Dr. Seuss
And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store? What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?

Classic.

Of course, I agree with the Grinch. But I admit, I'm excited for the ribbons, tags, boxes and bags. Maybe it's having our own place, and the freedom that comes with that. We can get our own tree, make our own decorations, bake our own cookies, burn some sweet CD's, have our friends down for some caroling, stuff our own stockings... I'm just really excited for that "stuff" that has really nothing to do with that "little bit more" , but a lot more to do with a festive, fun, relaxing holiday from the day to day activities of being a student/ student teacher.

But along with that, I like the lovely reminder from G.K Chesterton

When we were children we were grateful to those who filled our stockings at Christmas time. Why are we not grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs?

The beautiful thing about all of the above is that it's from God. A Holy God.

And amid all the clatter, clutter, and clamor that surrounds the holiday, the Voice of God holds our world captive. Christmas can never be isolated from that fateful moment in history when the angels sang the truth about The Christ. The reason for Christmas.

Christmas is the gentlest, loveliest festival of the revolving year -- and yet, for all that, when it speaks, its voice has strong authority.

Thanks be to God. W. J. Cameron gets it. We get it. The world better start getting it.

Strike

I think all the swine flu hype has made people forget just how horrid the plain flu is.
I wouldn't be surprised if the two are in league together. The swine creates a name for itself, instills a nice dose of panic and recognition in the populace, and then the normal flu comes and starts knocking people down like bowling pins, sending them into a panic.
I imagine the two high five each other, then play another round.
It's a fierce cycle- this flu business- and being one of those pins, I've been knocked down since Monday.
Brutal.

It started at school (for no particular reason, because I faithfully hand sanitize) as a slight headache. By the time I was in the car, moving my eyes was more than a little uncomfortable.
By the time I was in the house, I felt like someone with a grudge had somehow, without me knowing, cracked a baseball bat on my head. By the time I hit my pillow at 2pm, I was out for the next 5 hours.

Waking up in the evening is always a bit disconcerting, because you think it's morning, but it can't be, because your husbands not there, and you don't know why you are wearing jeans. But, with a little time, coherency gives your head a knuckle rub and you start to make sense of your dark surroundings.

Ooh...the flu...

So that was Monday evening. James came home about 7:30, and my 5 hours of afternoon unconsciousness had worked wonders. We ate chicken soup, we watched a movie, we took it easy, and then I got a fever.

I had forgotten what the hot and cold chills sensation was all about. A reminder's always nice, I suppose, if you are one to get nostalgic over memories like that. But I'm not, and so the reminder, which lasted from sundown to sunup, was as unwelcome as the idea of two flues conspiring against me.
I survived the night, which at the time was certainly questionable, to me at least, and entered a new day deprived of both sleep and my chicken soup.

Breakfast is something I look forward to. It just has this way of starting the day off right. So to go without breakfast forebodes a day that will just not be right. That, my friends, is an understatement. The problem is, my head is telling me it wants all the lovely things stocked inside our fridge. My hand agrees, and grabs the food. My mouth agrees, it chews the food. Even my throat agrees, and swallows it. So, it would seem we are all on the same side here. The stomach however, which has been granted ultimate authority on the issue, throws a mini temper tantrum. It would seem his new friend- The Flu- has migrated south, and has gathered the reins for the time being.
So, food is out.
So, apparently is water.

Without the essentials, I again feel myself in the clutches of death by flu and dehydration, until James returns from the corner store with ginger ale. This, my stomach has no choice but to tolerate, and I treasure it like a bottle of wine over dinner. Eventually, I introduced the soda cracker, and finding no reaction, settled back for a swift recovery. That was Tuesday.
Today is Friday.
And, I still am dealing with the unwelcome virus.
There's no need to go into further detail. We all know what the flu is capable of, I'm sure. I just guess I'm disappointed that my friend- Immune System- has been so manipulated. I mean, is it just letting this thing tromp across my whole body? What was that whole fever thing even about? I thought that was a good sign, a sign of battle being waged on the enemy, my troops of white blood cells lining up like good little soldiers and harpooning the enemy without mercy.

Well, I suppose I'll have to explain my poor infantry to my advisor. I only have a week left of teaching placement, and this week out of commission will reflect poorly on my review. I am not sure what the policy is, but I may have to make up some time once all this is over.

