Lady Like

I take a second swipe down the board, only this time I put the full weight of myself through my arms and into my fingertip. The coffee table bites into my knees as I crouch on top of it, creating the pose of a crude downward dog, only my snowboard was straddled between my arms and knees. I dig the rectangle block into my board and slide it toward me, and the success looks like a palmful of wax pealing off into curled feathers. My arms ached the more times I do this, and the wax was spilling onto the coffee table and floor, furthering the mess. This is what success looked like when you learn to successfully wax your own snowboard. Mike snaps a photo of me wanting to send it to his brother, as we were waxing our new-to-us snowboards for the season, while his baby brother was building bunk beds; Adulting for the win. As I grinned at the phone and Mike sent the photo, I tell him that I felt I’ve waxed enough in real life and shouldn’t have wax my snowboard. We laugh, because no part of this was exactly true.

When I was headed to camp, I would spend the night prior at my sister’s house because it was close to the bus compound. She’s been dabbling in the art of an esthetician and would wax my pits for me every so often (I can see my mom shake her head as she reads this and mummer to herself that it should be referred to as underarms). I was pretty non-committal about it and Meg’s fiancé refers to the state of my hairy armpits as my hippy-pits because I would do it half as often as most people. The convenience and swiftness of waxing kept me coming back (also the free bed and seeing her three tiny humans), but when my contract ended at the mine, so did my underarm hair maintenance.

My arm pits are as French as can be and you bet your ass I still rock tank- tops and lulu spaghetti tops. In parts of 2020, I’ve been struggling with accepting the maintenance that’s required to be a woman in North America; specifically what’s it means to be ladylike. I’m slowly wearing a bra less and less, which has required going beyond my comfort zone since my significant lack of bust has always made me very self-conscious (and a bra actually unnecessary), I would wear bras so padded they were once referred to as boob pillows. I must say, it’s been empowering. I’ve been feeling quite sexy and rebellious when walking into a cold room.

Mike recently told me that his Grandma was quite the pioneer in her day. She was the first woman to wear pants, and not a dress, to her church. As a fairly conservative Mennonite woman, I thought this was incredibly progressive. As he said this, I remember my own mom adamantly insisting that my two sisters and I wear dresses to church when we were young.

As we enter 2021, closing the doors to a very difficult year, and moving into a year where we may continue to struggle, I ask why, as women, are we continuing the traditions that we don’t understand, and more importantly don’t make us feel good. Doing it out of expectation is quite simply not good enough for me anymore. I’m tired of biting my tongue out of being a well behaved lady rather than speaking my truth. I will say what I think rather than being polite. I have loud sex and loud opinions.

I know your thinking: these are such small and insignificant things women do without question, but I feel that when we start to second guess the small things required as part of being a woman, we will start questioning the larger rules for this gender. Let’s not forget the requirements of being ladylike equally define what it means to be a man (another blog in the making, I promise). I constantly catch myself referring to a group of adult males, men but a group of full grown women I call girls. Why is a blunt man considered a good boss, but an opinionated woman considered a bitch? Why are women still the primary caregivers despite both family members working full time? I remember watching a TV show where they recollect a time when the school office calls the woman about her sick child and she replies to the administrative office that they have called her three times that year, she informs them that it’s time for them to reach out to her husband, as they have both her and her husband’s number on file and promptly hangs up the phone. Why are prominently female roles still paid less, and considered less value then male dominated jobs?

So tell me, what are some small things, some everyday rituals that you do simply because you are a woman? Have you thought about why you do them? Have you asked yourself if you even like doing them? Because once we do this, we can start asking ourselves what are larger rules and boundaries we fallow because simply out of what’s deemed ladylike.

