An Unexpected Easter Epiphany

I hope that everyone had a blessed Easter long weekend. The Easter Sunday service at our church is always emotional for me and this year was no exception - but for a slightly different reason.
We were privileged to have one of my favourite guest speakers, Greg Paul, give the message yesterday morning and he spoke about death and resurrection; not of Jesus, but of Lazarus. Jesus had allowed Lazarus to die - even though he knew Lazarus was gravely ill  - before going to his tomb and raising him back to life. Then Greg said something that I was not prepared for and it affected me profoundly. He asked us if we ever had an instance when something inside us was sick and dying; we had prayed and asked for Jesus to heal it, but were met with silence? Despite our faith and prayers, it seemed like Jesus was elsewhere?
Recently, something in me died. It was an integral part of who I believed I am as a person and how I viewed my potential worth in this world. It was a huge part of my identity.
It was 'sick' and 'ailing' in my soul for many years. A disease that I just kept praying God would miraculously cure. But, deep down, I always knew the truth. I always knew that I would have to let that part of me die eventually. I kept it on life support much longer than I should have. When it did, finally, die this past winter, it was an ugly death. For months afterwards I was in the depths of despair. Who am I now? What do I do with my life? Does anything I do now even matter to anyone? And the big one - IT'S NOT FAIR! I had a plan for what my life would be, and now it's dead!
Listening to Greg talk, I started to cry. Heavy tears ran down my face as Greg explained that, even though it may seem like Jesus has forsaken us - that he does not hear our prayers - that does not mean that he does not have our best interests at heart. Sometimes, some things NEED TO DIE. Not because Jesus does not know us or because he wants us to suffer. Sometimes we have to allow parts of ourselves to die so that Jesus can resurrect in us a new life, a better life. This new life is not the life we may have planned or even wanted. It will be different. If we trust Jesus, however, letting go of the dead in us and embracing our new life will be worth it.
Something else I always knew and never wanted to admit was that my plan would never have turned out the way I wanted it to anyway. There is just too much about the reality of my life that makes it impossible. Like a stubborn child, though, I clung to it, even as it died before my eyes. I refused to believe that any other life could be as good as what I had planned. Listening to Greg, I was reminded of just how wrong I was. No one can plan a better life for me than Jesus - not even me. ;) I still mourn the loss, and I think a part of me always will, but I understand now that that life was not meant for me. Jesus has something different in mind for me. It won't be what I had envisioned. I don't even know what to expect anymore. And I'm willing and learning to be okay with that.

Finding my way around

Well, I've been in Toronto nine months now and I can finally say I feel like I know my way around.  From the grocery store up the street, to Kensington Market in the heart of downtown Toronto, I'm comfortable that I can get myself to and from pretty much anywhere I need to go.  This wasn't always the case, though. 

Only a few days after arriving in the city last May, I was preparing to take my first solo trip downtown to meet my fiance for lunch.  There was NO WAY I was driving my car anywhere at that point, which meant I would have to rely on the TTC.  'What the HECK is the TTC?!'  That question had me flummoxed for quite a while whenever I heard my fiance refer to it.  The Toronto Transit Commission - or TTC - is an expansive network of buses, streetcars and rapid transit designed to move  a huge amount of people over a large geographic area, QUICKLY.  Having lived in Brandon, MB for seven years, I had a lot of experience riding city buses, but the rest of the TTC scared the beejeezus out of me.  I had never ridden on a subway train.  I knew that people did all the time, in the same way I know there are people who go bungee jumping.  It was fine for them, but I couldn't do it! 

I handled my fears and insecurities about travelling around Toronto unaccompanied the same way I handled moving to Toronto.  Together with my fiance we planned every step of the trip.  We travelled the route together a couple times.  I jotted down point form notes for myself on my smartphone: "Take bus #86 or #116 to Kennedy Subway Station, go down escalator and get on any train, ride train until Bay Station, get off at Bay Station..."

