Out Like a Lamb

It is December -- after many terrible disasters in other places the past several years, Bermuda bid farewell to the 2013 Hurricane Season with no more than a silent whisper of gratitude for an almost storm free year.  It feels almost shameful to mark a safe year of good fortune when the Philippines was recently devastated by Typhoon Haiyan, and last year Hurricane Sandy passed us by and battered New York and the Eastern Coast of North America.  It is like feeling slightly guilty, as though the lack storms here allowed nature to conserve energy and unleash powerful beasts elsewhere.

But hurricanes (or typhoons are they are called on the other side of the globe) are a fact of life for many coastlines, including Bermuda.  Officially hurricane season in the North Atlantic is June 1 to November 30 of each year...the peak months of tourist season.  During those six months, a storm can materialize at any time, and so it is always a good idea to have preparations in place -- such as keeping fresh water and canned goods in stock at home in the event of power outages, and landowners should be diligent about keeping trees near the powerlines trimmed to reduce outages.  Most of the time, one can watch the systems online and far in advance form off the northwest tip of Africa and wind their way towards North America via the Caribbean and Bermuda before they cool off and lose their steam as they work their way north to Canada.  Good old Canada...its weather kills off large insects and hurricanes.  But sometimes they can literally pop up overnight.  Keeping an eye on weather systems like "Storm Pulse" or the National Hurricane Center becomes a bit of a habit, and a bit of a sport using them to as guides as to whether you REALLY should run out and get that fresh water and canned food you know you are supposed to have.  Plus flashlight batteries and loads of candles.  Tourists need not worry, in the six month season the island will only contend with a handful of minor storms, each lasting only a day or two.  The odds of one ruining your entire vacation are pretty slim.  You might need to stay inside and dry for one day, possibly two, but the biggest glitch the tourist will likely face is airport delays -- arriving or departing a day late.

The south shore churning before a storm

The geology of Bermuda keeps it somewhat insulated against hurricanes.  To start with...we are a pretty small target to hit directly.  But beyond random luck, Bermuda is surrounded by an extensive reef system which moderates the storm surge and height of the waves that actually hit Bermuda.  When the winds hit the island, the construction practicality of using limestone and concrete for homes rather than wood leaves the homes more resilient in their stand against the winds than in many other places.  That said, I imagine a direct hit by Sandy or anything the size of Haiyan would be much worse than anything Bermuda has yet seen.  It seems as though worldwide the size of storms and level of environmental disasters are increasing.  I twitch every time someone says they don't believe in global warming.

In my hometown in Saskatchewan, we worry about blizzards and tornadoes.  So I had to do a little learning about hurricanes when I got here.  The storm classifications are as follows -- Tropical Depression which has no defined eye and sustained maximum winds of less than 39 mph, Tropical Storm which has sustained winds of 39-74 mph, and finally a Hurricane (or Typhoon) which has a defined eye of the storm and sustained winds of greater than 74 mph.  If I have this correct, the storms turn counterclockwise here due to the Coriolis effect, and the "back end" of the hurricane actually has stronger winds, and so it can make a big difference whether the storm passes to the east or west of us.

There are several hurricanes that are well remembered in Bermuda.  The first was in 1609 and caused the wreck of the Sea Venture, which directly resulted in Bermuda's colonization.  Another in 1712 prompted islanders to change to limestone construction rather than cedar wood.  In 1926 a hurricane directly hit the island and sank 2 British vessels, the Calcutta and the Valerian, killing 88 sailors on the Valerian.  In 1987 Hurricane Emily surprised the island, picking up speed overnight and hitting the island early in the morning, far sooner than anticipated.  There were no fatalities, but people were not prepared and the damages were high.  Notably the roof of the hospital was blown off, a great reason for senior management to rebuild their current palace on the 5th floor.  Hurricane Fabian in 2003 was one of the storms that is remembered as most devastating by today's population.  Fabian resulted in 4 fatalities as people were swept off the causeway in their vehicles by the storm (the causeway is a long man-made bridge that connects the main island to St. David's and St. George's.  As well, power was lost to 35,000 homes, more than half the island, and it took up to a week in some cases to restore.  A week without air conditioning during hurricane season can be rough.

