Praise and Pedestal

A few nights ago, I again had a dream that I was being chased by a dinosaur. This isn’t the first time a t-rex has stalked my slumber, it is actually a recurring dream of mine dating back to childhood that I’ve since grown to anticipate because it’s positively thrilling. In my latest nocturnal vision, the beast’s body was covered in red scales ranging from crimson to burgundy. In comparison to its sheer size and girth, my body was proportionate in scale to a mosquito. Despite this disadvantage, I didn’t run from it. I didn’t retreat. I stood and fought with the might of an army.

Dreams often don’t make sense but sometimes neither does reality.

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Life was never easy but there was always the illusion of normalcy that we could naively count on for its moments of relative monotony. Over the past several months, the world lost the comfort that predictability offered. Our new normal is physically distancing, staying at home, adjusting expectations and expecting safety in the smallest of measures. But that seems to matter only to a portion of the population. Increasingly, in the span of mere weeks, a boisterous group is measuring the worth of others for how useful they are towards the machinations of capitalism and willing to sacrifice those in their community as needed to maintain their own comfort. It’s disturbing to watch unfold in real life, in real time. The veil of fellowship is opaque.

Examples of this on the North American continent include the following:

The Mayor of Las Vegas recently conducted an interview where she admitted to offering her city as a “control group” for Covid-19 because casinos were suffering. She was denied from doing so by experts.

Then the President of the United States made the erroneous suggestion that injecting bleach and other disinfectants directly into the body could possibly clean out the virus in minutes. He later stated it was an off-hand remark meant to test reporters and journalists. The continued irresponsible and downright idiotic behaviour of the leader of the most powerful nation on earth is literally a threat to all humanity. All in the name of business. All in the name of keeping dividends flowing and supporters pacified.

And just this week, gun-toting protesters stormed Michigan’s Capital building to demand an end to the stay-at-home order. People are going to die anyway is the common refrain. What they don’t publicly say is “as long as it’s not me”.

In this regard, the United States is far more a wild west shitshow than Canada. For the most part, the response of our elected leaders has been reasoned. But we do have our moments.

“We are fighting against a federal program that is actually paying people to stay out of the workforce right now. I don't like the fact that that is real, but that is real. People are being paid to stay home and not work."

The Premiere of my home province recently had choice words against federal financial support programs to help workers affected by Covid-19. His statement failed to account for the number of people laid off or with hours reduced so drastically they won’t be able to pay their bills through no fault of their own and disingenuously absolves his government of further aid for citizens which is something governments are elected to do in times of crisis. Not surprisingly, he also didn’t reflect on the responsibility of business owners to implement safety measures in the work environment. The ability to do one’s job from home is not a solution for every industry. Since PPE sourcing is still difficult to acquire and without guarantees that employers can meet basic recommended measures to help slow the spread of the virus, employees should have a choice on whether they wish to work in conditions that can potentially become a matter of life or death. That isn’t laziness or cheating the system, which is what the Premiere implied. It’s a valid concern currently expressed by front-line and essential workers, never mind everyone else that will eventually be impacted. Attempting to continue on as normal in a situation that is unprecedented with risk can be a dangerous endeavour.

We all contribute a part in building a nation.

But we also all have a role in building community.

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Our “new normal” is probably going to be here for awhile. It may not make sense right now but it is our reality.

We should aim to assist those most vulnerable, not degrade their existence.

We need to adapt to nature, not the stock market.

We should praise and pedestal those who truly deserve it.

A New Normal

It is stated that every generation has their defining moment. An historical event that challenges the status quo and changes everything. I sit on the cusp of being either a millennial or generation-X—the markers seem to shift as social commentators and other pundits seek to stereotype those with behavioural habits askew from their own perceived norms. Wherever I may fall, during my lifetime I have lived through the collapse of the U.S.S.R. (and subsequent rise of Putin), 9/11, several, seemingly endless wars in the Middle East, the normalization of mass shootings, unchecked capitalism, the invention of the internet and true globalization.

