Eating…

Chris: (While voraciously eating Norah’s soggy, cold, leftover toast) I definitely inherited my ability to eat anything from my Dad.

B: Inherited from, or were groomed by?

Chris: Hmmmm. Probably the latter. Either way, is she done with that banana?

An award? That’s awkward.

I struggle with praise. Yet I crave it. Therefore, I was both anxious and excited when, at the end of June, the driving force behind the Hip Hop project, Dr. Charity Marsh, told me that a colleague of hers had nominated us for the Arts and Learning Award at the Lieutenant Governor’s Arts Awards for our work on the arts side of the project. The excitement came from the fact that a nomination such as this adds to the credibility of project-based learning at our school. As well, the nomination shows the students that their work is valued at more than a school and community level – that the larger arts community sees the value in what they are doing.The anxious part came from not being comfortable in the spotlight. Though, it turns out, it should have been for another reason.

Initially, the plan was to take a group of students up to the gala, but I didn’t return to work right away in August, and finding chaperones became problematic, so I made the trip up on my own. When we were announced as the winners, I was shocked, and began to regret not making a list of people to thank in the acceptance speech. I did remember to thank the students, for all their hard work, my colleagues and administration at the school, without whom the project would never have happened, Charity, and all of her TAs in the IMP Labs. Forgotten on the thank you list, however, was Dr. Ann Kipling Brown at the U of R Education Dance department, Saskatchewan InMotion and Farley Flex, CBC Radio, and, oh, wait, what about the Saskatchewan Arts Board? — you know, the ones who provided the funding for the project! Oh my. So, turns out my anxiousness shouldn’t have been about whether or not we’d win, but rather how many people I’d forget to thank! So, thank you to everyone for all that you did to work with our students! Without all the support you’ve given, as I said onstage, “I’m just a guy with lofty goals and no discernible talents.”

Grandpa’s Magic Touch

Norah was not an easy baby for the first three months. She suffered from colic, and it didn’t seem to matter what we did, she cried. Wailed. I slept for the better part of 10 weeks on our reclining loveseat with Norah on my chest, since this was the only way she would stay asleep.

On the Saturday after a particularly challenging week, Brenda had an appointment, and I was watching Norah alone for the morning. Dad came in from the farm to offer me some respite. Perhaps my tear-filled phone call earlier in the week brought back memories of raising his own kids. When he arrived, Brenda had just left, and I was holding Norah, who was winding up for a screamfest. Dad took her and told me to go have a shower. After I protested somewhat, I took advantage, and jumped in, savouring the warm water, and, for the first time, appreciating the loud bathroom fan that blocked out Norah’s crying. I came out after the shower, and Dad and my brother Dave were sitting at the kitchen table. I was shocked, and asked where Norah was. “Oh, asleep in her bassinet,” Dad casually said. Norah hadn’t slept on her own in the bassinet for weeks. But now she was. After giving the details on how he worked his magic, Dad told me I should go have a nap.

I didn’t have a nap, and I was glad then and am glad now that I didn’t — we sat for the better part of an hour and visited while Norah slept. It was a good visit, as all visits with Dad were, with wide-ranging topics and thought provoking discussion. Dad was the kind of person you could visit with for a whole day and still feel like there was so much more to talk about. That morning, he gave me two gifts — my little girl was finally sleeping peacefully, and I got a good visit in. And at the end of the day, there’s nothing that beats a good visit.

Questions for Dad

Almost daily, I have a situation where I think to myself, “Gee, I’ll have to ask Dad about that.” For a split second I forget that he is gone, but the sad reality comes shortly thereafter, and a wave of grief hits me.

I’m going to be posting these questions when they come up. And hey, maybe someone out there will have some answers for me. The internet provided some of the answers, and friends and family some others. Some remain unanswered. So, here are some of my most recent questions.

Is a front-tine rototiller any good?

How do I wire my basement? I know we’ve done this before, on the shop, and I remember hanging electrical boxes at Uncle Brad’s, but I don’t remember everything. Can I have the Coles Notes version?

I remember you saying something when we were talking about my roof last year and don’t remember it exactly — did you say that vapour barrier can go 1/3 of the way in to the insulation from the warm side?

How do we freeze carrots? Or should we store them fresh in sand, like we used to at the farm?

Dad, what should I do?

Other times small things happen to me that I would have told Dad about.

“Dad, when I changed the oil on the Vibe for the first time, I had to pound a scratch-awl through the filter to loosen it, just like we used to have to do on the Allis-Chalmers.”

“Dad, we had the basement spray-foamed. I remember you saying, when we did the roof, that it makes sense to do the best job you can in terms of improving energy efficiency, because no one else is likely to do it again, and the house will probably be around for a long time. Can you believe how air-tight this spray foam is? I know it is made partially with vegetable oil, and that is a non-food use for a food product, which is rife with implications, but it sure beats the heck out of vapour barrier.”