I don't have bus legs, no.. No, I don't.

I went to Ottawa to visit my lovely friend Callyn. While there, I did a few things. I got to speak in English with many people! I also got a new book to read once I finish the Book of Negroes. I'm finally going to read The Time Traveler's Wife. Then after that, I'll read The Help (borrowed from Callyn). I am excited. While in Ottawa, I also got to eat homemade pizza with Callyn, sit on her living room floor to talk about life stuff, and I developed bus legs.

What are bus legs you ask? Things I seriously lack. 

If you know me even a little, you know that I tend to be clumsy sometimes. It has improved over the past couple years but the tendency to trip over my own feet is still buried deep inside somewhere. Riding a bus brought that back. My first time having to stand up on a moving bus was a little unnerving. My suitcase tumbled over into the aisle, my purse fell into a lady's lap, I hit the man behind me with my backpack and I tripped over my suitcase. 

I had traveled by train for twelve hours to Ottawa. I felt tired but exhilarated with the spontaneity of this trip. However once I got to Ottawa, I stood in the middle of the train station and looked around myself. I surely looked like a typical tourist. My camera hung around my neck and I clutched my suitcase as I stared up blankly at the huge departure/arrival sign. But, I didn't exactly need to know anything on there, I just needed something to stare at as my thoughts ran around in my head helter-skelter. Staring at that huge sign my thoughts went something like this:

 "I'M ALONE IN OTTAWA!Ihavetofindthebus..why won't my purse stay on my shoulder.. thatmanhasahandlebarmustache.I can't wait to see Callyn. Bus.bus.bus.bus.bus. OTTAWA! English. people. English people. Need.Coffee."

For real. So once I stared enough, caught my breath, and calmed my mind, I looked around for a bus transit sign. Nowhere. Okay. Go outside, buses are outside. Finally I found the massive Bus Transit sign and followed it. Then I got on the train, and realized that I needed to grow bus legs really fast.

But as you read above, it did not happen on my first standing-up-bus-ride where I nearly knocked a man out with my kitbag. Okay, maybe an exaggeration. But that first bus ride was not exactly pleasurable. I'm sure it was amusing for the rest of the sardines in that can though. 

A few pictures from the trip:

This was so that we could eat pizza on the floor and talk about life.. like we used to!

If you know me, you know Cow (or at least have heard of him). This is Callyn's monkey, or baby (he's also an ambiguous creature like Cow). 

At Parliament. (PEI plate!)

I got to see the war monument. Was important for me to see since I didn't get to go to a ceremony or anything since I'm in Quebec. Shortly after this was when I was sung to by the strange man.

The one picture we took of ourselves. In the train station right before I left Ottawa.

WAIT!... Does Jesus even speak English?

"WAIT! Stop!... Does Jesus even speak English?"

You may wonder how this sentence could ever make its way into a grade eight English class. Allow me to explain. But first, I'll tell you some about this unique grade eight English class.

My students are great and constantly crack me up. Twice a week I have a full afternoon with my Sec II+ students - for those unfamiliar to the Quebec education system, they are my advanced English grade 8 students. I am spoiled. There are eight of them and not only do they make me laugh, they also impress me with their English skills every day. 

Like I said, twice a week I have these students for the whole afternoon with Miss Marie-Josee and rarely does any French slip out. For the first half of the afternoon, we work on their English play and for the second half we do "Games with Miss Becca"; thankfully, when Miss Marie-Josee announces this there is a general little chorus of "Yay!" from the eight students. 

The Sec II+ always love the opportunity for some "friendly" competition. Today I played my variation of Scattergories. Please be impressed that my students could come up with:

a) a colour that begins with "S". SALMON! I've played Scattergories a lot over the years and coming up with a colour that begins with "S" is very challenging.

b) a verb that begins with "T". TRANSFORM! Like, seriously? Not "take", or "talk"... transform. Yeah, they rock.

Okay. So that is how my students impress me. Now for how they crack me up.

Today, I was with the Sec II+ students and for the first half of the afternoon we practiced our play. It is their big project and is also to help raise money for the big English trip at the end of the year. We went on a mini field trip to the church across the street (the only street in Les Hauteurs) where we will put on the play later in March. Now, in the script there are a few lines that my students were debating about once we got in the church. They were unsure of how appropriate it was to say these lines in a church. 

The lines are:

"Kyle! You are evil!"

"I swear I'll put it back where it belongs."

