Pre-orders on sale now, Releases August 2, Book Launch August 15
...Happy Summer Everyone!
Monday, July 25, 2016
Friday, July 8, 2016
And so it starts...Summer, Calgary Stampede and Book Release count-down
Summer is fun. I tend to go mach ten to soak up every drop of summer fun that I possibly can. Still, I try to be organized, plan ahead, you know, facilitate the order so as to not get pulled under by the happy chaos. I'll let you know if that works out one of these days. :) I'm in the thick of pre-book launch madness (and it is glorious madness!!), but we took a pause break this morning to go to the Calgary Stampede Parade. Here is a wee pause break for you to check out some of the pics!
HAPPY CALGARY STAMPEDE!
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| Couldn't help but feel those same emotions of gratitude and awe when this group walked past...the compassion and support and community strength during the Fort McMurray wildfires of 2016 will stay with us all a very long time. |
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| Seriously, this dude is riding a bull. Full disclosure, I didn't check if it was a bull or steer. |
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| The Calgary Stampede Show Riders = more horses for me to gawk at! |
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| I took the pic of the banner as these kids were from a high school in Wisconsin, but man, they rocked it! Sorry I didn't snap a mid-action pic! |
Friday, July 1, 2016
Happy Canada Day: Border Crossings, the first one
Happy Canada Day! This particular time, as in today through the Fourth is always a reflective time for me. I immigrated up seventeen years ago. Man, where did the time go? I love it up here, but also love where I came from. But instead of getting all mushy about the awesomeness of people and countries and landscapes, this will be the first of a handful of stories sharing my escapades crossing our beautiful shared border. Some are funny, some more serious, but all pay homage to the border guards keeping us all safe. Thank you for your service!
My first time crossing the border was eighteen years ago. I was coming up for an archaeology field school in Manitoba. One of my geography profs at the University of Wisconsin - Eau Claire asked what I was doing for the summer. Actually, I had been eying up a geology field school in Colorado but he vigorously shook his head. “No, no, no. You want to go to Canada.”
“I do?”
“Yes, for an archaeology field school. Six weeks living in a tent, digging and drinking beer with Canadians.”
That sounds about right for a twenty year old who likes travel, the outdoors, history and apparently beer, and looking for something cool to do that summer.
A couple weeks before I was scheduled to leave my prof asked if I minded if another of his students caught a ride with me. Sounded like splitting gas money. Back then I am sheepish to admit the shared expense was a bigger plus than the obvious environmental considerations of carpooling across several states and up into another country. I pay more attention to that sort of thing now. But I digress.
The other student was a forty-five year old ex-biker with long straggly hair and tattoos. I didn’t think much of the what or why of his appearance, but I’ll admit I took inventory of the situation. My spidy sense wasn’t freaking out and my prof obviously gave him the thumbs up as a safe traveling companion. Canadian Border Security did not.
Neither one of us had traveled to Manitoba before and we didn’t have the handy maps apps of today, let alone smart phones, that conveniently provide ETAs. We rolled into a 24-hour border crossing around 11pm and that’s when we were taken to separate rooms. I don’t know what his room looked like, mine just looked like a typical office with a big ‘ol desk and a nice border guard asking me repeatedly if I was there on my own accord, that I hadn’t been coerced, that I was okay. Safe. I showed him my paperwork from Brandon University, beaming at the upcoming adventure of learning how to do field archaeology. I didn’t clue in right away to what he was afraid was happening.
Maybe now’s a good time to mention that when I was twenty years old I looked twelve and probably looked just as naive. It was late at night, I was crossing the border, and with a man that looked significantly older than me and like he had lived at least part of his life on a rather rough side.
We were there for a few hours and kept apart. That was fine, I hadn’t ever crossed the Canadian border, for all I knew this was standard procedure. When we were allowed in and driving away my fellow student asked with snap, “Why didn’t they check you through interpol, too?”
“Because I look twelve and he thought you kidnapped me or worse.”
“Oh. Still isn’t fair.”
“No. He was trying to keep me safe.”
My travel companion was irate at being assumed super naughty, but seemed somewhat mollified when I explained the questions they had asked me.
I don’t know what it is like to be routinely grilled by those in law enforcement positions, but I also am grateful for those border guards. They were just trying to keep a young woman safe. And the experience gave my fellow “mature student” plenty to laugh about later as he shared it around the campfire during that field school.
This summer, may your border crossings be safe, prompt and lead to incredible adventures. Happy traveling!
My first time crossing the border was eighteen years ago. I was coming up for an archaeology field school in Manitoba. One of my geography profs at the University of Wisconsin - Eau Claire asked what I was doing for the summer. Actually, I had been eying up a geology field school in Colorado but he vigorously shook his head. “No, no, no. You want to go to Canada.”
“I do?”
“Yes, for an archaeology field school. Six weeks living in a tent, digging and drinking beer with Canadians.”
That sounds about right for a twenty year old who likes travel, the outdoors, history and apparently beer, and looking for something cool to do that summer.
A couple weeks before I was scheduled to leave my prof asked if I minded if another of his students caught a ride with me. Sounded like splitting gas money. Back then I am sheepish to admit the shared expense was a bigger plus than the obvious environmental considerations of carpooling across several states and up into another country. I pay more attention to that sort of thing now. But I digress.
The other student was a forty-five year old ex-biker with long straggly hair and tattoos. I didn’t think much of the what or why of his appearance, but I’ll admit I took inventory of the situation. My spidy sense wasn’t freaking out and my prof obviously gave him the thumbs up as a safe traveling companion. Canadian Border Security did not.
Neither one of us had traveled to Manitoba before and we didn’t have the handy maps apps of today, let alone smart phones, that conveniently provide ETAs. We rolled into a 24-hour border crossing around 11pm and that’s when we were taken to separate rooms. I don’t know what his room looked like, mine just looked like a typical office with a big ‘ol desk and a nice border guard asking me repeatedly if I was there on my own accord, that I hadn’t been coerced, that I was okay. Safe. I showed him my paperwork from Brandon University, beaming at the upcoming adventure of learning how to do field archaeology. I didn’t clue in right away to what he was afraid was happening.
Maybe now’s a good time to mention that when I was twenty years old I looked twelve and probably looked just as naive. It was late at night, I was crossing the border, and with a man that looked significantly older than me and like he had lived at least part of his life on a rather rough side.
We were there for a few hours and kept apart. That was fine, I hadn’t ever crossed the Canadian border, for all I knew this was standard procedure. When we were allowed in and driving away my fellow student asked with snap, “Why didn’t they check you through interpol, too?”
“Because I look twelve and he thought you kidnapped me or worse.”
“Oh. Still isn’t fair.”
“No. He was trying to keep me safe.”
My travel companion was irate at being assumed super naughty, but seemed somewhat mollified when I explained the questions they had asked me.
I don’t know what it is like to be routinely grilled by those in law enforcement positions, but I also am grateful for those border guards. They were just trying to keep a young woman safe. And the experience gave my fellow “mature student” plenty to laugh about later as he shared it around the campfire during that field school.
This summer, may your border crossings be safe, prompt and lead to incredible adventures. Happy traveling!
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