My Mom is a Jerk

not really…

I am just sad.

I suppose I should explain how I came to this conclusion.

My mom has always held onto the dream of living in Europe. This year, my mom and dad sold up the house, ditched all their belongings and ran away to Europe. Now I suppose it isn’t unusual for retired folk to sell their home and live in a RV and travel North America. But you see, my parents aren’t really camping people. Mom is more of a rent a flat and assimilate with the culture kind of gal. Her idea of 5 star living is packing her electric frying pan and cooking eggs in the hotel.

She loves to cook.

She hates paying someone for delicious food.

I am not jealous of my parents, in fact I am so happy for them! So much so that I have started a travel blog to record their amazing 5 year adventure. Mom sends me photos and travel entries and I post them here:

Postcards From Everywhere

Feel free to follow the journey. Their life is somewhat of a comedy adventure. It never fails that something strange and odd will happen. Their very first day – it began…but I will let you read for yourself.

As I said, I am not jealous, I am sad for me. For the past 14 years I lived less than 2 blocks away from my mom. My kids would pop by when ever they missed her (daily). They would stop by to drink milkshakes with grandpa. Eat food at grandma’s that mom wouldn’t buy at home. Use the basement as a clubhouse or hangout with all their cousins. Walking over Christmas eve with the snow falling over head, or running past in the morning and smelling coffee coming from the kitchen. Even my dog Cap loved to visit and get a super duper belly scratch from his grandpa.

I will miss all of that.

When they left last week, I cried like they died. My kids were worried about me. My son asked if I was okay? No I am not okay! My mommy just ran away!!

I can only imagine the tears when Chatterbox decides to move to Vancouver in 2 years, or boy heading off for JPL in California one  day. Just shoot me now and get it over with.

I was sad for a long while then I got this in my email:

The Brandenburg Gate

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So I sent her MY view:

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Did I mention that my mom is a jerk?

 

 

 

I Remember…

As a kid I grew up listen to stories on both sides of my family about the war. It was always The War. Of course my family meant WWII. It was real to my family, not just some newsreel or stories that had been handed down. Grandfathers, Fathers, Uncles, Brothers, Cousins and Friends all had first hand knowledge of The War. In my family I think my Beloved Great Grandmother known to all as little Gram suffered more than most. Her husband had survived the Great War, but then she was asked to give up her sons for the Second World War. They all came back, except one.

Warrant Office Class I Gerard McEachern, Royal Canadian Airforce, killed in action over the North Sea, 19 May 1943.

He had finished his tour of duty but took one last flight for a buddy who was too sick to go. I heard stories of how my Gram knew it happened before she received the telegram. The story goes, her son came to her in a dream and by morning her hair was white. My family is filled with story tellers. True, we embellish things. I am not sure of the actual details surrounding this momentous event but I know it changed her. How could it not? When a mother loses a child a giant part of her heart is ripped from her chest and she dies a little bit that day. His picture was always on her dresser when I came to visit. She always commented on my curly hair, just like his. But she never told me any stories about him. I heard all kinds of crazy stories about the rest of her children, 5 in all, but never about Gerard. I imagine the pain in remembering made her chest wound open up and bleed. As a child, I never understood. Of course I thought I did, of course I was wrong. As a mother I can’t even begin to imagine the pain she went through. Then one day last year, I could almost imagine. We were in Belgium visiting Ypres. The Meinin Gate was the destination.

I remember hearing my Honey’s excited voice, “WE ARE DRIVING THROUGH IT!” Cool! So we had arrived to the Menin Gate. It was impressive! It records the soldiers of the British Empire without graves. We walked through it, looked at names and saw my son’s name. Although I knew that wasn’t really my son, it still weakened my knees. At that moment I knew I never wanted to actually see my son’s name on a wall. I was ill.

We moved our way up to the grassy park that was high above Yrpes. I needed air, I didn’t share my feelings with my family. My honey wanted to keep exploring but I needed to change my view. Like my Offspring, the time had come for me to end the War Memorial visits. It was starting to affect me.

