It's been a fertile month for "oh, I should blog that!" moments, though the moments of actually still having the interest in blogging anything once I reach the computer have been quite a bit fewer. All the same, here's a few of the ones I remember:
1.) I have the travel bug BAD this summer... really bad. And I don't think I can blame it on Quebec and Idaho having whetted my appetite. After those two trips, I wanted to be on the go... visit Downers, hit the road, cross a few borders... it wasn't so much that I wanted to go anywhere particular, as that I wanted to go.
Now I want to go to England... or Rome... or Australia... or England...
I blame working in the Archives.
The problem there is that I've been reorganising the bishops' correspondence with the other bishops, and there is quite a bit of travel-related talk in there. Of course, it's not that the bishops were travelling all that time--quite a lot of the letters simply say "thanks for the invite, but I'm busy confirming that weekend", but the fact of the matter is that, for the most part, the bishops write each other infrequently enough and live far enough away from each other, that the topic of travel comes up very frequently as both a reason for writing and as a common ground (eg. running into each in Rome on an [i]ad limina[/i] visit or at a synod or something). And, given the infrequency of letters, this leads to a distorted emphasis on travel in the episcopal correspondence, from the viewer's point of view--or at least this viewer.
What this has succeeded in doing, besides the general effect of honing my wanderlust, is to re-emphasize my nomadic priorities: Rome and England more or less neck-and-neck, followed by a general desire for western and northern Europe (the climes of Middle-earth, so to speak), then Europe and the Caribbean in general, then diverse parts of the Pacific and Oceania, then Canada and the States, and then the world at large... an idiosyncratic priority list basically based on personal curiosities, world politics, and familiarity.
2.) Last summer, as August approached, I started looking forward to returning to classes. Not seminary, so much (I was indifferent there), as to university proper. Orientation and the subsequent return to school had me happier than I'd been in a long time...
This year, it's the opposite. While I'm indifferent to returning to Concordia (I seem to have gotten through my academic fatigue, thankfully), I'm really looking forward to being back in seminary. Here, I think Quebec may have been partly to blame, as well as the fact that in general I've seen more of the seminarians this summer by far than I did last year, but that doesn't explain it all. I'm not just looking forward to a return to the seminarians, but a return to the community routine: morning prayer, breakfast, Mass, evening prayer, group meetings, community meetings, choir practices, evening prayer, retreats...
In a sense, given that my wanderlust has worked in tandem with a very willing willingness to study abroad, this is kind of odd... but not a problem, by any means.
3.) My Barrow-downs compatriots will be pleased to know that I've been the chief instigator in turning a half-dead, ought-to-have died thread foolishly connecting Middle-earth and the newest LEGO castle line, on the Classic-Castle forum, into a rather serious (if not quite Books Forum standard) debate on Tolkien.
4.) I really do look forward to being older. And not just "mid-twenties" older, or "middle-aged" older, but rather "ready to retire after a long service" older. Granted, I take a romanticised view in which I'm still mobile, relatively healthy, and have my mental faculties... but that's hardly any worse than the more socially accepted romanticisms about youth, is it? One odd thought that did occur to me, though, in this connection, is that I would love to end up in a Barrow-downer retirement home. I mean, most of us will all hit old age within the same half decade... Given our failing eyesight and unsteadiness on the roads, how else will we stay in touch.
5.) I am inordinately pleased with myself for having discovered that spending $110 dollars on five different LEGO sets is vastly more satisfying than spending $105 on a single set. Really, it's inordinate.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Pastor?
In all my years of wanting to be a priest (and we're getting on close to two decades of that), my main vision of the priesthood has always been of the parish priest, the pastor, and this was always where I figured God was calling me. This makes sense, given that in Olds there's never been a priest who wasn't a parish priest, and the life of the pastor is not without appeal. It is, in a sense, the heart and soul of the priesthood.
When I went to seminary, two years ago (whoa! That long...), it began to dawn on me--living with 5 non-parish priests and in the big city where there were other such--and I began to contemplate what it would be like to have such a role--and I really didn't like the idea. I figured I could do it, that I'd certainly not be brokenhearted and depressed if I ended up a professor, or a chancellor, or a bishop... but that wasn't what I wanted. Worse, as a smart student (and I am, let there be no mistake about that), there seemed to be a pretty good chance that I'll end up going on for further studies at some point, which is the natural launching point for such a turn of events.
Well, two years later--two years of really enjoying academia, of thinking seminary formating isn't such a bad gig, and working in the archives where you get to see the bishops and chancellors up close and personal, and then a trip to the Eucharistic Congress where there's a lot of episcopal purple walking around, and all of a sudden the idea of a not-so-pastoral job doesn't look so bad.
