Keira-anne.com

When Vancouver and Whistler were first awarded the 2010 Olympic Winter Games seven years ago, I was less than enthused. I’ve never been a fan of the Olympics generally and wasn’t pumped for them to be held in British Columbia specifically. My sentiments spent the next near-decade snowballing, tangling up in an avalanche of over-spending, criticizing reports, suffering social programs and homelessness to name a few. While you can talk to me until you’re blue in the face, I will never, ever agree that athletic facilities trump any of the problems within our Province that are rapidly deteriorating. That said, I also can’t deny the fact that the Games are very much here.

This is where I admit to waving the white flag, eat my words and declare my own hypocrisy. Despite it all, I am very, very excited for the celebrations at hand.

I suppose it began last Thursday. I made my way to 49th Avenue in an attempt to catch Steve Nash carry the torch and felt entirely unpatriotic. In a sea of red and white, I stood out like a sore thumb in my purple basketball jersey. I intended to get Nash’s attention and, seemingly, it worked. Without red and white, I felt entirely alienated so made the decision that I’d actually sport Canada’s colours the next day as the torch made its way past my office downtown.

The excitement on Georgia Street Friday morning was incredible with a sea of proud Canadians stretched, quite literally, as far as my eyes could see. And as we cheered, applauded and shouted, everyone was speculating who’d ultimately light the cauldron that night at BC Place Stadium. I had to admit that even I, the Olympic Cynic, was curious. [Cue that white flag I was telling you about.]

Curled up on my couch that evening, I sat mesmerized as so many of the beautiful elements of our country’s culture unfolded before millions of eyes around the globe. British Columbia is only a fraction of the rich tapestry that is Canada, made up of people, images, songs, history and events that have shaped and transformed the home in which you and I live today. Perhaps the hydraulic issue served as an unintended measure of proof that, despite how breathtaking Canada is, it is not perfect. We’d be fools to deny such flaws exist but can instead unite in the pride that threads through us all and hope that one day we’ll see a country in which the final pieces click into place.

I’ve been called many names in the past: Homebody, Little Miss Anti-Social and even Not A Joiner. While those labels can certainly ring true at the best of times, now is not one of them. The movement and spirit of Canadian pride has spread across this city like wildfire. Think of Vancouver as being likened to Zombieland – minus the fleshy tenancies but instead with a healthy dose of infectious patriotism.

The ’round-the-clock music, cheers, screams and partying no longer cause me to roll my eyes but instead stifle giggles. If anything, this event has served as a personal reminder of how truly magical British Columbia is. It’s easy to take the mountains and ocean and blue sky and fresh air for granted each day when it’s on my doorstep. To be given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see those elements of our nation through the eyes of countless international visitors is a gift. While I certainly refuse to turn a blind eye to the critical needs on the streets of my city and in the towns of my province, it would also be a shame were I to miss out on such an amazing opportunity in my own front yard.

The strangest thing about this all is the notion that in a few short weeks, the streets will have emptied out, Robson Square will be once again quiet on my early morning walks to work and we will all be left wondering if it was just a dream…

Living today – in the moment – has become my “thing” lately. I could elaborate but let’s not get boring, shall we? Anyway, if I don’t live in the moment, all the things I’m pumped about next year will be here before I know it and the little things will pass me by. In fact, so much is coming my way in 2010 that I’m already exhausted thinking about it all. Oy vey.

In no particular order…

10. No specific target date has been set, but I will be officially debt-free. Feel free to hate on me, but I’ve worked hard at it.

9. Celebrating my sweet-as-a-peach niece’s first birthday.

8. Shortly after that, celebrating one whole year with my love bug.

7. Fingers crossed that the Phoenix Suns will once again rock GM Place with another exhibition game during the pre-season, a game at which I will be screaming, yelling, cheering and jumping up and down in my jersey.

