Throwback

1. No changing tramps

2. No tag

3. No fooling around of any kind will be tolerated. 

4. Only one person per tramp. 

- The Management - 

I think I'm about four-years-old in this picture. It was taken at a trampoline park in Killarney, Manitoba. This was prior to my first visit to Disneyworld and I couldn't anticipate nor imagine anything exceeding the fun I had here. My parents bought me a small trampoline - the size and type of which Jane Fonda probably used in one of her iconic fitness videos - but it was nothing like the dozen or so here. They were massive in my eyes. And extra super bouncy! 

I grew up without brothers and sisters to enjoy this revelry with, unfortunately, but my father was always game. He was a kid at heart, attempting to defy gravity along with me. Excursions to the trampoline park eventually became excursions to the arcade; travelling to Disneyworld eventually became travelling THE world. My life is rich with extraordinary experiences and cherished memories because of this man. He was "Super Dad". 

I miss him so much. 

Your Occasional Monty

Monty and a teapot version of Monty (October 2015): 

If there is such a thing as a "Cute Olympics" then I am throwing my wee guy in the ring. Look at that face! He would bring home the gold. 

Chicago

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.

And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.

And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.

And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this, my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:

Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness.

A poetry excerpt written by Carl Sandburg about the great city of Chicago. 

Chicago Theatre (2011) ©Deborah Clague. 

Chicago Theatre (2011) ©Deborah Clague. 

Thirty Something Vignette: no.4

It was late. The time of night where things are said that wouldn't – couldn't  – be uttered in the harsh glare of daylight. She used the opportunity to obtain clarity. 

"What do you want in the future?" she inquired. 

At first he waffled, misunderstanding the question. Perhaps it was intentional. Earlier proclamations of love and marriage belied the truth; his response began with "I like you but …". 

She looked at him as he sat basking in ego and felt a pang of sympathy. Despite being in love with him, she didn't initiate this conversation to ask for something more serious. 

It was because she had met someone else. 

Bang!

On New Year's Eve, 2014, I made the decision to boldly live the upcoming year by challenging myself to do things I normally wouldn't. Or couldn't. I dubbed it my "year of adventure" and it has been such. I visited the most heavily militarized border in the world. I climbed a mountain. I've been an active student in learning the ways of the world through my heart, mind and soul. And so, I now feel it needs to end with a bang. 

I often visit aircanada.com to research fares, even if I'm not planning on going anywhere. It's a great distraction; for someone who daydreams as much as I do, this habit offers plenty of inspiration. This particular day, I decided to look into a place that has intrigued me for years but which I've never actively considered because of the astronomical VISA fees associated with visiting it. It was always financially out-of-reach. 

But VISA fees for Canadians were recently lifted. 

And holy shit - there was a fare the week of my birthday (convenient) that wasn't much more than traveling to Eastern Canada. I bought it on the spot and would sort out the details later. Spontaneity is also a trait I've developed and embraced over the past year. Keeps life exciting. 

My best friend visited that evening. As usual, wine flowed as we discussed our careers, men and other nonsense. I told her about my news. About my final destination. She went wide-eyed and instantly proclaimed "Ive always wanted to go there. I'm coming with you!". 

And with that, two BFFs are now preparing for the vacation of a lifetime in Dubai. 

Bang!

Thirty Something: Vignette no.3

"It's gone now, so you will have a space to park your car when you visit."

It was a kick to the stomach. An unexpected, if not inevitable, moment I'd been waiting for and hoping would be miraculously put off indefinitely. Despite being nearly a year on, the permanence of the event had still not fully resonated. I had items to cling to – THINGS – such as old hockey jerseys and tools and the type of objects that dads just seem to collect and keep for no reason whatsoever. Within this amassed wealth of curios, I felt comfort that his spirit was still around. But now it seemed I needed to redirect. We are, after all, not our material goods. 

"It made me sad too but we needed to do something about it. The car couldn't just sit there forever. You have nowhere to park when you visit."

It wasn't a hockey jersey or tool, those were still there and would remain in their place, but it was my late father's vehicle and this would be much more noticeably absent when I visited. A gaping void next to the house cruelly reminding me of the unexpected loss. As my mother didn't know how to drive, it ultimately served no purpose other than helping us both stall change. She did the right thing. I will never be prepared to face this newfound reality. 

The 2000 Honda Civic SE wasn't just his vehicle, it was my old car as well. My first major purchase, my father talked me into buying it instead of moving in with a boyfriend back-in-the-day (which was good advice as the car definitely had a longer lifespan). He coached me in haggling a fair price. He taught me the importance of regular maintenance. He joined me on road-trips from coast-to-coast. The vehicle was a vessel of our relationship. Despite having another set of wheels, my father bought the Honda from me in 2008 when I upgraded. He never admitted it, but I knew it was a pity purchase once again meant to help me out. 

Part of me though believes he couldn't bear to see it go either. 

My dad proudly took pictures the day I bought my first car (1999). 

My dad proudly took pictures the day I bought my first car (1999). 


Daffodil Month

Everyone knows someone affected by cancer.

According to a national survey conducted by Angus Reid, only 49% of people with cancer search for further information on the disease after being diagnosed, while only 19% looked into support services. 56% of individuals do not feel properly equipped to help themselves, a family member or other loved one who has been diagnosed. 

Each year, during the month of April, the Canadian Cancer Society tries to change this by raising awareness and support for those living with the disease. You can join the fight by purchasing a daffodil pin or making a donation. Every little bit helps and hopefully one day, there will be a cure. 

Thirty Something: Vignette no.2

I hopped in the backseat of the cab. A protective shield acted as a barrier between myself and the driver. These weren't present in taxis roaming the streets of the city I currently live in. However, the city I currently live in does not have the level of crime that plagues my hometown. I felt disconnected, but it was just as well; cab drivers can be quiet or entirely too talkative.

The commute – my regular commute – from the airport to my childhood home would be 40 minutes long winding through industrial zones, past the latest crop of highly congested retail outlets, to a residential area replete with mature trees, manmade lakes and a rich French/Metis history. My parents chose a physically- and spiritually-lush place to raise me. Although returning now brought a flood of bittersweet memories. 

The cab driver eventually did initiate conversation. This started out with the type of generic universal dialogue that strangers fill the air (and time) with, but eventually evolved into one of the most profound colloquies I've ever had. 

The driver appeared to be roughly the same age as myself and shared much of the same goals, struggles and heartbreak that I was going through. As many in their 30s can relate to. The frank discussion covered life aspirations that seemed to be eternally out of grasp, and ended, upon pulling up in front of my mother's house, our final destination, on the topic of parental loss and the hardship of faking enough strength to emotionally carry remaining family from their own despair. My father died last summer after an unexpected and far too brief battle with esophageal cancer. My driver's father died five years ago from a sudden heart attack.

He was not present.

And did not get to say "goodbye". 

All of his family reside in India.

As I exited the taxi cab, I gave my farewell to the driver and told him to phone his mother. He smiled warmly, then watched and waited as I left to greet my own. 

All that weekend, I regretted sharing everything with this exceptional stranger but our names.