Today I watched the services from Ottawa, our Nation’s Capital. I saw Prime Minister Harper and his wife lay a wreath, then the young moms of Soldiers who were killed in action Afghanistan. Heart braking. I looked over at Genetic Offspring and requested that he never put me in that position, ever. I am grateful for all the mothers who gave up their boys. I can’t even imagine how they can keep breathing every day. Every boy that is laid to rest in fields all over Europe had a mother. Walking amongst the head stones of boys, whose ages are the same as my son and his friends, or my nephew and his friends, was shattering. The stones all had a maple leaf and if the name was known it was there. If the religion was known, the symbol was on it, be it a cross, star or moon. At that point, I think Religion no longer matters. We are all one under God.

Today I remember the boys whose stories I have heard time and again. I remember the stories of men who lived to tell me about it their time in past wars. I remember friends who have come back from wars in recent memory and retell the vivid stories of things they cannot unsee.

I remember you and your sacrifice and honor your mother for letting you go.

Wishes on Stars ALWAYS come true for me

wish-upon-a-starI know a lot of people don’t believe in wishing on stars, people are hopeful, they want to believe but it usually doesn’t work out for them. I have wished twice upon a star. Both times they have come true. That is a 100% wish successful rate. So one would think that if you wished on a star for everything you want, you would be filled with bountiful wishes right? I don’t think it works that way. I think you have to respect the star and respect the wish.

My first wish is turning 17 tomorrow.

17!

My second wish turns 15 in two weeks.

15!

I am thankful my wishes came true in separate pay periods, that was just smart planning on my part. This weekend’s events have me thinking about my birthdays as a teen. I cannot remember my 17th birthday nor do I remember my 15th birthday. Odd. I usually have a very vivid memory of my past. What I do remember are not major events but incidental moments that make up my childhood.

My dad married the girl next door, down the street and around the corner when he was a kid. After 46 years of happily-ish married bliss (lets be honest, 46 years is a long time to be happy every stinking day. It doesn’t happen like that. But my parents ARE great friends and still do TONS of stuff together. Luckily they don’t play old people sports like bridge, lawn bowling or canasta. There is still time for that though…) When I came a long, we lived within walking distance of both my grandparents homes. I was one of those lucky kids who had 2 grandmas, 2 grandpas and a great grandma and a great grandpa. Most of my friends only had one or two, I had the collectors set.

I remember Sunday dinners, sleep-overs, craft days, stages productions, Barbie bliss and general good times at both homes. Eventually we moved away to the Arctic (I know, insert pity party here —>     ) and what I remember most was missing my grandparents. When we moved home, my brother and I were placed on an Airplane and met in Edmonton by my Grandfather. I remember the sense of relief at the age of 6 to be met by that hug. They took me home to their house and the fun times resumed. But I missed my other Grandparents terribly. When I eventually saw them, more fun times ensued.

When we moved back to Edmonton for good (I know…but it is PARADISE compared to the Arctic) I lived a bike ride away from my Grandma. Believe it or not, I was the opinionated kid of the family and often disagreed with the way my parents bestowed RULES upon me. Injustice raged through my veins so I always called my Grandma – she loved me and she would rescue me.

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I would ask if I could sleep over. The answer was always yes. The green chip bowl was always ready with Old Dutch BBQ and Carol Burnett was always brought to you by Kraft. When I wished upon the star many years later, that was part of my wish. For my wish to have the same relationship with their grandparents as  I had with my grandparents.

It mostly came true. The grandparents were only on my side, but they came with extras. One great grandma each and a great grandpa who was EXACTLY like Carl from UP.

up-carl-russell-characters

My grandpa and my son

 

I moved down the street and around the corner so my wishes could visit and run away every chance they got. One wish goes there after school every thursday to hang out. One stops by for milkshakes on a regular basis. There was a suitcase packed and one ran away to grandma once, and many movie and sleepover nights were held. The grandchildren even had their OWN bedroom at Grandma’s house.

So now that my first wish is 17 tomorrow, I asked him how he wanted to spend his birthday. The reply was, “Dinner at (favorite restaurant) and invite Grandma and Grandpa.” No family or friend party? No cake or donuts?

“No, just a really good steak and grandma and grandpa.”

I am living proof that wishes come true. Sure I augmented it by moving close to my parents but what kind of mom would I be if I didn’t at least try to provide the circumstances that enhanced my childhood?

