Jan 29 - Some Like it Hot!

To say that I've been too hot to blog recently would seem to be a bit pathetic sounding. On the other hand, we've just been through the two hottest days of our lives and anything more than cold showers, shade-seeking, and water-gulping have seemed frivolous and life-threatening! Man, is it hot!!!! The weather office has forecast 5 days in a row with 40 plus heat and today was the third hottest day on record - 44.1 at 3:30 this afternoon. It hasn't been this hot for this long in a century and yesterday at the Australian Open they said it was 50 Celsius at court level during the Serena Williams match! With all due respect to the Canadians who are up to their ying-yangs in snow and cold - today, I would trade you. These are the days where seatbelts can permanently brand you and nights are spent starfished and naked praying for an hour or two of greasy sleep.

Now, I've never been much of a sauna person. That shortness of breath you can get sitting on the top bench when some hero puts more water on the rocks has never been one of my favourite sensations. Today, I had that feeling every second of every minute that we were outside. Most normal people would avoid going out on a day like this but we had tickets to the women's semi-finals of the tennis. Thankfully, and very sanely, the officials had closed the roof for today's matches and so we were seated in relative comfort as we watched Williams eventually overcome a very determined Elena Dementieva.

The tennis was great and we were so impressed with the size and scope of the tournament. We watched a men's doubles semi-final that included Daniel Nestor's old partner Mark Knowles. Then after shopping out in the blast furnace for a few "souvies" - as my friend Neil Morgan likes to call them - we went back inside for a fun legends match that featured Henri Leconte, Mark Phillipoussis and some guy by the name of Bharmani who was professional tennis' version of Meadowlark Lemon. The guy's trick shots were unbelievable - and he was easily 55 years young! We then watched Serena calmly dismantle her Russian opponent, who looked for awhile like she had some game. Eventually too many errors and Williams' power overwhelmed her and she lost in straight sets. We had hoped for a minute that we were getting the Federer/Roddick semi but that dream was not to be.

Regrettably, (because we don't have a/c at home), we needed to get back for the babysitter, so we left Rod Laver Arena and entered the oven for the commute back up town. As I noted in an earlier blog, the city has been having all kinds of trouble with their trains and trams in the heat. Still, it's incredible what some Melburnians can deal with when it gets this hot. The only way I can cope with such an onslaught of discomfort is to go into some sort of semi-comatose zone where I think of my breathing and little else. If I start obsessing about the beads of sweat dripping off my nose, or the smell of the person beside me or perhaps even my own robust odour or the why the damn tram won't go any faster, I'm likely to explode into some form of anxiety-ridden, sweat-stained, homicidal crazy man! I'm serious. In this heat, I'm on the knife's edge. Given that easy-going disposition I was blown away to see people out jogging, walking around in tie and jacket, sunbathing and generally carrying on as if being scalded alive was an acceptable past time. I was starting to appreciate how lobsters must feel and these people are out getting exercise! As we made our way home, I was secinds away from bolting from the tram and running into the nearest store for a 5 minute cool down period. Linton was just able to "talk me down".

Apparently, the heat comes in on a north-easterly wind, flowing out of the outback and all of that desert. It hits Adelaide first and yesterday in Adelaide was 45.7. An all time high. Interestingly, there are similar concerns here as we have at home - that the power grid cannot sustain demand- and there have been power outages across the city. To make matters worse they are in a 12 year drought in this part of Australia and this kind of heat drives up personal water use significantly. More dangerously, the threat of bush fires is very real and while fires burn "safely" in some distant forest in Canada, the bush lingers close by the furthest suburbs of Melbourne.

While we were at the tennis, the boys hung out amidst the fans at home with a new babysitter. We had brought them down yesterday and as "members" of the tournament, they had a chance to check out a match and wander the grounds. They seemed to have a good time and we were happy to have them at home, out of the heat and fully hydrated. A few hours later we bravely or foolishly ventured out for dinner with my parents at the local pizza joint and remarkably it felt like it had cooled down a few degrees. Say, maybe 37? 38? Pure, cool, bliss it was. Rejuvenated by a slight breeze and a setting sun we strolled down Rathdowne St. feeling like we had actually "survived" something significant. That was a good feeling and somewhat reassuring, because with 43 forecast again for Friday, we're going to have to do it all again tomorrow!