Hurricane Fabian memorial

Same beach when a hurricane approaches

Beach by Astwood on a clear day

There are two natural signs that a hurricane is coming.  One is shark oil -- fishermen determined generations ago that is you keep a vial of shark liver oil hanging outside that it will turn cloudy when a storm is approaching...a barometer of sorts.  The other is to watch the south shore.  As a storm approaches, one can see the surf get rougher days before the storm hits...the beautiful blows turn to a churning opaque sea with more of a greenish tinge as the rough seas dredge up the sea floor.  My favorite place to storm watch is Astwood Park.  Normally you can sit atop the cliffs and watch a calm sea -- as a hurricane approaches the waves crash with a ferocity that sends spray to the top of the cliffs where one normally stands, and the foaming surf completely covers the nearby beaches that one would normally walk or sunbathe on.  If a storm is bad enough, the beaches on the south shore appear totally different when the water subsides.  Stairwells are often ripped out, and the sand can several feel lower, pulled out and deposited elsewhere.

Waves crash over Astwood park from a murkier sea a few days before a storm

If a big one is coming, there isn't much to do but stay indoors with a supply of candles, flashlights, and should it be a weekend, pre hurricane parties are popular as well.  When stranded indoors, the company of friends always helps pass the time.  Having my cats, I usually find myself either at work or home, but I did make it out for a good hurricane moosemeat stew at newfie Steve's one year before it was time to batten the hatches.  Most people don't really sweat the storms...it's part of life on an island, provides much needed rain and drinking water, and clears out the deadwood and sometimes resculpts the beaches.

It is always nice to go out and watch the churning seas before a storm...but to be tucked in safely indoors by the time the rains start to fall.  In 2013, we only had one minor storm that didn't even necessitate staying indoors for the day.  A local book I read when I moved here, "Tea with Tracy" used the idiom "in like a lion out like a lamb" when talking about hurricane season here.  In like a lamb out like a lamb better describes this year, and suits me fine.

Bibbity Bobbity Boo

It has been a week of blog abandonment.  A combination of plain old busy, bits of adventure, and scheduled laziness have kept me away until now.  In a rare move, I booked a week off work with the express intention of getting rest and a well needed break.  Normally when I take vacation I try to get on the first plane out after my shift ends and land a few hours before the next shift starts, cramming as much as possible into those treasured hours of freedom.  Maybe I am getting old.  Maybe I was just that tired.  But I decided I just needed a week off.

But before all of that -- there was the Caledonia Ball to attend.  A new sparkly dress had been purchased, and we were all gearing up to be working class princesses for a night, Cinderella's waiting for a magical night out.  There was no fairy Godmother for us...no magical wand to tap us on the head and supply us with perfect hair, glass slippers, coach and gown...nope, it was wages spent at a store, the old faithful straightening iron, and Helen came through with Xena, our little car for the evening in lieu of horse drawn carriage.  Being the shortest of us all, I dubbed Helen Bibbity for the evening, leaving me to be Bobbity, and Siobhan to be Boo.  We did clean up rather nice after trading in our scrubs for frocks.  Prince Charming, in case you are wondering, was a no show for the event.  Except for Carol's Keith of course.