All of these things will have a reverberatory effect for decades to come.

But the unprecedented events of the past month will, perhaps, exceed them.

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I’ve wanted to write and document about this time for the past few weeks but just couldn’t muster the energy. The weight of the news—of daily headlines that announce death on a scale not seen outside of war, of an enemy you can’t predict or protect from—bore on my mind and body to the point of daily migraines and body aches. As some touted this as a great time to get projects completed that may have once been cast aside, my personal productivity was low. Thankfully still employed, my normal work was the only thing I wanted to use brainpower for. Outside of that, it’s been binging Tiger King and reading Choose Your Own Adventure books from my childhood. Just enough ludicrous fantasy to distract from the dismal realities of COVID-19.

Added to this is the stress of having no siblings and trying to care for an elderly, widowed parent while living a thousand kilometres away. Never mind the great toilet paper shortage of 2020, it’s been a challenge getting basic pantry necessities for my mother. Rice is increasingly a rare luxury. Even a box of Kraft Dinner now has a street value in excess of its worth. Personally I’m mostly missing fresh garlic, a staple of my cooking that I haven’t seen in weeks.

My last visit to a grocery store was surreal. A guard stood at the front entrance of Safeway watching over a line twenty deep waiting patiently, six feet apart, to get in for supplies. Upon entry, all shoppers were required to either wash their hands at a newly installed station or use disinfectant prior to having a cart handed to them by a gloved employee. Throughout the aisles, bright orange arrows on the ground directed shoppers around the store to aid social distancing (although a few ignored these measures and I was surprised at how quickly I felt anxiety to being close to another human being). Never before had I realized - and longed for - the simple pleasure of loitering. Pasta, canned soup and frozen vegetables were scarce. We are often reminded that supply chains are working but sights like this seem to incite hoarders to buy more as product comes in to the point where little is left for others. I predict there are a lot of peanut butter sandwiches in my near future.

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I celebrated my fourtieth birthday a few days ago. My partner and I stayed inside and made a chocolate cake with whatever ingredients we had on-hand. It was delicious and rich and memorable for a number of reasons, not least of which was watching someone bake for the first time. I am very thankful to have a “quarantine” buddy.

Thoughts of my mother still weighed on my mind though. Normally, I would be in my hometown in early Spring visiting with her and my beloved dog Monty (who is her own quarantine buddy now). Being with a loved one, tangibly connecting with their presence, is such an important part of the human experience and I fear the wave of mental health issues that loom as we all navigate through this time. Moreso than any other aspect of this contagion, hearing about people who don’t get to say goodbye or pay proper respects to their lost loved ones saddens me the most. There’s a pain there that will never go away.

On April 1, I phoned my mother and she played an April Fools joke me, as is tradition within the Clague household. It was unexpected this year and her howling laughter at pulling a fast one on me filled my soul with a warmth that I hadn’t felt in weeks. Some aspects of life have remained the same.

Plank the Curve

Covid-19 is rapidly changing our lives. Do your part to help plank the curve - stay at home and give adequate space to others during this unprecedented time. Together we can make things better for our community.

To download a PDF of this poster (8.5”x11”), click here.

Into The Wild

Stories about disappearance and protagonists who seek an alternate purpose in life beyond what society prescribes have always intrigued me. I live through the words on the page, imagining myself in their shoes and being brave enough to live without the comfort of predictability. I daydream of a life unbound.

In his youth, my father exhibited this carefree spirit and I feel some of his determination to tread his own path runs through my blood as well. In the seventies, before this became commercialized by the tourism industry, my father and two of his friends got on their 10-speed bikes and peddled from Winnipeg to the west coast camping on the side of the road or in forests shadowed by the Canadian Rockies. When he’d tell me stories about the adventure, about the physical hardship, the encounters with wildlife—including a pack of curious wolves that trailed them for a bit down the Icefields Parkway near Jasper—and the connection to nature that he experienced, I sat in awe. I could sense the feeling of accomplishment and fulfillment emanating off him and longed to lead a life where I could feel the same sense of purpose, if only briefly.