It was quite a heated little debate among them. I put my 2 cents worth in, saying that these lines were not that big of a deal. Miss Becca was ignored as they continued on their argument. Finally, Rosa's eyes got huge as she had this epiphany:

"WAIT! Stop!"

Everyone turned to the girl who would have the solution.

"Does Jesus even speak English?!"

They all looked at each other, amazed that they hadn't even thought of this. Crisis diverted ;)

Cookies, a Camera, and a Cat = Time Passers

I don't get bored very easily. I can usually find something to make time go by quite nicely whether it's reading, watching a movie, writing, going for a walk, or what-have-you. 

But tonight I am beyond bored!! Emily is coming to visit Rimouski but her train doesn't get in until 1:23 AM and I've been going stir crazy since 8 o'clock. Here are the things I've done to try and make the time pass faster:

-watched a movie

-cleaned my room

-cleaned the kitchen

-baked a batch of cookies

-danced around the apartment

-picked on Murdoch some

-did an impromptu photoshoot of Murdoch

-did French grammar exercises

-did an entry in my journal

-made Em's bed up and then realized that I can't close my bedroom door once the air mattress was down and the bed made. You might think that this wouldn't be a time filler. But it took a while to a) gather all the blankets Em would need to stay warm and b) to realize that a twin air mattress barely fit on the floor in my room and that we'd have to lift the mattress straight up to close the door. 

-and last but not least, I posted this semi-pointless blog entry. Trust me, once the weekend passes, I'll have a much more interesting post and pictures from Em's visit.

And would you look at that - it's time to head to the train station now!! Can't wait! :) Night world!

"It's Aaron"

Remembrance Day 2011 has passed and I hope you all found a way to remember the brave men and women who fought for our country, lost their lives, or are still standing on guard for us all. This is a memoir I wrote a year and a half ago about a time in my life which made Remembrance Day all that more significant:

--It had only been seven months since he left. It was only supposed to be six though and now there are still two more to come. The days felt so long. It wouldn’t be so hard if he had been older, or if they had been more familiar with the circumstances. Some days were better and some just plain felt as if they would never end for his mother and father; they hated seeing their baby gone. Matthew, the oldest of the family, was going to college in New Brunswick and faced days of feeling alone and expecting to be the last to hear of anything, but sometime the first to hear of something. David, the youngest of the family, was no longer in the same school as his older sister for she went to the high school and he was still in junior high. Teachers noticed the blank looks on David’s face from time to time – instead of being attentive or even his usual talkative self, he would completely tune out the world and think of him. Rebecca, the only girl, faced the controversial topics that often came up in her modern world history class, she faced people making off hand remarks that weren’t meant to stab or create pain. There were some days where she just wanted to stay at home, curl up in the living room, and read all day. Their mom found it hard to not think about it, to not worry, but she prayed – oh did she pray. And their dad, the rock of the family, prayed alongside his wife. 

Still they were so proud.

Then, there was Aaron. There were days when he found it hard not to think about his family and friends and what they were going through. There were days though when only the tasks at hand were on his mind. He did his best to hold it together; he didn't want to give his family and friends more reason to worry. He was there, he was doing this for his country and was proud to do it. No, things wouldn’t be the same for him. Yes, war had changed his life. But he was stronger because of it.

One Saturday afternoon, the phone rang while his family was sitting at home after a busy week of school, work, rehearsals, practices. Mom glanced at it and Dad tensed up, David ran downstairs and Rebecca put down her book. In the past seven months, this was the typical reaction to the ringing of a phone cutting through the previously calm air of the Judson home. It could be Matthew calling just to chat with the family, Grammie calling to see when Dad was going to drive the dalia bulbs over to Montague, a neighbour asking to borrow a few eggs, or it could be from a little place called Kandahar. In the few seconds that that phone sat ringing, every possibility played across the minds of Aaron’s family and in those few seconds, your heart felt like it was going to break or become overwhelmed with happiness. The feeling of your gut pulling tight together and that lump forming in your throat was inevitable and terrifying every time it happened.

Mom reached over and picked up the phone. “Hello?” There was a long pause and everyone knew it was Aaron. “Hi dear.” She said it in the tone that spoke so many things; she was grateful it was not a commander, terrified her son was injured, hopeful that he was coming home early, and simply happy to hear his voice. The look on Mom’s face though spoke something different this time and she nodded as she fiddled with a loose string on the couch cushion, “I know sweetie. I love you too.” A long pause. “Here’s your father.” Aaron spoke with each of them, a quick hello and I’m doing well, then a pause where he said: “I just want you to know how much I care about you. I love you.” Then the typical response of “I know, I love you too, Aaron.” This was not a regular phone call from Aaron about how he was doing– it was different.

