Be Not Ashamed

I was home sick yesterday (yes, I was actually sick) and decided to make the best of it by doing this special burrito-roll thing I do with my blanket on the couch to watch T.V. It occurred to me in my delirium that my television choices embarrass me. I wondered if someone, somewhere (besides Mathieu who is technologically linked up in real-time to everything that happens in our house) could be tracking my viewing habits. I really hoped not. Then it occurred to me that everyone has dirty little entertainment secrets....a Celine Dion CD tucked into their glove box.....a Paris Hilton story in their internet history. Maybe I'm not alone.....and if I'm brave enough to admit it I just mind find that there are others like me....and we can stand together, unashamed.

1. I watched a marathon of "The Hills." Yes, I did it. I watched seven episodes worth of shallow, emoting, backstabbing blondes in giant sunglasses cry over their boyfriends, boytoys, and boybands with their little perfect nails and giant rings wrapped around fat-free double raspberry-mocha lattes with skim milk. I mean, when Lauren almost didn't get to go to Paris for Teen Vogue, but STILL warned Whitney to pack warm clothes I had tears. How many of us pass a true friendship test like THAT!!

2. I had a season-pass on Tivo for "Dog The Bounty Hunter" It's like T.J. Hooker meets Hells Angels meets Jimmy Swaggart meets.... well, you get what I mean. I don't even care that they spend an hour working up plan A, B and C to capture the biggest, bad-ass criminal Waikiki has ever served up, only to actually body slam him while he's eating sugar smacks in his underwear at his mama's house. It's all worth it when you watch the guy (still in his underwear) smoking a cigarette in his handcuffs while Dog brings in the life-changing reinforcements.....and I'm talkin' about JESUS here people. These Brahs find the Lord on their trip to the clink. It's poetic stuff!

3. I like the Backstreet Boys. I said it. It's exhausting to spend your life in hiding. Have you ever REALLY listened to "I want it that way"? And have you HONESTLY never wanted to sing along? Liars!

4. I know the words to Ice-Ice Baby. Uh, All the words. I honestly don't know what waxing a trump like a candle means, but I can sing it baby!

5. I wrote the band "Poison" a letter in 1990. I don't remember what incomprehensibly idiotic things I said, but I know it had something to do with inviting them to come stay on my farm in Idaho if they were too overwhelmed with the rockstar life. Uh....wow.

6. I haven't missed an episode of American Idol in three years. Mind you, I have had the help of Tivo. It's a talent show, like star search! I like talent shows. I like Simon....and thank God for Simon. He provides an excuse for hundreds of people to watch the show without admitting they actually like it. But I'll say it.....I actually like it....except for Jordin Sparks, she's annoying.

7. Sometimes I sing along in my car (at the top of my lungs) to Celine Dion. she move me, ho-k?

8. I locked myself in the bathroom when my mom refused to drive me to Salt Lake City to see Kirk Cameron at the Crossroads Mall. You can freakin' bet that if it would have been TINA TURNER we'd have packed up the whole family for a pilgrimage down I-15, thrusting our fists in the air to the beat of "Better Be Good To Me." I'm still bitter.

9. I thought Madonna's, "Like a Virgin" meant someone from Virginia and couldn't understand why my father wouldn't buy it for me for Christmas when I was 9 years old. My YOUNGER sister had to sit me down, shake her head in disbelief (Again) and tell me that it meant something "naughty." All I could think about was that I had sung it at the breakfast table with my grandparents over soft-boiled eggs and grapefruit.

10. When my teacher told me that I shouldn't pick Ronald Reagan for the 5th time, I wrote a "hero" paper about the professional wrestler Magnum T.A. I mainly focused on his killer belly-to-belly suplex move, his friendship with Dusty Rhodes, and his noble defense of his mama when she was insulted at ringside by the dirty Russian Nikita Kolov.

Well, there they are. I am pretty sure there are people out there who have been liberated by my honesty. We're never alone. I think there might be a Celine Dion song about that!

Christmas in July?

Mathieu teased me this weekend when I slyly started putting up the Christmas decorations. "There's nothing like Christmas in July!!" He proclaimed! Well, it's not exactly July….and in my opinion it's never too early.