Photo: taminator on Flickr

6. TORONTO! Or, you know, a suburb-thereof. I really need to see this lady again. (Except let’s not hang with those guys, okay?)

5. Seeing John Mayer in concert on April 1 for the second time. (Don’t be surprised if I disappear for a few months after the show. It’s my hope that I’ll charm my way backstage, after which he and I will embark on a passionate and heartbreaking love affair. I suspect we will exhaust each other by summertime.)

Photo: Flickred! on Flickr

4. Love thy self: I’m one of those people who incessantly say “I want to…” and then never actually do it. I want to cook more gourmet food, drink more wine, have more parties, take more day-trips, rent a car sometimes and do anything and everything that makes me happy.

3. My first visit to New York City. I plan on leaving my heart there.

Photo: miss604 on Flickr

2. Get sporty. I don’t miss going to the gym but getting active makes my heart go ga-goong in more ways than one. I want to join a co-ed drop-in basketball league or just hit the courts with friends. Bueller?

Original Photo: Fernando Ariotti on Flickr

1. Embarking on the next decade of my life, a trip that someone special to me will also be taking this year.

Your turn: tell me what would make for your “Perfect ’10″. Feel free to make this a meme.

“When a man wantonly destroys one of the works of man we call him a vandal. When he destroys one of the works of God we call him a sportsman.” – Joseph Wood Krutch, Literary Naturalist, 1893-1970

Some people seem somewhat shocked initially. Others are in disbelief and others still feel it necessary to dish out mild jabs in good fun. While at the same time, some people have simply exclaimed “finally! I was wondering how long it would take you…”

While I previously went through a two-year period of vegetarianism when I last lived on Vancouver Island, I had long been a big fan of meat. I loved eating it, cooking with it, creating new recipes with it, smelling it as it baked or broiled or barbecued. April 12, 2009 was the last time I ate meat.

A little over three months without meat seems like a short time for most and, while some may doubt the genuine intent behind my decision to cut meat entirely from my diet, that time is irrelevant. I’m still new to this “vegetarian thing” and know that there’s still a lot to learn. I’m constantly educating myself, researching the lifestyle I’ve undertaken and finding new recipes and ways at which to keep myself healthy without eating meat. My choice didn’t come about because I decided it suddenly tasted “gross”. In fact, my diet still includes eggs and dairy products from humanely-obtained local sources.

With so many questions being bounced around between my family, my friends and even my blog readers, I’ve felt the time is right to deliver my vegetarian’s manifesto, if you will. I can’t necessarily pinpoint the “how” but I can definitely articulate and expand on the “why”.

It’s no secret that I’ve long been a lover of animals. This includes everything from cats to dogs to chickens to birds to whales and every other living, breathing creature under the sun. To me, they have always been beautiful, abundant and gentle beings, each possessing somewhat of an innocence that we humans dropped along the way at some point. What was missing in my own life in this regard was a connection.

There was no particular incident that spurred on my decision to shed animals from my diet, my make-up bag or my closet. I know that I can honestly say that, although it may have been an idea floating in the furthest reaches of my subconscious, I truly did wake up one day and realized my perception had changed entirely.

It was Easter Sunday and my mom was out of town, so my aunt and I were left to our own devices for dinner. Rather than cooking a large turkey for the two of us, I found a recipe for Cornish game hens and planned for that instead. Easter Sunday was also the day I decided I was done. I carefully prepared the meal, as well as the vegetables to go along with it, and then sat at the dinner table with my aunt that evening. “Today is the last day I’m going to eat meat,” I told her without batting an eyelash. It was simply that matter-of-fact.

What caused that connection or that proverbial light bulb to illuminate is beyond me, but perhaps it was simply an inevitable culmination of my personal beliefs. If I love animals as much as I purport to, then why do I have no problem at all throwing parts of their carcasses on a grill or in a pan and proceed to devour them?