Props to a weekend, and the hope of recovery.

a few ramblings

I keep returning to this blank screen, trying to keep it up to date, writing half finished blogs and saving them, for who knows what. I don't post them, because they are just ramblings on books I've recently read, or thoughts I write, and think twice about before sending them into the public realm.
So I will try again.
My schedule in teacher's college so far is not too demanding, allowing me a very long weekend, but an intense mid week to make up for the slack.
Tomorrow will see me up at 7:00 am, and home by 7:00 pm, but that is as busy as I get.
Until next week. On Monday I start practicing my career choice as a high school "facilitator" as the college wishes me to describe it, which means I will be teaching civics to a grade ten class for about a month.
Hot Topics to cover in Unit three are global issues, Canadian heroes, the UN, etc... but we'll save that for next week.

And so like I said, I have days like Monday and Tuesday to do as I please while James puts in his steady 8- 5 workday in the lab, five days a week, quite faithfully I might add.
I don't quite operate the same way, keeping a tentative schedule in my head of what needs to be done up to two days max, which can be rearranged at my leisure at any given time. This gets interesting around crunch time, but something to worry about when "crunch" actually hits.

But I like being home.
This place is always up for my constant pampering- putting up with yet another new throw rug, a few more holes in its brittle walls for the sake of new candle holders, IKEA computer desks for a much desired work space, and of course the odd burnt appliances, or plastic singed to the oven rack after my attempt to preheat the oven with a loaf of bread inside for cozy storage. It even helped me dispose of a stubborn disagreeble plant, which I carefully placed on the window ledge after a brief watering, only to discover it gone a few moments later. Luckily noone was walking on the path three stories below.
But anyways, our home is a work in progress that has a small portion of my mind constantly occupied.
"How bout painting a chalk board right to the wall? Where could we string our orange hammock? Maybe we could have a swing, instead of bar stools for the kitchen counter.."
..you know, those types of ponderings.

So what I am saying is, James and I love having our own home. And with that, our own rules. I'm fine with hoisting my laundry basket on my head, hopping out the bathroom window, and winding down three flights of stairs, multiple times, to do the laundry. So long as James heads out the other door and takes care of the garbage. But chores aside- flexibility is key.
James wants pizza in bed? Why not?
We feel like dancing on our new rug? Sure!
Wine while cooking? Excellent :)
Squirrels got into the kitchen garbage? Ok...

Speaking of squirrels, I have a hunch that several million are living on our roof. It doesn't help that the neighbor, who not only sweeps her trees, also spreads birdseed across her entire driveway morning and night, providing a feast for lazy squirrels. But on top of squirrel seed, they live on our deck, stealing my 150 sun dried chestnuts right off our chair. And if THAT's not enough (I presume it's going to be a hard winter) they managed to get into our garbage, in the kitchen, and made off with half its contents, spilling the other half all over the unlucky tile.

I'm not sure how I digressed from life at home to the squirrel population, but there's a tidbit of info for you on life with the Harskamps. And life is good.
It's 3:15, which means I should start getting ready for my English class.
I hope to keep this up more regularly. I'm sure my teaching experiences will supply me with more than enough material.

Our HOME!

This is James. He and the shower are having a disagreement. Now I'll begin the virtual tour of our cozy little "bachelor pad". After hustling up 2 flights of stairs, you will hang a sharp left and see this. Our "entrance way".

If you make the connection from the previous picture, you'll see the same pot with a lovely green plant in it. Take that as your point of reference. To the left of the entrance way is our living room. Furniture is compliments of my grandma, who spotted these beauties on the side of the road. Excellent find. James is there in the corner setting up our "T.V" which quite conveniently operates as our source of music and emails and everything else a computer lets you do. Genius, really. If James were to stand up in the above photo, and look out, he'd see this. Part of our kitchen, a bit of a book shelf, and his laundry. Now, if that laundry basket would take three steps to my left, it would be in the proper spot- James' clothes closet. To the extreme right is the radiator- which seems insignificant, really- but I point it out because to the right of that we have placed our incredibly comfortable bed- which is represented somewhere below.
Directly across from the kitchen, visually, and about 5 paces literally, is our dining room. We eat three healthy meals a day here, unless we have lunch at our schools, and Audrey Hepburn has faithfully attended each occasion-along with "Heppie"- our wooden Mexican turtle. That's Heppie on the sugar jar, James and Audrey. A tad crowded at times, but for the most part, a really good time.

This is me, standing in front of the kitchen and pointing at my unfinished painting which is standing on my Opa's art easel. I really should finish that soon...

Self explanatory, really. A familiar sight. Also, quite familiar :)Ah, and now we have the radiator to the left, and as I promised, the bed located beside it.




And the disagreement has been resolved.

And there you have it folks. A quick tour of the apartment. It still needs a few touch ups, but for the most part, it is quite livable and lovable. It's quite bright, and cheery, and so far, well visited. I hope that aspect never changes! And now that you have seen it, specifically family in BC, feel free to drop in to say hello! James' makes fantastic coffee.. and my baking isn't terrible. We'd love to have you!

