Gross Motor Skills?

Lawrence is very funny. He doesn't mean to be, and he usually seems surprised by my laughter, but he has possibly the best 'dead-pan' face I've ever seen.

A self-described SLOTH, he admits to purposeful inactivity - on principle. When I questioned him as to why he doesn't dance or exercise, he merely shrugged and said:

"....I've just never lusted after motor control..."

aMAZingly corny....


Hah! I crack myself up when I come up with silly puns and equally ridiculous retorts.

Sometimes I laugh so hard at myself that I have trouble catching my breath.

We went to the Pitt Meadows corn maze on Sunday... a lovely spot, albeit very dusty due to our lack of summer precipitation. It is a giant corn field with a series of mazes cut into it. We decided to play 'boys against girls' and see who could find their way out of their respective mazes first. Ever prepared, since we were all former Scouts and Brownies, each team had a two-way radio for emergency communications. Let's face it; you never know when a scarecrow might come to life and chase you to your death, a baseball diamond suddenly appear out of nowhere, or you just have to find a washroom - quickly.

About ten minutes into the competition, with nothing in sight but corn husks and blue sky, I received a breathless radio call...

"Mum! Mum! Where ARE you?"

"Uh....... (grin) .... I'm over near the CORN..."

(I told you, I crack myself up)

He felt now that he was not simply close to her,
but that he did not know where he ended and she began.
~ Leo Tolstoy ~

Vroom... vroom....

This post is a bit late in appearing, because we've been home for a week now and I have just now downloaded the photos from our last night in Penticton...


The Penticton Speedway is up in the hills above Penticton, nestled off the side of the road; a small oval track with bleachers, a concession stand, and some very busy johnnys-on-the-spot.

With great anticipation we arrived early, for burgers, hot dogs and ear plugs (a MUST, especially for small children) and excitedly awaited the action.

I'm not sure what type of racing this is classified as, but if I were asked to name it, it would be: Big And Small Beaten Up Vehicles With Loud Engines, Hand Painted Numbers And Low-Grip Tires That Screech And Slide Into Each Other All The Time. (Oh, and there should be something in there about smoke and burnt rubber)

I'm guessing that most of these cars were built by their owners and some buddies using parts they found in the auto-wrecking yard, by the side of the road, or in their mother's sewing kit, because they fell apart ALL the time... sometimes the axle, sometimes a tire, but mostly other pieces of metal stuff I didn't recognize. The tires coming off were the most fun, because the sparks from the wheel rims were simply spectacular - kind of like surprise low budget fireworks!

There was one 'mean guy' driver who seemed terribly aggressive and diligently intent on running the others off the road, which he did one by one, all night. The testosterone levels rose steadily as the victims struggled to regain control and resume the race. I'm amazed they didn't organize against him and gang up to render him immobile. If it had been a Hollywood movie, they would have.

Then there was the blue car...

I think the blue car was actually two little old ladies with a trunk full of crabapple jelly returning from an afternoon in the country, who just took a wrong turn. They putt-putted around the track at a speed that can only be described as leisurely, being lapped several (I lost count at 4) times, and when they passed by, you could see they were chatting... "So Millie, shall we do plums next Saturday? ... Now WHERE is that turn-off to the church?"

The blue car quickly became the crowd favourite; the children began doing 'the wave' each time it passed by the bleachers... which seemed like every 15 minutes or so... and the race winner even concluded his victory lap long before the blue car was finished! If you ask the children which driver's autograph they would rather have, they would all say the blue car... and so would I.

Surprise, surprise…

Wow, in my 40 years as a female and given my girlie-girl upbringing I did something yesterday that I never thought I’d do, let alone enjoy so much.

The children and I went off-road touring in Chris’ giant jeep. Seriously, it’s HUGE. Actually, it was more like rock climbing with the assistance (for the most part) of a motor, but still… all I’m saying is “Who needs Disneyland and Indiana Jones when you can do this!?”

We set out at about 1pm for the hills above Penticton in search of two old Kettle Valley Railway tunnels that are dug into the side of the hill. The first was very beautiful and the view was breathtaking, and the second… although a little harder to get to was closed off because it is beginning to cave in – well that … and the ghosts.

At the second tunnel, I attempted to get out of the jeep to take a picture of Philip and Chris and was promptly warned by a very mature-sounding rattlesnake to stay put, which I did rather quickly, with very little finesse and several unfeminine guttural sounds. Philip and Chris explored the area a bit, carrying a big stick to ward off the snakes, bears, ghosts, and scorpions. Laurel and I decided to protect the jeep because well, somebody had to.