It was a month before they heard from Aaron again. A very long month. Everyone knew something was up, but they held it together and learned how to rely on one another. Mom never prayed so much in all her life as she did that month. There were many calls from Matt in New Brunswick to see if we had heard anything yet. But finally, mid May, there was another phone call. Mom glanced at it and Dad tensed up, David ran downstairs and Rebecca put down her book. They all looked at the phone as Dad picked it up and said “Hello?” into it.

A smile broke across Dad’s face: “It’s Aaron.” Those two words together were some of the most relieving and calming words that had been spoken in that home for the eight months Aaron had been gone. They gave hope back to a family who had worried they’d lost a brother, a son, a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, and a friend. A loved one.
Those two words reminded us that God has everything in control. We would pray, love one another, and draw close to God. It was a reminder that everything will be okay even if the outcomes of some circumstances in life are bad.

A month later, Mom, Dad, Matthew, David, and I found ourselves in a large crowded hall filled with hundreds of people waiting for the large doors at the end of the hall to open. As we stood amidst the crowd, we could hardly see over the many heads as the doors slowly opened up and dozens of brave men filed through the door and then in a moment were drawn into the arms of their many loved ones. Tears and laughter were everywhere.
We craned our necks, looking out over the crowds for a tall man with dark red hair and a look of determination on his face. Suddenly, someone caught sight of Aaron and called out “It’s Aaron”. Those two beautiful heart-wrenching words once again overwhelmed us and we were surprised by the joy that overtook our family. Mom, of course, claimed the first hug, but soon after I got in there and was hugged by my big brother. I wanted to hold onto him for much longer and never let him go again but I, of course, had to give everyone else their turn in hugging the red-headed soldier. I sighed as I watched him smile at all of us and he was already joking about the crowds of people in true Aaron-style.
He was home. --


I wrote this memoir a year and a half ago for a class about a time that I was "surprised by joy" in my life. The time I’ve written about was one which I will never forget. I hope that even though Remembrance Day has passed that you will continue to remember those who fought for our country, they put their lives on the line so that we could have freedom. It may have been WWI, WWII, the Vietnam war, or in Afghanistan - but many lives were lost and we must pay our respects for the bravery they have shown. 

Lest We Forget.

Keep remembering. Keep supporting. Keep praying.

How to Lose a Public Conversation Filter

It is part of human nature to unintentionally turn an ear to an interesting conversation that happens near you in a public space. Some may call it "eavesdropping" but I call it inspiration! I used to love sitting in a coffee shop, cafe, wherever, with a pen and notebook and imagine the context of a story I was accidentally listening to nearby. Sometimes it was intriguing. Sometimes it really was not. But usually it was fun to people watch and listen.

However, I totally forgot about the "Public Conversation Filter" (this is a Becca-created word by the way, do not use it in any academic way). The PCF is something built into our DNA. Or maybe it is built by society. Regardless of how it wormed its way into our brains, the PCF is there. It does weird things to us when we are conversing in public:

It causes us to speak in lower volumes.

It causes people to omit certain facts depending on the company.

It causes us to put our Name Coder to use - especially if you are in a location where the people around you may know everyone you know. Some fellow Crandallites have benefited from this, some have also suffered because they forgot to connect the Name Coder to their PCF. Instead of calling him Joey, probably should call him Mr. Anonymous.

The PCF also causes us to avoid certain topics. It causes us not to laugh at things that we shouldn't laugh at in case those around you may raise eyebrows at you.

Want to rid yourself of your Public Conversation Filter? Tired of subconsciously thinking before you speak in public places? Tired of being a product of the society-bred PCF? Tired of accidentally overhearing people's life stories?

I have found the solution: Move to a place where you think no one speaks your language.


After moving to Rimouski, I quickly became used to speaking with no reservation in coffee shops, restaurants, stores, on the street. We'd talk about anything and everything. Things that you normally wouldn't ramble on about in a place full of Anglophones. We don't change our volumes. We laugh hysterically. We make strange noises, imitations, gestures, and simply don't care because we are just the crazy English people in the corner. My PCF became non-existent. I have also become an expert at blocking out all conversation around me and focusing on my book, conversation, task, or whatever. Not because I can't understand a word - no, if I really concentrate and try hard, I can understand the main ideas. But that's the thing, I have to REALLY concentrate.