That morning, I gave myself an hour and a half to get from our apartment to my fiance's work.  He had said the trip should only take me about an hour, but I wanted extra time in case I got lost which, as anyone who knows me will agree, was not only possible - but likely.  I gathered up my tokens, checked my notes once more to be sure of my first steps, and out I set.

Tokens - the currency of the TTC

 



Catching the bus was easy.  There are several bus stops right outside our apartment, being at the junction of two major streets and the bus that I catch goes straight to the subway station - no transfer needed.  If I miss a bus it's no problem either.  There is always another one on it's way shortly.  Conveniently, each stop along routes of the TTC is announced before arriving, so as long as I know where I'm supposed to get off I won't ever miss my stop.  What I didn't care for, and still don't, is the overcrowding of passengers on Toronto city buses at almost anytime of the day.  It's very seldom that I've gotten a seat on a bus.  Most of the time I find the bus that picks me up is already almost full to capacity with standing people and strollers in the aisle, and we are all crammed together like the proverbial sardines.  This crowding usually gets worse as the bus approaches the subway station.  There is no place for 'personal space' on a city bus.  The most you can hope for is a pole or handle strap to hold on to for dear life so you don't get hurtled into Joe Blow each time the bus breaks.

Catching bus #116 outside our apartment, on its way to Kennedy Station

Arriving at the subway station, I made my way inside and 'followed the crowd' down the escalator and onto the subway platform.  A person doesn't need a transfer if they are taking a one-way trip.  The subway stations where they all convene are cleverly designed so a passenger can go straight from the bus to a subway train - and vice-versa - without passing through a toll booth.  The pick-up/drop-off areas are fenced or otherwise sectioned off and the general public can't access these entrances.  At the public entrance, there are toll booths and electronically monitored gates where individuals must either pay a token, pay with correct change, or show their transfer, or they don't get in. 

Kennedy Station

 

Kennedy Subway Station, the closest station to where I live, is also the furthest east the TTC subways currently travel.  That means any train leaving Kennedy Station is always going west - pretty simple, hey? 

 

Kennedy Station platform

 

I was worried when I first moved here that trying to 'catch' the subway would be like trying to jump into or out of a speeding vehicle; fast and scary.  I envisioned throngs of angry, rude people pushing and shoving, everyone speeding towards a narrow doorway that would only be open for a split second.  Me and my wild imagination!  For one, the doors of the subway trains are open for a very reasonable amount of time, so there's no need to rush.  There's even a warning bell that rings a few seconds before the doors close.  And, while there are days that one may feel like a creature of the bovine persuasion being herded through the chute, I'm happy to say that most of the time fellow passengers are respectful, courteous, and if not always the most patient, at least I don't feel scared that I'm going to witness and violent/disturbing encounter everytime I get on the train (which was one of my fears at the beginning). 

 

'All aboard!'  Heading west from Kennedy Station

 

I never had to worry about missing my stop on the subway either because, just like on the bus, each stop is announced one location ahead of time.  If I know the name of the subway station I want to get off at, I won't miss my stop - that is unless I fall asleep.  ;)

 

Make sure to take something to read if you're going downtown!

 

There are easy to read maps of all the TTC's subway lines in every station and every train.  The 'line' that I travel most often is called the Bloor-Danforth line.  It runs both directions, east and west across the city, from Kennedy Station west to Dundas Street West and Kipling Avenue.  The Bloor-Danforth line connects with the Yonge-University-Spadina (north-south) line at Bloor-Yonge, St. George and Spadina Stations. These are called 'inter-change stations' because passengers can catch a train going in any direction.  When I was working downtown, I would ride the Bloor-Danforth line to St.George Station and transfer to a southbound train, riding it two stops to St. Patrick Station (less than a block from where I worked). 

 



Map of the subway lines

 

To meet my fiance, I rode the subway east until I reached Bay Station.  There I got off, and went upstairs.  Up one level from the trains, there are usually four exits to choose from depending on what side of the city block you want to arrive at (north-east, north-west, south-east, or south-west).  This is where my less than stellar sense of direction likes to lead me astray.  There are many times when I've 'come out' to street level only to realize I have no idea where I am because I took the wrong exit and I'm either on the wrong side of the street, or the wrong side of the entire block!  That's not to say there aren't signs.  There are clear signs posted everywhere.  Riding the subway really is very user-friendly, for those who take the time to read the signs (blush).

