When I Fell Through Ice

Spending New Years at Aunt Lorna's cottage has been tradition for several years now.  It's a winterized cottage on a reasonably secluded lake, complete with sauna and outdoor hot tub.  A dozen or so of our friend's gather here each year and have a pseudo-quiet weekend of board games, movies, fancy-pants meals, shooting pop cans with bb-guns, kitchen dance parties and scary midnight ice walks. 

I'm sure most of my friends make no bones about it, but in truth, the ice walks terrify me. What otherwise could be portrayed as a romantic starlit walk is more of a battle of bravery and determination for me. I internally obsess over the depth of freezing cold water beneath us. Every step is marked with a crunch of snow, and every few feet we progress lets out a moan of cracking ice. I pray nearly the whole way.  But each year I go along for the stroll, perhaps just to renew a healthy sense of respect for nature into my soul.

In 2008 Laurie, Justin and I went for a walk on the ice just after sunset. Instead of venturing off to the other side of the lake, we opted to stick closer to the cottage. Not far from the cottage, the ice suddenly gave way and swallowed my entire right leg. I screamed and yelled "help me!" as my best friend ran off to the shore. I'll forgive her since she was two months pregnant at the time. Luckily her husband wasn't a jerk and pulled me out before the lake decided to finish me off.

My leg was soaked and nearly frozen through by the time we got back to the cottage. I threw open the front door to announce to our friends that I had just stared death in the eye...but I barely interrupted the intense domino game growing on the dinning room table. No one was particularly impressed other to impart a quick science lesson on me: "Didn't you know ice is thinner near the shore?"

My friends are jerks. Except Justin.  We're still cool.

Some Ass Over Tea Kettle Memories

I can't even remember the last time I went skiing/boarding; all I know is there is a dry, rusty snowboard sitting angrily in my dad's cold cellar in Guelph and the foam around my goggles has started to crumble.  But with Toronto's recent snowmagedon, today's perfect weather, and --most importantly-- a free day pass with gear rentals (sorry cellar-captive board), we rented a car and headed to Mansfield to see if our knees were too old to handle a day on the hills.  Despite a few falls, I am happy to discover that snowboarding is just like riding a bicycle...only in that it all comes back easily, otherwise the two have absolutely nothing in common.

Being on the hill lead me to recall a couple fond skiing/boarding memories of yonder, which I'd like to share with anyone who stumbles upon my blog:


Story One - 
A leading cause as to how my friends and I caught the skiing bug in the first place, was back in middle school when our math teacher formed a Skiing Club.  Looking back now, it was a brilliant tactical maneuver on both his and our parts.  He was able indulge a personal passion and veneer it as extra curricular participation, all while skipping work for a day every three weeks during the winter.  Genius!  We were able to skip a day of school every three weeks during the winter months and mask it off as school spirit...and get exercise, learn a new sport, blah blah blah...but mostly skip school.  All that, plus my mom used to buy me a litre bottle of the sparkling flavoured water every time I went on a ski trip, so that was pretty special too.

On one of these such trips the skiing conditions were not so great, and Laurie had just passed her skills test to have free run of the park.  Sandra, Jackie and I decided that trial by fire was in order, and we led her straight to one of the black diamond runs.  Not only was the hill steep and covered in moguls, but unbeknownst to us it was also layered in a respectable sheet of ice.  We charged down that hill the way that only fearless tweens can, and that sheet of ice reached out and sucker punched Laurie.  Sandra stayed with her, but Jackie and I were at the bottom of the hill before we realized that she was hurt, and rushed back up to 'rescue' her.  The ice went for round two and tried to give us the same treatment it bestowed upon Laurie.  We both went ass over tea kettle and nearly took her out bowling ball style.  Luckily, our aim was as good as our skiing and we managed to avoid damaging her any further.  That trip ended with Laurie being put in a body bag and snowmobiled to the first aid room.  She was later found to have torn her ACL and needed to be on crutches for months afterwards.

Story Two - 
My second time ever snowboarding was at Lake Louise, because it seems I like punishment.  I rose to the occasion and was able to follow my born-in-Alberta friend Dale on nearly all the runs that day.  So impressed with my new found ability, he decided it would be a great denouement for our last run to be from the top of the mountain.  From that peak we'd be able to see all the mountains and nearly touch the sun.  Sounded like a good plan.