However, we were in Quebec City last week. People speak some English there. Most people know enough to really follow a conversation. There are also a lot more tourists - English tourists. Or just Anglos living in Quebec. We quickly came to the realization that for the past two months we have assumed that because most Rimouskians only speak French, they don't understand English. In reality, this is not true; but once you get a taste of the freedom of conversing without reservations it is hard to go back.

So, I may have to charge up the PCF a little more. Just a little though because it's not nearly as fun to run the Public Conversation Filter at full power.

I'm just going to go on convincing myself that I sound like I'm speaking in an alien tongue.

The Week of Halloween

Tonight is the actual Halloween in Rimouski (and everywhere else). But it has felt like Halloween for the past few days. Maybe I didn't notice, but back home, costumes normally don't come out until the day before. Not here though. They walk down the streets in their costumes, go to work in their costumes, go to the hockey game in their costumes. It is a big deal! On Friday I played a game with my Sec II students and at one point in the game I told the students to "step over the line" if they liked Christmas MORE than Halloween. Only a few stepped over. Seriously, people love this holiday here!

People back home would be so proud of me (People=Mom and Em)! I made my own Halloween costume. Not just put it together with pieces around the house like when I went as Pippi Longstocking a few years back. I already had the red hair and freckles, I had mismatched socks and little black flats, and a torn Disney princess shirt. I was all ready to go.

Not this year folks. I went out and bought several metres of organza and sewed it all together to make a little gold and brown tutu. Then I got some fake leaves, ribbon, and flowers which I glued all over the skirt. I twisted a garland that had little red and gold berries on it into a wreath for my head. After my wand was made and my face makeup done - I was ready to go out as Autumn. 

Now, I didn't go out as Autumn alone. No, that would be silly. With me was Spring, Winter, and Summer. I must say that after several hours of creativity, glue, silliness, and glitter - we looked pretty good.

Also - a fun French/English fact for you: The term Trick-or-Treat is purely an Anglo thing and Rimouskians don't understand that in English communities, tricking happens! My sec II students were very surprised to hear about the common egging, TPing, and other such antics that went on around Belfast in my earlier years. I worry that I gave new ideas to some of the boys. :S

Happy Halloween everyone! Be safe. Have fun! And make sure you don't eat all your trick-or-treaters' candy before they ring your bell!

Listographer

Last Christmas, a close friend of mine got me one of the most genius books ever made. It is called "Listography". On every page in this book there is a title and below the title - blank lines. I have slowly been filling up my Listography and the point to this book is to have an autobiography in lists. I started this blog post to share my most recent list (I'll share it at a different time) and I got carried away looking through my listography. I want to share one of my favourite lists:

List the best days of your life (in no particular order):

-The day Mom told me she registered me for figure skating.

-Grade 9 grad from Belfast

-The night Dad and I watched "Love Happens"

-That night that Dad let me cry in his arms

-The day that Mom let me skip school and we had a mother/daughter day of shopping and I got a "Kitney Spears t-shirt and yellow biking shorts". I was a cool kid.

-Closing night of Footloose

-Prom day, but because of the progression of "Unproms" that followed.

-The night the old gang went to the Wood Islands lighthouse.

-The time that Lin and I went camp shopping and met "Handbone", and got a sub for a young homeless girl.

-That time that the old gang stayed up all night at Em's chatting about life.

-The day in Guatemala when I met Azucena.

-My 18th birthday.

-Many drives of Mom and I talking about life.

-First day at ABU (long before it was Crandall)

-Every Christmas banquet.

-Seeing Matt the day that Miguel was born.

-Holding Alexia for the first time.

-The day Aaron got home from Afghanistan.

-The night that Aaron, David, and I stayed up late playing cards and Aaron ate one box of KD under 2 minutes.

-Christmas 2010

-The day that Tiff and I ran around Montague doing errands, and made our first trifle.

-Candace's wedding day. 

-The night before Candace and Andrew's wedding at the cottage with great friends.

-Candace's bachelorette. The whole night :P

-Each long car chat with David.

-The night that Em, Sarah, Matt P, Rynier, and I went to Selkirk after the musical.

-When Matthew came to Highfield with me.

-The time in gr 6 when us girls went swimming at the dam.

-"That day" at the beach after my last exams.

-Tadoussac

-The time Em and I just sat in her car talking. 

-Crandall graduation day.

-Chili supper at Ashworth with friends.

-Canada Day 2011 and the night at Victoria Park when we saw Saturn's rings.

-The drive up to Quebec City with Katie.

-The time that Em came to res for the weekend, just her and me.

-Brunch at Cora's with the girls before leaving for Quebec.

-Mom coming to every showing of Footloose.