 

Getting lost seems to be one of my charming little quirks.  I can be given the clearest, simplest directions and somehow wind up in the total opposite direction.  Don't ask me how, it's a gift.  I can't count the number of times I have wound up lost, with no clue as to where the heck I was.  I have been lost as close as 2 miles, and as far away as 15 miles, from home.  A few times I even had my hapless step-son in tow.  That's when my readiness to talk to strangers has proved very beneficial.  I have asked convenience store clerks, bank tellers, receptionists and random people on the street where I am and how to get to where I was going.  Perhaps the funniest instance of me getting lost when my mother came to visit in October and, attempting to 'show her around Toronto' I got us lost in residential China Town.  I was absolutely mortified with myself, but Mom said it was the most fun she'd had in a long time.  "I got to see a part of Toronto I otherwise may never have seen," she grinned.  Sooooo embarassing.  We eventually wound up in our desired location, Kensington Market, after over an hour of wandering.  We had a great day, despite my initial embarassment and now looking back I have to agree with Mom.  I have discovered some of the coolest places here in Toronto, thanks in large part, to my aimless wandering.        

 

Riding the TTC is one of the most easy, straightforward ways to get around Toronto.  Granted, it can be very crowded and a person has to steel themselves against getting upset when they are standing cheek to cheek with other passengers, but it's relatively quick, safe and allows everyone in the city access to all the wonderful sights, sounds and tastest this city has to offer. 

 

As for me, I knew I had finally 'arrived' in December when a young man stopped me on the street on my way to work downtown.  "Excuse me, can you tell me how I would get to the Eaton Centre," he asked.  "Sure!" I said with a friendly smile and proceeded to give him the CORRECT directions!

 

       

Have cats, will travel

As promised, here is my second installment documenting my move from small town Manitoba to the bright lights of Toronto, ON.  This post is about the 1400 mile roadtrip my fiance and I took, accompanied the entire way, with my two (yes - count them - two) cats! 

It was a conundrum, a predicament, a real problem... WHAT am I going to do about my cats????  This was the question that haunted me for months after I had decided to move to Toronto in August, 2011.  It was such a major life decision I was making, or was it?  After all, it's 'just a cat', right?  That's what some think, I know, and will probably roll their eyes when they read how torn up I got over this decision.  But, and I say this with the utmost respect, you just don't understand.  To better understand, you have to know a bit about my two cats and my bond with them.

Pippin and Dingo, have lived with me for six years.  Pippin is a grey female tri-coloured tabby.  I adopted her when she was just 8 weeks old.  Cats are known to be independent, but Pippin takes it to a whole other level. She is the most anti-social, biligerent mouthpiece-of-a-cat I have ever met.  She won't tolerate anyone but me, and even I don't make it into her good books most days.  That being said, she is also capable of the most heart-melting tenderness that I can't help but love her.  Dingo is her exact opposite in pretty much every way.  A male peaches and cream tabby, he is big, cuddly and passive.  I like to say he's my Winnie The Pooh. I acquired him when the woman who lived below me was moving and had to find a home for him before the end of the week or put him down.  I told her that I would take him until I found him a good home and if i didn't find a good home I would keep him.  Well two days of his loving affection and I was hooked and he's never left. 

Over the years the two of them became my closest companions, my family.  That is why I couldn't bare the thought of leaving them behind when I moved to Toronto.  There were many reasons why I thought I didn't have any choice. For one, I was taking my car, which meant a roadtrip.  No quick two hour flight for these kitties.  If they were coming, they were coming for the long haul.  My fiance also already had a cat; a male, geriatric orange tabby named Watson.  Watson, my fiance admitted, was a scrapper, and we were unsure as to how - or even if - the three cats would co-exist. 