Living off radar for a bit can be incredibly recharging. I’ve experienced this on an elementary level during my solo travels but these have only been a few weeks at a time (and, sadly, never as disconnected as I probably need). Traveling to a new world, one in which I don’t understand the custom or language, forces me to be present, receptive and sharp. Being reliant solely upon my faith in the affability of strangers and the power of my intuition connects me to a deeper sense of humanity and realization of my own strength. But even on these escapades, I am still safely ensconced in a metropolis built for the comfort of man. The older I get, the more I (like my father) want a challenge and to reconnect with nature.

A few months ago, a book I read made me tumble into a deep rabbit hole of exploration on this pipe dream and people who were brave enough to choose an unconventional path in life. “Into Thin Air” by author/mountaineer Jon Krakauer is one of the most riveting, well-crafted works of non-fiction I have ever read in my life. So awestruck was I by his tale of climbing Mount Everest that I started researching my own possible adventure in the Himalayas and immediately went out to buy as many of his other works as I could. This included the work he is perhaps most known for - “Into The Wild”.

Since that book’s release, the story of Chris McCandless has become legendary; although his legacy is polarizing. Leaving his home, family and life savings in pursuit of the open road and a life far removed from capitalism and other societal constructs, Chris lived his dream while navigating the United States in pursuit of deeper meaning in life. Based on the journals and connections he left behind, it appeared he found it in places as varied as Arizona, South Dakota and, the place he perished, Alaska. His tale had an abrupt, heartbreaking end that some critics say underlines his naïveté. But another camp of idealistic dreamers has elevated him to myth-like status, making the backcountry of the 49th state, in particular the location of Bus no.142, a spot for pilgrimage. “Into the Wild” is a short book with a big impact detailing his brief, albeit well-lived, life.

If we live a life where we only see few things, visit few places, and meet few people, we pass through existence having only covered a few measures of distance - but to live a life well lived, with many perspectives and experiences, is to touch upon every part of the tapestry of what it means to be human. As I enter a new decade, I no longer aim to be the girl with the most cake. Instead, I crave authenticity. I search for meaning in script and the stars. In that regard, I admire Chris McCandless for his rejection of what society has become and his pursuit of his own destiny. We should all be so lucky to realize our purpose.

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“Don’t settle down and sit in one place. Move around, be nomadic, make each day a new horizon. “

The Decade: Loss

The last decade of my life was punctuated with loss. In the span of four years, I lost both of my maternal grandparents, a pet that I cherished, and - the hardest, deepest - my beloved father who passed away months after being unexpectedly diagnosed with terminal cancer. Processing the finality of these events has not been easy and has left me with an emptiness that occasionally wanes but is always present. I try to work with it. I’ve tried to appease it by feeding it stimulation and adventure. I’ve tried to kill it with carbs and boys. I now just treat it as a part of me. Less a burden and more a facet of experience that can influence and direct my path forward towards the life I want to live.

You may never know the last time you get to spend with someone.

Cherish every moment.

Be generous with love.

This is the most important wisdom I gained over the past decade.

The Decade: The Climb

The most physically demanding thing I achieved over the past decade was climbing an actual mountain. At 3,776 metres, it wasn’t anywhere near the scale of, say, Everest (which is 8,848 metres) but for someone who’d rather eat doughnuts than hit the gym, this accomplishment was monumental. I did it for a very special reason - a demonstration of my deep love for my father and a promise to him on how I would fill my days with adventure in remembrance of his spirit.

I’m a person of my word.

To read more about climbing Mount Fuji, click here, here, here, here and here (or search the Japan tag for a travelogue on my other experiences in the land of the rising sun).

I made it! - the summit of Mount Fuji (©Deborah Clague, 2015).

Climbing Mount Fuji (©Deborah Clague, 2015).