Of course, this is about the same time that my more pessimistic, less self-assured side kicks in and starts whining that there's no way I'll get sent on for further studies; that there's lots of other smart seminarians in Edmonton, ones with more interest in such things, and if you ask then you're clearly an ambitious, proud snob.
Now, that is all more or less bad reasoning, but it still brought up a good point for me to consider, namely whether, if that didn't transpire, I'd be happy in the parish. For a couple weeks/months, I've kind of wondered, caught up as I've been, between the Congress and the Archives, in the wonderful wide world of the bishops. I'm aware that a lot of my infatuation with it has had to do with the travelling bishops get to do--and all the pictures of them in their cool cassocks--and I've certainly been smitten with the travel bug this summer; I want to travel like it's nobody's business.
Tonight, I got my answer. At Mass tonight, Fr. Stephan was presiding, and it was an ordinary, weekday crowd, and after Mass I went for my (starting this week as a habit... we'll see how it goes) daily walk, when one of the parishioners came up behind me on his bike and chatted a bit before moving on, and I realised that, yes, if you get right down to it, I still want to be a pastor of some kind... though it may not be as a parish priest.
Furthermore, as I continued walking, I realised also that what I really, REALLY am drawn to in the priesthood is the sacraments: celebrating baptisms, marriages, and funerals... anointing the sick... hearing Confessions... and especially celebrating the Eucharist. It doesn't matter where I end up in the priesthood, this will still be the central focus of it all.
I've always said, whatever my preferences, when I'm ordained (and before), I'll go where I'm told, as joyfully as I can, and I meant it. I still do, but it's comforting all the same to know that most of the options the archbishop will have in that matter all look pretty good.
When I went to seminary, two years ago (whoa! That long...), it began to dawn on me--living with 5 non-parish priests and in the big city where there were other such--and I began to contemplate what it would be like to have such a role--and I really didn't like the idea. I figured I could do it, that I'd certainly not be brokenhearted and depressed if I ended up a professor, or a chancellor, or a bishop... but that wasn't what I wanted. Worse, as a smart student (and I am, let there be no mistake about that), there seemed to be a pretty good chance that I'll end up going on for further studies at some point, which is the natural launching point for such a turn of events.
Well, two years later--two years of really enjoying academia, of thinking seminary formating isn't such a bad gig, and working in the archives where you get to see the bishops and chancellors up close and personal, and then a trip to the Eucharistic Congress where there's a lot of episcopal purple walking around, and all of a sudden the idea of a not-so-pastoral job doesn't look so bad.
Of course, this is about the same time that my more pessimistic, less self-assured side kicks in and starts whining that there's no way I'll get sent on for further studies; that there's lots of other smart seminarians in Edmonton, ones with more interest in such things, and if you ask then you're clearly an ambitious, proud snob.
Now, that is all more or less bad reasoning, but it still brought up a good point for me to consider, namely whether, if that didn't transpire, I'd be happy in the parish. For a couple weeks/months, I've kind of wondered, caught up as I've been, between the Congress and the Archives, in the wonderful wide world of the bishops. I'm aware that a lot of my infatuation with it has had to do with the travelling bishops get to do--and all the pictures of them in their cool cassocks--and I've certainly been smitten with the travel bug this summer; I want to travel like it's nobody's business.
Tonight, I got my answer. At Mass tonight, Fr. Stephan was presiding, and it was an ordinary, weekday crowd, and after Mass I went for my (starting this week as a habit... we'll see how it goes) daily walk, when one of the parishioners came up behind me on his bike and chatted a bit before moving on, and I realised that, yes, if you get right down to it, I still want to be a pastor of some kind... though it may not be as a parish priest.
Furthermore, as I continued walking, I realised also that what I really, REALLY am drawn to in the priesthood is the sacraments: celebrating baptisms, marriages, and funerals... anointing the sick... hearing Confessions... and especially celebrating the Eucharist. It doesn't matter where I end up in the priesthood, this will still be the central focus of it all.
I've always said, whatever my preferences, when I'm ordained (and before), I'll go where I'm told, as joyfully as I can, and I meant it. I still do, but it's comforting all the same to know that most of the options the archbishop will have in that matter all look pretty good.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Mid-Month Meanderings
It is 10:00 at night, and I have a while before my laundry is dry, and I've exhausted all the usual websites, and I've been ambitious enough for one night, as far as fiction writing is concerned, and I've even gone for a half hour walk (ambitious exercise for sedentary me), so I've finally, after two weeks of thinking about it, got the necessary motivation to put down a few thoughts in the old blog.