- kirstin

Did I shave my legs for this? - Leanna Rhimes 

Whispering Wilds Photography

Kayla told me about the time her and her Husband, Fernando, went for a week long trip to Saskatchewan where they opted, on the way home, to go through Kananaskis in order to hike Ptarmigan Cirque. It was a 5KM moderate hike and a friend mentioned it was an adventure not to be missed. They pulled into the parking lot at the end of June an braced themselves for wind and rain at a balmy 4 degrees. Exhausted, she looked over at Fernando and seriously enquired if they are really these people who do this. She was a fair weather hiker. Apparently they were... The hike was as hard as anticipated but the view at the top was equally rewarding. The top displayed an incredible view, with forget me knots splayed out in every directions, crimson trees and even a waterfall. When I asked Kayla, creator of Whispering Wilds Photography, what was one of her favorite photos, she told me about her experience hiking in Kananaskis.

She first invested in an entry level camera in 2017. Her childhood was full of adventures, with being a daughter of a truck driver they traveled often and it was hard to keep places true to how they were. With every photo, a memory and an emotion is brought back from it, and with Whispering Wilds Photography, this is her goal. As great as the clean up, posed photos are, I would describe her photography style as being raw; They’re natural photos that connect some kind of emotions. “They make me feel” she states.

Kayla has been her expanding her portfolio and has recently released Wild & Free Adventure Sessions where she will take you on a half or full day trip into the wild, where your sense of adventure will be both tested and captured on film. Her goal is to provide a memory behind the photo that she takes. She wants a story to come out of the photo captured that is on the wall above your dining room table that will be remembered and explained when your guests comment on that picture. A carefully crafted photo is very nice, when you are directed on how to pose, but it doesn’t capture who you are. Kayla has captured myself, at my boldest when she did a boudoir photoshoot last May. I'm hoping she'll be up for working with my again, but perhaps a snowboard related boudoir shoot in the new year. I loved the photos she took, but mostly I loved how she was able to capture my confidence and how comfortable I was in my own skin, quite literally. Recently, my partner and I went on a Wild & Free Adventure session during hunting season, where it was a 12KM round trip hike on an relatively easy trail near our hometown. At one point, there was a creek crossing, where I didn’t want to fully submersed my Merrills, that I love, but my Partner states that I need to invest in Gortex hiking boots and not merely water resistant shoes. So  I slung the .22 over my back, leaped onto his camoed-up back and we crossed the water way. I was laughing and unsteady and my Partner was patient and kind. I love this story. I have this photo in our dining room. The memory comes flooding back every time the picture is mentioned.

Kayla’s photo sessions are full of personality. Every photo contains a story. Time is very fleeting and she
does an amazing job at capturing memories of those she photographs.

You don't take a photograph, you make it - Ansel Adams

A Sober November

"Do you think you have an addiction? To Alcohol?"

I pulled off my headband and backcombed my hair from the crown to my forehead to ease the itch the wool created.  Now slightly matted, my hair was slick with sweat from breaking trail up the continuous hill. We were half way done our cross country ski which was a refuge from packing and cleaning: After two frantic months, we finally found a family to rent our place in Vanderhoof. Mike was confident they would be reliable to pay the bills, so we didn’t have to pay our own and someone else’s mortgage in Smithers, and I was content that they would treat our house like a home so we didn’t come back to a dumpster fire in two or so years. 

Mike brushed the snow off a fallen down log and we sat down with our feet still clipped into our skies; I felt a bit like a penguin. I took off the day pack slung over my shoulder and reached for the water, hungrily swallowing the icy liquid. My headache had finally receded, a result of either too much or not enough caffeine.

“I feel better now that we went for a ski” Mike admitted. Finally, the cravings had subsided. Mike quite smoking a couple of weeks ago and although his easy going personality has returned after transforming into a very syndical and bitter human for the first three days of being smoke free, he was still easily agitated and his nicotine cravings appeared in the mornings and were triggered when he was stressed

 He hadn't touched a smoke since and i couldn'tbe more proud. Getting a six month lease signed was a huge relief for all parties involved. 

“I haven’t had cheesies in quite a few days” I responded. He looked at me and smirked. “Do you really think you’re addicted to cheesies?” they were my top five junk food favs.

“No, but I am addicted to caffeine.” and then mentioned the headache. And this is when he asked me about alcohol.