-My baptism.

-Dinner/movie night with Dad, Mom, and Boo.

-The night at camp it poured and we did the Big Brother challenge. 

-The night that I sat on the steps at the camp beach with my lovely bedrock girls.

-Girls night at camp when everyone went over the broom.

-Spring Banquet 2011

-Last Christmas Eve day when Mom got Dad his snowmobile.

-Mid-summer visit to Ashworth.

-Our Ashworth Christmas, the Christmas paty, the Will & Kate morning.

-Sitting praying on the staircase late at night with Laura Ells.

-Going to Buctouche with my Highfield youth group.

-Callyn's wedding day.

-the day Callyn and I went for manicures and out for lunch.

-Spontaneous trip to beach in my 3rd year in March.

-The time that Callyn made me breakfast in bed when I visited her in Hali.

-Callyn's wedding reception.

-Every night of worship at camp!!

This list is getting really long and in my Listography book I am constantly adding to it as I remember days of loveliness. I'll add to it on here as well as those days pop into my mind. 

I Forgot How Big I'm Blessed

It's been a little stretch of time since I posted last. I don't have any really good reasons for this. I got busy? I got distracted? I forgot? Those are some of the common excuses, but none are true for me.

For some reason I feel that in the world of facebook, twitter, blogs, etc. there are several "types".

1. Those whose statuses and comments are always about the negative parts of life, "I feel like my world is caving in", "The world might as well end", blah, blah, blah. These types of online personas are so depressing. Really? Are you only able to share the bad stuff on here?

2. Then there are those who don't take the online world seriously at all and say and do whatever they wish as if the person on the other end of whatever is just a blob with no emotions. When your fingertips touch the keys, you suddenly transform into a robot who has zero filtering capabilities. "I just became an uncle!!".. "No one cares." Ouch.

3. Then there are those who have violent online mood swings. Status #1 yesterday at 4:45am: "I love life. People are lovely. Puppies are awesome. So are kittens.".... Status #2 yesterday at 4:47am: "I hate people. I hate life. Nothing is good anymore!!"

4. Then there are the few who are very normal on facebook, twitter, blogs, etc. For the most part they only inform the online world of their bad days once in a blue moon. And even when they post negative things, it really isn't something so awful that you want to turn off your computer forever and go somewhere happy where people drink tea and read books.

5. Then there are the people who are afraid to expose when they are having a really bad week for fear of pity or to be thought of as one of those constant complainers. Or they worry that they will take on one of these crazy online personas like it's a contagious disease. So instead, they only inform when things are good.

This is me.

I didn't forget to post this week. I wanted to. I was just finding it hard to post something super positive, happy, or fun. I worried that people would judge me for having a bad week. Isn't that ridiculous? What makes me think that I have to have a good day or week all the time? For all you people in the last category, I challenge you to put aside any of your pride and let people know when you are having a rough time. And make sure you don't just tell them online, tell them for real too. I finally did, and I'm very thankful because now I have some loved ones back home praying and thinking of me!

So. In a nutshell, Becca had a bit of a crummy week. BUT, this morning I got up, read a few psalms, and said (I actually said this out loud): "Today is Saturday. I will praise God today. I will read today. I will talk to people I love today. This will be a good day which will lead into a good week. Why? Because God is faithful." Even as I write this, the sun has come out and it has stopped raining.

Here's a little encouraging song. Because, remember, when we feel weak, God is strong for us and will pull us up out of the muck and will renew us. He will somehow even use those things that are driving us absolutely crazy:

A Whale of a Time (forgive the pun)

I was recently talking to a friend from home about what it is like to meet many people from around the world at the same time. The Spontaneous International Phenomenon - that is what I will call it for now (aka: SIP). She is someone who has travelled a lot and always told me stories about how she would meet people from all over and the feeling she got from it. It is exhilarating. Until last weekend, I didn't understand this at all. But now I do.

Last weekend, we went to Tadoussac. This is a little tourist town on the other side of the St. Lawrence River where people flock to go whale watching. Seriously, this town is tiny but there were so many people there. I think that only about 850 live there year round. So, a carload from Rimouski made the long trip down and around (8 hours) because the ferries were closed due to high winds. We got there around 7pm on Friday night and the hostel we stayed at (Auberge Jeunesse) was already filled with other 20-something aged people. We assumed that these people were all fellow Odyssey-ers or language assistants in the British, German, or Mexican programs. But, no. They were with an international student group from UofO and from Bishops university. The whole night was spent finding out about where these people were from and sharing stories about what our countries/provinces are like. 