Yes, I could have sold them, and Dingo would have done fine.  Pippin, however, is such a 'one woman cat' as my mother puts it, that I knew neither she or her new owner would be happy with each other and she would probably end up abused, abandoned, or put down. Anytime I thought about this gruesome fate, I cried. I couldn't do it... I had to find a way to bring them with me.  My fiance was very supportive and encouraged me to bring them both along.  We would find a way to make it work, he assured me.

My first step, I knew, had to be to talk to the vet. I told myself that if the vet advised me that it wasn't safe/healthy, I wouldn't take them... no matter how much it hurt.  I was bolstered by the fact that the head veterinarian at the local clinic saw no reason why I couldn't take them with. "We've got drugs we can give them. They'll be fine," he told me. The second veterinarian, the one who I had made a consultation appointment with, was more stoic about the options. "There are various medications that can help cats relax," she said, "but that's a long journey and I'm hesitant to prescribe anything that will be used for such a long duration."  We talked about the various options, including anti-anxiety medications that had to be started several weeks ahead of the trip, pheremone sprays such as Feliway that cats find comforting, and tranquilizers - both oral and injected.  The vet said she would not give me injectable tranquilizers to be used for three days, and I agreed with her.  In the end, I decided on two medications. The first was an anti-anxiety medication called Zylkene. I took a bottle home that day and gave them each one pill in soft food, once a day. I never really noticed a change in their behaviour, except that Pippin did seem more mellow as the weeks went by.

The second was Acevet, a fast-acting anti-nauseau medication. It is given to cats an hour before the trip to prevent car sickness.  I took a bottle of 'Ace' as it's called home with me and experimented with a tablet each that night.  I have read reviews of 'Ace' that say it causes detrimental side effects in cats, but I never noticed any detrimental side effects in Pippin and Dingo. About twenty minutes after chowing down their food/pills, they both disappeared to sleep. That was, until I went to check on Dingo, who had burrowed under the covers of my bed.  When I lifted the covers he was awake. I was going to let him go back to sleep, but he insisted on following me, teetering and tottering, out to the kitchen. Once there, he regarded me with a sleepy gaze and cried a bit, as if to say, "Mommy, I feel WEIRD'.  But that was it. After a couple hours the drug had completely worn off and they were both eating and walking just fine.  That has just been my experience with 'Ace'. Always consult your vet before purchasing and administering ANY drugs to your cat.

So the meds were taken care of. Check. The next thing I wanted to start was short car trips, to get them both used to travelling in the car for more than a few minutes at the time.  We started out by taking very short drives.  I drove just until they started to really fuss, and then I would turn back. I eventually got so that I could drive to the nearest town, 20 minutes away, without too much fuss.  I know, 20 minutes, BIG WHOOP, you're thinking.  We're talking about a THREE DAY roadtrip. But, we have to celebrate the small victories, right? 20 minutes then was 20 more minutes than I had before we started the training.

I can't stress how important it is to have your cats safely secured in a hard-sided cat carrier at ALL TIMES while in the vehicle.  The last thing you need on a road trip is for kitty to be going helter-skelter all over the car while you're trying to drive; in the back window, on your lap, climbing your legs and arms, 'kneeding' your lap... you get the picture.

I found a couple of soft sheets and laid them in the bottom of each carrier so they would be cozy. In the backseat, I placed the carriers so the doors faced each other. I thought that if they could see each other they might feel more at ease.  I also draped blankets over the tops and down the sides, hoping the dark would encourage them to sleep.                                              

When the day arrived for us to leave, I felt as prepared as I could be with the cats.  I had done my research, we had been practicing our car rides and they had been on the Zylkene for several weeks.  Friday morning, May 4th, we woke early, fed the cats and gave them their pills.  After packing the car and making sure we humans were ready, we got the cats into the carriers.  Pippin knew something was up and didn't want to have anything to do with the cat carrier. I managed to get her in though and once she was in she settled down. We headed out of town around 8:30 a.m.

