Battle of the Bulge, Part 2

I had no intention to reignite my battle with my middle age bulge, but the universe had other intentions as I wake up on the first full day of a new attempt to strip off the pounds.  How I got here is a blur, but it started just over a week ago in Saskatchewan.

My buddy from back home had always been bigger than me, going way back to grade five when his family moved to the area from Alberta.  We do our best to spend time together when I get back home and had arranged an afternoon of fun on the lake that would be followed by dinner and a visit.

"You are looking incredibly fit," I said.  "What's the secret?"

He was in the best shape of his life, and as he told me about his Ideal Protein journey and losing 25 pounds in just over three weeks I felt the universe tapping me on the back.

"I don't think of it as a diet, it's more of a food plan," he said.  "I've made some simple changes to how I eat and it's remarkable how I feel."

As we left and began our long trip home, I kept thinking about his story and how an eating regime would be so much easier for me that the exercise path I went down the first time.  In fact, as soon as we were plugged into the Internet I looked up Ideal Protein and whether we had any suppliers in Fort McMurray.  We had several.

Getting back home to piles of mail, unpacking, grass cutting and all the other tasks that build up after two full weeks of being away, the thought of starting a food program slid from the front to the back of my brain.  I had no idea that it would be my boss that would coax it back.

"My goodness," I said.  "You've lost quite a bit of weight."

"Why yes I have," she said, smiling broadly.  "I'm on a program called Ideal Protein."

I almost fell on the floor.  Twice in the same week this previously unheard of program had been heartily endorsed by people that I trust completely, to be followed by a third the following day.

Facebook hit me the same way back in 2007.  I had never heard of it until it came up in conversation at a Theatre Alberta meeting in Calgary.  They made it sound transformative, compelling me to sign up right away. It was and it is.  And from that day forward, Facebook became ubiquitous in my world.  The way Ideal Protein popped into my life feels very similar.

I had my appointment with Barb Henning (Back on Track with Barb), one of the local purveyors of Ideal Protein located in the River City Centre (formerly the Plaza II), yesterday.  I began the program as soon as I got home.

The Ideal Protein eating program has four phases.  I'm ensconced in the first leg of this journey, striving to achieve 90 percent of my weight loss goal.  The two-week long second phase slowly increases calories while the  third phase continues to increase calories and begins to reintroduce carbohydrates.  By the time you reach the fourth and final phase, you're at your target weight and are ready to manage how you eat with minimal reliance on supplements.

The Program is not only about weight loss, it's about managing blood sugar levels and resetting the pancreas.  The result is that ketosis starts to come into play, your body's process of burning fat as a first line of fuel.  It also facilitates the production of ketones, an organic compound that suppresses appetite.

After a 45-minute detailed introduction to the science, a quick weigh-in, body measurements, and the purchase of a program starter pack (just over $340) I was off.

Remarkably, after 24 hours I feel great.  I'm drinking water up the wazoo and sticking completely to the plan and have not had any hunger pangs at all, which surprises me.  They say that the first couple of days are the hardest, but so far it's been easy as pie, though I can't eat any for the foreseeable future.

Season of Construction

I thought the amount of construction in Fort McMurray before we left on our summer holidays was insane.  But since we've been back, the volume of activity is perfectly bananas, the progress of physical changes unparalleled in my entire time of living in one of the most dynamic communities in Canada.

Yesterday, we had the opportunity to tour a recently completed construction project in Timberlea, an area of Fort McMurray north of the bridge and the downtown, the section of the urban centre with the highest population.

Holy Trinity High School is a beautiful facility that will be home to between six- and seven-hundred students this fall.  As the Grade 9 students go through the system, in just a couple of years the school will reach its maximum capacity of about eleven hundred.

I joined Mayor Melissa Blake, Counciller Mike Allen and Catholic School Board Chair Geraldine Carbery for a guided tour of the school by Superintendent Kim Jenkins, Centre for the Performing Arts Manager Loraine Humphrey and Principal Lucy Moore.