This is where the problem lies: animals are living, humourous, loving, emotional, intelligent beings that eat, breathe, sleep, feel, think and move. Food, on the other hand, is completely inanimate. A hot dog just sits on your plate without movement or sound. The only thing meat will do if you leave it long enough is decay. But making the connection between the living and the non-living isn’t easy. What joins the two usually involves a sharp blade, inhumane treatment and much pain.

It isn’t my endeavour to shock each of you through facts or unbelievably disturbing details of how the animals make it from the farm to the plate. Many of you have seen the PETA videos while others still may have witnessed it first-hand.

It’s my belief, as a woman and an individual human being, that we are all here on the planet by the design of something greater than all of us. Animals have personalities and feel, experience and understand many of the same quotients and emotions we humans do. If you have met Jordy, you know what I’m talking about! We are all species and none of us can say that one is greater than the other. Animals feel physical pain, experience the emotion of fear and feel the natural urge to flee when threatened just as you or I do.

Something as simple as a backyard BBQ with family is deemed more valuable than the life of the pig whose ribs are being devoured. Dispute that if you will, but actions always speak volumes above words. Last month, an Oklahoma woman and her friend were charged with killing and skinning a seven-week-old puppy with the intent to make a belt [source]. While the community was outraged, I couldn’t help but wonder how this was deemed to be a “despicable” case of animal cruelty, yet if the belt had been made of a cow, it would be okay. Something doesn’t add up.

I’ve heard a million arguments made to justify the consumption of meat. While some will say that the production of meat is actually good for the environment and the economy, others still will tell tales of the astronomical impact it has on the global environment. The point can also be attempted that eating vegetables is also killing living things, but it is scientific fact that plants do not possess both the central nervous system and brain required to feel and register pain [source]. But instead of respecting these beings, we assume we own them by locking them up in zoos, keeping them confined to large tanks at city aquariums and corralling them until they’re ripe for slaughter.

All of that is besides my point. The irony is that humans take such pride in being a group of beings so incredibly evolved as a species that our lives are seemingly worth more than those of animals. Yet, we rely on the idea that eating meat is our primitive right.

The truth about us humans is that yes – we are evolved; so much so that we no are longer required to consume meat to ensure a balanced diet and live a healthy and wholesome lifestyle. While at one point in time, eating meat and testing on animals may have been essential, it’s no longer necessary. Technology has moved us past that, and the choice to eat an animal is no longer premised on a need but instead on desire.

Very recently, I was discussing the beauty and gentle nature of cows with someone close to me. “I love cows too but I could never look one in the eyes – I’d just feel too guilty!” was what they told me. That, right there, is precisely the reason for my choice. I can no longer look at what is literally staring me in the face and deny it any longer.

I have made a decision and declaration to live a vegetarian lifestyle. I now make every single effort possible to use products that have not been tested on animals. No longer will items purchased for my wardrobe be made of leather products. By making these choices I am not claiming to be perfect, just as I do not attempt to describe those that eat meat as imperfect.

However, no matter what kind of argument anyone attempts to make against my choice, there can be no argument against compassion. There can be no argument against equality or love. I believe that every living being, whether toes, heels or hooves, has the exact same right to live a normal, happy and healthy life.

In 2007, Academy Award winner (and bonafide babe) Joaquin Phoenix passionately contributed to a film called Earthlings. It is as incredible as it is intense. In it, he points out the direct correlation between all of the Earth’s species and their individual values. While containing compiled videos that are not isolated events, but instead the norm, Earthlings is perhaps the most violent and graphic film you will ever see. Except it’s real.

Earthlings can be viewed online in its entirety here.

Comments and contributions to the discussion are both welcome and encouraged. In doing so, pleasure ensure that you’ve read this article in its entirety before doing so. All opinions are to be respected, and comments of a belligerent or abusive nature will be deleted after the IP address is flagged.