I can officially say that next month, I am getting married.
Weird.
And incredibly exciting.
But as exciting as all this wedding planning has turned out to be :)I would like to take a moment to share how my summer has panned out since classes ended at my beloved university, and I made the transition back under my parents roof.
I always find that by the time I finish school, I am ready for the grunt labour job that awaits me at my papa's farm. However, I always promise myself to continue educating myself by the means of a hefty reading list, which I make every effort to plug away at over the course of the summer months.
As usual, the reading list gets shelved for the million other things I want to do that demand way more physical exertion- and all things considered,the trade off is worth it. I can read more when I have osteoporosis.
And so I have enjoyed many lunch hours (45 minutes each) of showing off my "home" to the girls I work with, and exploring God's green earth.
And there is no better time than spring.
It happens every year, but every year I am amazed at the amount of wildlife that seems to burst out of the ground and sprawl across my path. Baby birds galore, hills with coyotes packed inside, a bald eagle even! Seriously- just awesome.
And when nature isn't just happening, we are sure to make things happen, because life is always a little more thrilling when you try to live it on the edge. Not right on the edge, but you know, a step away or something.
Anyways, the incredible thunderstorms that bubble up from the lake and spit lightning around metal carts gives our crew that perfect burst of adrenaline to finish the day off right.
And a lunch break on the train bridge, accompanied by said train, is another one of those "grab life by the horns" moments that Robyn described in her blog. Not to mention we're about 60 feet off the ground with a five foot deep harbour to break our falls.
Just beautiful.
So yes, life back home this summer, so far, has been fantastic. The girls are fun and refreshing to be around, the job keeps your hands occupied, and your mind free to wander above and beyond the menial labour your body is bound too, and the money that rolls in is as welcome as the energy injecting thunderstorms.
Complaints are few.

And on a different note, I have picked up my two year old nephew as a roommate, and although he is probobly the most adorable kid I have seen in a long time, he finds his happiest moments to be alive are at 3:00 am. God bless him- and his new baby brother, Caleb Theodore Dykstra, born 23 hours and 45 minutes into Canada Day, 7lbs, 15 ounces, with a load of black hair,and a crinkly newborn disposition. He's wonderful.

Well, there is still way more on tap for this summer before the big wedding day, but I'll post them as they unfold, because that's the right way to tell a story. No sense getting ahead of myself, now is there?

Fond Memories

I have whipped off my last paper, whether or not I have done it successfully is yet to be determined by Ben Faber, but it is done. That, folks, was the last paper of my undergrad. And as gruelling as it was to write on Northrop Frye's theory of archetypes, the feeling of my brain being stretched and strained is as rewarding as an eight minute abs workout.
But I still feel somewhat sad. Maybe it's the rainy weather, or Nabi Loney's music, but I have a hunch it's the overwhelming sense of finality creeping up and threatening to put an end to my undergrad. I'm pretty sure that's it.
See, with the abs workout, there's always a looking forward to the next one. With a final paper--there's no next paper to dread, or anticipate.

I think I'm afraid that I'll fail in the years ahead to push myself like I have this year. As much as I have been equipped with the tools to educate myself, I am stepping out of an environment that I love.
And so I'm torn between the love of being a student and the reality that I can't be one forever. Unless I'm Doug.
But so it is. Time moves on...a series of ends and beginnings, and we roll with it because we've been made to. There's no time to stop, and besides, I don't really want to.
A few days ago I said goodbye to my Opa. He died a week ago today--the first death in our family. I can't describe what it feels like to lose someone that's been a steady presence in my life. I know the right answer--that I should be happy, but my mind still can't make sense of the finality of it.
There's something very sad about it, even if I know that I, like my Opa, am moving on. And people tend to try and remedy my sadness by resurrecting fond memories, or by anticipating new, better ones, but it doesn't really work.
Thinking back makes you remember days that are gone, and looking forward only reinforces your awareness that you have to leave.

House 333, with Robyn, Trine, Ally, Kristin, Erin and myself, marks my family of fourth year. Ally left yesterday--the first 'breaking of the fellowship' and my Opa left last week. And it won't be the same again.

That's why I grieve. I know that I can still be happy, and I'm sure the future holds even more happiness than I've ever been aware of before, but that step involves leaving something, or someone behind that I hold very dear.

I'll miss them all, but I'll thank God for the fond memories.

Invisible Children

Check out www.invisiblechildren.com and join the rescue on April 25 in Toronto.
This is a huge chance for us to be a voice for the thousands of children abducted in Uganda and turned into child soldiers in Africa's longest running war.
The video can explain what's going on a lot better than I can, so check it out. It's worth it.