Our formal sightseeing accomplished, and with an unmarked road (seemed more like a trail to me) in our path, we headed into what can only be described as Never Never Land. Within 3 minutes of bouncing around and giggling we heard Chris say, “Hmmmm… I don’t like the look of this road…” but without anywhere to turn around, we proceeded forward with a wink.. “Well, if we climb long enough, it has to come down sometime”

It was precisely at this point that we heard the first CRACK! of thunder and minutes later, the rain began… Did I mention that this is an open vehicle? Again, much laughter and teasing continued as we became drenched, the temperature cooling dramatically as we climbed over loose stones, potholes and ruts. Laurel and Philip huddled under a tarp in the back seat while I watched Chris’ face for any signs of fear … nope, not even for a second. Okay… here we go!

We climbed through low hanging trees and over large stones, twisting and turning further up the mountain… “See those tracks?” Chris said pointing to old tire tracks in front of us. “If they made it up here, we’ll be fine” … Uh, okay… We were tossed around, giggling for about an hour, while the jeep spun and slid and muscled its way up the rocky slope.

Finally, off in the distance……… civilization! I should mention, as a city girl, that at this point civilization to me was a fence that was actually built by a human… meaning someone up here was at one point at least, alive. Minutes later, we happened upon the Naramata water reservoir, and found the gravel road for its access. Merrily, we continued on, wet and cold, until …

“Oh, look! There’s a mud pit!”

Okay, here’s the thing: to come ALL this way, and forego the mud was just not fair … Plus, Philip was egging us on…

“Mud? No way! …. Cool…. Please Mum?” That, and the mischievous look on Chris’ face… Well, what’s a girl to do? … “Mud it is!”

Who knew dirt could be so fun? And by the time we’d motored through (twice) and started back along the main road to town... Sputter, sputter, sputter… Uh oh…Oops! Too much moisture in some module thingy… But a few minutes of tinkering and concentration later – the timing adjusted (?) .. we were on our way. 40 minutes later nothing could stop our laughing and hooting as we crept, covered from windshield to tires in mud into the hotel parking lot to change for dinner…

It was a fabulous day. Simple. Invigorating. And today I can’t stop smiling…

Fore! ...

While Adam is in goalie camp each day, the three of us fill our time either at the lake, at Peach Festival, or for the first few days without the car, wandering around and relaxing. Yesterday; however, we decided to golf because the sky was overcast and it wasn’t too hot… and we had the car back; therefore could drive the few minutes out of town to the hilltop 9-hole course.

My first mistake was renting a golf cart as a treat. Several episodes of “I get to drive first!” and “You got to drive the cart 5 inches further than me!” that would put the Bickerson’s to shame ensued before – on the 7^th hole – I finally commandeered the wheel and proclaimed that “Not another negative word shall be spoken, lest consequences arise!”

Sheepishly, we continued our game … with Philip often just picking up his ball and throwing it as far as he could in frustration. Being an executive course, there were cliffs, plateaus, and several varieties of prickly bushes that precluded our retrieving the balls from what can only be described as spaz shots… We did have some wonderful flukes, some amazing ricochets, and several Mulligans to keep us laughing and teasing, however!

With four hours left before picking up Adam from camp, we decided to invite our new friend Chris (who rescued us, took us to the hotel and fixed my car) and his son Jake to dinner with us. Unfortunately Jake was unable to attend, so the four of us set out alone for what would end up being the most fun we’ve had so far. Chris has a BIG jeep and knows the area well, and had the forethought to make a reservation at a restaurant way up in the hills called Lost Moose Lodge. Personally, I don’t know how a moose can get lost in such low lying terrain, but whatever.

We drove way up in the hills, into rattlesnake country and had a lovely dinner on the deck overlooking the valley. Chris is a car expert/enthusiast so he and Philip talked non-stop about restoring cars and pistons and other mechanically-inclined subject matter while Laurel and I surveyed the gorgeous view. The big joke of the evening was the rustle of rattlesnake sounds that was apparently VERY evident, yet I failed to hear … even once. “Mum! How can you not hear that? How deaf are you anyway?!”

After dinner, with time to spare before our 8:45pm rendezvous with Adam, we took the jeep onto an old logging road for a bra-jarring, giggle-inducing back road tour. We bumped and laughed and were tossed around, and even saw some deer as we navigated the old logging road high above Penticton… it was really a wonderful evening. The children especially loved the idea of getting into the jeep by climbing up the tires and stepping over the side, instead of using the doors …. Good thing I didn’t wear a dress.

Before collecting Adam, we stopped outside of town at an old trailer park where Philip had remarkably spotted an old 1945 Packard for sale. He and Chris circled the vehicle with enthusiasm – apparently it is quite a rare find!