Our justification for not drinking in November stemmed from Mike quitting smoking. He thought his self control with cigarettes would falter if he were drinking. But, judging by the question he threw my way on that day we went skiing, I’m not sure if that’s the only reason.

In the past, we’ve openly spoke about close family members having an addiction to alcohol, weather it being a high functioning habit or an all encasing addiction, we would speak about it and tell the stories of how this influenced and impacted our very own childhoods and adult lives.

The majority of mine and Mike’s flights are when we are drinking. In fact, our very first fight was a blowout on a street in Vanderhoof surrounded by friends and liquor. Not my finest moment to say the least. I believe that when you are inebriated you are simply an enhanced version of yourself. To say that you did what you did because you were drunk, isn’t an excuse, but I do think I am less reasonable and have a tendency to lose my verbal filter, to the point of being cruel, when there is significant amounts of alcohol in my system. Mike and I have learned serious conversations cannot be had when beer is in hand. Talk of lifestyles, babies and beliefs are forbidden after a shot of fireball.

I have very addictive personally. we don’t have Netflix (or internet) because I would hermit away at home all weekend, binge watching episodes of Call the Midwife and Outlander (currently blogging at Tim Hortins)

I’ve learned quite a bit about myself and my relationship with alcohol in the last thirty days.  

I was surprised how upfront and honest Mike was with his close friends and family about our sober November. He told them nonchalantly before we even started that weren’t partaking in any boozy affairs. I didn’t really mention it my friends until the conversation needed to be had, and this post is the most public and honest I’ve been. Alcohol is socially acceptable and so appropriate, if not encouraged, in public functions, I suppose I was expecting to be slighted or even ridiculed about taking a break and admitting that this has become a bit of a problem in my life and I need a reset. When we told Mike’s sister about our month long project, she nodded her head understandably and responded that she’s dislikes the mom-wine culture that is the latest trend in parenting. This isn’t something I want to be a part of when the time comes, and it was nice to hear her response in that she too is getting farther away from it. Other people responded with support and encouraging comments, often joking that they would drink on our behalf. When I  admitted to friends that I wasn’t drinking in November, often they smiled knowingly and perhaps this was from their own relationship with liquor. I think my fear of vocalizing why I was taking a break from the beverages was simply me projecting my own judgement on how people perceived my sobriety. 

Initially we avoided of our circles where alcohol is a social activity. We had our own campfires and I realized that holding onto a beverage out of habit was a necessity, so begun the new custom of herbal tea in tumblers. We eased into social settings with dinner with Mike’s cousins (a hippy dinner of Portobello burgers no less) and had a fabulous visit full of caffeine and water. Snowboard waxing sessions were among us and it was complete success for the winter season, with pizza and good company I hardly acknowledged the omission of beverages. 

Everyone says when you stop drinking you’re face gets less puffy, but mine actually filled out more. I looked less gaunt, even when my eyes were ringed with blue from a serious lack of sleep. It was a relief not to wake up lethargic and groggy with the remains of a messy night left sticky on the coffee table. New habits filled old habits and we drank more water, and Mike’s been working out with me quite regularly so in turn I’ve been even more active.

Hard conversations happened without the need of a liquid lubricant, and Mike and I proved this as we discussed the concept of moving to Smithers versus the actuality of following through on this. It wasn’t Mike’s idea or even on his life list, but he said he was game when I said Smithers was on mine. By design I placed a burden on my shoulders when I talked him into moving to Smithers, or I felt I did. As we had this conversation, tearful of course (us McNeil cry all the time) but completely sober, I revealed my fear that I talked him into this and felt like if this life choice was a fail, it was my failure alone. By ending my career at the mine and renting out the house, I made a huge leap of faith that impacted my life path, which isn’t something new, but for the first time ever I brought someone else along for the journey, and so I could potentially be fucking both of our lives. Mike countered that he felt this way with conversations and decisions that were being made in terms of our future beyond Smithers and Australia, plans that I had never desired prior to choosing him. And for the first time I understood this.  Both of us are very stubborn and opinionated; so I am letting go of the idea that I as responsible for his happiness just as he had to be reminded he is not responsible for mine, if Smithers doesn’t make us happy, we will simply move on or move back.

