Come and Visit Us

4 Comments December 16, 2014 drworobec

I’m going to get a bit sentimental, a bit nostalgic, and a bit festive. Let’s talk Christmas cards.

I have strong memories of my mother sitting down every December to write out personalized Christmas cards to a huge circle of friends and family. She would sit at the kitchen counter with her address book, her pen, and her stamps, and very thoughtfully and deliberately write a note in each one. Sometimes a Christmas letter would be printed, summarizing our year for those we didn’t see often, and a family picture was always thrown in the mix. As a young child, I remember my dad fiddling behind the tripod to get the right shot, and as a surly teenager, my patience would wear thin with try after try.

But, as with most things, you don’t realize that memories are being made until they are already a part of you. So as December rolls around, my own Christmas card clock starts to tick. My list has grown over the years, and I now send more than one hundred cards, either through the mail or hand-delivered. I’ve got my spreadsheet, my address book, and my envelope-sealing husband; we’ve become a finely-tuned assembly line of Christmas cheer. I send them as a way to keep in touch; a real, personal, from-the-heart touch in this world of email/Social Media immediacy. Christmas cards are my annual way of sending a hug across the miles and a you’re-important-to-me message through the mail.

With a childhood in Alberta, school friends all across Canada, and backpacking friends overseas, my postage order is colourful and diverse. This is my way to reflect on my life, cultivate my community, build my village. My cup runneth over.

This year, the message on our card reads “Come and visit us.” And I mean it.

To my friends overseas, I hope to see you soon.

To my friends across North America, the guest room’s open.

To my friends in Burlington, pop-bys are welcome and the coffee is on.

To my family and friends in Alberta, I miss you.

Come and visit us.

Happy holidays from my family to yours!

Just Jump

Leave a comment August 19, 2014 drworobec

Just jump, he said.

You can do it, she said.

1-2-3 go, they said.

But all I could see was the blur of a wooden plank, green trees, and muddy water. I could see others jumping, all around me, but it was like I was inside a glass jar. I could see out, but the noises were muffled. My senses were dulled. My vision was narrowed, my hearing was echoed, my tastebuds were coated with mud. Oh, but I could still feel. I could feel my husband trying to grab my hand to help me forward and my friends patting me on the back. I could feel the platform shake, the breeze blow, and the water spray. But mostly, I could feel fear. Overwhelming, all-encompassing, make-your-knees-buckle fear. The panic began to overtake me. I got weepy, my legs shook, my face went white underneath the mud.

But I had known about this all year, I thought. I did this last year, I thought. How can this fear possibly be gripping me yet again? But it was. And it did.

You see, I wasn’t always afraid of heights. In fact, I’ve bungee-jumped in Cairns, Australia.

Cairns-Bungy-Platform

I’ve done the reverse bungee at the Calgary Stampede.

Power_Shot_-_Reverse_Bungee_02

I’ve jumped off high-dives and cliffs, been down huge waterslides, and walked on suspension bridges. I’ve ridden on roller-coasters and drop-zones and tiny prop airplanes. I’ve cliff-jumped, climbed high ropes, and stood on roofs. But I’ve rarely felt fear like that.

You see, this weekend, I participated in the Tough Mudder with my husband and four of our friends. The Tough Mudder is a 10-mile Obstacle Course/Mud Run, which I also did last year. So I knew about ‘Walking the Plank‘, as the Tough Mudder Headquarters has so aptly named this obstacle. I knew about it, I thought about it, I worried about it. And yet, when it came time, the fear consumed me. Last year’s jump involved more than 10 minutes of me standing at the top, dozens of people chanting my name, and my husband climbing back up to jump alongside me. This year’s jump was less dramatic. I simply panicked.

I panicked and I climbed back down. I’m not doing it, I said. I can’t do it, I said. And so all my teammates jumped. And when they had continued on to the next aid station, out of sight and out of earshot, I climbed back up and jumped.

Just jump, he said.

You can do it, she said.

1-2-3 go, they said.

So I did. I can. Just on my own time.

Thank you, my team. xo.

What Happens in Vegas…

6 Comments February 11, 2014 drworobec

I am going to Las Vegas this weekend. To see Britney Spears. Yes, I’m serious.

britney pic

I have been a Britney fan for a long time, albeit sometimes embarrassingly so. “Hit Me Baby One More Time” was released in Oct/1998, at a time when I was in Second Year at the University of Calgary; I was young and impressionable, seeking independence and searching for my future, as most post-secondary students are. Britney could be heard everywhere I was, from residence dorms to nightclubs to track practice. Music has a way of becoming the soundtrack of memories, and many of my 20-something moments had a Britney song playing in the background.

But the best part, far better than any Britney show, is that I am meeting my two best friends there. These girls are like my sisters; they are my confidantes, my this-is-who-I-am-and-you-know-me-so-well companions. It’s going to be a short trip, only 48-hours from arrival to departure, jam-packed with dinners out, casinos, lounging poolside, shopping, and laughter. Oh so much laughter.

You see, yearly girls trips for the three of us have been an almost-annual tradition for 15 years. From Summer roadtrips to Vancouver to weekends in Edmonton to reunions at a small-town farm, these affectionately-named ASS Tours (Ashley/Sarah/Shannon) have been a constant in our lives, as our cities have changed and our families have grown. Our 2011 meet-up was in New York City. I will never forget it. I will never forget it because I was broken when I arrived and pieced together when I left. I had just suffered a devastating miscarriage and I left for NYC the day after my surgery. And as the three of us walked through Central Park and sobbed and hugged and comforted and shared, I felt myself start to heal. Piece by piece, they put me back together. They helped me put myself back together. As they have countless other times. They’re those kind of friends.

My husband teases me about this girls trip. He pokes fun at the teeny-bopper in me and smiles about my excitement. But I can assure you, Britney’s audience will be full of 30-something mothers, just like us, singing along with nostalgia in their voices and dancing with happiness in their hearts… side by side with friends.