As a recent dog owner, what becomes quite clear is not only the division between those who own dogs and those who don’t, but also the division between dog owners themselves. However, whether we find ourselves with a canine companion or not, there are some unspoken rules that we can all benefit from. That is, of course, in my humble opinion (which you’re all entitled to).

In no particular order…

10. Jordy and I recently came across a man with his two dogs, one of which was a dachshund. Without warning, the dachshund lurched at Jordy, sending him into a tailspin and leaving me to quickly get my balance to avoid crushing Jordy after being tripped by the dachshund’s leash. Point being: keep your dog(s) under your control at all times for everyone’s safety.

9. If my 12-pound furball trots onto the elevator and you scream like a school girl, guess who looks like the moron. If you’re not fond of dogs, then believe me, there are plenty of apartment buildings in Vancouver that don’t allow them at all.

8. Get your dog spayed or neutered! All points of the globe are already over-run with a severely swollen population problem, so please don’t contribute to it by breeding your dog for a quick buck. You have zero control over what will happen to those puppies, and half will most likely end up dead or in shelters due to your irresponsibility.

7. Like humans, dogs have allergies and can be intolerant to some foods. Never give a dog treats or food without explicit permission of the owner first. The last thing we dog owners need is a $100 vet bill because you thought it would be cute to feed our dogs a bite of your lunch.

6. Invite good karma into your life and buy me this t-shirt. Size small, please.

5. Dogs will positively thrive when you provide a structured, disciplined and loving environment for them. Not only will it encourage their emotional health and well-being, it will also instill confidence in them for the times you’re not around.

4. Both Vancouver and Vancouver Island are full of terrific off-leash spots for your dog. However, being off-leash is a privilege, not a right. If your dog’s misbehaving, show her who’s boss.

3. Ask first, pet later. I’d never walk up to your child and give him or her a hug, so please refrain from walking up to my dog and nuzzling or petting him without asking first. It’s intrusive and inappropriate. This is, of course, negated at dog parks where dog piles are an inevitability.

2. In the same vein, when walking your dog, make sure it’s okay to approach another dog before doing so. When an owner is trying to work with and train his or her dog to obey and “walk nicely,” your playful dog can be a huge distraction and derail the entire process.

1. Pick up the poop! Do I need to say it again? Pick up the poop! Leaving your dog’s poop on the sidewalk to smear, squish and rot in the sun is both disgusting from the standpoint of human decency, but also contravenes City of Vancouver by-laws. Pick up the poop!

To all of you responsible dog owners out there, thank you! Both dogs and people are a part of every community, so it’s important to have an understanding both ways. If you have something else to contribute, please feel free to do so in the comments.

And lastly, if you’re considering bringing a dog into your home, remember the rule of thumb: Adopt, Don’t Shop!

Aside from a few setbacks earlier this year, the past few months have been exceptionally good to me. I have a new apartment that I love, a dog that has come into my life as though he’s my kindred spirit and everything else just seems to be falling into place.

I was reminded of this the other day as I locked the door to my apartment with a smile on my face after having said goodbye to my darling love. I turned towards the elevators and was dumbstruck by what I saw.

I’m not one for superstitions, but in Las Vegas, 7-7-7 means only one thing: ka-ching! Okay, so I’m not exactly Miss Moneybags, but between a great job and my newly implemented budget (which is going great, by the way – who knew living under restrictions would be enjoyable?), but a whole lot of other wealth is coming my way.

Lately my brain has been in overload mode with hundreds of ideas, ambitions, goals, targets and so much more that I’m just generally really excited about. I feel like I hardly have the time to write it all down with so much brainstorming going on! Between the newly carved path to financial freedom I’ve been traveling and a huge boost to my true sense of self, I find myself nothing less than on a complete stoke.

It’s said that the best way to live a life of accomplishment, met goals and “success” (define that as you will) is to truly envision what that looks like for you as an individual…

…I want to travel to New York and to California.

…to purchase an economic car and to buy a small home for Jordy and me.