The Fairmont was Christmas Ready for the November 30 Ball

The Fairmont Princess in Hamilton was the location, decked out in lovely Christmas decorations already.  A towering tree glimmering with lights and ornaments, festive bows in the lobby, and off to the ballroom it was.  Ready for a night worthy of the Scottish reputation, we clicked along the marble flooring to the ballroom, ready for bagpipe, traditional food and dance, and many cocktails in mind -- for which the Scots also have a long standing reputation for.  As we enterred the ballroom, a hostess greeted us, saying "Are you here for the AA conference?"  We laughed at the alcoholic anonymous reference at the Scottish Ball and said "Of course, who isn't?"  She looked at us, and a few seconds after we passed called out "No, really, this is the Alcoholics Anonymous Conference."  We all stopped dead in our tracks, looked back and said "You ARE kidding right?"  "No, not at all," she said.  The Fairmont, notably, has several ballrooms.  "Oh, ok.  Well, maybe we'll see you tomorrow then," and off we clicked towards the stairwell to the ballroom on the next level.  This time we were greeted by a man in a kilt directing us to the cocktail reception and knew for sure we were in the right place!

"The AA A-List" Helen (Bibbity), Keith, Carol, and Siobhan (Boo)

Note that the AA A-List were the first to arrive at the lovely but still empty cocktail reception

The cocktail reception was in a smaller ballroom, soon adorned with the Scottish Pipeband, who lit into some Scottish theme music as the VIP's enterred (the Govenor and his entourage), and led us to the larger ballroom where we were seated at our tables of 10 for the event.  We had the lovely Beattie, Liz, Rachel, Kim, and Christine as company, although I am remiss to say I am not in possession of any of the group photos taken.  We were treated to a choice of red or white wine at the table, and in short order the appetizer of Haggis arrived.  My first taste of Haggis, and I can happily report that it did not look in any way shape or form like sheep stomach, nor could any part be discernibly identified as such...it actually tasted pretty good...well, actually, i tasted predominantly pepper, but it was a pleasant surprise!  Second course was the Cullen Skink, a really good soup with a strange name -- haddock, potatoes, and onions...no skinks or skunks at all.  The next course was black pudding stuffed quail and veggies.  The little quails looked so small and sad, roasted up for our culinary pleasure, that I had a hard time eating it.  I always feel remorse when my food resembles its original and non crispy form.  I am not sure if it was that quail has  a "gamier" flavour or if that was from the black pudding, but this course tasted a little unfamiliar to me, and being a bit of a culinary wimp, i did not enjoy it as much as the Haggis.  To my delight though, the Tipsy Laird was a trifle...jello custard and graham wafer crust soaked in some sort of alcohol.  Very tasty.

The pip band leading us to the main event

The traditional dancing of ceilidh ensued, and the regulars were more than happy to invite the newcomers in to participate.  This Cinderella is happier watching than trying to dance, but several from the table gave it a go, reeling and turning in a loop of kilt and gowns.  By the stroke of midnight however, Boo and I had the prescence of mind to relocate, knowing that midnight brings a close to the tale.  Sadly however, even on a Saturday Bermuda itself turns into a pumpkin by midnight as well.  The doors to Harry's were long closed and everywhere else was grumpy and closing up shop...so home it was, to remove the glitz and glimmer of the fairy tale that ended just a bit too soon.  Perhaps the fairy tale of living on an island is all the magic this girl can handle anyway.

If one decides to belle up for another ball this year though, there is still the fabulously named Hogmanay Ball on New Year's Eve...also put on to the Caledonia Society.  It should be said that they put a great deal of time and effort into creating a few special nights in the season for Bermuda, and hats off to the group and their work committee for a job well done.  Am glad I was able to experience the ball on my last Christmas in Bermuda.

Boo and Bobbity..princesses for a moment or two

Black Friday Sparkly Saturday

"I am not going to Black Friday, I don't want to accumulate any more 'stuff'," I said convincingly.  I even believed it.  And so while the lineups started at 4am for cellphones, and the 3 laptops on sale at the electronics store in Bermuda, I peacefully slept, snug as a bug under and electric blanket.  And when I woke up, I leisurely sipped my coffee and avoided going anywhere near town for as long as I could.  After seeing a reassuring post from Anna on facebook that there was nothing to see in town, I ventured out around 1pm to get some stamps, some Easter seals, and do a handful of errands.  There is simply nothing that I need.  Past years one would be shopping for the fabulous Christmas party that the hospital would throw for its employees in the ballroom of the Southampton Princess...but since they cancelled that reservation and moved the venue to the parking lot of the hospital, one needs an outfit suited more to tailgating at an NFL game more than a shiny glittery princess dress.  I believe that I have mentioned in the past how I like things that are shiny and glittery.