Everyone is wondering at this point, what about the meowing?  The howling, that cats are said to do while in the car.  Oh yes, they did meow, and cry, and meow some more.  For a good half an hour we tried to ignore them as they took turns crying.  Something that I did that I found helped them settle down was find a familiar radio station or music to play.  There is hope!  They did eventually settle down and we enjoyed about an hour and a half of relative quiet. Every few minutes one would give a half-hearted wimper, as if to ask 'are you still ignoring me?'

About two hours in, Pippin started to stir and fuss a lot.  She cried and scratched at the bottom of the carrier and I just knew what was coming.  "We have to find a gas station, quick." I said. Sure enough, a couple minutes later we smelled it.  Pippin had had an accident.  Thankfully, we were very close to a gas station and my fiance pulled over right away.  I lifted the blanket over Pippin's carrier and the sight I saw was quite pitiful. She was standing at the door, her face covered in a long beard of slobber.  I picked up the entire carrier and all but ran into the ladies washroom.  Once inside I wet paper towel and cleaned her up.  She had on a collar and leash and we were the only ones in the washroom so, keeping an eye on the door, I let her wander around while I threw out the soiled sheet (I had brought reserves) and cleaned the crate.  One woman did come in while I was washing Pippin and the look she gave me was one of mixed amusement and pity.  "It's our first roadtrip," I offfered with a smile.  We joined the boys back in the parking lot where Dingo was stretching his legs, we regrouped and were off again.

We made a lot of stops at gas stations that day and Pippin was sick once more near Dryden, but we eventually made it to English River, two hours west of Thunder Bay around 7:00 p.m.  We spent the night at The English River Inn, a very charming family-run motel.  We were all very thankful to leave the car for the night. My fiance and I set out fresh food and water (the cats had refused to eat or drink while on the road) and a fresh litter box in the washroom.  Pippin sniffed around the room and Dingo jumped up and stretched out on the nearest bed.  His actions mirrored what we were all feeling, 'What a day, whew!'  I knew the cats would be fine once I heard them eating and using the litter box.  My fiance and I smiled at each other, 'We had survived the first day.'  Better than survived, it went much smoother than I was expecting.

Saturday morning we were up bright and early and on the road again before 9:00 a.m.  We didn't make it far, though, when we heard sirens hailing us from behind.  A word of caution to anyone who hasn't driven the Ontario highways west of Thunder Bay.  The speed limit is 90 km/h, NOT 100.  It turns out we had also been speeding in town (in our defense, the speed limits were not posted very well).  Oops.  The car was considerably quieter after the officer sent us on our way with our autographed little piece of paper.  ANYway!  I'm pleased to say that was the extent of our excitement on Saturday.  The cats cried for a while again at the outset, but settled down much quicker than they had the day before.  I was very, very happy that Pippin wasn't sick again the entire journey.  We were able to complete 2-3 hours of solid driving at a time before they really started howling and that was our cue to take a break.  We didn't make it far in Saturday, only about 400 miles.  We ended up stopping for the night in a little town called Wawa; three hours north of Sault Ste. Marie. 

It seemed our mornings were doomed to troubled starts because about five miles out of one small town my car ran out of gas.  Yup.  Brought to a dead halt on the side of Highway #17 in the middle of Lake Superior Provincial Park.  THANKFULLY, I had purchased CAA the week before.  Unfortunately, being in the middle of nowhere, the cell service was precarious.  I managed to contact CAA and told them whereabouts we were.  He assured me that a service member would be along to help us soon.  I was on pins and needles the entire time.  That stretch of highway has next to no shoulders and we were passed by several large semi's - few of which bothered to change lanes, let alone slow down!  The CAA truck did show up, however, and after repleneshing our gas tank we were on our way again. 

Sunday was a very, very long day.  We drove 570 miles through some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen.  For anyone who has not travelled the Trans Canada Highway from Thunder Bay to Sault Ste. Marie, I highly recommend it.  Gorgeous landscapes of escarpment, lake, and forest.  We didn't see the lights of Toronto until well past 9:00 p.m. and the cats, while quiet for most of the day, had had enough of this trip.  Both were yowling by the time we reached the apartment building.  We had stopped at my mother inlaw's to pick up my stepson and Watson, my fiance's cat, and the three cats and myself were introduced to our new home.  Watson and Pippin came right out and started exploring, hissing at each other whenever their paths crossed.  Dingo would not come out of his crate for a while but left to his own devices he eventually came out and explored as well.

