year of the rooster
WHITEHORSE, YT
Aside from the fact that official cock–time doesn't kick off until the Chinese New Year, this is the third time around the zodiac for us kids born in 1981. Attempts at scrutinizing the future have not been successful. My fortune from a cookie at a Chinese–Indian restaurant recently informed me that I value my beliefs over wealth and fame, which I protested wasn't a fortune at all in the fatidic sense of the word. My New Year's resolution to be more humble ended up being transmuted by the accordion–folded–paper game to "shoot for the stars," which goes against my efforts to eliminate gratuitous violence from my language. So as it stands, two thousand and five is still all tabbouleh rasta.
Christmas was spent in Port Hope, where my grandfather celebrated his 90th birthday on December 22. For this momentous occasion, family from all over descended on the sleepy town and we fested the holidays together. I made gifts of animal parts affixed to sharp metal objects. Then it was off to Vancouver, with New Year's celebrated on Pender Island at the gracious behest of friend and erstwhile climbing partner Amy, along with her hip friends. Yet another Artsci alum, Patrick, appeared on New Year's Day, bringing Boggle.
Just now, I sit in front of my computer in Whitehorse, alone for the first time since the frenetic jet–setting blur of my Christmas holidays began. It was wonderful to be able to spend time with so many folks, and I am grateful to all who went out of their way to do so. I wish that I could have had more time for those that I didn't get to see.
The year ahead will be fun. I think I have mostly figured out the challenges of developing a curriculum, designing lessons, and motivating the kids, so I am keen to turn my energies to new things, in particular developing an archival project centred around the school where I teach, which will be demolished next year after having played a central role in Western Arctic life for five decades. And I'm going to learn how telemark... or try to learn. Probably, I will hurt myself.
Wishing you all the best, and sending much love.
PHOTOS (from top to bottom)
Christmas was spent in Port Hope, where my grandfather celebrated his 90th birthday on December 22. For this momentous occasion, family from all over descended on the sleepy town and we fested the holidays together. I made gifts of animal parts affixed to sharp metal objects. Then it was off to Vancouver, with New Year's celebrated on Pender Island at the gracious behest of friend and erstwhile climbing partner Amy, along with her hip friends. Yet another Artsci alum, Patrick, appeared on New Year's Day, bringing Boggle.
Just now, I sit in front of my computer in Whitehorse, alone for the first time since the frenetic jet–setting blur of my Christmas holidays began. It was wonderful to be able to spend time with so many folks, and I am grateful to all who went out of their way to do so. I wish that I could have had more time for those that I didn't get to see.
The year ahead will be fun. I think I have mostly figured out the challenges of developing a curriculum, designing lessons, and motivating the kids, so I am keen to turn my energies to new things, in particular developing an archival project centred around the school where I teach, which will be demolished next year after having played a central role in Western Arctic life for five decades. And I'm going to learn how telemark... or try to learn. Probably, I will hurt myself.
Wishing you all the best, and sending much love.
PHOTOS (from top to bottom)
1. Me and a kayak my father built in Whitehorse in 1973.
2. New Year's morning; view out to the ocean from Buck Lake, Pender Island.
posted by simon at 1:24 AM
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