My pet polar bear, Monty:
(© Deborah Clague, 2017)
Leave a Light
2017 wasn't a great year for me, although great things did happen.
2017 wasn't a bad year for me, although bad things did happen.
The feeling I most associate it with is one of unease. This, I suspect, is a universal feeling of late. It is hard not to feel so when the person elected to the highest seat of power in the most powerful nation on Earth is a misogynistic, race-baiting, Nazi-supporting blowhard that seems hellbent on making life as miserable as possible for any living creature deemed beneath him (and everything deemed beneath him is anyone born without the privilege of obscene inherited wealth). The only thing more disappointing than a living caricature of the Monopoly Man's evil twin being elected to power are the number of people that support and feel emboldened by marks of ignorance. In 2017, I felt like a stranger on my own planet. I assumed we were long past this as a society but I forgot that history often repeats itself.
And it did in my life too.
In 2007, my father and I took two major holidays together. The first was to England. We drove all over the country but missed the Isle of Man, my paternal ancestral home (a major storm forced the ferries to shut down). My father was disappointed he didn't make it and always vowed to return but never had the opportunity before passing away at far too early an age. Enter January 2017, in which I felt the perfect bookend to the last decade of travel was to return there with the sole purpose of visiting my Manx motherland. And so I did. I also ran into more potential family history when I discovered my surname on several war monuments including one I came across by chance while exploring the back-end of St. Paul's Cathedral. It was one of the most memorable moments of my life for all the right reasons. My father left his light. I followed.
Spring was a series of unfortunate events including a solid two weeks where my life turned to unrelenting shit in so many ways. It began with getting my first speeding ticket while enroute to a local lake for a day of hiking. Totally my own fault. Totally deserved. In addition to learning how fast (and impressively smooth) my car rides, I also learned the more important lesson that I am not above the rules of the road. This caution would be needed in the Fall when I witnessed a fatal head-on collision between an impatient driver and a semi-truck. It was one of the most horrific things I've ever seen; the visuals of which still haunt me today. Every so often I will replay the fateful moments that led up to it. The stop at the rest area on the provincial border. Being in a standstill as my car and another both waited for the other to pull out, with them eventually waving me to proceed. The seconds, literal seconds, this took that was the differentiator between us leading or following the semi. The impatient driver probably would have still passed but if these seconds hadn't occurred in the order they had, I would have been hit instead.
After that, I chipped my front tooth in an embarrassingly banal way. It was fixed by week's end but I have never felt so self-conscious in my life. My smile is THE thing that people notice and comment about me. Without it, I am not myself. I am not THE Deborah Clague that people know. This unfortunate accident taught me that I need to be pro-active about my health and wellbeing and also that enamel-strengthening toothpaste is a wise investment.
During this period, I was also told some news that was unexpected but always suspected. This taught me the lesson of being careful who I willingly let into my life. Not everyone leaves a light. Some bestow darkness because it is all they know. But the worst blow to my being was when I found out my maternal grandfather, Joseph Ouelette, passed away. Relationships might not always unfold as you feel they should. They might not always follow a traditional, linear pattern or offer closure upon demise. But there is always – ALWAYS – a lesson to be learned when you filter through the memories left behind, good and bad. It can take a bit of strength to reach that clarity while discarding everything else; to acknowledge the history without having its weight break your spirit. This particular branch of my family tree held a lot of weight. In letting go of the past and moving forward with nothing but remembrance of love, I understood my mother's resiliency and realized that I, myself, have a long way to go in developing internal peace.
My shit Spring ended with something that came completely out of left field. A job offer to work for the President's Office at an international post-secondary institution that would include a very competitive salary, several tiers of bonuses (including a 40% first year bonus and a 30% ongoing relocation allowance), full complement of benefits, pension, health care, subsidized housing, the potential to work on some very prestigious projects and experience a new adventure in life. This sounds like a no-brainer and for a time all I could think about was how this would get me closer to my goal of being a millionaire by the age of forty. But it was the destination that gave me pause. The job offer was in Saudi Arabia, a country with vastly different cultural and gender norms than I am used to. Half the people I mentioned it to told me to take it. That I would be on a compound and not entirely exposed to the realities of it. I would never make this kind of money again. The other half told me that it would be a huge mistake. That I would be on a compound and not entirely exposed to the realities of it. Money is not the most important thing in life after all. In the end, I had several long conversations with my mother who expressed that it was ultimately my decision but that she would be lost without me here. That was all I needed to hear. Several months later, I would receive the Outstanding Service award for my organization confirming that my career is going exactly where I want it to be.