…I want to be smart with the money I’m blessed with, be solely responsible for myself and have more residuals for retirement and charities that I feel passionate about.

…I desperately want to write a cheeky, “fictional” novel à la Star and who cares if it never gets published?

…I want to feel a deepened sense of spirituality in my life in the everyday, not just in the urgent moments.

I’ve become keenly aware of how much I am capable of and what I can achieve. While I suppose I could sit around and hope, wish and pray that someone or something would create happiness in my life, why don’t I branch out and create my own?

I could have chosen complacency, chosen convention and chosen the path well-traveled. This life is not our own – it is a gift given and a gift that can be taken away. However, while we all have this life, don’t we owe it to ourselves to give it the very best we’ve got and stretch every second to its maximum capacity?

Maybe I should’ve been a cheerleader.

The City of Vancouver has a long-standing reputation of being a “no-fun” city. I politely beg to differ.

The truth is that Vancouver’s humble beginnings are steeped in a dark underworld filled with drugs, gambling, prostitution, drunkenness, stripping and searing hot racial tension.

Join me, if you will, on the Vancouver Police Museum’s infamous Sins of the City walking tour. That said, one could call the name of the tour somewhat misleading because wouldn’t calling them “sins” imply that drugs, sex and booze are bad?

The first stop on our tour was a storefront on Pender Street in Chinatown. Below street level of rows upon rows of 100+ year-old buildings exist defunct lairs, once home to brothels, gambling spaces or opium dens designated for both smoking and trading the drug.

From about a decade into the turn of the century until the late 1920s, the illegal activity on this beat was largely reined in by Detectives Sinclair and Ricci. It’s said that throughout the duration of their careers, the duo busted the modern-day equivalent of millions upon millions of dollars worth of opium.

When ripping cardboard off the walls, it was discovered that the insulation was due in part to newspaper from the 1920s. Needless to say, mold was everywhere.

Photo: miss604 on Flickr

A sad mark on Vancouver’s history, three major race riots errupted: once in the late 1800s, again in 1907 and lastly in 1935. The Chinese population was mainly targeted, but the Japanese were also victimized. This tile mosaic in the downtown eastside depicts a Noodle House window being smashed with a stick to commemorate these despicable events.

The Vancouver Police museum itself, originally started by a group of retired VPD officers, is packed full of memorabilia from the Force’s early beginnings, drug samples, crime scene re-enactments and countless seized weapons. This nail-speared baseball bat was seized in 1980 from a 10-year-old boy if you can believe it.

The museum also houses the City’s first morgue and what was the VPD’s CSI unit until 10 years ago. Crime scene investigation is now conducted at various places around Vancouver, but the ballistics lab is located next door.

I know I said I was going to try and stop dying my hair, but after seeing this pic, I am convinced it’s time to go and grab a box of cruelty-free Revlon.

Among the artifacts of crime on site are mug shots from the early 1900s, including this gem. William Hamilton and two associates were nabbed on May 28, 1916 for conspiracy to murder.

In the basement of the museum you’ll find the former blood-drying room where blood-soaked evidence was hung to dry out. Just off this room we found the overflow morgue.

I’m a Bobby girl, in a Bobby world.

I make kevlar look good.

Trust me… it feels really sexy to be wearing it.

Tsk, tsk, tsk…

You can also read what Rebecca had to say about the tour while checking the rest of my photos, Rebecca’s photos and John’s photos. I owe a huge thanks to Chris at the Vancouver Police Museum for this fun and unique experience!

All four of us learned an insane amount of information, history and fascinating facts about Vancouver’s history of vice crime – packing it all into a blog post would be impossible! I’ve long been eerily fascinated with all things macabre, so I found the Sins of the City tour particularly of interest. I highly suggest checking this out and stopping by the Vancouver Police Museum to discover a piece of Vancouver’s past. Visit the museum’s website for more information.