Our first stop was the new theatrical facility, a black box space with seating for about 325.  Set up in a proscenium style, the seats and risers stretch up to the door that leads to the technician's booth and the state of the art lighting and audio consoles.  Around the corner is the locked door that leads up to the grid that stretches from wall to wall in the room, maybe 30 feet off the floor.  This is where all the stage lights are hung on pipes above the audience.

"We will be teaching technical theatre students up here," said Technician Sean McIlveen.

Aircraft cables stretch the length and width of the room resting on steel beams that carry the load forming a kind of metal trampoline.  While there is a little bounce, you're able to easily walk over to any of the lighting instruments with ease and no cause for concern.  Even for a guy like me, who has developed a slight fear of heights, this was a comfortable and interesting environment.

With the requisite dressing rooms, loading dock and warm-up rooms, all equipped with motion sensor lights, the arts centre is ready to roll.

The tour continued through dance studios, gymnasiums, a piano lab and the incredible new library that features a whole lot of computers and not a lot of books.  This may be the new look of libraries as we dive head first into the digital age.

Standing in one of the science labs looking out at the activity outside, I was once again blown away with what I was seeing below.

Four giant light standards stood watch over a bright green artificial turf soccer field with a running track in the process of being completed.

"And the football field is going to go over there," said Councillor Allen, pointing to the hole in the ground to the right.

"Wow!" I exclaimed.

We wrapped up the tour and I made my way from the construction on Confederation Drive to the construction on Memorial Drive to the construction up in Gregoire.  Almost every section of town is under the knife as crews work against the clock and the inevitable arrival of colder weather and the dreaded white stuff that is mere weeks away.

D-Day

I always thought that the D in D-Day stood for Deliverance, but I was wrong.  In fact, the D represents Day, or the Day.  Sadly, in the case of Operation Overlord, otherwise known as the Battle of Normandy, the D could also represent death, as there were thousands on both sides of conflagration.

I'd been reading about D-Day on our summer travels, which likely explains why the term popped into my head yesterday as I listened to a radio news broadcast that delivered the news that Jack Layton had died.  His D-Day had arrived.

As the words transitioned into meaning, I took in a sharp breath, stunned with what I had just heard.  Anyone who watched the press conference in late July instinctively knew that he was in trouble.  His sunken cheeks and feeble voice clearly suggested that the outlook was grim.  That said, Jack was a fighter, and if anyone would come back from the brink it would be him.

Even in his final days he was thinking about his vision for Canada, and wrote a closing message that is generous, thoughtful and inspiring.

Dear Friends,


Tens of thousands of Canadians have written to me in recent weeks to wish me well. I want to thank each and every one of you for your thoughtful, inspiring and often beautiful notes, cards and gifts. Your spirit and love have lit up my home, my spirit, and my determination.


Unfortunately my treatment has not worked out as I hoped. So I am giving this letter to my partner Olivia to share with you in the circumstance in which I cannot continue.


I recommend that Hull-Aylmer MP Nycole Turmel continue her work as our interim leader until a permanent successor is elected.


I recommend the party hold a leadership vote as early as possible in the New Year, on approximately the same timelines as in 2003, so that our new leader has ample time to reconsolidate our team, renew our party and our program, and move forward towards the next election.


A few additional thoughts:


To other Canadians who are on journeys to defeat cancer and to live their lives, I say this: please don’t be discouraged that my own journey hasn’t gone as well as I had hoped. You must not lose your own hope. Treatments and therapies have never been better in the face of this disease. You have every reason to be optimistic, determined, and focused on the future. My only other advice is to cherish every moment with those you love at every stage of your journey, as I have done this summer.


To the members of my party: we’ve done remarkable things together in the past eight years. It has been a privilege to lead the New Democratic Party and I am most grateful for your confidence, your support, and the endless hours of volunteer commitment you have devoted to our cause. There will be those who will try to persuade you to give up our cause. But that cause is much bigger than any one leader. Answer them by recommitting with energy and determination to our work. Remember our proud history of social justice, universal health care, public pensions and making sure no one is left behind. Let’s continue to move forward. Let’s demonstrate in everything we do in the four years before us that we are ready to serve our beloved Canada as its next government.