On another positive note, I spent a lot of 2017 perfecting my culinary ability. Late last year, I was proud of several basic dishes that I knew how to make. I have since expanded to having an entire repertoire that is so delicious I feel I could open a restaurant. My favourite creation, as of right now, are my homemade samosas. But beyond simply developing a skill, this has resulted in a huge lifestyle change for me. With the help and influence of my partner, I have become more aware of what I'm putting in my body and now only aim to eat fresh, organic, unprocessed foods wherever possible.
2017 may have been a year of unease but that is because I was passive. Ultimately I know that change – and the pursuit of happiness – starts with me. And so the year ends with a commitment to repeat history one more time with the end-goal of positive personal evolution, shining a light for myself, and perhaps others, who need to feel they can conquer hardship in any form. As mentioned, a decade ago I went on two major holidays. One was a road trip throughout England. The second was an excruciating month-long backpacking expedition throughout a country that gave me sensory overload (and, admittedly, a lot of culture shock at the time).
I've decided that in 2018 I need to return to the place that kicked my ass all those years ago. I need to revisit this as a starting place of closure and renewal.
I am so excited to return to China.
I want to leave a light.
Home Cooking: Za'atar Lemon Roasted Chicken and Saffron-Infused Pomegranate Rice
This weekend I tried something different. After reading "Jamie Oliver's Food Escapes" by my current favourite celebrity chef, I've become intrigued with the cuisine of Morocco, especially a hard-to-find spice called za'atar which a number of recipes from the region incorporate. Za'atar is a very fragrant, tangy blend of sesame seeds, thyme and sumac. After finally finding it in a local specialty store, I pulled together this recipe of za'atar lemon roasted chicken with a side of saffron-infused pomegranate rice. This was a partial success; I don't feel I've developed the palate for this particular spice (and there were too many other ingredients in the rice for the saffron to truly shine through), however, my partner felt it was very reminiscent of the food he ate while living in Africa years ago. He also ate all the leftovers. Yay!
"Food Escapes" also talked about the communal ovens of Morocco which I found very interesting. Citizens fill clay pots called tangias with a variety of ingredients and drop them off to be slow-cooked over fire all day. The concept is a sharp contrast to the west's expectation of fast-food but I feel this would be so much more delicious (and obviously healthy). I would love to travel to North Africa to experience it.
Za'atar lemon roasted chicken with saffron-infused pomegranate rice (©Deborah Clague)
Za'atar lemon roasted chicken being readied for the oven (©Deborah Clague)
This marks the first time I've cooked with saffron (©Deborah Clague)
Prepping ingredients (©Deborah Clague)
Traditions
It's the little things in life. The little consistencies that provide comfort, security and belonging to a person, their family, and greater culture. I have daily rituals, such as my brisk 5km walk. It is not just for exercise but also human observation which is, perhaps, the real motivating factor behind it. I enjoy people watching. Almost daily I run into the same familiar strangers. I have become protective over some of them including the couple in which the wife aids her visually impaired husband around puddles and sidewalk cracks, or the elderly woman strolling around the block with her walker and faithful bichon frise. I always slow a bit when I see them, wanting to make sure they encounter no hazards and require no assistance. Part of me wishes there was someone else doing the same for me.
I also have weekly rituals. My Saturday has become rather predictable but is also my favourite day of the week for that very reason. I sleep in. Eat a light breakfast, perhaps a homemade raspberry smoothie and cinnamon toast. Turn on my PBS affiliate and watch Antiques Roadshow which offers soothing background noise as I read increasingly infuriating news updates online. I then meet up with my partner and we manage to find some mindless but entertaining afternoon activity. Returning home, I cook dinner, he does dishes (honestly!) and then we watch documentaries and deliberate science, politics and everything in between until returning to slumber. It is my perfect day. No pressure. No expectation. Just the simple enjoyment of slowing down time with someone you love.