Happy Birthday Wish #1 xoxoxox

15th Anniversary of the beginning of Harry? I suddenly feel very old and melancholy.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

15 years ago the J.K. Rowling released the first of her epic series of Harry Potter Books. I know the first one as Harry and the Philosopher’s Stone, the Americans know it to be the Sorcerer’s Stone. Why? I don’t know, something to do with it being more marketable in the USA. I HATE it when they do that to books.Publishers did it with The Book of Negroes in the rest of the world and Someone knows my Name in the USA. Anyways…

I became a Harry Potter fan by accident. I needed to find a story book to engage my young son in so he would want to become a reader. Books that girls would like to read seemed easier to find. I picked up this book in the Scholastic Book Club Flyer and decided it would be the bed-time story for the next few weeks. By the time we had caught up on the series, we were waiting for The Goblet of Fire to come out. We dressed up and went to the book launch at the local book store, picked up the book and went home. I read the first chapter to him for bed-time as was our usual routine. I then took the book to MY room and finished reading by 4:00 AM. This became a trend for me. Taking the book and reading it in one go, then preceding to read it my son.

By the time we had reached the (near) end of the series, my son was reading novels on his own. He preferred adventure stories but would never read Harry Potter on his own, that was reserved for me. He would watch me read the book through with tears rolling down my face, or so caught up in adventure I couldn’t hear what was going on around me. The advantage to reading first was I knew when a good time to stop the book for the night. Chapters aren’t always a good break in the story.

Rowling isn’t the worlds greatest literary author, but who cares. She made children readers because they finally understood that a book can transport you away to another time and place and lets you spend time with characters who might resemble you and your friends. Better yet, they might show flaws that make you feel normal. I knew Harry had an impact on my son when, as a 16 year old, he came home from a School Trip to California sporting a wand, 11 inches long, made of holly and had a phoenix feather core. It made me smile. The movies were fine, but both of us agree the books had that extra detail that became important to the characters and their lives.

They were important to me, because it gave me some extra cuddle time past the age when your mom reading to you at bed-time was not so cool. Those books were important to him too and set the stage for the future us to discuss books, movies and other geeky things we both find so fascinating. Even now, both my kids like it when I read to them occasionally  I take advantage of every second because these times are growing few and far between. One day it will be me and my grandkids cuddling up to read new adventures.

I’ll leave Harry Potter for the future grandkid’s dad to share with them because that needs to be a special time between a parent and child to let the tradition continue.

A Hard Truth: I am the family cat

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I learned some hard truths this Christmas. Apparently I am the family cat. And here you thought I was people! Well, I guess I had us both fooled.

It all started Christmas Eve, the family was gathered at my brother’s home for dinner and small gifts from the Grandparents to warm us up for the big festivities the following day. My family is hard-core. We meet for every meal in a two-day period. Mostly because we like each other and we like to laugh. The secondary reason is to complain and grumble about stuff we all understand and can sympathize with. The third reason is to eat and open stuff we love because if nothing else, my family puts TON of thought into gifts, the presents are meaningful. Try it sometime, its awesome.

Anyway…

After dinner we were sitting around the living room admiring the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, first tree my brother ever put up, when we started talking about the pets. My youngest nephew (who stands 6’4″ and 225lbs) asked his dad for a puppy for Christmas. He wasn’t interested in a girlie dog, but wanted a manly dog. My mom thought my nephew should get one because his dad (my brother) had every pet he ever wanted. To be fair, my brother look better care of all those pets than he has ever taken care of anything AND my brother is a great guy, so those pets were well-loved. He had Guinea pigs, hamsters, fish, rabbits, and dogs (one dog at a time). My brother does not want a dog anymore because he is tired of looking after animals. My nephew argues that he would look after it and my brother doesn’t buy that story. In the end, he is right, my brother will eventually fall in love with the dog and be the sole caretaker.

This story had us talking about the various dogs that tried to kill us, would run away as soon as the door opened or would fight the ravens back so we could enter the house. All of them great dogs except the one that tried to kill us. Grandpa took him back to the original owner.

These stories reminded me of this video called Cat-Friend vs Dog-Friend. I was telling my dad about it, when he said “You are the reason we never had a cat. You were the Cat of the family.” WTF DAD! OUCH! Then I thought about it. He was right. Everything I did, I had a cat attitude. I invite you to watch the video and when you see the yellow words that spell CAT – substitute that word in your head for Edmonton Tourist and you will have a pretty good idea who I was as a kid.