First of all, it occurred to me today, as I ate supper sitting in an easy chair in my bedroom, reading what happened on Werewolf since I died, that I have all the makings of being an excellent bachelor. I'm a bit particular, rather eccentric, lax in my housekeeping habits, and inclined toward creature comforts. All I need is perhaps a bit less LEGO around my bedroom and you've got the makings of a very bachelor-esque appearance.
Secondly, in further thoughts resulting from my trip down to Idaho, it occurs to me that, most unfairly, I am pretty much incapable of hosting any sort of a recipient visit--from anybody. I simply do not have the property to put anybody up, and it's a pretty sorry tale when you invite someone and say "well, I'm glad to have you and all, but I can't offer you a place to stay... but if you want to pay $100 a night, there's a hotel just down the street..."
Now, it's not that Edmonton is particularly exotic, and as far as being likely to be visited, I am expecting exactly zero Barrow-downers to turn up at my door. If nothing else, I lack a nice central location from which others can be visited. Instead, I'm really on the fringe of the continent, 'Downerwise. The west is sparsely populated to begin with, and I'm on the northern end (not as far north as the Alaskans... but they're quite, quite a bit to the west of here). If someone were to visit, they'd pretty much have to be just here to visit me.
It's the principle of the matter, really. What this is really indicative of is the completeness with which my life is handed over to the service of God's people. By living at the seminary, and at the rectory in the summer, I'm no longer my own person--and I'm no longer my own host. Looked at this way, it's easy enough to reconcile myself to the idea that I likely won't have any guests for quite some time (let's say ten years... it might be that long ere I have my own parish).
At the same time, it really does make an excellent excuse for me foisting myself on other 'downers, and right now I'm still travel-bug-bitten enough that this is a good thing from my point of view.
Thirdly, also 'Downer-related... in my earlier attempts this evening to avoid work, I was reading a conversation between Lommy and Nilp on Facebook, and was somewhat envious of the fact that they have 'Downer siblings. I felt, oddly, quite alone. This is nonsense, of course, since I have a larger family than pretty much every 'Downers I know, and I've got a good relationship with all of them, and plenty of shared interests, including Tolkien. But it's a mark of how much the 'Downs figures into my mental landscape to see that the lack of "real" family there matters to me. Perhaps this is why I've adopted a little sister (well... among other reasons, if so). It's an established fact about myself that I've discovered: I really like family, and tend to put those dear to me into the mental boxes, anyway, of family members, and as recipients of the same loyalty.
First of all, it occurred to me today, as I ate supper sitting in an easy chair in my bedroom, reading what happened on Werewolf since I died, that I have all the makings of being an excellent bachelor. I'm a bit particular, rather eccentric, lax in my housekeeping habits, and inclined toward creature comforts. All I need is perhaps a bit less LEGO around my bedroom and you've got the makings of a very bachelor-esque appearance.
Secondly, in further thoughts resulting from my trip down to Idaho, it occurs to me that, most unfairly, I am pretty much incapable of hosting any sort of a recipient visit--from anybody. I simply do not have the property to put anybody up, and it's a pretty sorry tale when you invite someone and say "well, I'm glad to have you and all, but I can't offer you a place to stay... but if you want to pay $100 a night, there's a hotel just down the street..."
Now, it's not that Edmonton is particularly exotic, and as far as being likely to be visited, I am expecting exactly zero Barrow-downers to turn up at my door. If nothing else, I lack a nice central location from which others can be visited. Instead, I'm really on the fringe of the continent, 'Downerwise. The west is sparsely populated to begin with, and I'm on the northern end (not as far north as the Alaskans... but they're quite, quite a bit to the west of here). If someone were to visit, they'd pretty much have to be just here to visit me.
It's the principle of the matter, really. What this is really indicative of is the completeness with which my life is handed over to the service of God's people. By living at the seminary, and at the rectory in the summer, I'm no longer my own person--and I'm no longer my own host. Looked at this way, it's easy enough to reconcile myself to the idea that I likely won't have any guests for quite some time (let's say ten years... it might be that long ere I have my own parish).
At the same time, it really does make an excellent excuse for me foisting myself on other 'downers, and right now I'm still travel-bug-bitten enough that this is a good thing from my point of view.