PS - Hopefully, when we get a break from this heat I will be able to stop sweating enough to chronicle our latest travels up and down the Great Ocean Road.

Jan 17 - An entry from the English teacher in me

It’s Saturday morning. In fact, it’s almost noon, and the kids and I are still clinging to our jammies. We go on “holiday” tomorrow and there’s lots to do to get ready. Linton is busy with laundry and packing and has already been for a 6 k run. And yet, here I sit clinging stubbornly to a cold coffee and a computer screen. Unable to get up and contribute until I get this blog just right…

I’ve recently been reading the early memoirs of Clive James. They came as a recommendation from my uncle Mike. James is an ex-pat Aussie who made a name for himself as a journalist with the BBC among other things though I had never heard of him until my uncle’s suggestion. Not that that means squat. He is often funny, at times irreverent, impressively well read, and has an eye for how people ”work” that is completely spot on. He is also extremely self-deprecating to the point of making his reader loathe versus like him – though the constant humour and moralizing deemed necessary as a result of years of failure and sloth are so pathetic that they must be part of his ultimate plan. It's as if, he might reason, that “when the reader sees or hears nothing but my own ridiculous failings, then maybe they will actually believe me when I really do have something serious or meaningful to impart" - just 'cause I'm so darn likeable. And human, I might add.

I find James rather Canadian in this regard. Not that I think we share all of the same neuroses or create humour and believability in the same way. But I think that we feel the same need to put our audience at ease before we try to tell them what we think they need to know. Perhaps that is something of a quirk that us “folk” from the colonies share. In our respective need to weigh in against the big boys (aka the US/UK) we both feel the need to spend a moment clarifying that we are not actually trying to be like them, because given our size and history and culture, that would be presumptuous, impossible and undesirable. In doing this sort of tacit declaration of our qualification to pontificate invariably reveals both Canadian and Aussie alike as a people who could achieve much if they would just stop worrying about offending the many. And though James’ memoirs recount the troubles and tribulations of finding his way in London, Cambridge and all points in between, it could as easily be the tale of a similar bloke, or rather Canuck from say, Toronto, trolling and tripping up in the hallowed halls of Harvard.

I raise this issue in light of my increasingly addictive need to blog and provide cyberspace with my very own, Canadian-made reflections about Oz. As I craft, edit, and suffer over just how to describe a uniquely Australian moment, I wonder at how my audience of…(none?)...will read the line and read into the experience. Controlling that concern is another very Canadian thought that is prone to ask – why do I think anyone really might care what I think or how I write it? This is where the words and sizeable experience of James come rushing back into play. In the introduction to his memoirs , James spends almost too much time fretting over concerns that to write one’s memoirs at an early age is both egotistical and asinine. On the subject he writes variously:

“Nobody except an egomaniac expects to find his life interesting…It can be safely assumed that any writer who gives you a record of his own life is nuts about himself…Writers would not go on writing unless they thought they were unique. Their humility consists in, and is exhausted by, their recognition that others are more gifted… But to think themselves unique, they need their conceit. If they recognize this fact, they can write memoirs that evince a delightful and seemingly genuine self-deprecation, as they balance their necessary self-esteem with an awareness of their own failings…But it is remarkable how few writers can do even that much, and somehow those who can’t are the very ones most concerned to write memoirs.”

James certainly offers enough honest and embarrassing insight into his own life and all its failings to qualify as someone who is humble and so I believe him when he says that “All I can claim…is a hope – the hope that what has always been a burden to me will lighten the spirits of someone else”. But I also think that as our own Leonard Cohen, himself something of an expatriate, said recently about his own poetry, that we write because “a poet is deeply conflicted, and that it’s in his work that he reconciles those deep conflicts. That place is the harbour. It doesn’t set the world in order…and it doesn’t really change anything. But it is a kind of harbour; a place of reconciliation…[it’s (the writing)] the kiss of peace.”