To the members of our parliamentary caucus: I have been privileged to work with each and every one of you. Our caucus meetings were always the highlight of my week. It has been my role to ask a great deal from you. And now I am going to do so again. Canadians will be closely watching you in the months to come. Colleagues, I know you will make the tens of thousands of members of our party proud of you by demonstrating the same seamless teamwork and solidarity that has earned us the confidence of millions of Canadians in the recent election.


To my fellow Quebecers: On May 2nd, you made an historic decision. You decided that the way to replace Canada’s Conservative federal government with something better was by working together in partnership with progressive-minded Canadians across the country. You made the right decision then; it is still the right decision today; and it will be the right decision right through to the next election, when we will succeed, together. You have elected a superb team of New Democrats to Parliament. They are going to be doing remarkable things in the years to come to make this country better for us all.


To young Canadians: All my life I have worked to make things better. Hope and optimism have defined my political career, and I continue to be hopeful and optimistic about Canada. Young people have been a great source of inspiration for me. I have met and talked with so many of you about your dreams, your frustrations, and your ideas for change. More and more, you are engaging in politics because you want to change things for the better. Many of you have placed your trust in our party. As my time in political life draws to a close I want to share with you my belief in your power to change this country and this world. There are great challenges before you, from the overwhelming nature of climate change to the unfairness of an economy that excludes so many from our collective wealth, and the changes necessary to build a more inclusive and generous Canada. I believe in you. Your energy, your vision, your passion for justice are exactly what this country needs today. You need to be at the heart of our economy, our political life, and our plans for the present and the future.


And finally, to all Canadians: Canada is a great country, one of the hopes of the world. We can be a better one – a country of greater equality, justice, and opportunity. We can build a prosperous economy and a society that shares its benefits more fairly. We can look after our seniors. We can offer better futures for our children. We can do our part to save the world’s environment. We can restore our good name in the world. We can do all of these things because we finally have a party system at the national level where there are real choices; where your vote matters; where working for change can actually bring about change. In the months and years to come, New Democrats will put a compelling new alternative to you. My colleagues in our party are an impressive, committed team. Give them a careful hearing; consider the alternatives; and consider that we can be a better, fairer, more equal country by working together. Don’t let them tell you it can’t be done.


My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.


All my very best,


Jack Layton

"Jack Layton died this morning," I said to Ben as he emerged from his bedroom, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

He paused, processing the news, his face long, concerned, reflective.  Another loss would come his way later that morning.

We had given Ben a pair of hermit crabs for Christmas, setting them up in our old fish aquarium in the living room,  Outside of keeping the water dish moist and offering a few morsels of crab food, they are incredibly easy to look after.  However, two weeks of being away proved to be too much for the smaller one, and Heather found it shriveled up in the corner.

Another long face, more concern and reflection, Ben crafted a small box out of some special gold card stock we had in the study, wrapped up the crab in tissue paper and set it inside.  He dug a small hole in the back alley next to the shop, put the box inside and covered it up.

"Do you want to say a few words," asked Heather.

"Not yet, I need a few more minutes," he replied.

He ran to the front yard and came back with several flowers that he gently placed on top of the grave.

"Are you ready now?"

"Not yet, I need to make a headstone."

With some leftover cardboard, he made a grave marker and propped it up against the adjacent pile of wood.

He had named his crab after my late grandfather, Alex Thomas, unbeknownst to either of us.

We stood together, shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart, in wonderful silence and remembrance.

Small Blessings

Our day driving from Missoula to Billings in Montana did not turn out as we had hoped, though it reminded us of how lucky we are to live in Canada.

We enjoyed a full and free breakfast at the Staybridge Suites in Missoula - a property that we would recommend strongly for families  - then cut through the hills to Helena where we were determined to try some rock-hounding.

With a name (Spokane Bar Sapphire Mine) but no address, we started weaving our way through the state capital in hopes of seeing a billboard, or something that might suggest where this potential treasure trove would be.  Finally we stopped at a hotel to ask for direction, as by this time we had almost gone full circle in the downtown area.

Directions and an address now in hand, we set out north, past the airport in search of York Road and a lake. We found the latter but not the former, till we circumnavigated the water body and accidentally ran into the thoroughfare we were seeking.  In the end, that didn't help, as the Spokane Bar Sapphire Mine will still being rather elusive.  So, we gave up, by this time getting a little too frustrated for our own good.