The upcoming holiday season, of course, has a slew of rituals associated with it. And thus, this past Saturday the mindless but entertaining activity we undertook was decorating a Christmas tree. It's been ages since I put one up in my own home and had to haul the one my dad bought me years ago out of my storage locker. It's not entirely Charlie Brown-esque ... but it is far from the lush, perfectly frosted artificial trees I've seen in stores. I've always known Christmas to be a commercial holiday but it just seems especially crass now. I haven't seen a fake tree available for less than two hundred dollars. There is a market being underserved by perceived flaw.
When I was a child, we mostly put up a real tree which was purchased a week or two prior to the twenty-fifth from someone selling them out of a Canadian Tire parking lot. My father made the selection. Looking decent was a factor but of prime importance was cost. My father was a frugal man and so we did the best with whatever fifteen dollars (or preferably less) would buy. After adopting a puppy, we transitioned over to an artificial tree. The evergreen scent wafting through our home was greatly missed but constantly cleaning up pine needles was not. Artificial just seemed to suit our suburban life better.
I'm not sure where all of the ornaments accrued from. I know I made some at school but others just seemed to appear out of thin air; child me assumed it was the magic of the season. They were a mishmash of style and quality but the end result of my decorating – even though I didn't get to choose the tree, I was in charge of decorating it – was special for that human touch. It was our tree and looked like no other. Nowadays, it seems all stores want to box consumers into categories of "contemporary", "glamorous" or the boring "traditional" which is the closest to what we had going on in my youth. Everything looks the same. It is all overpriced and inauthentic or cheap and wasteful, which is perhaps the perfect commentary on what Christmas has become.
It shouldn't match. It's not about appearance or impressing others. It's about feeling. About memories. Which is why I was so happy to put my tree up this year. Some of the greatest moments of my life might be behind me but for the first time in years I feel the future holds the promise of more to come.
An Uncomfortable Reality
This video has haunted me for days (as it should). It mirrors a different documentary I watched a few weeks ago depicting the same thing. It breaks my heart to think that these majestic creatures – symbols of my homeland, the great north – may be gone this century as a result of the influence of my species. Global warming is not "fake news", it is fact. Anyone denying this is steeped in ignorance.
I applaud organizations like National Geographic and Sea Legacy that show the uncomfortable realities of the world we live in. It may seem like we are powerless against these vast global changes but we still do hold agency to make small, positive, educated choices in terms of protecting our planet and all its creatures.
Everyday, think about your impact.
I highly recommend watching the BBC Earth documentary "The Hunt". The cinematography is unparalleled and it touches on some of the same issues affecting our biospheres as above:
Home Cooking: Holiday Baking
When I was a kid, I had an EZ Bake oven. I used to get so excited when my mother would buy me a new cake mix at Toys-R-Us knowing that I would soon make a delicious creation with nothing but a lightbulb. Science! In retrospect, it was nasty as hell. However, it did instill in me much admiration for those who could cook. It was something I always wanted to learn but in between building a career and a life, never really had the time or motivation to pursue.
This weekend I completed my holiday baking and it's safe to say that I have advanced far beyond the elementary tools of my childhood. In fact, most of the skill I've developed has been honed just over the past year or so at the influence of someone in my life who wanted to see me be healthy ... and thus happy. It's worked on both fronts. I have been thinking a lot about how this is the first Christmas since my father passed away where I actually feel "in the spirit", having rid my life of most of the toxicity that encourages and instigates depression. I'm sure there are many reasons for that, but food plays a role in it as well.
As proof, I have completed my holiday baking! This year I am handing out home-baked goods as part of my gift to loved ones. I'm not sure if they will all realize the depth of gratitude proffered with this gesture; in addition to incorporating the highest-quality ingredients I can buy (organic, locally sourced, pure), this is an extension of my being, of my growth, of my love in tangible – and very delicious – form.
GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE MUFFINS:
This was the final piece I baked this weekend. It is a traditional carrot muffin (my favourite) mixed with pineapple, coconut and macadamia nut. I felt it would be a nice pick-me-up to our long, cold, Canadian winter. The recipe is a slightly modified version from the blog KitchenTreaty.com.