Thirdly, also 'Downer-related... in my earlier attempts this evening to avoid work, I was reading a conversation between Lommy and Nilp on Facebook, and was somewhat envious of the fact that they have 'Downer siblings. I felt, oddly, quite alone. This is nonsense, of course, since I have a larger family than pretty much every 'Downers I know, and I've got a good relationship with all of them, and plenty of shared interests, including Tolkien. But it's a mark of how much the 'Downs figures into my mental landscape to see that the lack of "real" family there matters to me. Perhaps this is why I've adopted a little sister (well... among other reasons, if so). It's an established fact about myself that I've discovered: I really like family, and tend to put those dear to me into the mental boxes, anyway, of family members, and as recipients of the same loyalty.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Brinniel & Boise, Part II
Driving down was no placid, leisurely pleasure (though it could have been), but was a rather anxious day, growing ever the more anxious as the day wore on. A part of it was the fact that, as a virtually first-time Canadian in the States, I was hypersensitive to every little difference from home (and they really are little…), and just felt generally uneasy. This may say more about Canada-US relations that anything else, because Montana and Idaho are definitely more similar to Alberta than Quebec is, but I felt more at home in Quebec than I did south of the 49th Parallel.
Mind you, there was also general background anxiety… I was utterly terrified that I was making a mistake, that I was going to get there and make a horrible first impression. In general, this nervousness is nothing more than a general tendency of mine to be both rather shy and a bit too much of a tendency to run through worst-case scenarios. By the time I pulled into Boise, I was not only shivering from lack of food and cold air-conditioning over the hands, but I had practically convinced myself that Brinniel and/or her parents were going to utterly hate me and/or the my car was going to die a horrible death, probably taking me with it.
Anyway, I pulled into Brinniel’s driveway, phone in that I think I’m there, and within a minute, Brinn’s standing in the doorway, clearly recognisable as that face from Facebook, and the tension eases, I meet the family, and all is well: I’m not a socially inept nervous wreck, Brinn and her parents and quite normal and very hospitable, and my car is not a burning wreck somewhere like Pocatello. In short, all my irrational fears, all of which I had known as I thought them as irrational, were clearly demonstrated to be baseless.
I’m still not entirely sure, even having done it now, how one is supposed to “meet” a Downer. I mean… do you treat it like a first time introduction, formally and with bows and hand shaking? Or do you go to the other extreme and not even bother with introductions? Or do you go with the emotional end, embracing and wild? We went more or less down the middle, felt just a tiny bit awkward, and then got onto the business at hand… which, if memory serves, was late night refreshments, pet talk, and Europe comparisons that night.
Was Brinniel what I expected her to be? If I have to limit it to one word… “no.” However, I’m not exactly sure what I expected. The girl I met was certainly the one in all the Brinniel pictures, knew all the references in the Brinniel posts, and fit all the known trivial facts. She was neither (overall) more mature or less mature than the Brinniel online. And yet… she was quite a bit different. Although she was the girl in the pictures, instantly recognisable, she did not look like them (I know, I know… 2D image of a 3D person, but still…). She sounded every bit as American/un-American/Downergirlish as she ought to have, and not quite what I expected—even though I still don’t know what I did expect. Perhaps the best way of expressing it is not to say that I found the secret identity, the real person beneath the Brinniel mask, but rather that I felt like I had discovered the superhero identity of someone I only knew the real version of… as if, in a Downs-centred world, the “real” Brinniel is the one online, and the flesh-and-blood Brinniel was the front created to save the world. It was as if Brinniel in person reminded me too much of people that I know and not enough of avatars and text posts.
Of course, there was plenty of thought going on in my mind about the oddity that is the Barrow-downs, the oddity of all these random people coming together and building such a strong community. It struck me as particularly odd that I would drive 16 hours from Edmonton to spend a weekend with a girl I’ve never met, when a similar sort of weekend would probably never occur with “real” acquaintances and friends except some of the very closest. I’ve noted before, back when I worked at Panago and had no life, that the Barrow-downs friends are often closer and longer-lasting than most others.
And all because of a book? Somehow, that seems not quite right. Tolkien may have dragged us all in, and certainly there’s a genuine fan in most of us, but it’s not the Lord of the Rings that gives us this community… it’s the people themselves. In my own case, it’s the time spend Werewolfing, and subsequent private messaging, and then the leap to instant messaging. Many of these Downers were better friends before they ever posted a picture online or gave out a full name on Facebook than people I’ve known since Grade 3. And that, I think, may have been part of the reason why I was so terrified about meeting Brinn, given that I was definitely smart enough to know that people in person are not the same as people online. After all, I’ve definitely had enough mental misconceptions thrown horribly out of whack by the Pictures Page (right, Lhuna?). Knowing this, there’s the uneasiness that maybe… what if someone who’s seems a good, funny person online turns out to be mean and self-centred in person.
I need not have worried. Brinniel is every bit as fun and hospitable in person as online—maybe even more so. The sense that one gets from the “I met a BDer!” thread about all the Downers who meet each other being really nice people, and fun to hang out with is, at least in Brinniel, totally true.