It’s easy to fall into bad habits. Coffee, shopping, men, late-night TV, nail biting, smoking, impulsive spending, littering and general laziness. I’m sure we could build a huge list together if we tried. We’ve all got our bad habits and our vices, and falling into that rabbit hole seems to take no effort whatsoever.

My bad habits? I have had a daily Starbucks habit of one grande americano and one muffin. It dinged my bank account of $4.57 each morning, which to me seemed like pocket change.

Photo: KnownColour on Flickr

So I added it up…

$4.57 x 5 days/week = $22.85/week

$22.85/week x 4 weeks/month = $91.40/month

I was spending almost $100 every month on java beans, water and (fattening) muffins. Not only that, most days out of the week I was buying my lunch, so at about $6 per day and 3 days per week, that’s close to another $100 a month.

Laziness is an all-consuming slippery slope. Why get up 10 minutes early in the morning to make my lunch when I can sleep for those extra 10 minutes?

I made a choice to make an effort to change that pattern. If bad habits are so easy to fall into, shouldn’t good habits be just as simple?

Bringing lunches to work, getting to the gym on a regular schedule, drinking tea at the office instead of hitting up Starbucks, making concious decisions about what I need to buy and being honest with myself about what I don’t really need… shouldn’t I be able to implement these habits with just as much simplicity? Shouldn’t what’s smart be just as easy to make routine?

I’ve cut back to one Starbucks trip per week (plus my trainer told me that cutting out caffeine will help me lean out even more) and limit myself to buying my lunch only on Fridays. The best part? I don’t sweat about the number in my bank account anymore because it’s not getting dinged on a daily basis.

I’ve got babies on the brain, though don’t ask me why. Two nights ago I had a dream that I was 8 months pregnant and ready to pop. The father was someone from my very distant past, though I’m not sure how relevant that is. Last night I dreamt that I was the mother of a newborn baby boy. His skin was like porcelain, his temperament like a placid ocean. He was perfect.

Photo: Lab2112 on Flickr

It doesn’t take comprehensive investigative work to know that these dreams weren’t literal. I’m not pregnant, nor do I intend to be. I tend to check out Dream Moods anytime I have a dream with prominent symbols, but I already knew what the site would tell me about my “pregnancy” before I looked it up.

“To dream that you are pregnant symbolizes an aspect of yourself or some aspect of your personal life that is growing and developing. You may not be ready to talk about it or act on it. This may also represent the birth of a new idea, direction, project or goal.”

And what about the baby boy, you ask?

“To see a baby in your dream, signifies innocence, warmth and new beginnings. Babies symbolize something in your own inner nature that is pure, vulnerable, helpless and/or uncorrupted.”

Phewf!

I’m kind of addicted to that website, though I should caution you to take everything you compare on there with a grain of salt. However, I would have to agree that the suggestions provided are quite accurate in my own life.

Let’s get back to babies though, shall we? There’s a notion out there that, for most of us, our lives should all eventually converge on the same track: marriage, babies and a house in the suburbs. It’s what I always wanted and envisioned for myself when I was a young girl. In fact, much like Janet Livermore, I was sure I’d be married by 20 and have my first baby by 22.

I’ve always loved kids, loved working with kids, spent a year working with special needs childen (is that the most politically correct term being thrown around these days?), followed by two years of teaching preschool. I loved every minute of it and those were, at the time, the best years of my life.

That all came crashing down when I first moved to Vancouver and, under the impression that investing my time and effort into one family would be fulfilling, I accepted a job as a full-time nanny. I was wrong.

In a word: HELL.

While all three children appeared to be quite average in most aspects, the eldest was not. I endured five months of being degraded, name-called and verbally and emotionally abused… by a seven-year-old. I know what you may be thinking, but I cannot recall how many days I went home at 4pm and cried during the entire Skytrain ride back downtown.

