Lost in Espanola. Day 2.

I’m not going to lie; the minute the heaviness of the hotel room lock sank shut at the end of the day, I laid on the bed chilled on the outside by the negative degrees and warmed on the inside by pretty much everything else, and fell asleep. So this is a post day 3 rant as I read through my scribbled reflections on what was another wholesome day in the great white north.

Be warned of a spitting 2am mind:

I was in heaven because it was basketball day for the sports clinics. I don’t realize entirely how completely soaked into the basketball culture I am until moments like these. Kudos to the incredible team who ran the clinics. Like one of the community members said, “I’ve never seen the kids so excited to do burpees!”

On the bus ride to the reserve, I keyed the following into my phone: I’m listening to the piano line from piano man as the sun pushes through the trees like he’s a restless four year old who won’t take no for an answer. I’m fighting my eyes as they ask me kindly for more closing time because I don’t want to miss anything that rolls by my window. And then I think of Mom who would laugh because she says I’ve been like this since I was four. I didn’t want to go to bed, I didn’t want to be anywhere but in the moment. In the action. I didn’t want to miss a thing. She sat frustrated with a smile because I sat happy.

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When you remember something a child tells you the day before that you just met and ask them about it the next day, it makes them happy. I hope it makes them feel special.

Most of the people that I interviewed, I knew. I have fallen in love with trying to break into someone. I do believe that they need to feel that they can trust you. Tell you their secrets. When you see the wall fall it’s a bit of a high. I also like those moments when the camera turns off. They ask me if they did okay and I say they were wonderful and then they tend to crack into the hidden song story. One of the incredible chefs from our team said post script that one thing that stood out to him was that no one was picky. At home everyone requests no onions or dressing on the side and here he didn’t hear one person complain. One kid complain. He said it wasn’t fancy eating, it was fueling, but everything up to the apples and bananas were gone. And thanks. So, so much thanks. For one exercise they brought foods that the kids had never tried. They were spitting out avocado and making sour faces at the mango and coconut. It’s so close to home yet so far out.

The drum circle was a favourite moment of mine because it brought us into the traditions of the first nation people. I sat beside a friend and she read the following to me from her research:
In a circle no one is higher than anyone else. Everyone is equal. The drum is the first sound we remember. Our mother’s heartbeat mocks this. It’s comforting.
She then told me to think about meetings at work and other everyday moments. How do you sit? And how do you feel? … … …

I will now close my eyes to the sirens instead of surreal silence. Spitting complete. -k

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