Now, the upshot of this awesome experience is that I, 100%, totally want to meet as many ‘Downers as possible. And while, with a couple exceptions (Oddwen, Gil-galad, Valier…) this is definitely not possible this year, I’ve got wild-eyed dreams for next summer, involving either a trip to Europe or a grand tour of North America. Not only did I get myself pumped up for Werewolf, but I’m pumped up for everything ‘Downsian in a way I haven’t been in two years. I mean, I’ve been more active this spring than I have in some time, so this is not a spontaneous trend… I might not have even met Brinniel if I hadn’t been able to spend more time online, but the interest has multiplied hugely as a result of the trip.
Finances are a big reason for not getting too optimistic about next year. After all, gas is going up, so drive or fly… it’s only going to get more expensive. Then there’s also logistics, such as planning around a job and ordinations and such…
But…
There’s a wee bit of hope in there too, and I wouldn’t trample it just yet. After all, I REALLY enjoyed this weekend, and REALLY want to do similar things again.
Next time, I’ll just be paranoid about the car, though.
Mind you, there was also general background anxiety… I was utterly terrified that I was making a mistake, that I was going to get there and make a horrible first impression. In general, this nervousness is nothing more than a general tendency of mine to be both rather shy and a bit too much of a tendency to run through worst-case scenarios. By the time I pulled into Boise, I was not only shivering from lack of food and cold air-conditioning over the hands, but I had practically convinced myself that Brinniel and/or her parents were going to utterly hate me and/or the my car was going to die a horrible death, probably taking me with it.
Anyway, I pulled into Brinniel’s driveway, phone in that I think I’m there, and within a minute, Brinn’s standing in the doorway, clearly recognisable as that face from Facebook, and the tension eases, I meet the family, and all is well: I’m not a socially inept nervous wreck, Brinn and her parents and quite normal and very hospitable, and my car is not a burning wreck somewhere like Pocatello. In short, all my irrational fears, all of which I had known as I thought them as irrational, were clearly demonstrated to be baseless.
I’m still not entirely sure, even having done it now, how one is supposed to “meet” a Downer. I mean… do you treat it like a first time introduction, formally and with bows and hand shaking? Or do you go to the other extreme and not even bother with introductions? Or do you go with the emotional end, embracing and wild? We went more or less down the middle, felt just a tiny bit awkward, and then got onto the business at hand… which, if memory serves, was late night refreshments, pet talk, and Europe comparisons that night.
Was Brinniel what I expected her to be? If I have to limit it to one word… “no.” However, I’m not exactly sure what I expected. The girl I met was certainly the one in all the Brinniel pictures, knew all the references in the Brinniel posts, and fit all the known trivial facts. She was neither (overall) more mature or less mature than the Brinniel online. And yet… she was quite a bit different. Although she was the girl in the pictures, instantly recognisable, she did not look like them (I know, I know… 2D image of a 3D person, but still…). She sounded every bit as American/un-American/Downergirlish as she ought to have, and not quite what I expected—even though I still don’t know what I did expect. Perhaps the best way of expressing it is not to say that I found the secret identity, the real person beneath the Brinniel mask, but rather that I felt like I had discovered the superhero identity of someone I only knew the real version of… as if, in a Downs-centred world, the “real” Brinniel is the one online, and the flesh-and-blood Brinniel was the front created to save the world. It was as if Brinniel in person reminded me too much of people that I know and not enough of avatars and text posts.
Of course, there was plenty of thought going on in my mind about the oddity that is the Barrow-downs, the oddity of all these random people coming together and building such a strong community. It struck me as particularly odd that I would drive 16 hours from Edmonton to spend a weekend with a girl I’ve never met, when a similar sort of weekend would probably never occur with “real” acquaintances and friends except some of the very closest. I’ve noted before, back when I worked at Panago and had no life, that the Barrow-downs friends are often closer and longer-lasting than most others.
And all because of a book? Somehow, that seems not quite right. Tolkien may have dragged us all in, and certainly there’s a genuine fan in most of us, but it’s not the Lord of the Rings that gives us this community… it’s the people themselves. In my own case, it’s the time spend Werewolfing, and subsequent private messaging, and then the leap to instant messaging. Many of these Downers were better friends before they ever posted a picture online or gave out a full name on Facebook than people I’ve known since Grade 3. And that, I think, may have been part of the reason why I was so terrified about meeting Brinn, given that I was definitely smart enough to know that people in person are not the same as people online. After all, I’ve definitely had enough mental misconceptions thrown horribly out of whack by the Pictures Page (right, Lhuna?). Knowing this, there’s the uneasiness that maybe… what if someone who’s seems a good, funny person online turns out to be mean and self-centred in person.