We took the ski lift for a good 15 minutes to what I thought was the top of the mountain, but it was actually only as far as the ski lift was capable of going.  From there we still had to board a t-bar and travel damn near vertically up the precipice.  Now, I know you're like "So what? They use t-bars on bunny hills", but to you I say using a t-bar on a snowboard is more difficult than using it on skis since you have to face sideways.  Furthermore, using a t-bar to go up an unreasonably steep slop is bloody hard on your muscles, particularly after a whole day of 'sink or swim' snowboarding.  And finally, to ice the damned cake, using a t-bar at the end of the day after a ton of people before you have carved ruts into the route with their skiis is nearly impossible.  I managed to get a third of the way up to the top of the mountain when my board caught a rut and my wussy arms couldn't re-balance me.  I. Just. Couldn't. Hang. On. Any. Longer.

So I bailed, but with the last of my energy I bailed to the side so as not to take out nearly every single person behind me.  Except for Dale.  He dove out of line in hopes of literally saving my neck, but instead, I just crashed into him and he joined my human snowball.

We flipped ass over tea kettle, picking up speed with our snowboards ratcheted to our feet, flailing all over.  The people in the line behind us were wide eyed and gasping in horror as we tumbled all the way back to the top of the chair lift.  Again, I know you're thinking "Big deal, I used to roll down hills all the time when I was a kid", but to you I say this hill was not a hill, it was a freaking MOUNTAIN.  And we tumbled with planks of metal rimmed wood strapped to our feet in a double human snowball forever...kilometres...hours...DAYS!  We were motion sick, bruised and disoriented when we finally stopped, and it's only by the grace of God that neither of us were broken or missing any teeth.  We called it a day after that.

Actually wait...I guess that's why I haven't been snowboarding in years.

Circle Square Ranch - Part 2

After a year of hearing us boast about our camp experiences (see Part One), Jackie and Sandra decided to join us at Circle Square Ranch the next summer.  The four of us shared a wagon with Hannah, Cynthia and Linday.  Cynthia had already been there for a week where she met a boy, who was so taken with her, he paid for her to come back again to spend another week with him.  I remember being taken quite aback that she'd accept such a gesture, especially considering she insisted she didn't 'like' him.

We had an honourary bunkmate named Montana.  She didn't sleep in our wagon, but her bunkmates didn't like her for some reason (how very un-Christian of them...) so we befriended her and talked crap behind their backs and gave them all the mean squinty eyes (un-Christian of us, too, I suppose).  Montana was obviously cool, since she had long cornrows and, well, her name was Montana.

There was another camper named Annette.  She had short blond hair and seemed much more mature than the rest of us.  I wasn't actually present for this happenstance, but when her group was at the rock climbing wall, she slipped on a rock at the top and started to fall.  Her partner wasn't paying due diligence at the time so the rope was tearing through the grigri.  Rope burn prevented him from grasping it, so in a heroic act to save her spine from possible snappage, he shoved his hole hand into the metal device, grinding the rope to a stop.  Annette jerked to a halt without injury, but her poor partner's hand got mangled in the process.  He was a reluctant hero and Annette continued to walk.  She further cemented her reputation when her leather-clad father picked her up on his motorcycle at the end of the week with her duffel bag bungeed to the rack.

We followed the same basic itinerary as the previous year: horseback riding, rock climbing, camp fire and the such.  This year I recall a much higher fervour of Bible lessons, prayer, and confessions.  Our councilor had a particularly heart breaking back-story that she shared with us, and possibly because of that we all decided to turn a leaf and embrace a stronger set of Christian values.  After the week was done, the four of us returned to Brampton feeling very religiously inspired, though I can't say how long that lasted.  I also have some drunken teenage memories of house parties where Laura climbed into a dryer.   

The "shmuck the staff" that year was much more successful for me.  I had the ultimate pleasure of finding the camp director, so whereas anyone else who found a councilor got a can of whipped cream to douse them with, I got an Italian-family sized can of tomato sauce to pour on poor Steve.  I savoured this honour.  Not because I didn't like Steve, but because what person gets full permission and approval to paint another human being with tomato sauce?  Seriously.  I fully recognized that this was a once in a lifetime honour, and I was prepared to enjoy every second of it.  I let it drip on Steve's head until it streaked down his face like he'd been scalped.  Then I used handful's of it to chuck against his shirt until he looked like a massacre victim.  By the time I was finished the entire gallon (remember I said Italian-family sized can) I too looked like I'd been through significant trauma. 