This was posted by @hilariousted on twitter, I see them the same way too:

How I see dogs: Beagle, german shepherd, poodle, bulldog, labrador. How I see cats: Cat, cat, cat, cat, cat .

Hope you are enjoying the holidays as much as I am!

 

My Angel is on a smoke break

I had the pleasure of talking to my dear friend the Melted Crayon Hoarder (MCH) last night and we shared resent events of our lives over the phone. Then she said to me “Do you ever feel like your Guardian Angel is on a smoke break?”

I laughed for the first time in a very long time. It’s true, sometimes it feels like your back up is on a coffee break.

I grew up believing in Angels, particularly Guardian Angels. Being raised in the Roman Catholic Church helped make the Angel concept normal. My Grandfather told me “Every single kid would be dead by the age of 5 if it wasn’t for their Guardian Angel.” That also is true. At least it is for me. I would be dead a 100 times over if mine didn’t put in all that over time.

When I was 4, my aunt in her infinite wisdom at the age of 10, thought it would be a swell idea if we took Grandpa’s boat out for a ride in the middle of Island Lake up near Athabasca. We both had the opportunity to hold the throttle while grandpa “let us” drive the boat. She figured she knew enough to take me out without an adult. After all, she was 10 and her friend who was a boy and my babysitter was going with us.

I remember it was after dinner, grandma was cleaning up and the three of us ventured down to the water to kill time before campfire time. Summer time in Northern Alberta means endless sunsets. 11:30 before it gets dark, so there was lots of time left before dark.

I could hear my grandfather’s words “never go near the water without a life jacket.” My 4 year old me knew well enough to pull out the musty smelling life jacket from the boat house and put it on. My partners in crime were not as wise. We climbed into the boat and decided to head for the island in the middle of the lake. I had never been there before and told my aunt it is NOT a good idea. I was shot down by both of the older and wiser children in the boat. Off we went.

We made it three quarters of the way to the island when the engine either stalled or ran out of gas. There we were, a drift on the lake the summer of ’72, without cellphones. As luck would have it, our boat was beginning to take on water. I began to bail with the soup can that grandpa tied to the boat. For some reason there wasn’t a paddle in the boat. So the older two worked in tandem trying to paddle with their arms back to shore. I was scared but was calling grandpa in my head to come. Obviously my Guardian Angel went to tell grandpa I needed to be rescued because I saw him roaring across the lake in a friends boat. Before I could blink, his big strong arms grabbed me in lifted me into the rescue boat. Not a word was spoken, which is unusual for anyone who knew my grandfather can attest, he was silent. I was was crying into his chest as he held me tight.

That was one of many life risking scenarios I found myself in as a child before the age of 5. I believe Angels saved me that day and all the other times in my life. There is good reason my Angel needs breaks. I am a handful and a half. No one deserves a smoke break more than my Angel, but lucky for me they whisper in the ears of certain friends who always seem to be there for me when I need them. That way I am certain someone always has my back.

Rube Goldberg vs Pez Dispensers

Professor Butts and the Self-Operating Napkin
Professor Butts and the Self-Operating Napkin (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

ChatterBox has been working for a while on a group project for science. A Rube Goldberg project ro be more precise. Apparently Rube was this guy who made things complicated. He is best known for a series of popular cartoons depicting complex gadgets that perform simple tasks in indirect, convoluted ways. Picture Doc from Back To the future and his crazy convoluted way he made toast.

This is what ChatterBox and her friends have to make, only not the toast part – they have to turn on a CD player.

The assignment is to use six simple machines to complete the task. She has a lever, pulley, screw, wedge, wheel, and an incline. I’ve seen it. It looks complicated.

We spent the evening at the Dollarama finding tape, tie downs, dowels, and marbles. We saw every kid her her class there too. The problem with Dollarama is you go for one thing (tape) and leave with stupid stuff you don’t need ( Light Sabre). The music  in the background made me want to dance (Fleetwood Mac – Sing it Stevie!) but ChatterBox wanted to sword fight…. long story short we went looking for dominos.

Can you belive the Dollarama did not have DOMINOS! I KNOW! So we called my mom. My mom has an awesome tickle trunk full of things – she calls it the laundry room, but really it is a storage plaza. Filled with everything that is useful and everything that is not. The not useful stuff is dad’s.