We lunched in the small town of Townsend, stopped at the Yellowstone River to dip our feet in the water, and made it to our hotel in Billings before 6 pm.  It was a full day of driving and we were all ready to get our of the car.

The restaurant recommended by the front desk lady was Fiddlers Green Sports Bar, just down the block, a pub that served families as long as the kids stayed with their parents - slipping into the adjacent casino would not be welcomed.

A little discombobulated that we sitting in a bar looking at a bar menu made us wonder whether we had taken the wrong advice.  But the local brew was cold, crisp and amazingly tasty, and the burgers and pork sandwiches were to die for.  It was a good choice.

The guests sitting next to us who had driven over 700 miles from Wenatchee, Washington that day, were trying to decide on what to drink when Heather suggested the outstanding local brew that we were sampling.  That sparked back and forth conversation that lasted through the entire meal which eventually landed in the realm of the healthcare debate in America.

"We pay twelve hundred dollars a month for our healthcare," said Bruce.

He went on to describe a one-day procedure that his wife had recently had, that despite paying in advance and having insurance, they still got stuck with an additional bill for well over $10,000.

We sat at our table, Dylan included, wondering how we could have fared living in the States.  With Dylan's cerebral palsy, annual requirements for new braces, and more than several surgical procedures - not to mention his initial month-long stay in the hospital when he was born - we would have been in debt our entire lives had we been in the same circumstances south of the 49th.

While I've heard the opposite view of healthcare in the U.S. from people I've met at conferences, Bruce and his wife were living the definitive perspective that dealing with the insurance companies, HMO's and privately owned hospitals was untenable and perilous.

Thanks God for Tommy Douglas, the province of Saskatchewan and the emergence of universal healthcare in Canada back in 1946.  It is something we take completely for granted over 50 years later, but it is a blessing that our friends to the south would love to have.

Tackling the Turtle and the Going to the Sun

They had decided to tackle the north peak of Turtle Mountain, "they" being Michael and Kathryn, my brother- and sister-in-law.  And they were intent to bring Heather and Ben with them.  I'm sure I would have been invited along for the hike but I had ironically ripped my heel open wearing a pair of new hiking boots during the first day of interPLAY.  I had an Achilles tendon surgery in 2000 and the scar they left behind is entirely too sensitive to new shoes.  I've been fighting an infection for the better part of a week and it's only now starting to get better.  So, I had a dandy excuse to pass on climbing the mountain.

Looking from the back patio at my in-law's house you can see Turtle Mountain off to the left, and their north peak destination with a pair of high-powered binoculars.  Just looking at it and imagining my 8 year old son climbing to the top made my stomach spin.  Me and heights have had a disintegrating relationship since I had a vertigo episode at the ski hill in Fernie a number of years ago.

They gathered their supplies and left for what they thought would be a two and a half hour climb to the summit, going up a modest approach from the eastern side of Blairmore.  From what they tell me Ben took the lead right from the start, becoming more motivated as they got higher and higher.

"I couldn't keep up with him," said Kathryn, a seasoned climber and outdoor enthusiast. "We're now calling him Benny Goat."

It was around 11 am when they got to the top, right around the time I was looking through the binoculars.  I saw small figures moving around the Canadian flag that had been previously planted at the summit.  Even though I was firmly planted on the ground, my stomach was still doing a dance as I looked up and wondered if Ben and Heather were among those at the peak.  About 30 minutes later, I saw more movement and an additional two figures, mere dots in the distance even looking through the high powered scope that Susan (Heather's mom) had set up.

They made it home a couple of hours later and confirmed that they had done it, and that it was them we must have seen.  I was so proud of them all, but especially Ben.  It was quite an achievement for such a young fellow.  I spent the rest of my time in the Crowsnest wishing I could dash up the side of that mountain and experience it for myself, if only to stare my growing fear of heights in the eyes and see who blinks.  But I knew that another dance with fear was just around the corner.