Christmas is a special time for most families, but it was amplified in my house as a child because my mother is an absolute Christmas freak. As I type this she’s stringing her one-millionth strand of popcorn and watching Christmas movies in her green Christmas pajamas….the ones she wears all year long. My brother John, sister Sherrie and I are now 25, 28, and 32 respectively, and yet when we want a good laugh we just follow my mother around the house saying that Santa Claus isn’t real. She covers her ears and says, in a much wounded voice, "Don't say that!" She used to get so excited about opening presents that she'd wake us up at 5:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. Of course, by then Sherrie had already completed her recognisance on the presents.

Christmas changes as you get older, but as soon as my niece Maddie and nephews Zach and Zane came along, we realized why having kids around makes the holidays magical again. Seeing them at Christmas is one of the things I miss most now that I live far away. For their part, however, they don't seem to mind much. They have started making lists of things that are easily available on the internet because they know that Aunt Kari will break her neck getting to the computer to make their every wish come true. WELL, nearly ever wish. Last year Maddie decided she just had to have a Furreal pony. "Aunt Kari, they move, look and act JUST like real horses." Well, that's a good enough reason I think! That was until I saw that the little bastards cost $300-$500!! I felt bad until I called my sister to let her know I wasn't going to buy the furreal pony. She said (in the 'can-you-get-any-more-naive?' voice she’s used with me since I was 10) “Kari, are you a moron? She's surrounded by dozens of real horses every day, why would she need a mechanical one?" *sigh* Well, Miss Maddie did, nonetheless, get the furreal tiger. After all, she's NOT surrounded by real tigers every day and they move, look and act JUST like real tigers!!!

Since moving to Canada I haven't been back to Idaho for Christmas. It's hard being away from family when you live far away, but I have been blessed to spend the last seven Christmas' with Mathieu's family in Hearst, Ontario. And considering that I have no interest in visiting the North Pole, I’m convinced that being in Northern Ontario is the closest thing to a real Christmas village one can get. And from the first time I visited them, Mathieu's family have given me a home for Christmas. They have their own food, traditions and memories that I feel honored to share in now. Of the things we look forward to, many of them have something to do with Meat, Maple, and/or Liquor. Add that to the fact that we open our presents one day earlier, on Christmas Eve….and then tell me how it gets much better than that?

So, Christmas has changed over the years, but it's still about home....family.....faith.....and maybe just a little, itsy, bit about the meat, maple and liquor! :) And when Mathieu and I spend snowy nights by the fireplace surrounded by tons of Christmas decorations it reminds me of my 31 Christmas' across two countries.......even if it's still November.

Acutely aware that not all things age well.......

I have always loved reveling in bygone days by re-telling the same old stories; rehashing long-gone situations; listening to nostalgic music; and even having the same conversations over and over. On our 12-hour drive to Mathieu's home town of Hearst each year for Christmas I make him tell me the same stories or fun-facts about the things we see. Every year he has to point out the "No Toronto Garbage" sign in Kirkland Lake that's been there for 15 years. (Isn't it incredible that the threat of incoming garbage is still THAT fresh for someone?) And of course, there is the Cold Weather testing facility in Kapuskasing and then, close to home, one of my favorites, Grandma's house! So, I have never understood the pressure to "try something new" and just "forget the past." I have some pretty good stories. I also married a man whose friends have some of the best "back in the day" stories going. They're a sure thing....they're tried and tested....and if it ain't broken, don't fix it!! But recently, I became acutely aware that not all things age well. This happened shortly after I was clapping with excitement when I saw that the movie "Footloose" had successfully been recorded on Tivo! That movie was sooooo cool!!! So, I settled in for a flashback. I was only somewhat disappointed with the opening credits. I mean, shoes are a weather vane for fashion. It's only natural that some of those shoes bopping back and forth would look a little strange. But as it wore on I realized that it was so much better when played back in my head. Ariel's pants don't ride up so high.....and the montage of a seemingly "cool" high school boy teaching another to dance isn't so.....uh, gay and utterly ridiculous. And most of all, a pent-up Kevin Bacon who breaks away to an abandoned warehouse because he's JUST GOT TO DANCE isn't so pathetic that I cover my head in embarrassment. It's so sad! This movie inspired me.....I played the soundtrack in my Walkman until it started smoking. It led to my sister and I dancing on our water bed while throwing handfuls of glitter into the air. It gave me a comeback when my uncle told us that dancing was Satanic. "But in the Bible it says that David danced!!!" I sputtered! But, regardless of those things, now, well..... it just sucks. *sigh* I still love it of course. But now I understand; Some things should be left in the past. If only I would have realized that BEFORE ordering the set of banana clips on ebay.