Almost as if I was suffering from withdrawl, knowing that my tomato sauce painting days were over, was nearly too much to bare.  Whats more, the ground beneath where poor Steve had once knelt was a thick pool of the substance.  As I am a firm believer of reduce/reuse/recycle, it was beyond my self control to simply leave it lay.  I scooped up a handful and continued my human sauce painting movement on Sandra, Jackie and Laurie.  Within minutes, the four of us had a makeshift mud wrestling pit.  We didn't even notice that our escapades were not appreciated by the councilors and unfortunate bystanders who got the back spray.

Circle Square Ranch - Year 1

Summer camp was always the highlight of each summer of my childhood. I was an avid and enthusiastic Brownie, Girl Guide and Pathfinder - all of which I attribute my high level of morality and neurotic necessity to obey rules. I went to countless camps through these groups, but the singular camp that stands out above all else without question was Circle Square Ranch.

I came to hear of Circle Square Ranch through Laurie. Both Laurie's parents worked, so each year her summer vacation consisted of week after week of some camp or another. This one, she told me, you get to sleep in a wagon, go horseback riding, rock climbing and swimming every day. My interest was piqued. I had to be a part of it. It didn't take much convincing on my part for my parents to send me there too. Neither my brother nor sister had any interest in being more than kilometre or two from the TV, so all the 'child recreation funds' were generally allotted to me. The fact that it was a Christian camp didn't hurt either.

The legend of Circle Square Ranch was that it was build on the foundations of a century old farm house that burnt to the ground one night. A few sheep managed to make it out of the flaming building, their wool on fire. In desperate attempt to extinguish themselves, they dove into the river that ran behind the barn and drowned. Their death's permanently fouled the water, thereon known as "lamb chop water". Amongst us campers, it was ritual for everyone to have a drink of lamb chop water when they first arrived at camp. It tasted like sulfur, but was unavoidable if you intended on making friends. Our second ritual was grabbing the horses' electric fence. There's really nothing I can say to defend this...in part because I know it was a poor decision, but also because it zapped too many brain cells for me to think of a clever explanation.

Laurie and I were assigned to a wagon with a few other girls - Hannah, Robin, Jen, Sarah, whatsherface, and a leader. Each day we ate in the mess hall, had a horseback riding lesson, went swimming, climbed the rock wall or went mountain biking, did crafts or the ropes course, played sports, Bible study, and sang camp songs around the fire. It was everything that camp should be. For those of us who's parent's loved us, we had an allowance to spend at the tuck shop to ensure that we were sufficiently hocked up on sugar during all of it.

Our bunk-mate Hannah was a self-explained Jesus Jew. I didn't understand what that was at the time, and even now I'm still a bit confused. Regardless, she was way cooler than I was and I kind of looked up to her. At this age, I had very little interest in boys, though I was beginning to notice they existed. Meanwhile, Hannah had fully accepted their existence and had caught the eye of a fellow camper who had taken a liking to her. What's more, they arranged a secret rendezvous behind the outhouse at 10pm one night. We all eagerly stayed up waiting for her date, but she cooly decided to stand him up. The poor boy was discovered asleep behind the outhouse later than night by his councillor. Hannah was further elevated in my books.

Eating at the mess hall was a great deal of fun. If I recall correctly, the most important rule was to not rest your elbows on the table. Each councilor and camper was perched on the edge of their seat in anticipation of catching someone who mindlessly did. I was unfortunate enough to get caught once, and suffered a rendition of "JULIE JULIE IF YOU'RE ABLE, GET YOUR ELBOWS OFF THE TABLE. THIS IS NOT A HORSE'S STABLE, BUT A FIRST CLASS DINING TABLE! STAND UP, SAY YOU'RE SORRY!!" Me: "I'm Sorry". "BALLET! BALLET! BALLET, BALLET, BALLET AROUND THE DINING HALL!" During this chanting I had to spin ballet-style around the circumference of the whole mess hall. Back at my seat, I am now more interested in barfing up my dinner than finishing it.

I looked forward to each day's horseback riding lesson. Each horse at Circle Square Ranch was donated and had a former life as a race horse, show jumper or the like, so they were exquisitely trained and gentle. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the Shetland Pony, Lonnie. Lonnie was donated because she was just a bitch of a pony. Since she was too squat to ride, she only lived at the Ranch as a gesture of good ol' fashioned Christian goodwill. It was impossible to contain her to a stall as she consistently stamped through the latches. From there she'd bully the horses -twice as big as herself- and bite them. She was a source of constant amusement and evasive maneuvers. If she was keen to bite the horses, who knows what she would do to a curious camper.