I need not have worried. Brinniel is every bit as fun and hospitable in person as online—maybe even more so. The sense that one gets from the “I met a BDer!” thread about all the Downers who meet each other being really nice people, and fun to hang out with is, at least in Brinniel, totally true.
Now, the upshot of this awesome experience is that I, 100%, totally want to meet as many ‘Downers as possible. And while, with a couple exceptions (Oddwen, Gil-galad, Valier…) this is definitely not possible this year, I’ve got wild-eyed dreams for next summer, involving either a trip to Europe or a grand tour of North America. Not only did I get myself pumped up for Werewolf, but I’m pumped up for everything ‘Downsian in a way I haven’t been in two years. I mean, I’ve been more active this spring than I have in some time, so this is not a spontaneous trend… I might not have even met Brinniel if I hadn’t been able to spend more time online, but the interest has multiplied hugely as a result of the trip.
Finances are a big reason for not getting too optimistic about next year. After all, gas is going up, so drive or fly… it’s only going to get more expensive. Then there’s also logistics, such as planning around a job and ordinations and such…
But…
There’s a wee bit of hope in there too, and I wouldn’t trample it just yet. After all, I REALLY enjoyed this weekend, and REALLY want to do similar things again.
Next time, I’ll just be paranoid about the car, though.
Brinniel & Boise, Part I
Well, I’m back… If you’re wondering where I was, then I guess you didn’t pick up on subtle hint (which Lhuna DID get) a few posts back about going down to Idaho sometime this summer. Indeed, 16 hours of driving from Edmonton and two days of work off, and I had my first meeting with a real, flesh-and-bones Barrow-downer (I’m actually just guessing about the bones… closest that I saw were teeth).
The Barrow-downer resident of Idaho, is Brinniel (her ‘Downs username, that is), where she lives between school years with her parents. That’s perhaps a sufficient enough résumé; despite the obscure corner of the Internet occupied by this blog and the probable prior knowledge of anyone like to read it, it’s not my personal information be sharing. And, in any case, on the same assumption that all readers know who Brinniel is, I can save time on what’s fairly sure to be a rather long tour indeed of thoughts and recollections of what occurred this weekend.
My extra-long weekend started with me booking off Friday, and heading out to Olds from Edmonton after work on Thursday. I had originally hoped to stay the night in more southern Alberta, and so cut more time off my Friday drive, but the former seminarian I had hoped to stay with ended up being out of town.
Anyway, I woke up at 4:00 am on Friday, and was on the road before 5:00. I crossed the border just prior to 9:00—my first trip to the States since I was nine, my first trip outside Canada in three years, and my first solo trip driving outside Alberta. Not particularly scary—as far as the driving went.
It was, indeed, a beautiful day to drive, and a beautiful drive. It was sunny, there was a relatively quiet four-lane highway all the way, and Montana and Idaho have some great scenery—a little alien to one convinced that Alberta is the most beautiful region on earth, but perhaps more appreciable for my being a stranger.
By 6:00 pm I had rounded the curve going west instead of south, and the sun was descending into my eyes, which made for a good hour of rather stressed driving, at its peak (well, actually, it was quite low by then…). By the time the sun had set, I was in the Boise area, and by 10:00 I had pulled up into the driveway and shook hands awkwardly with my first real Barrow-downer.
Then I met her parents, and then Brinn and I proceeded to stay up until past midnight, talking, and then a very tired Formendacil (aka, “me”) went to bed (Brinniel, as is not really to be surprised at, given the habits of Barrow-downers in general, is something of a night owl).
Saturday morning dawned very sunny, and the first of three days of 100+ degrees of Fahrenheit weather. As a Canadian, I should be able to do the conversion… but I can’t, which is sad, because I think in Celsius. However, it was definitely hot. The curious Canadian or European can always look it up, I’m sure.
Due to two sleeping-in Downers, we didn’t get started on Saturday until after lunch. Saturday, as it happened, was Brinn’s birthday, so the plan for the evening was dinner out with her parents, presents, and cake. In the meantime, however, Brinn and I spent Saturday afternoon (and into the evening) at a number of summery sorts of past-times. I beat her score in mini-golf by about 15 strokes (didn’t count how many strokes it actually took, but I did keep an eye on who was ahead), after which she proceeded to beat me on the arcade motorcycles, and we both lost at laser-tag. In like manner did the afternoon pass and the evening, and then it was 9:00 and we were out for supper.
Supper faded into dessert, and dessert faded into late-night grocery shopping, and that faded into near-midnight present opening and cake eating. Having known beforehand of the occasion, I did not come unprepared, but if people want to know what I got Brinn, they’d be better off stalking her blog than mine. Not that there was anything particularly spectacular about it, but it was well picked, nonetheless.
