and their legs still kicking, approaching or past 90.

Do you honestly think you will live to that age? Honestly, now. To hear the media bark, we are all doomed to die of diabetes before long if we don't live on a steady diet of goji berries, flaxseed oil, avocados, and aqua-robics, and we must start right now! Yet, I know my babcia never once in her life ate a goji berry. So what's the deal?

I don't have the book with me right now, so I'm not about to cite anything, but I'm sure it was in Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma that I read the best piece of food-related advice I have ever seen. I'm paraphrasing, but he basically said if your grandma doesn't recognize it as food, it's not food. Ok, I'm not suggesting that a goji berry isn't food. I'm sure it's very good for you. But so is a raspberry, and those grow in my back yard.

So here's what I have figured out. My babcia was healthy, and I am not. She was healthy into her nineties because she walked to the grocery store and pushed her groceries back in a little cart. She mowed her lawn. She gardened, she made bread, she kept a clean house, she cooked her own meals, she pickled, she canned, she sewed, she went outside. When she wanted popcorn she popped it in an air popper, not the microwave. My babcia was afraid of the microwave.

I can hear you all rolling your eyes and mumbling about responsibilities and a different world, and who has the time, and we have to work, and I shouldn't have to can, and the grocery store is on the other side of town. My babcia was also hooked on her “stories” (All my Children, mostly) and she loved a good nap. She relaxed, and she also worked into her seventies. Suck it up, spoon-fed youngsters! Make time.

What else you got? You don't have a backyard? Can't grow raspberries? Go buy them! Farmer's market too expensive? Opt for good quality fruit over Starbucks. Can't get to the farmer's market on Saturday? Go to the grocery store on a Tuesday. Grocery store too far away? If it is less than ten blocks then put on your walking shoes and buy a little trolly. I used to use a big suitcase. Ok, fine, I'll meet you in the middle. Walk to the grocery store, bus back with the groceries.

Here's a challenge: commit to cooking dinner 5 days a week WITHOUT using the microwave. Vacuum three times a week—it only takes 10 minutes. Dance, play with some kids, learn to pickle beans, shovel the sidewalk, take up crocheting, whittling, soap making. Do something old fashioned, and put some elbow grease into it. Then, when you're all done, munch on some veggies and dip.

I hope you're thinking now that none of this sounds new. You've heard it all before. Well, that's the point. Somewhere along the line we forgot that we instinctually know how to care for our bodies and our minds. These are not new designs that we need to fiddle with. We are not iBody 2.0. We are the same machine as our grandparents. The difference is, our grandparents just got on with this living stuff, while we keep trying to refer to manuals and upgrades. So that's my new/old philosophy for health. Be active, eat food, and put some effort into it.