Dad and mom do not share the same decorating taste, so Dad gets the laundry room. My dad collects cool stuff, like bobble heads, cowboy art, waterguns, superman stuff, and Pez machines. He has easily 1000 Pez machines ranging from Ariel to Zorro. He has them all filled with candy, lined up on special shelves,  labeled and arranged into sets. For example, there is a Pixar set, Star Trek, and even a Justice League set. He even hired a gal to come in and dust them every week (that would be his granddaughter). I like to go and just look. It is like being in a Pez museum. Every time I go to peek, I discover a new collection. Todays new one was the Hello Kitty set. He has people calling him all the time “Dad, I am at 7-11 and found the 3 Stooges Pez, do you have those?” “Hang on and let me check…yes I do, but thanks for checking for me!”

We all seem to have a vested interest in his Pez collection. What makes me think is, would a Pez dispenser be considered a Rube Goldberg machine? Have you ever tried to fill one full of candy? It isn’t simple. It IS easier to just eat candy out of the package. So is it? Tell me what you think.

Fifty Fifty Me: Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

This week in an effort to participate in the 50/50 me project,(you can read more about it here) I finished one book and started two others. Who does that? Who reads more than one book at a time that aren’t text books? I guess I do. I am reading Sense and sensibility by Jane Austen and Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. I only watched 2 movies, I must be busy or something. I finished Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. I didn’t think I would get through it but look at me! I did it! Anyways…. on with the words!

The Book

I didn’t expect to enjoy Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. It was on my list of new genres to try and lots of people were talking about it. The creepy pictures caught my eye and I read a blog review that made me bump it higher on my To Read list.

The beginning of this book was riveting. The Grandfather told crazy unbelievable stories just like my Grandpa did. This alone made me love him. As I became hooked, there was a moment when I thought this book might be too scary for me. Old me would have closed it and been scared of “What might have been”. New me sucked it up and kept pressing forward. I learned it wasn’t scary, but peculiar. By the end of the book I was so captivated I couldn’t put it down. I found it to be very exciting in a Harry Potter kind of way.

Don’t get me wrong, this is NOT a Harry Potter knock off, but is had a similar feel as the Potter books – well for me anyways. I enjoyed the quirky nature and time loops. The best part for me was the photographs that showed who the characters were. These wonderful vintage photos of children doing impossible things all through the magic of trick photography…or was it?

This is a great young adult book and I think my children would quite enjoy it. Only they never take my advice anymore.I wish I could be deep and insightful about how it effected me, but it was just a fun read. And it made me miss my Grandpa. Sometimes books should be just fun.

The Movie

I watch two movies this week. One at home snuggled under a blanket and one at the movie theatre with my

The Jane Austen Book Club (film)
The Jane Austen Book Club (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

daughter. We saw The Lucky One, based on the Nicolas Sparks novel. For the first time, I did not read the book first. It was enough for me to enjoy the beauty that is Zac Efron. His eyes are something else! The story was magical and fate driven. I need that in my life right now. Was it my favorite of the two? Not by a longshot. My favorite was The Jane Austen Book Club.

This movie was everything I needed to see this week. Women having intelligent conversation about well written books, helping each other through various crisis in their lives. I need a book club in my life. Every character’s life resembled one of Austen’s 6 books. They discussed strength of character, doing the right thing and struggles of life. Just like the Austen books themselves. The difference being the movie gave insight into lives down the road. Austen ends her books usually with the marriage…and they lived happily ever after blablabla…but do they? How could you not with Mr. Darcy? But i suppose Elizabeth Bennett found his stories tiresome after 30 years of hearing the same one over and over. So maybe it was just as well they ended when they did. Austen never married herself, so perhaps she did not know what to write having never lived behind those doors. The movie, however, takes you to a happily every after a few years later. That was nice but unneccessary. Life doesn’t have to be happy, and often isn’t. The point is to feel it and be present for it. Most of the movie was just like that. Real. Maybe that is why I liked it so much. It has moved into my top 10 favorite of all time, and it has me reading Sense and sensibility for the first time. I don’t love it like I love Pride and Predjuce…but her writing is exquisite none the less.