We had decided to sweep down into Montana, around old Chief Mountain, as part of our summer vacation.  As I type this we are in a wonderful hotel room at Staybridge Suites in Missoula.  But to get to here we had to tackle the Going to the Sun Road, a lofty piece of highway that had been completed in 1932, piercing 53 miles through Glacier National Park and providing a genuine tourist route through pristine mountainous terrain.

The first piece of the drive proved to be the toughest for me as we left St. Mary and went up around McDonald Lake.  I purposely took advantage of several pullouts  to get out of the car and calm my nerves.

As we got closer and closer to the summit, the traffic increased and things slowed down to a crawl which significantly took the bite out of any remaining vertigo waves that I was experiencing.  The parking lot full and our stomachs empty, we bypassed the interpretive center at the top of Logan Pass and made our way down to the bottom with the promise of a good lunch before going to the Montana Vortex and House of Mystery, a subject that deserves a blog post all of its own.

John's Barber Shop

Dylan wanted to get his hair cut.  For the record, it was not my suggestion, though I was very accommodating and excited that he wanted to lighten his load.  It had been all the way back in October, shortly after his leg surgery, that we last had his locks cut.

Crowsnest Pass, where we are stationed for the first leg of our summer journey, is made up of a number of small communities.  We had dropped Heather off for a coffee date in Coleman before doubling back to the commercial centre of the Pass, Blairmore, to dive into one of the two hair connoisseurs located on the long, stretching main street that runs adjacent to the Canadian Pacific line.

"Just wait in the car," I said to Dylan.  "I'll go and see if he's open."

I walked across the wide street, where cars drive slowly enough to safely pop across without fear of being dinged.

The barbershop, with its pole spinning out in front is nestled between a used goods emporium/antique shop and a nondescript Canadian Bank of Commerce.  I poked my nose in to find several smiling people eagerly awaiting their turn on the old-style barber's chair.

"How long do you think?" I asked.

"Oh, it's gonna be at least a couple of hours," said one old timer, smiling widely.

I thought he was joking.

We turned around and went back to the other end of main street where John's nephew Garry runs a shop.  No cars out front, we were pretty sure that we'd get in right away.

"Are you looking for Garry?" said a lady coming from inside the establishment that doubles as an insurance agency/used goods shop (used goods are pretty popular around the Pass).  "He won't be back till quarter to two."

Once again we returned to the car and continued down 20th Avenue to the Tim Horton's perched just alongside Highway 3 with absolutely no line-up.  I almost went into cardiac arrest as I fully believed that line-ups were a Timmie's constant all over the world.

We checked out Coleman for any sign of a barber shop before beetling back to Blairmore to get in line at John's.  It was about 1:15 when we arrived and took our place in line behind a distinguished gentleman with white hair and beard and a mustached fellow who used to work at Syncrude in Fort McMurray.  A young fellow came in behind us, another summer visitor, with long straight locks wanting to get a brush cut.

John Vigna has been cutting hair in Blairmore and in this spot since 1959.  A fourth fellow came in, also from Fort McMurray but originally from Crowsnest - a blaster from Suncor, who remembers having his hair cut by John back when he was a boy.

He is old school.  There is no rush in his shop, as he carefully snips and clips, smooths and manicures.  No strand of hair is left untended.  And just when I thought he was done, he would grab a new implement and continue on his journey toward perfection.  The sign that the end was near was a quick dash into the back room to grab his shaving brush.  He daubed the back of the neck and the sideburns then grabbed his straight razor and run it up and down his leather strap a couple of time before putting the finishing touches on his client.

The sign just behind the second barber's chair, unused for years from what the locals were saying, declares the complicated price structure: $8 adults, $6 pensioners, $6 infants.

We were out the door by about 3:30 pm, a long but delightful experience - a little bit of The Andy Griffith Show mixed in with Petticoat Junction.  Even the Chief of Police showed up to get a trim, although he didn't look like he needed it.

"So how many officers do you have on duty on a day like this?" I asked.

"Well, there's me," he said frankly.  "And there's there's the other guy."

Welcome to the Crownest Pass, a delightful blast from the past.  It was time well spent waiting for a hair cut.

interPLAY turns a corner

I have a confession to make: I've never been one to enjoy watching plays during the interPLAY Festival.  I always found it incredibly hard to sit through a show without thinking about the million things that needed to happen outside on the street.  Or, I would find it disarmingly exhausting to stop my body that had been in constant motion for several days.  But this was BEFORE, when I was in charge, the guy with most of the answers.  Now I know nothing, and it is blissfully wonderful.