I never directly answered Mike’s question. I know alcohol has been an aid to cope with stress, specifically work related stress these past few months, but also life stress, which in turn creates more problems specifically related to liquor and creates more stress. Alcohol will only commence when I’m in a state of celebratory bliss,  or not at all. Also, as an incredibly sensitive person with heightened emotion, less is always more. I know the reset has allowed me a new perspective, in that not every occasion needs beverages, coffee or tea will suffice. I’ve learned conversations are harder to clarify when liquor is involved and often require further details the following morning. I’m also rarely taken seriously when I’m slurring. And as November transitions into December and snowboard season begins, surly a flask of fireball will appear and  nothing tasted so good after splitting firewood than a cool Budweiser (unless it’s craft beer from a local brewery). For now, we are very aware that there is a fine line between high on life and hot mess in terms of want and need.

I love drunk me, but I don't trust her

A new adventure

 

After my Walk in Spain, the goal has been Australia. Since my blogging break, the goal has been saving for Australia. We’ve officially completed renos on our super-duper-fixer’ upper and Mike likes to remind me that as soon as our house in progress became our completed home, I started boxing up our belongings and placing them in our storage room below or taking our most valuable positions (Guns, Wall Mounts and Passports to be exact) to Mike’s Cousin’s house for safe keepings.

For the previous 18 months we allowed ourselves to become weekend warriors, both adventuring hard and countering it with audlting. There was also some incredibly difficult times, for many reasons I’m not ready to write about, but there was much celebration in-between and lessons and the heartache. After much consideration, I declined a permanent job offer as big-wig recruiter, and allowed my contract at the Mine to expire. Mike ended his 15 year career at the Mill by scrawling down a simple “I Quit”  with his end date and handed it to upper management. His supervisor admitted that throughout his years in the industry, many men talk about leaving, but not many follow through. I hadn’t traveled outside of this country or even this province in well over two years. September came and went due to COVID travel restrictions, and instead of going to Australia as originally planned, we agreed to set our savings aside and opted to moving to the Ski town of Smithers, BC until the boarders open.

We found the perfect place for two Canadian Snow Birds: before entering the town site, turn right, where an eight kilometer snaky, dirt road will lead to a one room A Frame – we’ve come to call it The Cabin. There was a loft offering a bed and a sort of a refuge, as it created the illusion of privacy. Mike was far more unsure about such a small space than I ever had been, for me, I was home. The loft would allow for further sleep for Mike, as I often woke up before him in order to calm my crazy with a workout and bribe Hugo with a literal trail of breadcrumbs to come on a walk with me, thus acquiring the necessary alone time for two introverts in one relationship. A kitchen and bathroom were tucked into the back of the tiny triangle, but the star of the show was a small wood burning stove which would need regular stokings’ during long hard winter days.

Mike has never pretended to understand the type of restlessness that surges in my soul when I’m limited to one location, or the feelings of exhilaration I get when traveling to new places. Regardless, he supported my need for something new, being Smither, even for a little while, after which will be Australia for a year. Although I have some internal struggles with this town, I’m so thankful to have found my people, as well as Mike’s people, who have become my own. Conversations arose, unchangeable goals discussed and agreements were made in that Vanderhoof will ultimately become our home town. We are finding a way of balancing my nomadic tendencies and the need for some stability for Mike in order to calm both of our souls.