I like that. While I fret and fumble with the ongoing need to blog and the equally insistent concern over why I need to blog, the words and insight of Cohen and James console. One reminds me that a writer writes simply because they need to and the other reassures me that the conceit I feel when writing about our lives abroad is a necessary part of the creative process shared by anyone who has ever tried to describe something for another by placing their own words upon a page.

Now that I’ve finally done both today, I’m off to pack a bag.

Jan 14 - Riding and walking the rails of Melbourne

The beauty of living in a big city is that, if you make the effort, you are quite often able to see and experience many different things in a relative short amount of time and small amount of space. Often things you could never plan for. Yesterday was one of those days that offered several new and memorable moments.

Because the weather office was calling for 37 plus heat, we decided we would pack up our bathers and boogie boards and head for the Brighton Beach area - a very photographed but yet-to-be-seen-by-us area south of the CBD. Having done our research online, we knew to take the tram down to Flinders and then catch the Sandringham train almost out to the end of the line. It was all rather smooth and convenient and as we sped through neighbourhood after tree-lined neighbourhood, I dreamed of such a train line doing a similar route up to and through Leaside on its way to Don Mills and beyond. Without wanting to sound too "us and them", Toronto's public transit really is the pits by comparison.

Upon reaching Brighton Beach we disembarked with the rest of the train and noticed we were the youngest by several years. It would seem we were heading for the teen beach - or maybe they were in their thirties and we're just old. Anyway, we scurried across the hot street and the hotter sand and set up shop in front of the calm, gorgeous ocean. With no surf to play in, the boys took to castles and shell collecting along with a few dips in the surprisingly chilly ocean. One of the public service campaigns in Oz is called "Slip, Slop, Slap" and is geared toward safe sun management. This was a day where we would be employing a triple-slop on all sides! One of the other things we decided one cannot live without is a shelter/umbrella of some sort. For anyone other than Lint, who at some point needs to retreat to the shade, the umbrella is an essential beach-going item and is now on the list for next week's holiday in Lorne.

After a warm, beachy lunch where the iced tea was more like soup, we picked up our stuff and moved down the beach to a cooler spot on a point where the boys had great fun searching some tidal pools for shells, crabs, and starfish. It is perhaps our favourite thing in the world to do - sit and watch as the boys explore their world together. Wanting to move once more to an area beside some funky painted beach houses we walked a little further and plunked our gear down in an area that was decidedly more family. Another great play in the sand and water was capped off with an icey pole that forced Colin and I to deal with heat on the soles of our feet that I have never before had to endure. This was seriously "could fry an egg on that" territory!

Having maxed out on our sun quota for the day, we walked toward where we thought the next train station would be and did a fairly good job of finding it - only needing directions from one kind local and a final 50 metre sprint to catch the train just pulling in. We plunked ourselves down in the air-conditioned comfort and settled in for what should have been the 15 minute commute back to Flinders Station. That's when the fun began. About 3 stations into our journey the train stopped and the driver came on the PA saying there was a delay ahead and we would be waiting for a few minutes. Fifteen minutes later he announced that there was a police situation on the tracks and we would be waiting for at least 10 minutes more. That turned into 10 more minutes and then ten minutes more and then we were waiting indefinitely. That's when the teenagers began to jump.

We had been sharing a car with about 40 people, mostly teens, and as the delay got longer and longer, their patience got shorter and shorter. What a fascinating study in human behaviour as each person and group of teens displayed their ability or inability to cope with the situation. Their conversations got louder. The swearing became more frequent. They began to pace the car. Their outrage was of course more pronounced than anyone else's - as if their appointments or destinations ranked above all others. Out came the cell phones and the diatribes continued as they parlayed the conspiracy to ever sympathetic friends. Then they began to consider the idea of simply getting off the train. Those of us - older, maybe wiser, with kids, or simply with caution - watched and shook our heads as one by one the teens jumped from the train and slid down the side of the tracks. Like lemmings, once one went they all did, dragging a few willing older passengers along to freedom. We watched with interest and growing jealousy as we began to realize that they were now free and we were still trapped on the train.