Anyway, sometime after midnight it was bedtime again, and next thing you know, it’s Sunday morning, and we’re going separate ways: Brinn’s family to their church, and myself to St. John’s Cathedral, because… well, because I’m a seminarian and a geeky one at that, so I can’t resist seeing what should be the finest church in any given diocese. Boise didn’t disappoint. St. John’s had an impressive façade and an ornate, neo-Renaissance-like interior. The windows were a trifle purplier than I would have put in, but still beautiful, and they did a good job with the post-Vatican II altar. Best of all, they were still using the pipe organ in the loft, so there was booming organ music for Mass (almost—if possible—too much).
Back to Brinn’s in time for lunch, then on to an afternoon mostly spent at the theatre, watching Prince Caspian, which I had not previously seen (a good choice, because it was again extremely hot). Brinniel had already seen it, but after having seen it myself, I can definitely agree that it would be worth going to a second time. Despite having played more loosely with the story, I really enjoyed it—possible more than LWW, although given that I have a relationship with the books such as has seen me change my favourites constantly throughout the years, I wouldn’t put much long-term money on either being a permanent favourite in my mind.
That evening, with Brinn’s parents, we went to the local Shakespeare festival’s production of the not-a-Shakespeare-play-at-all production of The Crucicble, by Arthur Miller, which was very well done. Thereafter it was back home, and (I think) the earliest night of the weekend, sometime before midnight.
Monday morning was supposed to be an earlier start, with a trip to the zoo (and most notably for ‘downers, the penguins), but I didn’t get up until 9:30, and Brinniel was a full two hours later. Since she had an appointment in mid-afternoon, it was a lazy noontime, during which we fully reminisced Werewolf games, and I basically talked myself into playing the next one. Later, once Brinn was back from her appointment, we were off to the zoo (and especially the penguins).
After that, we were back home, playing a rather odd Trivial Pursuit game (odd more in the sense of the questions we got and our successes thereat than in the actual game play), which I won very narrowly indeed after a shaky start. During this time, supper was slowly started, and it was 10:00 before we started eating. After that was photo shoot time—I’d taken a few pictures over the weekend, and Brinn had her camera out as well, but photo documentary evidence that we had met was still lacking. After that, we watched Hot Fuzz, and so I welcomed Canada Day to the tune of British humour deep in the United States of America. Then I went straight to bed, while Brinniel decided to stay up until I arose, so as to have a greater chance of seeing me off (night owl that she is, it’s not much past her bedtime these weeks of late).
I’m not sure how worth her while it was… I was pretty boring between 5:00 and 5:30, but I certainly appreciated it. Next thing you know, I’m on the road, and Canada Day Tuesday disappears in 3-4 hour increments as I crawl back up the Interstates to my home and native land. What with a detour around Lethbridge to avoid the state of emergency that was declared there, I made it back to Olds around 9:15, so in better time than my trip down had taken, and the adventure was officially over… although I didn’t get back to Edmonton until this morning, when I got up extra early to drive into the city in time for work, adding another couple ours to my mounting sleep debt.
And that’s the basics of the trip… it covers quite well what actually happened, but it barely scratches the surface of the story.
The Barrow-downer resident of Idaho, is Brinniel (her ‘Downs username, that is), where she lives between school years with her parents. That’s perhaps a sufficient enough résumé; despite the obscure corner of the Internet occupied by this blog and the probable prior knowledge of anyone like to read it, it’s not my personal information be sharing. And, in any case, on the same assumption that all readers know who Brinniel is, I can save time on what’s fairly sure to be a rather long tour indeed of thoughts and recollections of what occurred this weekend.
My extra-long weekend started with me booking off Friday, and heading out to Olds from Edmonton after work on Thursday. I had originally hoped to stay the night in more southern Alberta, and so cut more time off my Friday drive, but the former seminarian I had hoped to stay with ended up being out of town.
Anyway, I woke up at 4:00 am on Friday, and was on the road before 5:00. I crossed the border just prior to 9:00—my first trip to the States since I was nine, my first trip outside Canada in three years, and my first solo trip driving outside Alberta. Not particularly scary—as far as the driving went.
It was, indeed, a beautiful day to drive, and a beautiful drive. It was sunny, there was a relatively quiet four-lane highway all the way, and Montana and Idaho have some great scenery—a little alien to one convinced that Alberta is the most beautiful region on earth, but perhaps more appreciable for my being a stranger.
By 6:00 pm I had rounded the curve going west instead of south, and the sun was descending into my eyes, which made for a good hour of rather stressed driving, at its peak (well, actually, it was quite low by then…). By the time the sun had set, I was in the Boise area, and by 10:00 I had pulled up into the driveway and shook hands awkwardly with my first real Barrow-downer.