So in lieu of an elegant Christmas party, it seemed like a good time to finally go to the Caledonia Ball...or St. Andrew's Day Ball as it is actually called, hosted by the Caledonia Society.  The Caledonia Society of Bermuda was founded in 1936 and its mission is to promote all things Scottish on the Rock.  So 24 hours after Thanksgivukkah, we now turn the celebratory focus to the Scots.  St. Andrew is the patron Saint of Scotland, and St. Andrew's Day, November 30th, is Scotland's national day.  It is celebrated with traditional food, traditional dancing, and excessive merriment (i base this assumption on the abundant merriment my Scottish friends have when it's just a regular day).  The black tie event will have a live pipe band, ceilidh dancing (prounounced kay-lee and they say it is easy to pick up as it was designed for a bunch of drunken scottish dancers -- their words not mine), and a four course meal including wine.  The menu lists Haggis, Neeps, and Taters, Cullen Skink, Roasted Quail stuffed with black pudding, followed up by a Tipsy Laird.  Sounds like an adventure indeed! Ticket bought, a closet full of dresses, I decided to throw on one of the old Christmas party dresses and go to the ball Saturday night at the Hamilton Princess.  Call it a sign, but right before heading to town, I witnessed this phenomenon.

"Are you KIDDING me?  There must be something in here we can wear."

They say pets take after their owners, and while still being cute, it's true that both Aiden and I probably have a little more booty this Christmas than than Christmas.  And while an old dress might just look fine, a new dress just feels like a little bit of a treat.

"Oh for the love of...this is ridiculous.  I am not making you a dress like those mice in that cartoon.  Pass me the credit card."

And so it was that I that I came home with a new sparkly dress from the Black Friday sales...guaranteeing that tomorrow will be another fabulously sparkly Saturday.  Unfortunately I couldn't find any glass slippers.  If I see Prince Charming I will have to improvise and knock him out with a champagne glass instead (I believe Helen and Shibby will be doing the same thing!)

Happy Hanumurican Feast Day

Photo of the feast borrowed from Karen Chernoff-Smith
facebook page

The expat pack is a multicultural group.  As such, there is a lot of celebrating to do.  We all have our national holidays that we celebrate.  And in Bermuda, we share these with friends when we can.  As an expat, I still celebrate the holidays of home -- Easter, May Long/Victoria Day, Canada Day, Canadian Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's, and recognize Remembrance Day (and the Grey Cup).  But now I also celebrate the holidays and special events in my friend's lives.  American Thanksgiving, Hanukkah (Festival of Lights in Jewish), the Superbowl, Diwali (Festival of Lights in India), Carnival, Cup Match, Fourth of July, Robbie Burns Night, and even Australia Day.  Today was a double header as American Thanksgiving and Hanukkah fell on the same day, which has not happened for 115 years -- the term that has been coined for the day is "Thanksgivukkah"...but I will stand by my creation of Hanumurican Feast Day.  I keep hearing my friend Dev's voice in my head saying "Amurican" rather than American...not because he lacks the ability to say it properly, but because he loves to rile the 'muricans whenever he can.  To be fair, he and a few of the Brits also like to ask when I am next visiting Canadia (prounounced like Canadian but without the 'n').