PEI is very unknown by the way. Even to the Quebecois. Sometimes if I say Ile-du-Prince-Edouard, they understand, but rarely. And they would never abbreviate it like us Islanders do. Explaining my province to people from the Czech Republic, Spain, and China was very interesting for them. 

One of my favourite parts from this night was when a birthday cake was brought out for one of the UofO students and all around the hostel people broke out into "Happy Birthday". Singing a simple song and celebrating in this familiar way brought us together and yet everyone was singing in their own language. So cool.

The next day was whale watching day. It. Was. Freezing. Like, we put on five and six layers, plus the suits that were provided and we were all still chilled to the bones the next morning. But it was so worth it! We saw probably about thirty whales - belugas, minkes, and fin whales. At one point, a little pod of belugas swam under our zodiac! It was so neat!

It was such a great weekend, filled with new friends, new stories, and my very first hostel experience. I must say, it was a great one!

A curious but beautiful thing

So in my last post, I wrote about wanting to write more and how I wanted to make it more of a habit. That day I wrote up this little thing as I observed the coffee shop. Like I said, this town is very diverse, but so are people in general so perhaps I should not have been surprised. Anyway, here it is.

A Curious but Beautiful Thing

Was there a reason for the order of items on the counter? In a place like this, you may think so. Everything seems to be so organized and just right; the colours all coordinate, the floor tile pattern is consistent, the workers all are in their red and black uniforms with “Presse Cafe” embroidered over their hearts. The visitors at the coffee shop are the only inconsistency of the atmosphere. But that is the beauty of it. To an onlooker, the man at the cash seemed to care less about the way the left side of his collar turned up and that a part of his pantleg was tucked into his sock. But, he likely had a son on his way into town for the weekend with his only granddaughter. Of course, he was eager to see her. He was more eager to see his newly born grandson though. He would never tell that to anyone though. But wouldn’t any man feel that way about his name being carried on?

The man next in line could care less about that though. In fact, his future family was the furthest thing from his mind. All he could think about was her. The girl in the red and white striped shirt who he had his arm wrapped around. He watched her carefully as she ordered her coffee in the most particular way. She wanted it extra hot, soy milk not cream, etc. etc. He hardly heard her voice, all he could do was look at her face and the way her eyes scrutinized the order of the items on the counter.

She knew she was overly particular. However, it made little sense in her head as to why the salt shaker was at one end and the pepper grinder at the other. Normally, if you were putting salt on something, you would put pepper on next. She was aware of his eyes on hers, but she cared little. If he wanted her to be the object of his affection, so be it. Her affections lay elsewhere, so she paid no attention to the man whose arm was wrapped around her waist.

One cares little about one thing that another cares much about. This little nugget of truth is a curious (but beautiful) thing about not only the people in a small town coffee shop, but about people – just people.

One of my old flames

I wore a dress today with no sweater and went downtown for the afternoon to read, write, and people-watch. It feels like everyone vacated their homes for the sun today. They are all wanting to experience those last rare summery feelings while they can. That's what I love about this town; if it is a day where you can be outside, they are outside doing something whether it's biking, longboarding, or reading outside the coffee shops. Of course there is the odd person who feels the need to wear a bulky jacket along the boardwalk. The breeze is cool on the water.

I met up with Laura and Sophie at the Presse Cafe this afternoon to do some reading and writing. It is part of my list of year goals. I want to finish "The Making of a Story" by Alice LaPlante and write more. When I was really little, I filled up scribbler after scribbler with stories and stored them in the bottom drawer of my white dresser, the drawer that never seemed to stay on its tracks. As I got older, I upgraded to the computer. Instead of filling up the bottom white drawer with stories, I sat at the computer for hours, typing away and filling up the folder, "Becca's stories". Writing was one of my loves.

I miss that. One of my oldest loves became an old flame.

Somehow, when I got to university, my writing habits changed. Instead of spending hours upon hours writing about princesses, orphans, and families; I wrote analytical essays about poetry, religion, and history. Don't get me wrong, I loved writing those papers. I really did. I will never forget some of those papers and the impact that they had on me, such as my paper on Eli Weisel's "Night" (if you haven't read that book, you must). However, as much as I loved researching and writing papers and will probably always have a need to be writing like that, I do miss fiction writing.

I've started doing it again. I have the time and the desire, so I should. Like many situations in life, if you have a deep-set desire and pulling towards something, sometimes it may be worth the risk. Dedication to writing is a risk - because if that dedication dissolves into nothing, then you are disappointed.