Each week ended with a camp-wide manhunt for the councillors, called "Shmuck the Staff". If you were fortunate enough to catch one of the leaders, you had the pleasure of spraying them with a can of whipped cream. This year, neither Laurie nor I were fortunate enough to have the honour. Oh well, there was always next year.

The Turtles

As well as frogs and toads, I also raised a host of turtles growing up.

When I was 6, my mom and I went to Big Al's and the turtle tank was right near the front door. I studied the tank for a long time before choosing the tiniest turtle they had. I had saved up my allowance to buy Shelly and I distinctly remember he cost $7.99. Shelly lived on the kitchen counter in a plastic container called "turtle island" that had a bridge and plastic palm tree. He ate a boring diet of turtle pellets peppered with the squashed body of any fly who tried to make our house it's home.

After reading my journal, my grade one teacher Miss Maynard invited Shelly to join my class for show and tell. Always eager for a chance to show off, I happily complied. A week or so later, miss Maynard told me she had some exciting news for me. Her daughter found a little turtle in their backyard and named him Freddy (after Kruger, based on his claws). I was super excited, thinking that she was going to give him to me, after all why would her daughter finding a turtle be exciting for me? Sadly, this was not the case, but it did spark a series of careful backyard inspections and finally the accumulation of another $7.99.

Shelton brought new living accommodations with him, and joined Shelly on the kitchen counter. They got along well, sharing flies and playing with the cat.  Blackie and the turtles had a good dynamic.  Since salmonella didn't seem to be a concern in our house, we used to let the turtles walk around the kitchen floor.  They were zippy little suckers, despite the rumours about them.  Blackie would let them get fairly far away from them, then pounced and smack their shells with his paw to make them retreat into their shells.  Then later, if Blackie got distracted  by something, the turtles would attack his tail.  

When Sheldon reached maturity he starting trying to eat and/or kill Shelly.  Shelly was the size of a small dinner plate at this point so we decided to send him to university. That's not a euphemism for killing him, by the way, we literally took him to the conservation area at U of Guelph and let him free.  Now regarded as an unacceptable threat to biodiversity, at the time we thought we were doing a good thing.


Not too long later, I was playing at Fung-Ying's house when I saw a little turtle in an empty margarine container sitting on their kitchen counter.  I was upset and asked why he was in such a small container. Her brother had bought him for a friend's birthday, who wasn't allowed to keep him.  Thus, a margarine container.  To the delight of both myself and Fung-Ying's mom, Rocky joined Sheldon on my kitchen counter that day.

At this time I'm going to invite you to feel free to stop reading at any point...I have another 5 turtle stories to make my way through...

Still here?  You must be bored.  Or love turtles.  Possibly both.  Alright then, thanks for humouring me.  Carrying on...

Laurie and I were bike riding around the twin ponds one after noon when we saw a turtle near the edge of the water.  We got off our bikes to go check it out.  We were quite familiar with those ponds and as far as we understood, didn't support life outside of perhaps three-eyed Simpson-esque fish.  I'm ashamed to admit this, but I was too scared to pick up the turtle.  It was Laurie who grabbed him.  Despite having had three of my own at this point, this pond-caught turtle frightened me.  It might have had razor sharp teeth or some sort of venom.  But of course, it did not.  In fact, he didn't even see her hand coming because he was nearly blind with a disease contracted by neglect.  All of a sudden, me letting my turtle go in the conservation area doesn't seem that bad, does it?  Thus, "Pebbles" came home with me, and my allowance was diverted into turtle eye medication.  Because, yes, such a thing does exist.

At some point in this disjointed memory (remember the whole point of this blog is because my memory stinks), my Sunday morning habit of pouring through the penny saver and flyers got the better of me, and I bargained with my dad to buy a great big aquarium, complete with three turtles.  I was allowed to keep Stoney, Buddy, Frisky, and Sunshine (at this point I ran out of rock-related names) for the rest of the summer and my dad got the aquarium for his tropical fish afterward.

The story stops being interesting here (if ever it was actually interesting to begin with...).  I had six turtles for one summer, and all six went to post-secondary education in September.  I recall very little else about them, but having that many turtles at once must have been a trying summer for me, as it effectively ended my turtle-keeping.