Not long after purchasing two seasons passes for the local ski hill, we agreed to come up to Smithers a week early in order to set ourselves up for a happily anticipated long, snowy winter. I hadn’t gotten firewood as a primary source of heat since I first moved up to Vanderhoof and lived on the Bearhead. Mike and I went for firewood when there was frost in the air and I had a layered up with lined Lulu’s under my jeans and several wicking layers on top. It was my first time having to actively help fall trees and honest to god, the first few times we did this, I had to fight against every natural instinct in my body to not run the hell away as Mike made the first cut in each tree. With one specific attempt at tree falling, the hefty Pine shifted the wrong way and pinched the saw.  After trying to talk him into leaving his chainsaw (perhaps I was a little dramatic in suggesting this), Mike attached a study towrope from the tree to the truck. As I watched in safe distance away the truck pull against gravity and in turn the massive tree fell across the road, my whole body tensed to such an extent that my ovaries hurt. I’m not even kidding you. My adrenalin still surging and my knees quaking I loaded the truck with the body of the tree. We sipped on some hard earned beers that evening while paying cribbage and eating pizza.

We spent our final full day outside before heading back to Vanderhoof in order to meet up with some people to view our house, who were interested in temporary calling it their home for a couple of years as rent it. We tossed our cross country skis into the box of the truck. Hugo hopped into the back seat, and with coffee in hands, we were off. There was well over a foot of snow when I clicked into my skies. We broke our own trails and manoeuvred over streams and up some pretty steep inclines. Mike admired the open cutblocks and scanned the area for any wildlife with his .22 slung over his back. Once we were satisfied with the first ski of the season, we threw on hiking boots and Kevlar gloves and Mike successfully fell two huge pines and they lazily slid up the bank following the truck. We snacked of farm fresh egg sandwiches admiring our overloaded truck and discussing the amount of snow sure to come. It was the kind of day that reminded us of the adventure to due to a leap of faith into the unknown.

Because there's no rules that says we have to live life like everybody else.

Into the North Designs

 In between sips of Jasmine green tea and good conversation, I admired Shannon’s warm and colourful house, learning about where all the magic happens. Topics moved between learning about her business, Into the North Designs, and chatting about her son, a mutual topic in both of our houses, as Bryce plays a significant part in mine and mine and Mike's life as well. Amongst being Mike’s family, Bryce comes snowboarding with us regularly where, as an incredible grade 7 year old snowboarder, he often encourages me to take jumps that I’m not ready for – but that’s a story for another time. Shannon’s house is scattered with tasteful wall hangings, I noted a framed sign in her dining room with the words And so the Adventure Begins are elegantly scrolled across glass as well as the words Love placed against upcyced wood off of something like an old barn. The art displayed throughout her house is not all that surprising as she has become quite the entrepreneur in terms of creating art – or perhaps it more about giving you permission and the ability to create your own. 

A few short months before COVID hit, Shannon started promoting her sign making business. Shannon, a true extrovert, was looking for ways to get beyond her comfort zone and be more social. She came upon a similar idea on Facebook, and as nothing like this was occurring in our home town, she decided to invest in a Cricut, a machine for creating stencils amongst other things, and began designing. She provides you with a large collection of quotes you can choose from otherwise she will happily create a quote of your preference; you have the ability to paint it on a sign, pillow or tote bag (my personal favorite) and can choose an array of paint colours for the letters and stain for the board. 

Shannon was gushing about some of the events she’s been invited to, from a twelve year old’ birthday to an appetiser party in Prince George. She said that her favorite thing about what Into the North Designs has given her is the ability to meet new people and bring people together. With her bubbly personality and laid back attitude, you can tell, she just wants to have fun, and it’s incredibly infectious. Back in August, during snacks and well into beverages, Shannon appeared at a bridal shower that I arranged in my backyard. A handful of forced friends (thanks to the common grounds of career paths and independent women goals) got together to celebrate an upcoming wedding. Shannon’s relaxed personality and good nature only added to the event. She took us through the process of sign creation and provided tips and tricks along the way. She patiently answered questions and helped with tedious process of peeling off the stencil and helping stain the boards. Our laughter increased, as did the beverages for the soon to be bride and her girlfriends. She contributed to conversations with people she didn’t know very well with her incredible personable and had a contagious laugh.

From our conversation, I felt that the definition of success of Shannon’s business wasn’t so much the financial profit, but the idea of bringing people together. I would say that a completed sign is only a small piece of the product that she sells: she’s all about bringing people together.

Everything Happens for a Reason - Shannon favorite quote off of a sign.