I want my old flame again. I will find it.

Run And Tell That

Today was a grand day. The drive out to Les Hauteurs and Saint-Gabriel is getting more beautiful every day, the leaves are changing and I appreciate that I get to drive a half hour through God's beautiful creation every morning and evening. Today, I actually took a slight detour on the way home and went up one of the mountain roads. I can't wait until all the colours are changed!

I felt so joyful on the drive home. I had Beckah Shae pumping and my windows open. I couldn't help but smile. A lot. God is so good and so faithful in every way.

The only downside to today was that this awful bug I caught will not go away and I was stubborn this morning and went to work anyway. I took some Dayquil and went on my way, but by 4th period, the students were asking me if I was dying because I was coughing so much. It's sad, but I can't be doing that in class. I could hardly explain things to them until my little fit ended. Once it did though, we did some really fun speaking games around the classroom. One of the favourites was a relay race type of game called "Run and tell that" - they loved it! On the way to the buses at the end of the day, one of my students told another teacher, "We didn't do anything all afternoon. We just played games with Miss Becca! It was so fun!" She told me that she asked him if we were speaking English during the activities. He paused "Oh. Yeah, I guess so!"

It made me so happy to hear this! I loved that my students realized learning could be fun; when the bell went at the end of the day, they weren't ready to leave the classroom. They wanted one more round of the game we were playing! We even had other teachers popping their heads into the classroom to see what was up.. "Just wanted to watch for a minute."  

What an encouraging day! And it proves again how God can overcome the bad stuff and provide the strength and whatever else we need in every situation. 

Now, I have a long weekend to curl up, drink tea, eat soup, and get better.

God is so good :)

Three Words of Many

Rimouski weekends are very diverse, quite like this town. I am forever discovering new things about Rimouski and the people here. They love their coffee. Really, there are two coffee shops on Rue St-Germain that are always bustling with caffeine addicts and not to yummy sugary coffees like my white mocha latte (which doesn't exist thus far in Rimouski). But to massive bowls of coffee. Or to little bitty mugs of straight espresso. For any of you fellow Crandallites who are reading, I found a new coffee shop: Presse Cafe. Just imagine a red Jitter Bean. The coffee shops are also competitive; they don't even like you to sit outside the shop for a minute with a cup from another cafe. Like I said, they live for coffee.

This is likely how they are so unbelievably active.

They make me feel lazy. Early on we asked some locals if people in Rimouski do many outdoor activities and we got laughed at. They thrive off of outdoor activities (and coffee). Along the river runs a beautiful boardwalk that is always busy with people walking, running, and biking on it. Oh, the bikes. So many bicycles here. Every other person has a bike and it doesn't even serve as an alternative to their car. It is their car. So I'm currently in a dilemma, do I blend in with the locals and get a little bike for going around town or do I stick with my little car? Obviously I wouldn't use it for going to work. Oh goodness, that would be quite the trek and my calves would probably break out of my skin by the time I arrived at school - the little village I work in has a sign that says "Saint-Gabriel: Le Coeur des Montagnes". Translation: The Heart of the Mountains. Enough said.

Like I said, Rimouski people are very active which means that they are also out around town tons. I had been told before I got here that I would start to see people around and recognize their faces. For some reason I doubted that this actually happened. But it does! I have seen a few examples of this already.. like this afternoon I was at the corner of Cathedrale and St-Germain when I saw a couple crossing the street that I had seen at the Brulerie earlier this week. Then later on today I saw them at Wal-mart! Another example actually happened earlier in September. My friend Emily and I visited an apartment we had seen an ad for and the girl who showed us the apartment was at the Jazz festival that weekend AND we saw her at La Creperie Chignon (a crepe restaurant that had my mouth watering for the rest of the day and apparently two weeks later too).

Rimouski: coffee, activity, and familiarity. Three words of many that I can describe Rimouski as.

The Great Church Hunt

Today I woke up with full intentions of finding a church to attend, I had several addresses of churches I had found online and was hopeful. I went to my friend Laura's place in the afternoon to drop off the meat pie and English muffins she had left in my car and stayed for a tea. I explained to her my dilemma of not being able to find a protestant church in Rimouski. I knew that this would be a challenge but didn't realize just how hard that would be. We did some googling and found a few addresses and she graciously offered to join me on my hunt so that I didn't have to go alone.

So the first place we went to was a big old church near Pointe-au-Pere, a small community on the outskirts of Rimouski. We drove over what we thought was the entry, turns out we drove right over the sidewalk into the parking lot - my car handled it quite well. We pulled up to the front of the church and there was a big for sale sign which made both of us sad. Unfortunately, a lot of the churches in Quebec are dying out.