My Secret Kiss

How patriotic are you? Look at this guy

now either he has a statue fetish, entirely possible, or this guy is truly grateful for everything Lady Liberty stands for. I can’t think of anything symbolically Canadian I would kiss…that’s a lie, I would kiss Lord’s Stanley’s Cup. I have seen it up close and it is very shiny. We ALL know how I feel about shiny! However, the Stanley Cup is not uniquely Canadian. Blablabla…what ever you are WRONG. Ask New York how they felt about winning the Stanley Cup, or Boston. The original 6 teams get the significance. So as it stands, the cup does not count.

When Vancouver hosted the Winter Olympics there was a united enhancement of patriotism across the country. I felt it, Quebec felt it and the Maritime felt it. Ontario always feels it, but us prairies and maritimes not so much. certainly not Quebec, they are always trying to leave. So for the first time in my life IN Canada I felt patriotic. When I travel I always feel Patriotic. I love it when people find out I am a Canuck and welcome me with open arms. That is one of the biggest reasons I love to travel. As a Canadian, it often feels like I have a special privilege visiting other countries. I am thankful and always grateful for the opportunity.

What symbol or artifact would make me want to kiss it? Certainly not a statue of John A. MacDonald. He was Canada’s first Prime Minister. I tend to look at Ministers and Politicians with an air of contempt or mistrust. I get there isn’t anything they can do until the rules change and the house is cleared after every election. It is the people who work for the politicians who have the real power. So no, that is not it.

How about the Last Spike? That is the the piece of the railroad that united the entire country, well theoretically at least. I was there. I didn’t feel like kissing it.Then there is the Giant Perogy on a Fork in Glendon, Alberta…although it looks tasty it isn’t something that I want to kiss.

There is something that I would miss if it wasn’t here anymore or if i moved to New York to hang out with Lady Liberty and pick up guys. I would miss Queen Elizabeth Park and a meaning of summer.

Queen E park symbolizes to me Summer Time. The most coveted time of the year in Edmonton, and may I be so bold and say, all of Canada with the exception of those parts out west that have spring all year long. Im sure they love summer too. They get a TON of rain.

Winter is so dark and cold and, well…SNOWY! When the time springs forward in March – can I just say I hate it? I do. It feels like jet lag without the awesomeness of a great tan or nifty souvenir – As I was saying, when the time springs forward in March, the geese magically appear. The Sun sets at 7:30pm and the snoweater arrives. Sure it’s still cold but the wind and sun are doing damage to the snow that the winter sun couldn’t do. When this happens, I know it is time to start thinking about Friday Night Picnics. The earliest we ever had one was in April. I am hoping that will happen again. In Fact, I am going to plan Easter Dinner at Queen Elizabeth Park. Weiner Roast, Bottle of Red, CHOCOLATE and possibly family that might be brave enough to join me. If I promise a fire, my offspring will come.

The question remains, Why is Queen Elizabeth Park my special stolen kiss? That requires an Edmonton Tourist top 11 list.

  1. It was the place where I had the first picnic with my children. Then we headed off to the Castle for a swim. They don’t usually want to swim afterwards now. A walk along the river with their Grandpa is what they prefer now.
  2. It was the place where I sat and talked on the bench with my best friend. We talked about things and stupid stuff and it made me realize how incredible special they truly are.
  3. It was the place where my friends and family came to celebrate my completion of my first Half Marathon. It meant a lot to me that they all came.
  4. It was the place where my mom and I stole picked Lilacs to fill our homes with smells that reminded me of my house as a little kid. My Grandma doesn’t have lilacs anymore but they remind me of her and her back yard.
  5. It was the place where I started to record family stories. I learned the importance of hearing stories and sharing them.
  6. It was the place where I saw a my first deer in the city. Sure there are TONS of them running around in the country, but you rarely see them in the city. The river valley is a great place to view wildlife and never have to leave the comfort of an urban space.
  7. All the saskatoons, strawberries and raspberries are yours for the taking!
  8. Skunks Hollow is located in that park. It is Edmonton’s BEST kept secret! I want a house there someday.
  9. Our picnic spot is always available, ALWAYS…it’s a sign
  10. Friday Night’s there is the best way to kick off the weekend always. When I can’t go, I resent it.
  11. Queen Elizabeth Park was the last place we had a picnic with my Grandpa.

xxx