Eventually, an announcement came on informing the remaining passengers that we could either get off the train or stay on and take our chances that it would start up eventually. Mostly because we thought we might be the only ones left, we decided to get off and join the throng of people shuffling along the tracks and back to the station we had departed 45 minutes prior. Apparently, a poor soul ahead had been contemplating ending it all with a jump from a bridge to in front of our train and the police had been spending all this time trying to "talk him down". Knowing this seemed to take the "irateness" out of our discontent though the stifling heat only served to crank it back up again. Though with nothing we really had to do and nowhere we really had to be, the heat and humanity were in fact about as stress free as could be. We imagined how we would have both been popping a gasket if at home on the TTC trying to pick up the kids...and speaking of the kids, they were heroic.

And so we sandwiched ourselves into an impossibly crowded tram, gritted our teeth, held our noses and wound our way back home arriving a mere three hours after we had left the beach. Definitely a different kind of Aussie adventure, but still an amazing memory to have when the suntans begin to fade.

Jan 10 - Come sail away!

I'm going to see if I can blog briefly. I'm not sure if it's possible, but here goes.

Today's adventure was all about sailing - both by wind and motor. We received a most welcome and wonderful invitation to join a family we have met through Colin's class for a day of sailing at the Port Melbourne Yacht Club. At the same time, we were waiting to see if we might hear from Mary and Stan Neal (Peter's parents) who are on a cruise and scheduled to dock in Melbourne on the very same day. As luck would have it, we did make contact with the Neals, and the cruise ship dock and the yacht club are practically side by each. Thus we were off to Station Pier to sail with friends and to see friends who were sailing!

The yacht club is right at the foot of the city and is nestled in a very pretty part of Melbourne we had yet to discover. We drove down with our host and his son and were very soon at work unloading their boat and setting up an umbrella on the beach. First up to sail were the two dads along with Colin and his friend. We had a wonderful sail tacking out into Phillip Bay. Colin took his turn hiking out over the rail as the wind began to pick up. We skirted the jetty where the Neal's boat was tied up and then turned for home with the wind at our backs. After a beer and a bit of a lunch the dads returned to the sea for a really wild sail with big surf, big wind and unbelievably, a playful seal as a companion. What an amazing few hours on the ocean and literally minutes from downtown.

After few more nibblies and a bit of boogie boarding we thanked our gracious hosts and headed down the boardwalk to rendezvous with the Neals at 3:30. After no more than ten minutes of walking we stumbled upon them at the foot of Station Pier. What a neat feeling to turn the corner and see familiar faces from back home. They looked relaxed and well and no different than the last time we saw them for the August firework show back on Lake of Bays a few years ago. We found a dockside cafe beside the pier and spent an hour or so catching up and trading impressions about Australia and hearing about their amazing cruise. Like our hook up with the Blairs last month, it was again fun to speak about things from the same perspective and use the same "language" to describe what we were seeing. By all accounts they are having a wonderful trip and we dreamed of climbing aboard their impressive ship for a few days of leisure and great eating/drinking.

Their ship was setting sail for Hobart, Tasmania at six so once we had drained our lattes and the boys had downed a Margherita pizza - just because - we exchanged hugs and handshakes and headed for home. This was a great day for many reasons, but mostly because we were spending time with friends, from near and far.

Jan 5-6 To Bendigo...and beyond!

Check out day saw us breaking up a furious impromptu cricket game outside our cabin as Colin's bat and ball had attracted a gaggle of boys looking to play a little silly mid-on. In the midst of this tour, we were also glued to the tv watching the third test match between South Africa and Australia. The Aussie's were playing for pride having already lost the series but the cricket continues to hold the country's attention as well as the interest of a few of the Canadians in our cabin.