Thanksgivukkah was hosted in the dining room of a hospital accommodations property that was once a restaurant called Splendido's (where I had my first Christmas dinner on the island.  I was invited to brunch, and said yes, thinking I would have a salad before carrying on to my scheduled Christmas dinner.  What I did not know was that brunch in Bermuda is a 5 course meal.  It was therefore a 2 turkey dinner afternoon, a feat I would not attempt again).  The hosts were Craig and Erika (Craig representing the American or Thanks part of Thanksgivukkah, and Erika is from Peru but she is the resident turkey Chef) and Karen (representing the givukkah part of the holiday and preparing traditional Jewish Chanukkah favorites.  And yes I said Chanukkah, not Hanukkah, because that's how she spells it and I figure she would know better than I.  I was informed it's a silent C when I asked what the heck Chanukkah was and why have I been saying Hanukkah all this time).  Canada, Ireland, Philippines, Australia, England/UK, South Africa, and of course USA and Peru were all about to partake in the feast...as well as a few other places. Karen is an amazing cook and gracious hostess, Erika is equally wonderful in her turkey roasting skills and her famous side "mac 'n cheese baked with extra love."  What does extra love taste like?  Kinda cheesy actually.  It's a good thing.  And Craig is always the gentle and generous Thanksgiving Host.  I hope he is ready for Superbowl as well, we are running low on Americans at the hospital.

I was not the first to observe how wonderful it is to learn about and take part in the holidays of our friends from other lands.  It is truly a remarkable experience being an ex-pat...in addition to learning the culture and customs of Bermuda, we are fortunate enough to experience the cultures and customs of dozens of other places as well.

Thanksgivukkah preparations -- photo borrowed from Karen Chernoff-Smith's facebook page :)

And so Thanksgivukkah is done, for another 100 or so more years, but that just means next year there will be 2 different celebrations instead of one.  I am happy that my last one was such a delightful hybrid!

Just another day in Paradise

In a less macabre tone than Phil Collins' song, today really was just another day in paradise.  I was scheduled to work 4-12pm, leaving the morning and early afternoon to me.  I woke up early (thanks to the Panther cats, who learned from JJ how to disturb the deepest of sleeps so that they can enjoy their breakfast by the early sunlight in the window) and unlike the last several days, the skies were clear and sunny, and the temperature was indeed warm.  Monday the temperatures hit a record Bermuda low at 14 degrees Celsius.  Don't forget the humidity and wind chill, it did not feel as balmy as 14 degrees Canadian Celsius, trust me.  Today, however, it was pleasantly warm outside.

I started the day off hitting the HSBC to do a favor for a friend.  HSBC in Bermuda operates on a caste system.  The common fodder like myself have to line up with the masses for anything you can't do in the ATM.  The next tier up, earned by keeping a set value of savings in the account, (in case you have a spare $50,000 to leave in an almost non-interest bearing account just to get the second tier of status), gets shorter lines and some easier access to a customer service rep, and a few other perks.  The top tier have their own little executive lounge...I don't know what the requirements are, but if you have one of these accounts you can have free coffee, juice, sparking water, and newspapers everyday in the special lounge reserved for these customers.  You don't have to do any banking...you can just show up for your morning coffee or juice.  So today, I rode the elevator to the second floor, and by association gained access to the lounge.  I snagged a coffee and some investment management newsletters, as clearly these people all know something I don't know.  Once the free coffee was done, I rode the escalator down to my normal place in the world, and met up with some friends from work for Sushi at Cafe 4 and a catch up.

Once the sushi was done, we all ran our errands, and a few of us continued on to Yo Cherry for a nice frozen yogurt treat.  Of course I got completely sidetracked walking by a storefront that was just dressing the mannequin in a floor length black sequined ballgown.  I gasped and we rushed inside to try it on.  It fit like a glove...which would be good if I had spent more time at the gym and less time blogging.  On the way back we saw the other window, and gasp...a black and gold one a little more my style was in the other window.  I remarked that I love to buy clothes but here I am wearing jeans and a hoodie from Camper's Village.  My friend Shibby replied "You're like a cat.  You go crazy for anything sparkly and have to collect it and get it home."  Touche.  Truer words may have never been spoken.  There is so much glitter in my closet that sometimes I end up sparkly just from digging in my closet.