No Ham, But She's Grand

The new arrival......a Grand Prix. And while I was informed that there are cars made in other colors besides red, I refuse to believe it. I spotted this car in the lot at Jack May Pontiac while driving to work. I drove by it day after day, talking about it to Mathieu while pretending to look at other cars. Sometimes you just gotta do what feels natural.....so here she is. We didn't get a ham, but we're pleased none-the-less. And if she could talk, she would thank Mathieu for agreeing to go on those little rides at 11 p.m. just because she's in the driveway. :)

And for those of you (o.k., for those of ME) who still are attached to the Mustang, she went to a teenage girl named Zoe in Massena, NY who asked to go sit in her even when the plates were off and she couldn't drive her, just because she was in the driveway. :) I didn't give Zoe a ham, but we downed a shot of Whiskey to seal the deal. Sounds like the perfect end to the story.......all good things should begin and end in a red car with a shot of whiskey.

Orleans Rock City

It's not easy to get respect as a rocker, especially when no one seems to believe that you really are one. Like most artists who are ahead of their time, my friend Isabelle and I have faced a constant string of disbelievers. Despite a decent repertoire of bangin' music ranging from classic rock to heavy metal (Skynard to Springstein; Motley Crue to Marilyn Manson; Bon Jovi to Buckcherry), an excessive supply (if not use) of black eye-liner, and a pretty decent wardrobe of rocker Tees, we haven't encountered much respect. This is despite the fact that we not only had floor seats to Motley Crue, but wore black AND were offered an elicit substance by a short, scruffy man with the giggles seated next to us. No two posers from suburbia could have pulled that off! But our rebel yell was stifled most poignantly during a dinner party at my house (it was between the salad course and the roast) when quite an explicit song came on the iPod playlist. Isabelle and I took this opportunity to assert that we are, indeed, pretty serious rockers. Without a moment's thought Mathieu responded with, "You're not a rocker. You live in suburbia. You work from 9 until 5 and then you come home, have a snack and take a nap." *sigh* Maybe being misunderstood is just part of the game when you're livin' on the edge. Or perhaps there is a slight chance that we aren't authentic rockers, and that it's just another one of a lifetime of exaggerations on my part. Either way, Isabelle brought down the townhouse in Orleans by welcoming her 30th year with a rocker-themed bash. For one night at least we lived the dream, unquestioned. Rock on Zibi!!! We know the truth!

A Ham, A Mustang, and Me

Right: My cousin Scott and I with the Mustang on the day I left for Ottawa, November 1999