Today we would be travelling further north-east into Victoria toward a place called Bendigo. On the way we detoured through Daylesford and Hepburn Springs which are, as a result of some ancient mineral waters, the spa centres of the known Australian world. We weren't really in the market for a soothing dunk or hot rock facial so we just poked around a bit buying coffees and treats from one of many, many cafes. Where in Ontario, a town like Daylesford might look and feel like a Picton, a Listowel or a Lindsay the differences are many. Life seems to continue on in these Australian towns and the economy along with it. Where there might be dollar stores and for lease signs along mainstreet Ontario, Australian towns thrum with the cafe and gallery life and there is always a winery or B and B lurking around the next corner. I think one of the big differences here is that Australian farmers still and always have made a very good living. In fact, we understand that the best boarding schools in the country continue to be filled with the sons and daughters of wealthy farmers.

Back on the road toward Bendigo, the usual assortment of stunning views and kangaroo crossings dotted the way. Soon we were oohing and ahhing our way into Bendigo as its goldrush-funded architecture surprised and amazed. Lunch was a pleasant picnic in an old park near the town hall. After the ever so nourishing effects of Pringles and Tim Tams and not being in any huge rush, we decided to detour off the chosen road and spend an hour at the local waterslide. It was getting to be a very hot day and the kids were totally stoked (dude!) to get out of the car and into some fun. Lint and I watched with pleasure as the boys took each other by the hand and ran for the slide. Awesome to see Allie so adventurous and Colin so protective of his lil' bro.

Back onto the highway we headed to Shepparton - our intended destination for this day - and a place more than one of our Melbourne acquaintances had politely wondered, "Why do you want to go there?" I'm not sure we really knew either but Shepparton advertises a huge kids playground that got my attention a few months ago and so suddenly we were off for a one night stay at the Country Comfort Inn. We made the most of our time here with a fun but slightly gross swim at a huge aquatic complex called Aqua Moves. Dinner was mexican at a nice enough resto on the main drag and then wicked ice cream at a place called Cold Rock. Before heading out the following day we would have a good play at the playground I mentioned and a successful cruise through the aisles of Shepparton's other claim to fame - wholesale food.

I must also mention the sleep I didn't have that night. Mostly due to a wicked case of insomnia that Alex was suffering from and not the fajitas at dinner, I was up the middle part of the night tossing and turning in our due-to-be-demolished and mostly grungy hotel room. Apart from the constant whispers of my very awake son, the thing that kept me staring at the stucco the most was the number of fired up and loud hot rods that were cruising the strip mere metres from our room. "Hoon" is a term in Australia which describes a person, typically a young man, who has a car, drives it fast, and is generally thought to be a bit of a reckless endangerment to himself and anyone else who might choose to share the road. Hoons are regarded with distaste by the media and law enforcement officials but at the same time, I get the feeling that to be a hoon is actually something most young, red-blooded Australian males should aspire to. I'm not sure this is accurate on all accounts, but unless there was a hot rod convention in town on this night, Shepparton has its fair share of hoons and they are endangering the sleep of motel guests everywhere!

On our way back down to Melbourne we detoured again on the strength of a very nice invitation from Alex and Simon's sister-in-law Claire, to come for a swim at her mom's place near Nagambie. They have a lovely house on a man made weir (lake) and we cherished the chance to get out of the heat and have our first freshwater swim in six months. The ocean is incredible, but there is something as magical about freshwater - I couldn't get enough! We had a great visit meeting Claire's mom, brother and his friend who took us for rides in their new boat. Colin even courageously jumped at the chance to be towed on a knee board. It was all so friendly and relaxed that we once again felt lucky to be among such great people and content that we had turned our wheels inland, to Bendigo and beyond.

Jan 3 - 5 Into the great wide open...

