For my Mother.

In honor of Mother's Day, I'm posting this simple paragraph I wrote recently in reflection of significant people in my life.

"My mother is the most hospitable person I know. If someone is new in our church, she invites them over for lunch. If someone does not have a place to stay, she offers them a bed. I have memories of my mother picking up strangers on the road who were carrying groceries and their child, and helping them to their home. My family lives in a very small house, but we have had different people live with us throughout my whole life. What I believe truly shows her generosity is not only giving to those she just meets, but caring for me selflessly even though I've been a part of her life for over 23 years. When I would spend late nights doing homework in my room as a teenager, it was common for my mother to knock on my door at midnight to surprise me with a homemade smoothie. At the end of a long day of working and cooking for my family, she would still give me a massage when I wanted one. Her generosity is astounding."

(here's a picture of bread my mom baked, 

which was fed to many that night, no doubt.)

Ai ni, Mama.

Community Benefit Dinner

Friday night my organization held a benefit dinner on the first floor of our Centre. This involved a lot of grunted attempts to get our oversized sofa, tables, and random furniture out through a small door (think giant Alice and Wonderland trying to get in the entrance after drinking her potion) so that our medium-sized room could accommodate tables and chairs for about 60 people.

I spent the afternoon decorating for the event. While setting up, a woman from CBC radio did some interviews for a segment next Saturday. She tried to get “background sound” for a minute (which was easy because all the christmas lights were super tangled and I kept banging them against the table.) I put up white and assorted lights, hung strings of colorful flags, and kept up all the tapestries in our centre. It felt a lot like our community -warm, loud, and upbeat. 

I was also decorating while a new family was having a meeting with our translator and my coworker. While they were solemnly discussing their upcoming hearing, I was stepping over them on the edge of the couch adding a background soundtrack of “AHHH!” and “...SORRY!” when my lights lasso wouldn't get over the pipe.

Our dinner was cooked by several of our residents to represent the cultures of our community. There were 8 dishes which were brought out separately throughout the night. Each of the cooks spoke when their dish came out -introducing themselves, explaining what type of food they made, and telling how they prepared it. It was sweet watching some prepare their speeches beforehand (“Katie! Can I practice in front of you!”). 

Having each person present their cooking to the crowd seemed to be really empowering. Each took pride in what they made, laughed in front of the people, and even added some lighthearted remarks (one of our Kurdish members listed off the ingredients in his dish, finishing with “and my heart!”). The attendees would clap at their words and praise them for their food, while the blushing residents would run away playfully.

I worked on waitstaff alongside some of my coworkers and a few teenagers from our community. I'm sure all of you know how smooth and elegant I am (my blog's name is Kathryn Helen, for crying out loud), so this was no problem whatsoever.

Okay. Stop laughing.

I may not be the number-one-absolute-most-proper person. And yes, my mom's response in dropping me off at high school would always be “Have a good day! BE GRACEFUL!”. But I was excited to fulfill a lifelong dream of being a waitress (I saw a girl pretending to be one on Barney when I was 5, and her pink apron was a selling point). But, realistically, I was still nervous that I would knock over someone's water and, in trying to clean up, elbow an old woman in the face, and then in rushing to help her somehow set the whole place on fire. But I hope you're happy to hear that everyone made it out alive.

At the end of the dinner, we poured more drinks and had a live band play. The group is a 5-person band and are refugee claimants in our community. They were actually the most popular Romani band in Europe before fleeing, and their music is incredible. During some of the songs, an elderly women even stood up and did a little jig at her table while everyone else sat. Listening to the band's upbeat melodies, heartfelt singing, intricate harmonies, and mid-song laughter was one of my happiest moments of being in Toronto so far. 

Here's to you.

Retraction

In order to keep my very credible blog a top-notch news source, I want to maintain a spirit of integrity. (because news is oh-so-honest.) 

Therefore, I'm including my very first ARTICLE RETRACTION (dun dun dun).

 My dad sent an email to inform me that i have, in fact, been to Canada before! 

Here is a picture of me at 7 years old in Vancouver's Chinatown.

Well-played, dad. Well-played. 

C@mps 4 kid$ | Garlic Sand Cakes | Turtle Time

Let me pause to pat myself on the back for doing two posts in two days. I just taught myself that sometimes your own hero can be yourself.

So! Today I began my search to find summer camps for my kids in Toronto. Too bad I don't know any programs or events in this city. Fortunately, I have the internet. Unfortunately, the internet is full of stinkin' horse crap I have to sift through. (Not literal horse crap although I'm sure a few clicks on google images could prove me wrong). I spent hours today researching various camps and sending out emails to their main contacts trying to find places that would offer free or discounted spots to our families.  And let me tell you, some of these names need work. They're things like "Fun Time$ 4 U!" or "Girls of Destiny!" or "Brightest Stars in the Big Ole Sky!" Camp. (Really though, one of these is an actual camp.)

In the afternoon I took over babysitting for a coworker of mine who is sick. (We were trying to figure out earlier why her sickness was so sudden -the only thing she's allergic to is corn. Well, lo and behold, the gummy bears we were going to town on in the office has loads of corn syrup. Oops.)