Goalie Camp…

So, my son tells me that he is going to be the greatest goalie the NHL has ever seen. Of course I believe him, and not only because I’m his mother. We have traveled 500km so that he can attend the Okanagan Hockey School in Penticton, which has a special goalie program that he has been asking to attend for 3 years now. This is a boarding camp - some students have come from as far away as Phoenix and two boys have come from Tokyo to be here this week!

He is ten years old and has never actually played ice hockey on a team, but has proven himself in impromptu road hockey with his brother and the neighbourhood children and wants desperately to play in a real league … “Look Mum, I can almost do the splits!”

I was worried in bringing him to this camp that the other boys’ skills would be far more advanced than his and he was also nervous, but so far this has not been the case. The camp runs from 8:50am to 8:40pm each day and is filled with lectures, clinics, ice time, motivational discussions, off-ice skill training and team-building exercises. All of the counselors are college or AA players and goalies, and from what I can tell, they are diligently dedicated to developing the next generation of players disguised as ten year olds with wide eyes and what can only be described as gumption.

He is exhausted when I pick him up at 8:45pm each evening, and has an hour to play in the hotel pool or the lake before he falls into bed, out like a light in about 40 seconds flat.

Most of the children here stay in the dormitory and eat via wristbands in the cafeteria for an extra daily charge. My son is the only one who brings his lunch and dinner each day and although I suspect he’d like burgers and fries for lunch from the cafeteria, he says nothing and cheerfully eats the wraps, sandwiches and fruit I send for him and thanks me every evening.

He also didn’t mention to me that his counselors were concerned with the old goalie catcher’s glove he arrived with – that it was too old (we bought it used) for him to properly open and close with a puck flying toward him at 85km/h. It was only when I popped over for a visit to the skill centre and saw for myself, that I realized his training would be hampered by failing to use workable equipment. Yikes! $153.34 for a new goalie glove was worth every penny of the pride I saw on his face when I delivered it just before ice time. The other students and the counselors (bless their hearts) even gathered around to admire it. (I even got a hug – in public, if you can believe that!)

That, the car fiasco (below) and the $62.13 for a new goalie stick because he left his at the rink last night is making this a mammoth financial undertaking… but I know it’s worth it, and I can’t wait to watch him on the ice over the years, proudly cheer him on, while thinking to myself, “That’s my son – I made him in my tummy!”

ROAD TRIP!

As is true of any good road trip, our 4 ½ hour trip to Penticton turned into an 11 hour odyssey just outside of Merritt, BC. The children and I had finished having lunch with a client and resumed our journey in my VW Bug when, tunes blaring and torturous crooning abundant– a red light started flashing and beeping at us from my otherwise very cool indigo dashboard. Laurel, ever the diligent navigator/merging cohort, quickly rummaged for the car’s service manual to look up the meaning of the dashboard icon, while I searched for a spot to pull over. Luckily, right in front of us, on the side of the road was another stranded vehicle so we pulled in neatly behind him, using his roadside emergency pylon thingies to our advantage.

Ah! Engine coolant. But how can that be? The coolant reservoir was almost full, and although it was pink instead of green as is usually the case, VW assured me before we left that they use a proprietary pink product and that my levels were fine… Okay, so we were climbing a long slow grade at the time and maybe it was just too much for my little car to make, laden down with luggage, food, children and hockey equipment. Not to worry, we’ll just wait here, let the engine cool down and get on with the trip. But the Gods of road travel were pointing and laughing at our naiveté as we cheerfully waited and chatted about what we thought would be a small blip in the diary of our week-long trip.

The other stranded motorist suggested driving with the air-conditioning off and coasting as much as possible, so we opted to try that and set off again in 45 minutes. Merrily, we coasted downhill at about 80km/hour, barely touching the gas and only when absolutely necessary…. for about 2km, when …*beep* *beep* *beep* ….

Hmmmm… okay, this could be worse than we thought.

Finding the first pullout, which seemed barely large enough for my bug and meant that every vehicle that passed us made my car wobble in its draft, we set about waiting for the engine to cool.

To make matters even more ridiculous; at one point just when we were ready to get going again after Laurel cooled the motor with my bamboo Filipino hand fan, a cricket decided to join us in the car, crawling far under the driver’s seat and settling in among the springs (probably searching for remnants of the Scotch mints Laurel had unwittingly exploded all over the interior of the car two hours earlier). Well, anyone who knows me will be chuckling because although crickets don’t really bother me per se, there is no way I would travel on the highway wearing a skirt with one under my seat! Twenty minutes of coaxing, laughing, jabbing, and heebie jeebie dancing later, the darn thing reluctantly departed and we could once again begin our painstaking journey.