With the move of interPLAY to Keyano College and King, the addition of the iFF (interPLAY Film Festival) and the expanded menu of attractions and vendors it really feels like the Festival has turned a corner.  Yes, the crappy weather attempted to put a damper on things, but it completely failed.  The comments and stories I'm hearing in my limited social mediasphere are exuberant, heartfelt, joyful and deeply appreciative.

Over the many years of attending as many plays as I was able to at interPLAY, there are a few that jump out in my memory.  I'll never forget Brian Bast and his Complete Works of William Shakespeare or Shawn Pallier's performance of The Green Mile.  I've enjoyed seeing young talents like Tim Cooper, Arlen Konopaki, Anglia Redding and many others cut their teeth at this event.  I was absolutely stunned at the most amazing theatrical peformance I had ever seen by Alex Podulke at least year's Festival in DNA and the Dancing Fool.  These memories stretch out over 15 years, 15 festivals and hundreds of plays.  Imagine my surprise when I was knocked flat on my butt not once, or twice, but three times at interPLAY 2011.

We were in Mexico when Jeff Hoffman, Keyano College Visual  and Performing Arts (VPA) grad, did his One Man Macbeth at the Syncrude WinterPLAY Carnival.  He won the Regional One-Acts and went on to do the same at the Provincials.  Outside of Ben's debut in Panto Extravaganza, the Children's Theatre Camp show, One Man Macbeth was the first show I had to see.  I'm so glad I did.

Jeff did to the Scottish play what technology has done to how we are entertained, he altered its reality, squeezed it down into a palatable length of time, brought in new gadgets and devices to drive home the story, and delivered it in a fresh new way.  Outside my spontaneous cameo appearance as Duncan - and subsequently, his ghost - Jeff played all the parts, often bouncing back and forth between several parts effortlessly.  He used dolls, dinosaur toys, plastic and rubber weapons, a bowl of fake blood and even a cell phone to take us expeditiously to that inevitable point in the tragic tale when Macbeth gets slain and the story reaches its bloody conclusion.

There is no question why Mr. Hoffman won multiple awards with this show.  It was brilliant from top to bottom.  I laughed and I grieved; I was shocked and I was twitterpated.  This was a live theatrical experience that I wish I could re-experience many times over - an interPLAY must-see, no question.

Dylan, my 12 year old son, went on a theatrical adventure of his own, inspired by the fact that his mom's cousin was starring in a show called Rubbish.  By the end of the Festival, he had seen a remarkable 7 shows including the story of two teenagers who end up in the world of bugs, flies and over-sized garbage.

Rubbish was written by Francis Menningke, a South African theatre artist who now resides in Fort McMurray, and directed by another Keyano College VPA grad Michael Beamish.  Rubbish featured the playwright and Nathan Loitz, also an alum from Keyano.

From the first moment when the two put themselves into their opening positions, I was hooked.  Physical beyond measure, expressive, collaborative, they were two hearts beating as one.  With no set pieces or audio support, the artists painted a picture with their movements, sounds, intention and attention.  It was completely mesmerizing and unlike anything I had seen before. A remarkable performance, we rose to our feet in appreciation as the lights faded.

Throughout the weekend, I had heard rumblings about Waiting for the Parade, about it being one of the can't-miss shows of the Festival.  Written by John Murrell, I had seen a production of the play a half decade ago when our drama students tackled it.  Set in 1940's Alberta, telling the story of five women and how they coped during the war years, the show was produced by Katie's Playhouse.  It ended up being one of the most impressive ensemble efforts I've seen.  All of the performances were so honest and compelling.  I felt like I had entered a time machine and was transported back to those halcyon days.

By all accounts, interPLAY has found a new and better home at Keyano College and King.  Was the event perfect?  Was everyone as twitterpated as I was?  No, not at all.  There is room for improvement - adjustments to the site layout and some operational things that need to be rethought.  But, overall, it was an unqualified home run, and ripe with many stories, experiences, and memories.