And finally, feeling terribly guilty after proclaiming that there would be no Christmas cards this year, I stopped at a store and picked up my supply...am hoping it will be a nice surprise for everyone in January and February when and if they do survive the collective international post office experience.  I still wonder where in the world my postcard from Egypt from Phil ended up, 2 years and still no sign of it.

The rest of my day was spent trying to tackle the enormous challenge of acquiring cat food for the Lexi cat.  Lexi has been on a Canadian brand of food for 16 years.  As the resident princess of the house, there is no substitute.  The Panthers keep stealing her food and we are running out.  There is now a rather complex and unsuccessful international effort to get the Canadian cat food somewhere where I can get it -- because you KNOW mailing it just isn't an option.  Thank you Cherie for harassing every vet clinic in Philadelphia and Boston while I burned up 2 long distance cards making friends with the rest of the Eastern United States veterinarians.  Sigh...I may need a weekend in Toronto.

And so another day has gone by, somewhat ordinary, but under a brighter sky and warmer sun, closer to the sand and oceans.  A nice day with good friends and the usual quirks of life.  Just another day in paradise.

Christmas Bells

Just a short note today. 

Christmas is fast approaching.  I went to town for groceries around noon and noticed the staff on the rooftops setting up their Christmas lights.  On the way out of the Marketplace, which sits across from the Cathedral, the church bells were chiming Christmas melodies.

Christmas always sneaks up on me in Bermuda.  I have spent most of my life scraping the ice off the car windows in November and hanging on for dear life on the icy commute to work, getting stuck in traffic for prolonged times and forced to listen to Christmas ads on the radio for weeks before I start Christmas shopping.  Without the cues of snow, perpetually gray skies, and bone chilling cold, I have once more arrived at the realization too late that Christmas is almost upon us.  I am not saying this is a bad thing, in fact I am quite happy about this.  But it is a bad thing for all of those on my Christmas list.  You see, Christmas preparations are difficult in Bermuda.  I feel that I must explain the Bermuda Postal Service to put this in perspective.

The Bermuda Postal Service is government agency, and so when you couple the standard government inefficiencies of any country with what I call Bermuda "sweet time" (due to a general lack of urgency seen on many islands), I cringe at the thought of dealing with the post.  My National Geographic magazines arrive in an interesting fashion -- sometimes 1 month late, sometime I will go 2 or 3 months and then get a bundle, and happily, this November I finally got my May edition.  The first year I moved to the island my friend Karen, renowned for the baking of incredible cookies, send me a package of homemade gingersnaps for Christmas.  What a delightful surprise when I received a surprise package later that March.  I hesitated for at least 20 seconds, going through my mental notes of every bacteria, mould, or toxin that could attack a cookie that spent 3 months lost in the Bermuda Postal Service...but this was a KAREN cookie...and it was in Tupperware...and they were delicious.  I survived with no adverse effects.  I do however wonder if all those missing planes and boats that people have recorded as lost in the Bermuda Triangle will one day show up on top of some one's mailbox...perhaps the postal service IS the Bermuda Triangle.  Just a thought.