Often travelers on a road trip have the option of simply staying in the town nearest where the car breaks down.. but in our case we needed to get Adam to Penticton to start Hockey Camp early the next morning, so stopping in Westbank overnight was simply not going to work. We decided to pull over every time the light went on; wait for 20-30 minutes and start off again, hoping to coast into Penticton, find a garage and merrily begin our holiday. By now those Gods of road travel were rolling on the floor…

It got progressively worse until finally, after 5 attempts with this strategy, we made it a mere 200m down the off ramp at 40km/h into a little plaza in Peachland. It was time to admit that the circumstances were beyond our control and call the darn tow truck.

The tow truck driver’s name was Kenn. A man obviously near retirement whose customer service philosophy was, “I treat all my customers how I would like my wife treated in similar circumstances” – clearly, he wanted his wife chatted to death… as he recounted every big wreck he has ever had the ‘pleasure’ of clearing from the treacherous highway. To make matters more nerve-wracking, we had to sit on each other’s laps for the 42 km ride into Penticton in his rickety old tow truck – the kind with no front end, where, as a reminder of your mortality, you sit right at the windshield and are mere inches away from every bug that splatters on the glass. You know your children are growing up when, for the first time, you sit on your son’s knee instead of vice versa!

Kenn wanted me to stay overnight in Peachland to see Klaus, the region’s resident Volkswagen expert who was returning from holiday in two days, but I insisted we continue on into Penticton to see the first available mechanic. Reluctantly, he took us to the local Canadian Tire, which was closing in 20 minutes. We managed to register the car with the service desk, and they even had a quick look at it before closing time. Yup, the coolant was fine. Yup, the fan was working. Nope, there was nothing obvious that we could have done to prevent this. Maybe it’s the water pump? The thermostat in the coolant hose? As the garage doors were closing for the night, the children and I and two mechanics meticulously unloaded our luggage, groceries and hockey equipment onto the sidewalk to await a taxi to our hotel.

Much laughter ensued as we surveyed our mounds of belongings on the sidewalk and took photos of our predicament. Our mechanic Chris kindly offered us a ride in the courtesy van to our hotel and actually carried the luggage into the second floor room with the children while I checked in.

I have to say at this point how wonderful the children were during the whole fiasco – not once did anyone complain, especially Adam who had only this one afternoon to frolic in the lake before starting hockey camp the next morning. Instead they were perky, helpful and remarkably hilarious – we had a great day, a real bonding experience.

All is right with the world, because the situation afforded me the unique luxury of a 30 minute walk alone with Adam to and from hockey camp each morning and evening, and some ‘down-time’ with Laurel and Philip . Adam and I held hands and chatted like we did when he was little, and I had some great discussions with Laurel and Philip during our walks around Penticton … everything happens for a reason… *sigh* … too bad the car was ready in only 3 days…

New water pump and coolant hose thermostat = $628

42km tow truck ride with Kenn, the chatterbox = $110

A road-trip adventure with three great children - PRICELESS

So they say that our personalities don’t change from when we were children. In other words, the things that affect us emotionally; hurt our feelings, make us happy, our propensity for introversion or extroversion etc. remain static during our lives. What does change are our reactions to these emotions – how we interpret them intellectually and through our environmental conditioning. We then rationalize and react accordingly... applying societal norms, the sensibilities of those with which we interact, and what we know to be acceptable behaviour ... while balancing our inherent urges to express ourselves honestly.

Take for instance: embarrassment, rejection or acceptance, guilt and even pride - to name a few. Exactly the same emotions we felt when we were shunned on the sports field as youngsters or asked to the Spring Dance as adolescents rise to the surface when similar things happen as adults. Most of us learn to put them in perspective, but the underlying emotion is still there.

I've been mindful of this theory lately. Even in daily existence, but most certainly in more significant events in my life ... I'm pretty sure it's true.

My friend Lawrence...

We met at lunch, after several months of eating alone at separate tables. The credit goes entirely to Lawrence, who finally wandered over and verbalized the silliness of the two of us eating alone in the same room. I happily accepted his offer to join him, and we've not looked back. It's the highlight of my week, for reasons far too numerous to mention.

We only see each other on weekdays, at lunch a few times each week if we happen to turn up at the same time, and we don’t even know each other’s last names - mostly because I keep waffling back and forth between my married and my maiden name, and his is Dutch and it’s hard to remember, plus I like our relationship the way it is.

He is 18 years older than me, or as he would say: I’m 18 years younger than him, and we laugh, rant, and pontificate beautifully together. Some of my favourite Lawrencisms are:

“Life as we know it would not exist without hypocrisy”

“Everything man does is for the service of his underlying needs; number one being getting laid”

Lawrence is a realist, through and through – a ‘tell it like it is’ kind of fellow. Wonderfully cynical at times, he is an open book among a myriad of people with hidden agendas. He never uses a computer; preferring his secretary instead, so he’ll never see this – and that makes me smile...