Most of us, at some point in our life, have come to the realization that a relationship is more work and expense than it's worth....that it's time to move on. Time changes things. They get rusty; they whine; and you look around and it seems that everyone else has it better than you do. The neighbors notice it's over before you do, wondering if you're ever going to make the break. But it's not as easy as it sounds. We get used to each other; we become dependent on each other; we shape each other's identity. But, at the end of the day, we realize that it's better to end it before things really go south and someone is left stranded on the side of the road. With this realization, it's time to acknowledge that we are coming to the end...the Mustang and me.....me and the Mustang...."us." It might seem quite silly to have such an attachment to a car. Mathieu might even chalk it up to the fact that I don't much like change. He would be right, as usual :) But can it be more than that?I think so. Because I have been through more with that car in the past 9 years than with most people. I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. It was just after University, after I landed my first "real" job that I drove into the Ford Dealership in Pocatello, Idaho at 8:30 p.m. thinking everything would be closed. I had never considered owning a Mustang. I didn't even like them. But there she sat between four giant pickups who would most definitely find homes before she did. I have regrettably always attached emotions to inanimate objects, but I'm convinced that the Mustang was lonely. Unbeknownst to me, we weren't alone at that moment. A round, mustached, type-A salesman with a red face was eating his supper just inside watching me eye the car. He still had mayonnaise on his chin as he sort-of- trotted toward me. And when I sat in that car for the first time I came to two conclusions: 1. Any red-blooded American girl from small-town Idaho who isn't a sucker for a new Mustang just "aint right." and 2. That Pudgy the salesmen better get his greasy sandwich-gripping fingers off my leather-wrapped steering wheel before I pummel him. He knew nothing about the car, and I didn't care. Like all of the happiest moments of my life, I was playing a music video in my head of the Mustang and me to a Bon Jovi song. The decision had been made. The next hour was a blur....pudgy man hopping around between the office and his desk...signatures...calling in the none-too-happy shop guy from home to prepare the car....the finance guy looking down his nose at the pickle Pudgy had clinging to his tie. And then it was time. Even the disgruntled shop guy was in a good mood as he drove her into the showroom (for the sole purpose of allowing me to drive her out again like in the movies!) And with a blur of paperwork, a slap on the back and a giant ham thrust into my arms, I was on my way. Makes perfect sense to get a ham with your new Ford Mustang. Perfect sense indeed. I was at least two miles away from the dealership before I realized I was still clutching it with a stupid grin on my face. Our first date was my five-year reunion. As my classmates sat in a circle, with their children sitting in the middle, I at least had someone to introduce! And so began our time together....the first flat tire.....first scratch, even a speeding ticket. She'd hear me cuss when I was late for work, or cry, when I had dropped Mathieu at the airport yet again, or have great talks with my friends, or let some liquored up soul out to do what drunk people who ride in the backseat of Mustangs have to do. And then came the adventure that forever sealed the bond between us. The day after Thanksgiving my family and I packed everything I could fit into the back of the Mustang and I headed off to join the love of my life in Ottawa. I drove 48 hours straight with my globe in the front seat and my mom's old set of Betty Crocker cookbooks somewhere in the back. It is a decision that I have never regretted, and one that was made easier because I still had my car, something familiar. And what a car she's been....3 hours round trip every day to New York for work when I couldn't yet work in Canada. Mathieu has warmed up to her, too, and affectionately calls her the "tank" in reference to what a solid car she's been. We both struggled to make the payments during a time when a car was a luxury, which has made her "ours" more than "mine." It also said a lot about Mathieu, that it was a luxury he would afford me...and understand all these years. I dropped Mathieu off for his first day of work at Nortel Networks in the Mustang. We drove her across the border on December 2, 2000 to a little yellow church in Massena, NY where we were married. And, perhaps the most poignant, is that aside from those cookbooks and a few stray possessions I still have from that initial trip, she is the last remaining memoir of a life lived before Ottawa. So, yes, it's just a car. Yes, it's probably time to stop battling repairs and the Canadian winters....time to move on. And I suppose the time has passed in my life when something like a car can ever have such significance again. But we've had quite the journey. Perhaps when that new car does arrive, we'll buy a ham....just to celebrate.

"Canadians AND Bacon"

So, after nearly eight years of living in Ottawa I will soon be officially bestowed with Canadian Citizenship. This comes after 71 calls to mostly polite Francophone women at Immigration and Citizenship Canada, 4 sets of forms, nine different types of photo-identification, three medical exams, a little over a thousand bucks, and one Citizenship test where I may have proved to be one of three people in Canada who knows the exact date Nunavut became a territory. I would say that it's been hard-fought, but everything is relative. I didn't have to cross the dessert under cover of darkness on a donkey or shimmy through any snake-filled tunnels or anything. I have always been proud to be an American, even when it wasn't so easy to be so. I certainly miss a lot of things about the States and "back home." BUT, there will be another day to talk about that. In honor of my upcoming Canadian Citizenship, and to serve the title of my blog (which makes no sense....I just couldn't resist putting 'bacon' in it), I give you:

Why I Love Canadians.....

Ernest Hemingway, in his poem,"Why I Like Canadians" said, "I like Canadians, they are so unlike Americans, their cigarettes don't smell bad, their hats fit, and they actually believe they won the war."