Climbing Mount Fuji (©Deborah Clague, 2015).

The terrain on the path heading up was quite rocky and not that easy to traverse at 3:00am on limited sleep (©Deborah Clague, 2015).

The path returning to the bottom was different terrain but equally as hard as reaching the summit. The volcanic ash made it slippery and hard to establish grip (©Deborah Clague, 2015).

The Decade: The Amateur Chef

Growing up, my relationship with food was much different than it is today. Food’s primary purpose was fuel, a means to garner the energy that youth required. It was also pretty routine and safe. My homemaker mom had a few specialties that she seemed to rotate on a weekly basis. This included well-cooked pork chops with a pinch of black pepper, Prego-drenched spaghetti and, my favourite, chicken fingers and fries (being from Winnipeg, I’ve also eaten my weight in pirogies several times over). Food was not an indulgence in my childhood home. Meals were not made from scratch but rather selected for convenience. Up until a few years ago, this was my outlook as well.

The kitchen in my home is bigger than I’d ever had before. The large island just beckons to be put to use, although for a long time it was neglected to the role of storage space for paperwork and other random items. I would occasionally attempt baking something easy but nothing of intricacy. My desire to truly become a gastronomy student was instilled by my partner. One of our first dates was dinner at an Indian restaurant. He was excited to introduce me to biriyani, a rice dish heavy with spices and mixed with assorted meats. My experience with Indian food was minimal up until that point and I was admittedly concerned about the effect it would have on my limited-palate stomach. I approached it slowly, taking small spoonfuls … until I couldn’t stop. The flavour was so rich. It opened my eyes to a whole new world. Biriyani has also become my favourite food. I like it more than pizza - which is really testament to how delicious it is.

Now I take a great pleasure in not only eating but the entire process of cooking from researching new recipes to learning what umami is. When I travel, I am most excited about leisurely exploring the grocery stores and markets for spices and other ingredients not readily available at home. My creative flair is now being applied to cuisine as both hobby and art form. My waistline may be expanding but my overall health and enjoyment in life has never been better.

Cooking at an apartment in Paris (©2019, Deborah Clague).

Bison kebab with homemade tzatziki (©Deborah Clague, 2017).

Tandoori chicken with biriyani (©2019, Deborah Clague).

Lemon-garlic-rosemary chicken with black rice and vegetables (©2019, Deborah Clague).

The Decade: Neighbours

This past decade, I became a property owner. After much research, budgeting and financial forecasting, I found an affordable place that was a blank canvas for the life I wanted to breathe into it. Besides equity, that was the most appealing aspect of home ownership; my home is an extension of the design work I do and its transformation from being a floor-to-ceiling throwback of the mid-80s dusty rose trend to “neo-gothic New York” (think noir with exposed brick) is truly something I am proud of.

I’d be lying though if I said I didn’t use to constantly monitor housing prices to see if I was taking a hit (or making a gain). I had no intention of actually selling … but instead sought the comfort that I hadn’t made the biggest financial mistake of my life. A mortgage is a huge burden to carry and at the end of the day, we all want to get ahead. Over time I realized though that money and the security it affords was only a part of what I needed in life.

The day I moved in, my new neighbour, an elderly woman who strongly resembles the Queen Mum, opened her door to peek out at the commotion in the hallway. With a smile and an impromptu hug, I was touched by how welcoming and kind she was. Her eyes were the bluest blue I’d ever seen and I felt a sense of warmth in her presence. In addition, she took an immediate attachment to my dog, Monty, which was a blessing as even though I reside in a pet-friendly building, there are a lot of people who don’t like pets (and will openly tell you so). Over the years, my neighbour and I have become incredibly close to the point where I consider her my adoptive grandmother. She is my family, if not by blood then by love.

I’ve also made other deep connections, including a close friend that I’ve taken on trips from Chicago to Dubai. And then there’s the person who moved in with me, someone who appreciates my eclectic taste in art and sought to make it even more unique - I now have an indoor garden with its own custom-crafted waterfall! This is priceless to me.