After a quick tour of all the rooms (three beds, a bath and an ensuite) I plunked myself down on our couch - one of the few pieces of furniture we had, and sighed with a smile.  I was home.

Do something crazy, move to Toronto!

"Are you CRAZY???!"
This was the typical response from people when I announced last year that I was moving to Toronto. Maybe I was crazy. Growing up in - and never venturing far from - my home town of approximately 2,500 people in southern Manitoba, I didn't have a whole lot of experience living the 'city life'. It didn't matter though. I was in love, and I was going.
Ah... l'amour! My boyfriend and I had been in a committed long-distance relationship for a little over a year when he proposed to me in August, 2011. The excitement of starting a whole new life together fueled many a long night phone conversation. It would be great! We would find a cozy apartment we could afford, pick out all new furniture, go out on the town every weekend and see all the sights together.. everything would be perfect and happen exactly as we envisioned it; right? Well....
My bubble of euphoria began to fizzle when I actually started severing the ties that had kept me so close to my family, my friends, and my community. I had been the reporter of the town newspaper for three years and had gotten to know most of the townsfolk very well. Every, 'we're sure going to miss you around here' made me feel at once grateful for the good wishes, and a little sad because I knew I sure would miss being around there too.
I had no idea how much work would go into moving my entire life over one province! I mean, yes my dad had warned me that it would be a lot of work, but really... I had NO IDEA. From changing my mailing address, getting my car insurance and driver's license sorted out, and trying to ship my belongings via Grey Hound (which turns out to be a very economical way to go FYI), the tasks seemed never-ending. The queen of lists, I regularly threw out my to-do lists because looking at the amount of 'to-do's' just depressed me.
Moving was not fun anymore. I was exhausted, depressed and scared. My town, my family and my friends were all I had ever known of the world. I didn't know what would happen once I actually left the safety of this network. I loved my fiance with all my heart and knew that we would take care of each other through thick and thin, but I was still nervous. There were many times when I considered changing my mind and staying put. Packing my belongings or even looking out my window to the residential streets where neighbours worked in their yards would set off a complete melt down. I would phone my mom and she would listen in a way only a mother can while I talked myself out - and back into - moving to Toronto.
I had to let go of my sheltered life, I kept telling myself. Growing up, I was very small and suffered from medical disorders that left both my family and myself feeling I needed to be protected from the world. I wasn't inclined to take any risks. Miss Plain Jane, that was me.
I missed out on a lot of life experiences as a result. That's not to say that I had an unhappy childhood. I had a wonderful childhood and was supported by the most amazing parents. The older I got, however, the more I realized I had been selling myself short (no pun intended) by not being an active particpant in all that life had to offer.
The turning point came in May, 2010 when I underwent a liver transplant (which is a story for another time). It sounds corny, and it is, but after that I decided to start living my life. We all have things that we want to do but don't because, fill in the blank (we're too self-conscious, we're afraid, we don't have the time....). No more for this chickie. Life is short, and I wasn't going to miss any more of it!
That's why, no matter how petrified I was (and I really was petrified), I was bound and determined I was moving to Toronto. My fiance arrived at the beginning of May and together we drove my car and two cats - Yes I took my cats! - all the way to Toronto (The roadtrip of which is a great story I will share another time).
So, was moving to Canada's largest city the craziest thing I've ever done? It sure was! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. My fiance and I had never spent more than a few days at a time together and I was moving to a city where I knew absolutely no one. Oh, did I mention he has a son and I became an insta-parent? Needless to say, the resulting home dynamics have demanded a great deal of sacrifice, hard work and compromise. Through all of these challenges we are becoming a closer family and I know that I am becoming a better person. I'm learning to take more risks and to let go of my fears and insecurities. After all, I moved to Toronto and that's crazy!