Then I met her parents, and then Brinn and I proceeded to stay up until past midnight, talking, and then a very tired Formendacil (aka, “me”) went to bed (Brinniel, as is not really to be surprised at, given the habits of Barrow-downers in general, is something of a night owl).
Saturday morning dawned very sunny, and the first of three days of 100+ degrees of Fahrenheit weather. As a Canadian, I should be able to do the conversion… but I can’t, which is sad, because I think in Celsius. However, it was definitely hot. The curious Canadian or European can always look it up, I’m sure.
Due to two sleeping-in Downers, we didn’t get started on Saturday until after lunch. Saturday, as it happened, was Brinn’s birthday, so the plan for the evening was dinner out with her parents, presents, and cake. In the meantime, however, Brinn and I spent Saturday afternoon (and into the evening) at a number of summery sorts of past-times. I beat her score in mini-golf by about 15 strokes (didn’t count how many strokes it actually took, but I did keep an eye on who was ahead), after which she proceeded to beat me on the arcade motorcycles, and we both lost at laser-tag. In like manner did the afternoon pass and the evening, and then it was 9:00 and we were out for supper.
Supper faded into dessert, and dessert faded into late-night grocery shopping, and that faded into near-midnight present opening and cake eating. Having known beforehand of the occasion, I did not come unprepared, but if people want to know what I got Brinn, they’d be better off stalking her blog than mine. Not that there was anything particularly spectacular about it, but it was well picked, nonetheless.
Anyway, sometime after midnight it was bedtime again, and next thing you know, it’s Sunday morning, and we’re going separate ways: Brinn’s family to their church, and myself to St. John’s Cathedral, because… well, because I’m a seminarian and a geeky one at that, so I can’t resist seeing what should be the finest church in any given diocese. Boise didn’t disappoint. St. John’s had an impressive façade and an ornate, neo-Renaissance-like interior. The windows were a trifle purplier than I would have put in, but still beautiful, and they did a good job with the post-Vatican II altar. Best of all, they were still using the pipe organ in the loft, so there was booming organ music for Mass (almost—if possible—too much).
Back to Brinn’s in time for lunch, then on to an afternoon mostly spent at the theatre, watching Prince Caspian, which I had not previously seen (a good choice, because it was again extremely hot). Brinniel had already seen it, but after having seen it myself, I can definitely agree that it would be worth going to a second time. Despite having played more loosely with the story, I really enjoyed it—possible more than LWW, although given that I have a relationship with the books such as has seen me change my favourites constantly throughout the years, I wouldn’t put much long-term money on either being a permanent favourite in my mind.
That evening, with Brinn’s parents, we went to the local Shakespeare festival’s production of the not-a-Shakespeare-play-at-all production of The Crucicble, by Arthur Miller, which was very well done. Thereafter it was back home, and (I think) the earliest night of the weekend, sometime before midnight.
Monday morning was supposed to be an earlier start, with a trip to the zoo (and most notably for ‘downers, the penguins), but I didn’t get up until 9:30, and Brinniel was a full two hours later. Since she had an appointment in mid-afternoon, it was a lazy noontime, during which we fully reminisced Werewolf games, and I basically talked myself into playing the next one. Later, once Brinn was back from her appointment, we were off to the zoo (and especially the penguins).
After that, we were back home, playing a rather odd Trivial Pursuit game (odd more in the sense of the questions we got and our successes thereat than in the actual game play), which I won very narrowly indeed after a shaky start. During this time, supper was slowly started, and it was 10:00 before we started eating. After that was photo shoot time—I’d taken a few pictures over the weekend, and Brinn had her camera out as well, but photo documentary evidence that we had met was still lacking. After that, we watched Hot Fuzz, and so I welcomed Canada Day to the tune of British humour deep in the United States of America. Then I went straight to bed, while Brinniel decided to stay up until I arose, so as to have a greater chance of seeing me off (night owl that she is, it’s not much past her bedtime these weeks of late).
I’m not sure how worth her while it was… I was pretty boring between 5:00 and 5:30, but I certainly appreciated it. Next thing you know, I’m on the road, and Canada Day Tuesday disappears in 3-4 hour increments as I crawl back up the Interstates to my home and native land. What with a detour around Lethbridge to avoid the state of emergency that was declared there, I made it back to Olds around 9:15, so in better time than my trip down had taken, and the adventure was officially over… although I didn’t get back to Edmonton until this morning, when I got up extra early to drive into the city in time for work, adding another couple ours to my mounting sleep debt.
And that’s the basics of the trip… it covers quite well what actually happened, but it barely scratches the surface of the story.
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