Our next trip was planned so that we might venture inland and learn a bit more about the rich history surrounding Melbourne and its very own 19th century goldrush. It is said that in the late 1800's Melbourne was the wealthiest city in the world as the result of the discovery of gold in the areas known as Ballarat and Bendigo a few hours drive north of the city. In fact, people came from all over the world including Canada to get in on the action. I find it amazing to what degree people were willing to risk all that they had, sail for months half way around the world, live in squalid conditions and work in dangerous places just for the chance of striking it rich. One of the things the history of exploration and discovery in Australia has reminded me of is that we are very, very fortunate to live in the times and within the socio-economic class that we do.

The trip to Ballarat is no more than 90 minutes from our door and so before the kids could even think to ask "Are we there yet?" I was turning our beautiful Ford Falcon XR-6 into the Goldrush mini-putt on the outskirts of the city. This would be another trip focussed mostly on the kids and so mini-putts and waterslides were definitely on the itinerary. After Linton soundly won the mini-putt, she toured us around the Ballarat she had seen with our neighbour a few months prior. We stopped by the man made lake, now a very dry marsh, where they staged the rowing events for the '56 Olympics. The boys had a good play in a very High Parkesque playground and then we were off to our Big 4 Holiday Park to check in to our very chi-chi six person villa! Or at least, that's what it was called.

These caravan parks are starting to grow on us, mostly because they are so family friendly. The kids can walk out the door and play, scooter, make friends and entertain themselves with very little parenting (interference) from us. There was a pool, games room, jumping pillow (like an enormous trampoline) playground - the works - and best of all, a million other kids that the boys are getting quite good at befriending. There are few places these days where one can feel okay about letting your child just go out the front door. It was great to live that lifestyle, at least for a day or two.

Our major expedition for this leg of the trip was to explore Sovereign Hill. This is an enormous development that recreates the life of the prospectors in the Ballarat area and effectively teaches the technology behind gold mining and most importantly the history of the Eureka Flag. The events within this moment in Australian history are considered by many as seminal in defining the Australian spirit and the "common man/worker's" willingness to fight to overcome social injustice. It is an impressive attraction and though we did not quite have the patience for candle making and sweltered in 35 degree heat panning for gold, the mine tour and sound and light show were very impressive.

We had booked a 9:15 reservation for the Sound and Light show and though we were a tad sceptical about the kids' ability to stay awake, we shouldn't have been because they were glued to every minute. The show takes part in five different stages and the fourth part is simply incredible. Seated in an outdoor theatre, huge doors gently swing open to reveal a full scale recreation of the Eureka Hotel and surrounding mining encampment. It was a gorgeous night and a crescent moon shone brightly overhead. Through an inventive choreography of light, sound, fire and dialogue with nary an actor to be seen, the audience is taken through the dramatic events of 1851 that ultimately led to a confrontation between the miners and government soldiers and cost 22 lives. It was one of the most theatrically clever shows I have ever seen and my mind spun wildly with the possibilities for high school plays of the future. Interestingly, a Canadian played a significant part in the drama. Apparently, the now famous Southern Cross flag was first flown in the Eureka camp by a Canadian - the name of Ross.

This was certainly the complete and opposite end to mini-putts and waterslides and yet it was exactly the kind of important moment one hopes your kids will soak up on an adventure such as ours. To make history come alive so that six year olds talk about it the next morning is a rare feat and whether it be Canadian or Australian history was not the point on this day. The point, if there was one, was to learn how to sit, to watch, to listen and to learn. Something we all did together on a beautiful night in Ballarat.