This was Executive Director Claude Giroux's final interPLAY as he moves to West Vancouver to begin his tenure as the leader of the Kay Meek Centre.  He has helped shape and grow interPLAY in such a wonderful way.  This region will be forever grateful for the legacy he has left behind.  Soon, some new leader will pick up his torch and grow our treasured celebration of the visual and performing arts in ways we haven't even begun to imagine.

interPLAY at Keyano and King

Outside of the one year that it was held up at the Thickwood Heights Community Centre (1996), the Fort McMurray interPLAY Festival rose from the pavement on Franklin Avenue between Hardin and Main Streets. For 17 of those 19 summers, it went up and came down in a magical flurry of activity on the second weekend in August.  One year we tried doing the Festival as part of the Heritage Day long weekend (2000) and another year we moved it to align with the Alberta Seniors Games (2003).  Over the past few days, the Events Wood Buffalo crew has been getting interPLAY on its feet in its new home on King Street at Keyano College and Composite High School.

This new location offers the one thing that the Franklin location did not - space, and loads of it.  The four-day celebration of the visual and performing arts has taken over the Theatre & Arts Centre parking lot at Keyano College, a portion of King Street, and the front lawn of the high school.

The Markeplace, bigger and better than ever, will stretch down King linking the TransAlta Mainstage area with the Syncrude Playland Giggle Stage.

The heart of the event will be in the abundant space offered by the huge parking lot with two performance stages, multiple food vendors, beverage garden (thanks to the Kinsmen and Kinettes!) and a street performer pitch.

It'll be very interesting to see the crowd that gathers for the various shows that will take place on the Mainstage.

Though it's not my cup of musical tea, Fozzy, with WWE star Chris Jericho, will likely gather one of the biggest crowds in the Festival's history.  I can promise that my 12 year old son, a wrestling nut, is crazy excited for this one.

I'm looking forward to the country show tonight.  Tim Hus is an amazing singer songwriter who brilliantly tells our western Canadian stories.  The Good Brothers are icons of Canadian Country Music, not to mention outstanding performers.  The first saw them in 1984 in the skating rink at Verigan, Saskatchewan.

The Mainstage is also the spot to enjoy some of the finest local talent we have to offer in Wood Buffalo with the Suncor Homegrown Talent Search, MIX 103.7 Kickin' Karaoke Contest and the KAOS Band Camp Superstars.

The list of things to see, experience and enjoy is as long as my arm.  In the words of Ben McCully from Country 93.3, "I dare you to see it all."

The program is available online so you can plan in advance.  Or, you can come down to the festival site and wing it like the rest of us!

The Pike Fight

I was talking on the phone, gripping the BlackBerry to my right ear (as the left one is pretty much useless) and watching the tip of my rod with the pickerel rig and minnows floating just past the spot where the Snye flows into the Clearwater River.  A spotty evening with the odd rain shower and overcast conditions, there were only a few anglers on this stretch of land that on a sunny evening is stacked with fishing rods every 15 feet or so.  I was nestled in my prime spot, talking on the phone, waiting for a fish to rise.

Throughout the call, I had various nibbles and substantial bites, but I left the rod alone and kept talking.  Finally, the rod took a definitive dip, then another, and a resounding third.  Resolute that the conversation was far more important, I left the rod in its holder, letting the fish settle.

Eventually, I switched the phone to my left ear, straining to hear as I'm virtually deaf on that side, and reaching for my rod with my right hand, setting it between my knees so I could slowly start to reel it in without interrupting the productive chat I was having.  Incrementally, the fish - obviously a medium-sized pike by this point - was coaxed closer and closer to the shore eventually landing at the feet of the guy fishing off to my left  on the point.

"Ahh, I kind of have to deal with this fish I just caught.  Can I call you back?"

That one turned out to be about 7 pounds.  I grabbed him and persuaded the hook out of its spot just on the inside of his significant mouth, then set him gently in the water to go about his merry way.

"OK, I'm back," I said, getting back on the phone to finish the conversation.