The second place we went to must have a secret entrance like Platform 9 3/4. We had the address right as far as we could tell. The address was 800 Boul. Sainte-Anne; we found 796 and 822 but no 800 (unless it is like Kings Station and I have to run at a wall or something). I was very confused to say the least and was a bit disappointed, it was the one that looked most promising. We even called the phone number listed on their website and couldn't seem to make it go through. So we moved on.

We found four other protestant churches that I thought would be promising. Unfortunately, no. But that is okay.  I believe that the second place exists and for some reason I feel drawn to it but I have to find it first! I must be patient, but to be honest, it is a little difficult. I am so antsy to start going to church, to worship in a room of believers, and to meet more people in Rimouski! God will provide though. I'm sure. 

I'm finishing this post a day later because when I was writing it the first time (on Sunday) I felt very discouraged and frustrated. But after prayers from some lovelies back home and some of my own thinking and praying, I am sure that a lovely church is around the corner ready to welcome me into their family!

Kadoozled

I have just discovered something unbelievable in my life. It confuses me, astonishes me, and kadoozles me. Okay, so kadoozle is a word I made up, but believe me - it could be another synonym for confuse. The thing that kadoozles me is this: I have only been in Quebec for thirteen days. And only ten in Rimouski, people. That is nothing in the realms of life I once knew so well. In those realms, ten days flew by as well but with not nearly as much kadoozling elements. Let me explain what I mean in simple and summarized terms. You will notice that I like lists by the way, especially when it is almost midnight and my little brain is tired. Mountains and the French language do that to me. Here are the kadoozling elements of the last 13 days:

1. I said "good-bye/see you later" to a multitude of people which in itself is quite the task. Even on the trip to Quebec City, the farewells didn't end. For the travel, my friend Katie joined me in my cramped little Accent (still unnamed in case anyone has a brilliant suggestion). Along the way, we stopped at my brother and sister-in-law's house for the night and said good-bye to Tiffany and my nephew in the morning. Then the farewell to Katie after we had been in Quebec for a few days. Like I said, kadoozling  that so many farewells can happen in such a short amount of time.

2. Friendships were made with people from all across Canada during the training sessions. We made up our own languages together, sang in the streets together, saw fireworks, saw a Cirque du Soleil show, and even got hit on by break dancers.

3. I was so nervous about meeting people here in Rimouski and making friends. But my nerves and anxious feelings have completely dissipated as I get to know some really great people here. 

4. I have learned what to say in French, what not to say in French, and words in English that are not socially acceptable, but are in French. I know, kadoozling. For example, the f-bomb in most anglophone parts of Canada is generally not an okay thing, in French it just means to be "mixed up". 

5. In the past thirteen days, I have slept in six beds. Yes, six. Now, before you get all worked up about this and start forming ideas about me, I will explain. I slept in my own bed, then in the guest bed at Tiffany's, then  in one of the beds in Katie's hotel room, then the one in mine, and then in the bed at Helene and Andre's house; finally two nights ago, I have settled into my apartment and my own bed. SIX different beds.

6. I teach at two schools in remote mountain villages. This sounds very primitive and I don't mean for it to. They are very nice schools, but the commute out is very upwards in parts.

7. I have had some down days where I was kadoozled by the funk I was in. This was due to the lack of a permanent address and all of the challenging transitions. But with prayer and some good ol Psalms, God got me out of the funk.

Anywho, that is probably enough for tonight. I feel like I have a collection of more tales up somewhere in my  tired brain, but I'll save them for a more alert day.

Take care. Be happy. And keep checking in. 

The Real Poutine

Everyone meet Rimouski.

Rimouski meet everyone.

Becca Judson lives in Rimouski this year. Thus far, she loves it. Check it out.....

Yeah. How can you not love this? For those of you who are curious as to this new part of my life, keep your eyes peeled because here I will share some of my tales with you.

Names to know:

Rimouski

Mont-Joli

Saint-Gabriel

Helene and Andre

Sarah, Laura, and Emily (autres filles qui habitent dans Rimouski avec moi)

La Brulerie


I am sure that more will be added to this list, but this is all I will share for now. Oh! Right, the title of this post really is irrelevant. However, I did have "real" poutine the other day at this little canteen on the side of the road in Rimouski. They don't grate their cheese, fyi. In case you were wondering.

Bonne Nuit!

-- de Anticapella