____
Update: May 13
I just found this You Tube video of how turtles bully cats.  Mine weren't quite this vindictive, but it just goes to show you that turtles aren't pushovers. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFP6kzZJGOs&feature=endscreen&NR=1

Neighbourhood kids

Growing up in Brampton was really fun. We had a lot of kids in our street and here are some random recollections of them:

Lindsay and Gregory lived two doors down. Gregory was my age but I was later told that I preferred talking to his mom over him. I used to go ring their door bell and when she answered, I'd say "guess what!" and launch into an epic tale of what I must have considered of monumental importance. Being that I was about 5 at the time, I'm sure it revolved around my cabbage patches or the bugs that I found.

When the they's moved out, Jennifer and Billy moved in. Jennifer was too old to be my friend but she was nice. Billy was a bit tough and intimidating to me. Once when we were all out front, I found a worm the size of a gardner snake and thought he'd be impressed if I showed it to him. Unfortunately for both me and that worm, he reacted by throwing it on the road. I wanted to go get it and put it back under the rock where I found it, but I was too embarrassed by his reaction, so I didn't. Eventually a car came and ran it over. I still feel terrible about that.
Once I saw Jennifer kissing her boyfriend while sitting on the ping pong table. Might seem a silly thing to remember but he was Chinese and it was the first time the concept of interracial dating occurred to me. I think his name was Ozzy and he drove a motorcycle.


I was never particularly close with our neighbour's who lived three doors down. Cristina was a couple years older and Stephanie a couple years younger. I do recall Cristina throwing my cabbage patch doll Angela into the garage. She got a white scratch on her face and I never forgave her for that needless act of violence. I'm sure Angela didn't deserve it.
An embarrassing memory I have of Stephanie is once while we were playing in her room I was so distracted by the clutter that I started cleaning her room for her. When my mom came to collect me for dinner, their mother commented that Steph's room has never been so clean. I said "all you have to do now is vacuum it and you're good to go". Did I EVER get an earful on the walk home on manners!! Mom was sooo embarrassed.
Michael was Sarah's friend since they were the same age. When they were a bit older he would come over to dinner, I think mostly as entertainment. Probably one of the funniest kids I know. He's recently filmed an indie zombie movie with some friends. I can't wait to see it.

Shanna and Cassie lived directly next door. Shanna was a year or two younger than me and Cassie was Sarah's age. Shanna and I used to play swimming lessons on our front lawns, which involved one if us jumping off the porch and running around in crazy circles with the other one following as if we were on a water slide. The game lasted until the eventual fall down, which meant we splashed in the pool. Then we'd switch. I'm laughing out loud as I type this, it's so ridiculous.
My favourite game with them was throwing the ball over the fence. It was exciting not knowing where the ball would launch from.
Once I turned 19 I have Shanna my old ID. Two years later when she was 19 she returned the ID in a thank you card left in our mailbox.

Adam and Ashley lived a few doors down as well. Closer to Sarah's age, I never really played with them, but once Ashley was mad at Sarah and reacted by taking off all her clothes and riding her tricycle home naked. My mom ran after her and dressed her on the sidewalk.
Their uncle Tom lived with them and was a cowboy. At least that's what he told us. We believed him because he had a hat, wore the boots and had a cactus in his room. Thinking about this now, it is incredibly inappropriate that I was ever in his bedroom. My assumption now is that he wasn't entirely of sound mind.

Laurie's family lived down the street; specifically 15 houses away. I was their Kimmy Gibbler and was always over. I often went there in bare feet and thought they were really prissy when they made me put on socks before coming inside. Now I know that my feet must have been filthy and their carpets were quite light. Their house always smelt like "clean"...mine smelt like cigars and crayons.
My family never went out for dinner. McDonald's was a very special treat for us, and very rare at that. The first time I went to Pizza Hut and Swiss Chalet was with Laurie's family. I thought they were rich because they went out for dinner and Laurie and Sarah went to camp all summer. Years later Laurie told me that she thought we were rich because we had so many toys.
Once when I was over for dinner, Laurie's sister Sarah was angry at us for something (probably Nintendo related) and said at the table "you know, Dad says you don't have to have Julie over all the time". Awkward silence. It confused me because I never stayed without being invited. My dad referred to Laurie as his fourth kid so she was at my place as much as I was at hers.

This is a long post. 6 hour bus rides can do that to you (PS: I'm in Peru!)