Good Morning Sunshine muffins with carrot, pineapple, coconut, macadamia nut and raisins (©Deborah Clague)
Good Morning Sunshine muffins with carrot, pineapple, coconut, macadamia nut and raisins (©Deborah Clague)
Good Morning Sunshine muffins with carrot, pineapple, coconut, macadamia nut and raisins (©Deborah Clague)
Good Morning Sunshine muffins with carrot, pineapple, coconut, macadamia nut and raisins (©Deborah Clague)
Good Morning Sunshine muffins with carrot, pineapple, coconut, macadamia nut and raisins (©Deborah Clague)
PEANUT BUTTER AND RASPBERRY JAM CHEESECAKE BROWNIES:
This was one of my favourite things that I leaned how to bake and it is absolutely DIVINE served heated with vanilla bean ice cream. Recipe was taken from the book 'Flapper Pie and a Blue Prairie Sky' by blogger TheKitchenMagpie.
Peanut Butter and Raspberry Jam Cheesecake Brownies (©Deborah Clague)
Peanut Butter and Raspberry Jam Cheesecake Brownies (©Deborah Clague)
Peanut Butter and Raspberry Jam Cheesecake Brownies (©Deborah Clague)
BROWN BUTTER BUTTERSCOTCH OATMEAL COOKIES:
My favourite food blog is TwoPeasandtheirPod which is where I get most of my cookie recipes.
Brown Butter Butterscotch Oatmeal Cookies (©Deborah Clague)
TRIPLE CHOCOLATE RASPBERRY COOKIES:
Another one from TwoPeasandtheirPod that I modified slightly.
Triple Chocolate Raspberry Cookies (©Deborah Clague)
RICE KRISPIE SQUARES:
This is a must for the season but I was also motivated to insta this when Kellogg's made a pledge to donate $20 to the Salvation Army with their #TreatsforToys social media giving campaign.
Childhood favourite, the classic Rice Krispie Square (©Deborah Clague)
Below Average
I knew my week wasn't destined for greatness when I received a call at work from my best friend and neighbour asking if I was sitting down. In retrospect, perhaps one shouldn't always aim for – or desire – greatness. Average is alright and can occasionally be preferred for its safety and comfort. I would have settled for average this week. It would have saved me a lot of anger and upset (not to mention time and money) after having my personal property violated and vandalized in an act of theft.
It was the first time this happened to me which, I suppose, is above average (and possibly great) considering I live in the province with the highest crime rate in Canada and I live downtown which is typically the lore of rogues, heathens and other white-collar professionals. But I'm having a hard time. My sense of safety is gone. I've devolved back into unhealthy sleep patterns, my newfound paranoia causing me to wake up at the slightest noise. Hopefully with time I can pep-talk myself back into the trusting, empathetic fool that is my core personality. Although I know that is above-average in a world that doesn't appreciate it.
The only highlight, if I could call it that, was finding an old receipt scattered amongst the debris. One that should have been long disposed of but for some reason remained hidden in plain view. It's from a brief weekend trip taken with someone that has enriched my life in ways I wasn't always open to. Garbage? At one time, yes. There really was no reason for keeping this. I have since accumulated a treasure of sentimental things to remind me of our shared history. But in this moment, under this circumstance, it presented a reminder that memories and your true sense of self can never really be taken from you.
In my misfortune, it was an above average – even great – sign that all things must pass.
I Salute You 🤘
Emotional Armour
My intuition has served me well over the past few years.
It has offered guidance, warning, assurance.
I trust it.
I trust it more than the attrition of an honest man or the poetry of a player. It is because my instinct is so well-honed that the future has become unnerving for me. Just out of view, but with its shadow looming, I sense a darkness approaching.
Every Fall, I return to Winnipeg to visit my mom. I enjoy spending Halloween with her and witnessing her glee as she decorates the house with all things frightful (this year included a life-size skeleton and dangling paper pumpkins that she hung above the doorways, similar to how one hangs mistletoe at Christmas). She is also immensely happy handing out candy to the neighbourhood kids that come to her door, informing me of every detail of their costumes. It is somewhat contradictory to the level of detail that is provided for other areas of her life though. Areas that concern me greatly but that are laughed off as comical circumstance.
At the start of my visit, my mother reminded me about how she structures her week. There is often a bus trip to the nearest shopping mall to stock up on groceries and other items of need, never want. My mother lives frugally. On one recent occasion she was terribly embarrassed by tripping and falling as she exited the bus. She blamed construction that was adjacent to the stop but was quick to praise the driver who got up to ensure that she was okay. I prodded further, but she quickly dropped the subject and the conversation was closed.