Shipping to or from Bermuda is incredibly expensive.  An large envelope of documents sent regular post can easily cost $30.  A small package can be $30-$70.  One friend told me she packaged something up but the postage would have been $150 on $20 worth of merchandise.  Still though, sometimes the people that love me very very much will still pay to mail me presents.  After the shipping party has paid the enormous fees, when the package arrives, it must be inspected by the postal service.  When you do get a card in your mailbox telling you there is a package, you must go to the post office, usually stand in line through most of your lunch break, and then when the package arrives you must open it in front of the post office staff.  You can imagine how much of a spoiler this is for Christmas and Birthday presents.  To make it worse, once the surprise is ruined, they tally up the value of the gift and you have to pay them 25% of its value as a tax.  Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas.  Now, my Bermudian friends will be quick to point out that we pay a very low income tax and the government gets its revenue by taxing items that are brought onto the island.  It's still a Christmas bummer folks.  However, thanks to my friend Tonya, I have won a few times.  Tonya always sends incredibly thoughtful gifts, and gives me the satisfaction of baffling and confounding the postal service.  This April she spent $8 on postage to send me a handful of Cadbury Easter Screme Egg minis.  I could see the wheels turning with the postal service...what was I trying to pull?  I grinned, waiting to see if they were going to make me eat them on sight to ensure there was no contraband inside...but with a wary eye, they shook the package again to make sure nothing more valuable that they could tax popped out, and sent me on my way.  They could only shake their heads when my flannel penguin jammies arrived the year before.  Perhaps they remembered me though, for when my $11 Shutterfly calender arrived that I made with my own pictures, they charged me $17 to pick it up.

And then, of course, there are Christmas cards.  I never sent Christmas cards in Canada, as I knew I would see everyone over the season.  Moving abroad, I decided it was a must.  Knowing how long it takes, I bought my Christmas cards the first week of November, and dutifully hand wrote and addressed about 50 of them.  I went to the post office to buy the stamps, sealing the first envelopes while I waited, and then she gave me 2 sets of stamps -- one for 75 cents, and one for $1.75 (or something like that).  I asked why they were different and she looked at me like I was stark raving mad and said "Because you licked those."  Another one of those confusing moment for me in Bermuda.  After a few awkward questions met with terse answers, it turns out licking the envelopes does not actually get you a fine, but there are 2 rates, it costs a dollar more to send a greeting card if you seal the envelope.  You get a discount for leaving it unsealed.  Of course, I thought, you inspect the envelopes to make sure there is nothing taxable or contraband in there?  Do you seal it afterwards so the card doesn't fall out?  No....is all I got.  The loophole is that if you buy a sticker or Easter seal and close the card with that, your postage rate is 1/3 of what it is if you actually use the seal on the envelope.  So, for four years, I diligently stopped licking my envelopes to get all of your Christmas cards to you.

However, as I scooted down the street under a blue sky and the church bell chorus of carols, I realized that I have not yet bought, written, addressed, and dutifully not licked any Christmas cards this year.  I missed the cues...but then again, I will see you all in 2014, and so the Christmas card seems a little less urgent this year.  Hope you are all enjoying your Christmas preparations, wherever you are.  I apologize for the lack of a Christmas card this year, but hope to take up a chair at your table for a visit in the New Year...till then, take care!

Rider Pride

I grew up in a small town (a hamlet actually, population 47 people last time i checked) in the province of Saskatchewan, Canada.  I love telling people from outside of Canada that I'm from Saskatchewan.  Most people don't know what I have just said, if I am kidding or not, or how to repeat it to ask the questions to find out, so they just give you a head tilt, furrowed brow and/or one closed eye and say "Whaaaaat?"  It just gets more fun from there.  They will ask more questions trying to figure out how to place this strange sounding land in the map on their heads.  "Where's that near?"  Manitoba, I say, because Alberta has a little more fame and I don't want to make it easy.  "Okay, well, when you fly home, where do you fly to?"  Regina, I tell them (which is pronounced with a hard i, not the soft vowel like Gina, it's Rej-eye-na).  This usually prompts a quick "What did you say?" and is quickly followed by a twitch of their lips, a big smile, or an outright giggle.  "Seriously, what's the name of the airport?"  Regina International.  "So where did you go to school?"  Kincaid.  "Did you say 'Kinkay'?"  Close.