Quitting that job was the easiest thing I have ever done. I may have even jumped and clicked my heels together while skipping off the front porch on the last day. And since then, I have never looked back in more ways than one.

That experience was only one of many in the last few years of my life that has re-shaped the way I perceive what society expects us to do. There are certain unspoken markers in life it is assumed we will hit, and the level of our success in life is marked by this gauge.

Photo: wacky stuff on Flickr

Sometimes I wonder if I am lacking certain maternal genes. While I love to cook and clean, maintain a household and generously perform other “wifely duties,” that is where my line has been drawn. Each day there are new photo albums and notes on Facebook of friends and family who are piecing together their own families. And while I feel a sense of joy at that which those people are accomplishing for themselves, the very thought of it for myself replaces that joy with a sense of dread and crashing waves of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

What I’ve come to accept and understand, however, is that that’s okay. What is good for some may not be good for all. It’s not to say that I will never have the companionship of a marriage, and not to say that I will never have children, because it’s rather clear to me that I can never, ever anticipate what life will throw my way. I’ve learned to always expect the unexpected.

Today, this is where I’m at. It’s freeing to realize and understand that I can do whatever I want with my life. I don’t have to have children, and that doesn’t make me a less-than-whole person. Despite what we may be taught to think, there are many paths to finding a happy and fulfilled existence, and knowing that is all the encouragement I need to find a new path for myself.

Beach bum at Great Slave Lake, N.W.T.

Eastern Europe in the 1920s was less than glamourous, but that’s not to say it wasn’t a time of great beauty. On July 11, 1924, a sunny summer day in Poland, a baby girl was born. Her name was Hildegard “Hilda” Willemina Korber, one of nine children born to a poor farmer and his wife. As she and her brothers and sisters grew up, they all learned the value of hard work and the importance of family while relying on strength and resilience to get them all through the Second World War. Despite her humble beginnings, however, her loveliness was not lost on everyone – and certainly not on one young man from Czechoslovakia.

Fishing at Great Slave Lake, N.W.T.

When Hilda and Karl first met each other in their 20s, it was love at first sight – for Karl. Being that he was four years her junior, Hilda was largely reluctant and refused his advances and declarations of love. Karl moved to Canada and found himself working both in Ontario and the Northwest Territories, saving up every penny he earned.

Finally, after four long years, Hilda agreed to marry Karl and found herself in Canada in the late summer of 1954 at the age of 30. Three months later, they were married and embarked on a lifelong journey of love together on November 3, 1954. The newlyweds set up a home in Yellowknife where Karl worked in local mines while Hilda tended to their small but snug home. It didn’t take long to add to their duo, and almost to the date of their one-year wedding anniversary, Katrina Elizabeth Chalupa was born. Less than a year later, Anne Mary Chalupa came long.

Katrina grew up and became my mom, Anne grew up and became my aunt, so naturally Karl and Hilda were affectionately known by me as Opa and Oma.

Anne Mary Chalupa, Hilda Chalupa, Katrina Chalupa (Yellowknife, circa early-1960s)

Last night I picked up the phone to call my mom and pick at her memory. As I’ve been making my way through changes in my life, self-discovery and attempting to pinpoint the issues that impact who I am today, I’ve realized that reconnecting with my past is an important part of that process. There is perhaps nothing as unique as a daughter’s relationship to her mother, and also to that mother’s mother. I wanted to know more about my Oma, I wanted my mom to remember and I wanted her to share with me what all three of us ladies had in common.

Katrina Chalupa and Hilda Chalupa (Yellowknife, circa mid-1960s)

My Oma was a woman with a great deal of love for her daughters and much devotion and respect for her husband. She was deeply sympathetic and sensitive and had a tendency to cry easily, much like my mother and I. Another characteristic that passes through all three of us is the deep-seated desire to nurture. As I have grown into a young woman, I have become predisposed to overfunctioning.