The friendships I’ve made and the experiences I’ve shared with my neighbours have so greatly enriched my life that no amount of money lost in a constantly fluctuating market could ever detract from what I’ve gained. These memories from 2010-2020 have firmly established my house as home.

My indoor garden, a work in progress (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The Decade: A New Best Friend

There’s excitement when moving to a city you’ve never visited before. It could be an opportune time to reinvent yourself. To form new hobbies and embark on relationships that are misguided but ultimately shamelessly fun. If I’m being honest though, I settled rather quickly into my comfortable ways again. I’m an introverted homebody and those just aren’t traits conducive to being the life of the party. And no one talks about it much, but forming adult bonds and friendships is a rather difficult thing to do. As you get older, most people have their social groups established. Life can get especially lonely when starting over from scratch.

Within two weeks of my move, I made a new best friend though. A little guy that has brought me such happiness and unconditional love that I can literally feel my heart swell with emotion when I think of him. The “guy” I’m talking about is my wee Monty, a mixed breed with the sweetest personality. He is twenty pounds of both teddy bear and sentry. Adopting a dog forced me to explore my new city and focus on something other than my own isolated milieu. One of my most cherished memories were the first three nights he spent adapting to life in my apartment.

Night one: I placed Monty in his kennel in the living room in order to get him accustomed to my absence. All night he cried. I broke resolve rather quickly and brought him into my bedroom.

Night two: I placed Monty’s pet bed on the floor next to my own with the hopes that he would easily drift into slumber knowing I was in the same room as him. This didn’t work either as he kept attempting to jump up onto my bed. He didn’t cry—and he didn’t bark— but the sound of this struggle broke my resolve.

Night three: Monty had established his place of sleeping on the bed with me, eventually taking over the dead-centre of the mattress so that I could barely move. I didn’t mind at all. Like I said, he’s my teddy bear. For all that his presence has enriched my life, he can live like a king.

The first glimpse I ever saw of Monty. This was the photo used in his adoption listing (2010).

The Decade: A New Home

As the decade nears its end, I wanted to vignette some of the moments that most touched my life:

It was February of 2010 and we were driving down the Trans-Canada Highway with as much of my stuff as could fit in the back of a Nissan. My father was behind the wheel, navigating the sheen of black ice while attempting to give me a pep talk that would last nearly the entire duration of my one-way trip. For I was leaving my hometown, my family and friends, and everything I knew up until that point to start a new life in a city I had never even visited before.

From 2004 to 2009, I worked from home operating a small creative consultancy business that partnered with marketing firms on a variety of projects big and small. In October of that final year, a downturn in the economy resulted in the loss of two of my biggest clients. Fraught with anxiety over my future in the field—not to mention the more tangible, immediate stress of how I would pay my bills—I made the decision to re-enter the job market. As I am wont to do, I also made the decision to make other sweeping changes in my life including applying for positions in different cities. The start of a new decade felt like a perfect opportunity to also start a new chapter in my life. And so it was written.

In January of 2010, I boarded a flight for an interview.

Within a few weeks, I got the job.

It happened incredibly quickly and while my initial ambitions achieved exactly what I had hoped, the palpable sense of loss I felt as the light pollution of Winnipeg faded further from view overwhelmed me. I cried so much we had to stop and stay overnight at The Twilight Motel in Moosomin, delaying arrival in my new home by a day. While some may have perceived it as cold, my father’s rational, direct way of supporting me helped open my eyes to the possibilities that laid ahead. At that time, he never openly cried. Even though I knew he would miss me (and worry about me), he only focused on what was best for my personal growth.

The past, predictable and safe, could always be resurrected if I made the choice. My childhood bedroom was available, even if the stuffed animals that once shared it with me no longer existed. I would just have to call.

The future though, open and exciting with so much potential, was what he encouraged.

Reflecting on the past decade and all the memories I’ve cultivated, I made the right choice.