Once might be a folly, but a few days later she told me of another incident of tripping and falling as she exited the bus. "I bruised my leg," she stated with a slight laugh "but I'm okay." I sensed that these were words she told herself for reassurance but that she was, in actuality, scared. Scared of aging. Scared of being alone. Scared of the unknown. My mother has been an absolute trooper in her life of undeserved tragedy. I feel especially protective about her wellness and peace of mind.
"You need to visit your doctor, mom. You need a check-up. I don't want you getting hurt."
This didn't go over very well and, as before, walls went up. Her tone becoming increasingly agitated by my questioning of her ability. And so I dropped it, not wanting to risk congeniality for the sake of argument. But as the week wore on, I continued to look for signs in her language that may be speaking to a bigger truth.
I think a lot.
About things great and small.
It is in this solace with my thoughts that I realize something is amiss.
I was very excited to spend one evening cooking with my mom. Me. The mooch who never even made my own peanut butter sandwiches growing up now showing my mom that I can create a dish worthy of Gordon Ramsay's praise. He's one of her weird crushes. Another I have to mention, because it's so cute and needs to be recorded for posterity, is Josh Flagg of Million Dollar Listing Los Angeles. She knows he's gay. She enjoyed watching his wedding on the show.
As I started prepping vegetables, I watched as my mom struggled to set the oven. Her eyes trying to focus, her finger shaking slightly as she contemplated which buttons to press.
"Do you need help?" I asked.
"NO." she replied firmly. "I know how to do it."
I continued seasoning the potatoes we were about to roast while also observing. It took her a long time to perform a task that I assumed she did regularly. I tried bringing the matter up again, albeit indirectly, but my mom realized my trickery and again communicated that she was fine and not to bother worrying about her. It is hard not to though. My mom is one of my reasons for living. The love in my heart exists for her. She is the only connection to my past and the living embodiment of memories from a bygone era.
In addition to being greatly concerned about her physical and mental health, I harbour my own fears while watching her.
I am also scared of aging. I am scared of being alone. I am scared of the unknown.
Of late, my intuition has been gently telling me to ready my emotional armour. It has a few chinks in it. I trust it will be strong enough for whatever lays ahead.
Book Recommendations
Zen in the Art of Writing
Written by Ray Bradbury
Writing is my favourite hobby. This blog was started about a decade ago just to give me a place to share my travels and photography. Since then I've experienced much growth and now utilize this space on the web as a means to articulate and record all facets of my life, good or bad. While this has provided much practice, I do want to write an actual, honest-to-goodness published book one day and have started learning from the masters in terms of refining my craft. Author Ray Bradbury is a prolific writer who has published scores of stories, novels, plays, poems, films and musicals (he even helped develop the Spaceship Earth ride at Disneyworld!). His essays in this book detail an approach to life where the muse is ever-present and feeding into one's imagination. Not a small task (especially when writer's block is present) but his candor and style of speech were very engaging and inspiring.
Favourite line: "The one person irreplaceable to the world, of which there is no duplicate. You."
The Crime Book
Once a year or so, I go through a phase where I read up on true crime. The psychological aspects of it are fascinating to me, even though the feats of evil that some are capable of genuinely horrifies me. In fact, of all the books I've ever read there have been two where I had to immediately rid them off my property out of a weird fear that the negative energy contained within their pages would somehow manifest in my life (for the record, those books are "Invisible Darkness" by Stephen Williams and "On The Farm" by Stevie Cameron). This book by multiple authors and published by DK is more palatable in its writing and reference, acting as a summary of history's darkness without getting into too much detail. I always enjoy the design of DK's releases and look forward to reading more books from this series.
Favourite line: I never really read up on the Italian Mafia so that section was a trip on organized crime.
Pornland
Written by Gail Dines
I read this book after watching an engaging TedTalk by the author, who holds a PhD and is also a professor of sociology and women's studies in the U.S.. In both, she examines the damaging effects of hardcore "gonzo" pornography on society, how it influences men's behaviour towards women and subsequently women's view towards themselves. Pornography itself is not a bad thing; sex is not a bad thing. But misogyny and violence are. This book intelligently details how all are connected.
Favourite line: "A sexuality based on equality ultimately requires a society that is based on equality."