Overfunctioning is a frequent trait of eldest children and is generally a learned behavior. It tends to be what happens when one is either consciously or subconciously expected to set positive examples, take care of everything and everyone, all the while “keeping it together” without showing any sort of vulnerability. While overfunctioning isn’t necessarily a negative characteristic, the pendulum of this behavior can easily swing too far in the wrong direction, as it has in my life.

Keira-Anne, Hilda Chalupa (Port Hardy, circa early-1980s)

After talking with my mom at great length last night, it started to become more clear how this pattern – my “normal” and natural way of dealing with anxiety – has developed through the generations. As a young girl in Poland, my Oma was expected to work hard, contribute to the household and most likely had to often look out for herself in a home of 11 people.

When my mother was a child, she often took care of many of the younger neighbourhood children, paid attention to them, played with them and even walked many to and from school. As my mom grew older and eventually became a married woman, she would often find herself in the position of being the responsible adult in the marriage – as many women frequently do. Before long, overfunctioning became her survival tactic and this behavior was inevitably passed on to her first born daughter, yours truly.

Photo: tempest_kat on Flickr. Katrina Mellis, Keira-Anne (Vancouver, circa 2008)

While many of the deck’s cards are stacked against me as a chronic overfunctioner, restoring balance to my life is possible. I am willing to do the work. We overfunctioners have a tendency to be resistant to change and have an incredibly difficult time remaining objective and level-headed in times of high anxiety. The bottom line, however, is that if I am overfunctioning all the time for others, I am underfunctioning for myself.

Modifying my behavior – a behavior that simply isn’t working for me – will be a constant, lifelong challenge. There’ll be setbacks coupled with achievements and times when I don’t see the point in changing. The work, however, is anything but disheartening. Though facing up to who I truly am, the good and the bad, may not always be pretty, I’m unearthing a great deal of beauty and freedom in reconnecting with my past and the amazing people that helped impact the woman that I am today.

When I was very young, I had a vivid imagination. For as long as I can remember, I have always wished that there was just one day – a day as magical and elusive as unicorns and fairy dust – that every place you went accepted Monopoly cash instead of real currency. I dreamed of all the candy and games and dolls I’d buy. I still dream about that day, only now I imagine how much I’d fatten up the cash registers at Holt Renfrew.

Photo: mtsofan on Flickr

Oddly enough, I didn’t like playing Monopoly when I was a kid. Though as soon as I hit 21, I had a new obsession. My friends and I would play what we called “New Rules Monopoly.” After everyone had a chance to go around the entire board once to accumulate property and cash flow, we’d pair off and get married, so to speak. Combining assets and our newfound riches, it was then the goal of each married couple to dominate Monopolyland. Now that made it fun.

I think that the message from those illustrations is clear. We want more money for more stuff because nothing we ever want is free. On the other side of the token, someone once said that “the best things in life are free.” I must politely disagree.

Photo: hugovk on Flickr

The stuff in life that we can tangibly accumulate, while not free, are fixed at a non-negotiable price and what you see is what you get (wireless phone plans aside, of course). In contrast, what’s truly best doesn’t ding our bank accounts but carries an enormous price tag.

None of these are free. All of them are taxing, are worked for and hopefully, eventually earned to their maximum value. They cost blood, sweat, tears, anxiety, laughter and punching through walls that stand in our way. These things cost potential friendships and require weeding out those in disguise. To accumulate the treasures of life, we’re forced to examine ourselves, our values, our views and our morals. The picture isn’t always pretty and sometimes we question “what’s it all worth?”

What I know is that collecting true riches in my life – and in yours – isn’t equal to fine dining. No one will give exactly us what we need on a bamboo charger plate, cooked to perfection. This accumulation is better compared to a home-cooked meal, created over time with a goal in mind. Sometimes we’ll read the recipe wrong and would rather chuck the plates and pans across the room in frustration. But sometimes we get it just right and discover that the only other thing we need is a fantastic cocktail to wash it all down.