Saskatchewan is a special place, we call it the Land of the Living Skies, and it does have the most beautiful skies I have ever seen, hosting gorgeous multi hued sunrises and sunsets, northern lights, and incredible summer thunderstorms.  Saskatchewan is 251,700 square miles (a bit bigger than Bermuda) holds only 1.08 million people.  There are a lot of small towns, with a lot of funny names, and in my part little of Saskatchewan, you farm, or...wander around trying to figure out what else to do until you find yourself living on a rock in the middle of the Atlantic blogging about Saskatchewan.  In all of that land mass, for all of those one million souls, there is precisely one pro sports team...the Saskatchewan Roughriders (and yes, they are based out of Regina).  Don't get me wrong, there is a lot of hockey going on as well, but not quite professional level.

For those of you who haven't heard of the Saskatchewan Roughriders (which likely means you also haven't heard of Saskatchewan), they are a football team in the CFL (Canadian Football League), and for my international friends, yes I mean the funny shaped kinda football that you don't kick with your foot very much in the game.  It's very much like American Football, except the field is bigger and the game is faster having fewer downs.  For my Canadian and American friends, what I am referring to for the other friends is that they call soccer football and get really upset when you mash the terms.  Riders Fans are dedicated hardcore fans.  There was a season in the 1980's where the team was losing so badly that the fans were embarrassed to be seen on TV in the stands, so they wore paper bags over their heads...because they still didn't want to miss the game just in case.  And when they are winning, the fans are exuberant.  We call it Rider Pride.  You don't really need to be a football fan, but if you are from Saskatchewan, you still feel that calling to root for your home team, be part of the green machine, and cheer on your Riders.

I myself cannot proclaim to be a football fan, I would say I am more of a Grey Cup fan (that would be like the Superbowl for you international people).  Grey Cup is the CFL Championship and this year was the 101st Grey Cup.  Grey Cup celebrations are a big deal on game day every November, and growing up in Saskatchewan you learn to set aside Grey Cup Sunday like a quasi holiday, and pack around a TV with a group of friends, munchies and beverages, and get into the game.  In fact, I started seeing the posts come up early in the morning of Grey Cup Sunday...green cakes and green beer were being prepared...decorations going up, faces being painted, and for those going to the game, toques and mittens being adorned.  On a similar front, Canadians in Bermuda were getting ready as well.

Saskatchewan Flag on the left

Even while living in Bermuda, I still have watched every Grey Cup game.  This year, the Association of Canadians in Bermuda hosted an event at the Hog Penny.  They flew in some Canadian Beer (Moosehead, of course, and Labatt's Blue), and added chicken wings and poutine (french fries, cheese curds, and gravy) to the menu.  I realized that most of my friends on the island are not Canadian, most of that crew moved back home, and so it was hard to find anyone to go out on a cold, rainy November night to watch Canadian Football.  So, I went by myself.  One of the other cool things about Saskatchewan is that Saskatchewanese people (also called Saskachewanian or a Saskatchewaner -- these are official terms according to Wikipedia) can be found wandering all over the place.  So not surprisingly, I wandered into a tiny bar on a tiny rock in the big old Atlantic on my own, and within 5 minutes had met a lovely couple...with Saskatchewan roots.  Not very often someone asks you if you know where Woodrow is, in fact, I can honestly say that's a first.  Turns out me and my people know some of their people.  Also roaming around the same small place was the daughter of one of the 1960's Roughrider running backs.

And so, in Bermuda, I cozied in on a chilly night, with a group of my countrymen, the food and beverage comforts of home (available for one night only), against the glow of my home team on the tv's, and in sight of the Canadian, Saskatchewan, Ontario flags.  Game on.  After a flyby by the famous Snowbirds, the game began, with the Rider's scoring first in one of the oddest plays I have ever seen (probably due to frozen fingers...November in Saskatchewan is pretty cold).  At the half time show there was a Canadian boy band Hedley...and snowmobiles jumping in the background.  The Riders took the Cup easily, I got a Moosehead, met some new people, and for a couple of hours forgot that I wasn't in Saskatchewan anymore.

The Action

The Rider Pride prevailed.  It can safely be tucked away for the winter now, until next season.  Congratulations Riders!