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17.5.16

One Man's Junk...


This house used to be on Main Street back in my hometown.  It belonged to a man named Spud Kitigawa.  My uncle purchased it, knocked it down, and built something new.  Fortunately, before it got knocked down, I got to spend a few hours exploring.  Spud left a great deal of stuff behind.  Stuff both him and my husband would agree is junk.  But you know how the saying goes.  "One man's junk, is another man's treasure."  Here are the treasures I found.










Here are some pearls of wisdom I found in an old Buddhist text in the basement.













I may or may not have left with a few trinkets...

I don't know why I'm drawn to old things, but I am.  My Grandma Gibb calls me "sentimental."  My husband thinks that I am mental.  But to me, these things really are all treasure.
8.5.16

Magical

I don't mean to brag or anything, but I had the most magical childhood.  Sure, there were growing pains and little heart aches here and there, but overall when I reminisce about growing up I only feel happy and warm.  Don't believe me?  Let me describe my childhood to you.

I don't exactly remember these parts, but they look pretty magical to me.



When I was around three or four, our family moved to a place called Westlock.  I had a sandbox, trampoline, swing set, and best of all, garden in the backyard to play with.  My favourite was the rhubarb.  They made perfect elf hats.




I also had the greatest custom made dresses to wear around.  They oftentimes matched my younger sisters.  Everyone thought we were the cutest little girls at church on Sunday.




As I got older, I was shown to love the outdoors.  Regardless of what the weather may have been like.  


Some of my most fond memories include the amazing places I got to explore.  There were long summer days spent exploring the hoodoos at Writing-On-Stone and building sandcastles along the slow Milk River.  There were days spent in Waterton, hiking the frigid water up Red Rock or the steep steps up Bear's Hump.  Mornings on the road to Calgary that lead to a full day of shopping or the zoo or Calaway Park.  Hundreds of afternoons and hot summer evenings were spent at "the bridge," jumping into the dark, fishy water to cool off.  Sometimes we'd even float the steady canal to keep cool.  As we got older and more adventurous, we'd drive out to Kimball to float the river rapids, sometimes stopping to jump the cliff.  There were more slurpees, snow-bobs, ice cream cones, and popsicles than I can count.  There were Sunday drives that lead to Sunday walks.

Of course, not everything was always a party, but even in retrospect, the things that seemed tedious back then still feel magical to me.  There was always a garden that needed weeding, Saturday chores to be done, but those were small payments made on my behalf for the adventures and fun.

I had a playhouse in the field and horses out there too.  There were pet cats and dozens of kittens; rabbits and scores of bunnies.  As I got older a pet dog was entrusted in my care.  Or that was the theory when the decision was made to get one.  

Eventually I took a liking to baking and the kitchen was loaned to me, no questions asked.  I probably wasted a lot of ingredients, but I was never scolded or lost my kitchen privileges, for that was a place of learning.

There were early mornings riding my bike to school and long angry afternoons riding my bike home against the brutal west wind.  There were special days at school where I got a hoagie for lunch or went on a field trip.

Honestly, I could go on for so much more, but I want you to finish reading this, so I'll move along.

Now that I have kids, it weighs on my mind quite frequently how much I want them to have a magical childhood, like the one I enjoyed.  I had so much.  But now, since I'm a mom, I realize that most of my childhood was made possible by one person.  My mom.


For every magical childhood, there is a mother backstage.  I'm so grateful for all that my own mother did to make my childhood so magical.  I hope that my girls can experience the life and excitement that I did growing up.  Thank you, mom, for setting the bar so dang high.