Dec 31 - A New Years Revelation

We spent a lovely New Year's Eve in downtown Melbourne with, what the media reported to be, about 500,000 other Melburnians enjoying free concerts, rides, and fireworks. Tramming (as always) down to Alexandra Park on the Yarra river, we cast our blanket and picnic down on a nice piece of grass and proceeded to eat, play, watch and wait for the fireworks show scheduled to begin at 9:15. We were not disappointed and enjoyed a tremendous show that exploded simultaneously on four floating barges in the middle of the Yarra. After the show, we and several thousand other people tried to make our way back over the St. Kilda bridge toward Fed Square - and that's where it got a little interesting. Because of the small space, ill-conceived barriers, and the sheer number of people we reached a sort of mass human gridlock and spent the next 30 minutes trying to move through a thick sea of swirling humanity. It was quite unnerving and if I wasn't having fun, it was much worse for the boys who were operating at 'bum level". Allie's tears actually helped to part the suddenly sympathetic crowd and thankfully we finally broke free into space making a beeline for the quieter Russell Street and a lucky cab ride home. It was mostly a wonderful night together with the boys, but those 30 minutes on the bridge, so quickly turned a fun celebration into a moment that gives one pause.

It's funny what you learn about yourself when placed in a new environment - like a crowded bridge or a new country. A slight tweek to time or place and suddenly you have the words or the perspective for something about yourself that remained a mystery to you before. Of course, friends and family will have always known this new information to be true and maybe somewhere, deep inside, you also would admit to knowing it was part of your psyche. But still, you need a catalyst or a lever with which to pry this knowledge out from under your subconscious and into the bright blue sky of a new reality.

I think age also has something to do with these kinds of revelations. There does seem to come a time, a time that was still impossible to comprehend mere moments before it actually arrives, when you are willing to see things differently because the "care factor" has ebbed away. You are no longer willing to protect some idealized sense of self or life that you are convinced may still be possible as long as you don't reveal too much or admit too many faults. It is perhaps a moment that comes after peering over the horizon to sneak a glimpse at the future and realizing you are closer to an end than a beginning.

For me, one such realization took place recently as a result of a certain blanket. Both boys have baby blankets, made lovingly for them by their Nanny Pat and carried with them since they were born. They are here with us in Australia. At least, they were. The other day we thought we had lost one on our recent Christmas holiday. Interestingly, the person who was most despondent about the loss was not so much Colin, but me. Now I know I have always had a habit of placing a lot of value on such things - call it a firm sense of nostalgia or some sort of bizarre Freudian attachment - but I was very sad that we had lost this blanket after having had it in our family for almost ten years. I almost felt like we had lost a member of the family. I looked everywhere - twice, called the Davies and the resort we were at but to no avail. Then, just as I was becoming resigned to the loss and rehearsing my speech to Colin about growing up and moving on, "Mackey" as he is affectionately known, appeared in Colin's closet. I was ecstatic. We all were. Life, as we knew it, returned to normal.

So what did this little moment reveal to me? In one of the earliest blogs I admitted to being a bit of a pack rat. I have always had trouble throwing out things that I have lived with and which have therefore become part of my life. I find value in the past and need the past around me and in my life to remind me of what I have done and who I am. Linton is different. She looks to the future. For example, she has had a lot of fun booking our travel plans and thinking about where we are going next because she is clearly focused on the future. She worries about where she is going, what is life's next great adventure, and how we are going to get there. They are complementary viewpoints in that I believe we remind each other of the need to look the other way now and again. This knowledge, about ourselves and each other just burbled to the surface the other day, at least, in a way that we could have never articulated mere moments before. It was the right moment or coming together of age and stage for such understanding to take place.

And so at a time of resolutions I would like to offer more of a revelation. Unlike the incident with Colin's blanket, I am quite happy to let go of the past at least with respect to something like the year 2008. I do, in fact, enjoy ringing in the new year. Looking forward to a fresh start and a new page, even if it's only as a result of some arbitrary day on an arbitrary calendar, is always rejuventating. I have more trouble letting go of the real and tangible things - often no more significant than a child's blanket, a favourite book, or and old sweater. For some reason, these things require a greater place in the museum of my memory and cannot be so dutifully sold, boxed or forgotten at the drop of a ball. And yet, what seemed to come flashing wildly into my head for a brief moment on that crowded, constricting bridge was that as I was celebrating the passing of the past and looking with Linton into the ever-promising future, the most important things in my life, needed me right there right then - in the present. And so to 2009 - carpe diem.