Well, Hemingway I am not, and I'm not so sure about their hats fitting any better....and I have my own feelings about whether or not they were even in the war..... But I, too, like Canadians.....

1. Because they have their own bacon and we know how I feel about bacon. Here, however, it is referred to as back-bacon rather than Canadian Bacon. (Minor Detail, as it still tastes LIKE BACON) :)

2. Because I get to be a Conservative again. Just when you think you're a liberal, move to Canada and realize those Democrats are NOTHING!!

3. Because the beer, quite frankly, ROCKS. And so does the drinking prowess of the Canadians who partake of it! I particularly advise visitors NOT to challenge the Franco-Ontarians from the North! I've seen them drink frat-party amounts of beer (per person), bowl three games, and head to the Elgin Diner for the "hangover breakfast."

4. Because Autumn is incredible. This might not be a quality of the Canadian people, but I can't resist counting it as a reason! The other seasons, compared to the Western U.S. don't overly excite me, but you haven't seen Fall until you've seen it in New England or South-Eastern Canada. The leaves turn such vibrant colors that the trees look like they're on fire! I actually started plucking them and sending them home to Idaho in envelopes so
people would believe me! (That might not be entirely acceptable to customs, but I'm sure they have bigger plant export problems from Canada to worry about!)

5. Because they know how to dress for the cold, these Canadians. Idaho is not exactly a balmy oasis. Winters in Idaho can be atrocious! But the length of Winter here is something to bear. (Imagine if I was further North, I live an hour from the U.S. Border.) However, have no fear, Canadian coat-detection is here. Canadians can spot a "good coat" from 50 paces. I came here wearing a 30-lb, down-filled parka with ear flaps the size of my head and I was FREEZING. Every Canadian I met could tell me what was wrong with my coat. "No wind resistant outer layer, too loose on the body, cold air breeches everywhere." They should have a manual.

6. Because they have pride in their fellow Canadians. If it was a Canadian who first thought of putting a dual-tip on the cotton swab they would know it! When you come from a country of300 million people you fail to realize how achievements of your fellow-countrymen matter, particularly if you're an American who's pretty much convinced your fellow-countrymen did just about everything notable there ever was. But Canadians.....they know and will repeat on demand the feats accomplished by Canadians. Did you know the zipper; basketball AND rollerskates were invented by Canadians? For more Canadian inventions: http://www.geocities.com/SouthBeach/1708/cdnthing.html

7. Because they have pretty money and coins called "Loonies" and "Toonies". When I'm in Idaho my nephew Zach holds up the $1 coin and says, "What's this called Aunt Kari?" And I saw proudly, "Loonie!" and then the same with the $2 coin and I say, "Toonie!" and then he speeds it up, "Loonie, Toonie, Loonie, Toonie" and he throws his head back and laughs like he might never recover. They don't laugh at money in Canada, but it's still pretty cool to go through your pocket change and realize you have twenty-four bucks!

8. Because they are the founders and proliferaters of that gift we call "Poutine". (bow your heads) See Photo! I no longer remember the Kari that existed before she had poutine. (bow your heads) Poutine is a French-Canadian food made with French Fries, Mozzarella Cheese (preferably curds...known as "squeeky cheese" in Idahoan), and Brown Gravy. You won't find it much in Western Canada, but if you're ever in Ontario or Quebec it's a must-try. If you're in Idaho, my sister Sherrie makes a pretty good version (with Idaho potatoes no-less). If I start my own religion, Poutine will have a sacred role to play. We haven't even talked about the maple syrup. (bow your heads)

9. Because some of them (many of them in my region) speak French. I won't get into the politics of being in an officially bilingual country, but it's amazing to hear people speaking French on a daily basis. I even know a few words....enough that when I go home I can say, "Hello Big Apple, Cheese, and Fish, I am the driver of the big truck, how are you, where is the bathroom?" and people sigh, "Wow, that's awesome." And it is!!!

10. Because they put up with me. It can't be easy. :) They let me in!!! Merci Boucoup Canada, Je suis le conducteur du gross camion. Gross pomme!!