I had never met this family before, but I knew they use to live in our transitional home. They moved to Canada from Cameroon two years ago, and the children are now 5 and 2.  I took them to the park, not realizing that physically getting us to and from the park would be the most difficult part of the night. The 5 year old asked if she could bring her new tricycle. Of course, why not! Turns out all the sidewalks and streets to get to the park are either uphill or downhill -neither of which is all that helpful for a new cyclist, especially one who has only been alive under the Obama administration.

Basically, the 30 minute roundtrip walk was spent pushing a jammed baby stroller with one hand and pulling the handlebars of a pink and purple disney bicycle from behind. But once we got to the park, all was forgotten.  The girl invented a restaurant in the playground where she would sell strawberry shortcakes (sand) with herbs on top (leaves) -which she later forgot was suppose to be herbs and kept calling garlic (not in the running for my favorite cake topping). Some other girls in the park came along to develop various desserts, but I was pretty much the only customer -which involved a lot of "KAAAAAATIE!!! COME GET ANOTHER SLICE OF CAKE" and me pretending to get super full after my 7th piece (but only after my 7th piece because, you know, it's cake.)

After I brought them back and biked home, I foolishly asked the couple I'm staying with if they needed help with anything. "Sure, can you get Anastasia from the outside pond?" Just in case you forgot - Anastasia is their turtle.  And she's huge ("the size of a Buick!" Woody Allen might say). So I went to the back and tried to figure out how to #1- find her in the murky water and #2- get her out.

Do I use a stick? Do I hold up some sort of bait? Does singing "Anastaaaaaaaaasia, Anastaaaaaaasia!" actually work? I quickly asked the older man. Oh, I'm suppose to step over the pond, roll up my sleeves, and blindly fish around for her with my hands? Well then.

Eventually I held the heavy shell and suddenly her rubbery foot squished out against my hand and it was SO WEIRD. I've held small turtles before, but for some reason this big, wet, saggy living thing with nails against my skin was just not what I was expecting. Anyway, she is back in the tank and I'm sure transporting her in and out of the house will become my new chore. Kathryn Helen: Turtle Trainer (like Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles -although I'd like to believe I have less facial hair.)

Finally, (after a good wash of hands) I finished the night beside the hosts here with a nice chat and a glass of red wine. And that my friends, is the tale of today.

Cheers.

With love, from Canada.

Hello there, brave readers of my newest blog (aka: hi mom).

I'm going to begin by saying that since I wrapped up my xanga years -oh, 9 years ago, I haven't been actively writing much. In fact, I've abandoned one or two blogs into the cosmos of the internet already (in no way indicator of what kind of a future mother I would be.) But I will try to redeem lost time by now updating at least EIGHT TIMES A DAY! Okay let's be real. I'll write when I can, and you can read when you want. Fair? 

Well, I'm currently beginning my second week in Toronto. Prior to crossing the border last sunday, I had never stepped foot in Canada ever. But I've watched enough How I Met Your Mother episodes to prepare me for the hockey-crazed-tim-hortons-drinking-eh?-speaking population just north of the states (to reduce all Canadians into cultural stereotypes. That's how it works, right?)

And despite all the jokes about Canada that come from American TV, 

Robin: “How do you know the Canadian citizenship test is easy?”
Barney: “It’s Canada. Question one: Do you want to be Canadian? Question two: Really?”

I have been so impressed with this beautiful city. I mean, way to go Canada. There are so many unique restaurants, local shops, expressive graffiti tags, incredible bookstores, aaaaaaand the population is so diverse -like, actually integrated diversity. Walking past a group of school kids is like looking at that cartoon picture of all the children of different races holding hands in a big circle around the world. 

And that's where I'll be for the next 4 months -right in the middle of that cartoony picture we call Canada. I'm living in a lovely, tiny room (appropriately described as a "nook") on the second floor of a house where an older couple, a student from China, a fat cat, and a turtle named Anastasia live.  Technically there's two cats around the house, but the other one actually belongs to the neighbor.  He just comes over (aka lives on the porch) to escape the tail-pulling little kids next door. 

I've been spending the past few days studying the refugee process here in Canada. I've come to live beside families who have come out of horrific situations, to learn from the culture and unique perspective of others, to navigate with families the sea of paperwork, governmental calls, refugee hearings, and complicated process of gaining protected refugee status, to laugh and drink tea with women from all over the world, and to hold lots and lots of babies. Stiffly speaking, I'm a "Refugee Settlement Worker". For the sake of confidentiality, I will not use names of the families I'm spending time with. However, I'm always torn in this because I feel like leaving out a name just seems to reduce a person to an age and country of origin. But bear with me.

Some highlights at my job so far have been having community meals with my coworkers, throwing a birthday party for a 9 year old from Swaziland, talking for hours on the roof with a mother of two from Zimbabwe who is studying journalism at a local college, going for a run through High Park with a new Iranian friend to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom, learning a hip hop dance from one of the junior high girls, teaching an Iranian girl how to bake banana bread, and getting a walking tour of a nearby neighborhood by locals who showed a nearby gallery, Belrussian church, fine arts center, watertower building, and some close shops.

I'm grateful for my experience so far, and especially happy to be supplied with a road bike by my organization! I went for an hour and a half ride tonight (it should be mentioned, however, that my original destination was 10 minutes away and I only got slightly lost.) Thank you to all who have been thinking of me. I give extra kudos to those who made it all the way to the end of this post.

Till next time.