Several things about this night of fishing compelled me to stay a little longer that I normally would.  Apart from being in my favourite spot, the water was perfectly calm, and the young eagle was perched on his branch watching the goings on very carefully, always a positive omen for fishermen.

So, I put my rig out and waited.  It took about 45 minutes, but once again the rod took a dip.  This time, the pike turned north and made a beeline down river, heading for the point at MacDonald Island.

"Oh man, this is a monster," I declared, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was going to be something special.

As I reeled in, with the drag on just a smidge, the sound was deeply satisfying.  Weeeeeeeeeeeeee, went the reel as I turned the handle with fervor.  The monster turned north again and emerged from the water, driving himself away from me with the incredible power of its tail.

I kept reeling it in as I began to move it slowly away from the current of the Clearwater and into the stiller waters of the Snye.  Walking myself down the shore and over the rod of my neighbor, I pulled the fish on to the beach, being very careful not to snap the line.

Anglers gathered around as I grabbed the pliers to extricate the relatively tiny brass hook out of its gargantuan mouth.  One guy had his iPhone out and took a picture.  Another was describing what was happening to his girlfriend on the other end of his phone.  A third grabbed my BlackBerry and captured the moment as the fish weighed in at an even 14 pounds and stretched out 37 inches or almost 94 centimetres.

My thumb is a little sliced up from holding the fish under his gills to get him on the scale, but other than that, I emerged unscathed from the most exciting fight of the year.

I gently grabbed the monster after doing the official weigh-in and measuring and placed him in the water.  Running my hands delicately along its sides, I gave the tail a little wiggle and it slowly meandered away to destinations unknown.

Your computer has been hacked!

We get a lot of funny phone calls these days.  From political surveys to unwanted sales calls to unsolicited offers of free air miles, we've arrived at the point where we just hang up before anyone speaks.

This morning's call was a little different.

"Sir, we have reason to believe that your computer has been hacked," he began, sporting an accent from somewhere in southeast asia, probably India.

"Um, ok?"

"Sir, how old is your computer?"

What the age of my computer has to do with anything I have no idea, but I told him.

"Before we go any further, I need to verify you are who you say you are, and that you are legitimate.  How do you suggest I do that?"

He gave me one phone number, then another in rapid succession, realizing on the fly (I think) that he was talking to someone in Canada.

"We have a report that someone was on your computer at 2 am.  Was anyone in your house on the computer at that time?  Someone is using your IP address to conduct illegal business, including bank fraud."

At this point, this was starting to sound real, and potentially disturbing.

"Can you go to your computer and check some things for me?"

He guided me through the event log and a check of applications, security and systems.  Multiple error messages and warnings appeared.

"Just one error message indicates that the hackers can completely crash your computer.  When they are done doing their illegal activities, this is what they do to cover their tracks."

We're about 10 minutes into the process at this point, running through various checks, with enough descriptive qualifiers to suggest that we had a significant issue on our hands.

"I'm going to pass you along to a Microsoft Senior Technical Advisor named Marcus."

Marcus came on the line a few seconds later, quieter, with a distinct South African accent.

"How many years old is your computer?" he began.

"What do you see on your screen?" he continued, taking me through similar territory to the previous guy.

"How many other computers do you have in the house, and how old are they?"

At this point I stopped him.

"Look Marcus, before we go any further, I need to absolutely verify your call.  How do you suggest I do that?"

He said that I was absolutely right and that I should call the number the previous caller gave and then ask to speak to Marcus.

"Let me tell you what I'm going to do Marcus.  I will call that number, but only after I call my IT professionals to get their advice."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Marcus, you can save us both a lot of time if you admit this is a scam.  Marcus?"

More silence.  Click!

Whew!  I almost got suckered in.  Now, I'm on hold with the Canadian Anti-Fraud Centre (CAFC) at the advice of the local RCMP.  I have several phone numbers (probably fake), a name and a story.  Let's see what happens.

Addendum:  in talking with the representative from the CAFC I found out that they have received complaints like this en mass from across the country in recent days.  The next stage in the scam is that they ask for control of your computer at which time they tell you that you have a significant problem that requires specialized software.  As your warranty has long since passed, they ask for a credit card number.  Scores of people have been stung for between $100 and $600.  BEWARE.