That time I went to a summer camp in Ukraine

July 26, 2012February 21, 2013 / Lauren / 2 Comments

Illustration by Sonja Kresowaty

When I was 10, I went to a summer camp in Ukraine.

I don’t mean that my parents shipped me off and told me to have fun with macrame and Ukrainians and that they’d see me in a few weeks. My whole family had been living in Latvia (the home of my mother’s predecessors) for the previous year, and after the school year and the Jāņi (Midsummer) celebrations were done, we hopped an overnight train to Ukraine, my parents rented a “microbus” van (complete with driver) and we drove into the Carpathians to visit the homeland (on my father’s side–where did you think “Kresowaty” came from?).

I didn’t quite realize this at the time, but by the end of our year in Latvia, we weren’t exactly rolling in money with which to tour another Eastern European country. This, I imagine, is why it seemed like a good idea to spend a few days staying in a cabin in a children’s summer camp, sleeping on the cheap and eating camp dinners with the kids. And for all intents and purposes, it was a good idea, since it worked out just fine.

The camp was pretty and the woman who ran it was very accommodating. After realizing that we spoke English, the children staying there treated us like celebrities, crowding around us to get a look (which was a bit scary for my sisters and me at first but wasn’t mean). Our cabin was large and bright compared to some of the hotels we had recently stayed in (or the hay-covered floor we had slept on after the Jāņi festivities).

As for the camp’s facilities, I remember only that I had to eat mashed potatoes (even though I hated them) because that was what was being served, and that the “bathrooms” at the camp were cement cubicles with small holes in the floor. My aim (as a child of 10 who was used to sit-down toilets) was not so great, so whenever I could I took advantage of the WC provided by the Great Outdoors. I can’t remember if we were ever able to shower while we were there, or whether we bathed in a river or something instead (there was a beautiful little waterfall nearby where we could jump off the rock into the pool below).

But no matter. My parents revealed to me this year that they’re pretty sure that a lot of the kids at the camp were from the Chernobyl contamination zone, spending a summer away from the ever-present danger of radiation (the disaster had only occurred about a decade ago at that point). That freaked me out a bit because I’ve read that to spend time living with a Chernobylite is essentially to spend time with a nuclear reactor (human bodies hold radiation just like everything else), but it also made their kindness all the more touching.

Despite my sisters and my shyness, the other kids (girls especially) were friendly and inclusive and those who could speak a bit of English seemed excited to try it out on us. An older girl took charge of us at the camp’s “Disco” night, asking us what music we liked (I told her Ace of Base) and making sure the teasing boys behaved themselves. On our last day at the camp, some of the girls presented us with little gifts they had bought from the ladies who sometimes set up little booths there.

I want to point out that these kids had nothing. Ukraine was a very poor country following the collapse of the USSR only five or so years before (running water only available some parts of the day, hot water hardly at all) and I think these girls were even poorer than that. I can’t remember how my sisters and I reacted to receiving the plastic earrings, bottle of perfume, and the small bottle of “Venus” deodorant we were given (I don’t think it was a slight, this seemed to be one of the prized items for sale). I think even as (comparatively) privileged Canadian kids we realized how nice this was. I don’t remember any of the girls’ names, but the memory of their generosity only becomes more amazing to me as I grow older. I don’t know many children, poor or otherwise, who would ever think to buy presents out of pocket for complete strangers.

Illustration by Sonja Kresowaty

On our last night, my sisters and I were roused from sleep. The lady who ran the camp was there, to feed us some type of corn porridge and sell my parents a heavy wool blanket (the “Ukrainian blanket” is the warmest blanket my family owns, popular on the couch in Saskatchewan winters or when camping). There was a lot of eating with strangers in Ukraine. Wherever we went, it seems people wanted to feed us. That’s just how it was.

Most of that trip through Ukraine feels like a dream to me now. Not because I was young (I have vivid memories of being much younger than 10), but because it was all so unusual to me. My memories of the country are just little snatches now: Fanta in sugar-rimmed glasses. The gilded opera house in Lviv where gorgeous women in stilettos went clack clack clack up marble staircases. Paying 1000 “kupons” (5 USD) for a carved wooden jewellery box. The cherries that looked good but had worms in them. The family we found who may or may not have been related to my grandmother (no way of telling since the village church records were destroyed by the Soviets) but who invited us for lunch anyways. Spending the night in a hotel that wasn’t open to the public yet (and didn’t have toilet seats). My mom celebrating her birthday on the train somewhere in Belarus and blowing out matchsticks stuck into a bun. Dill on everything.

On one of our last nights in Ukraine, we stayed in the apartment of relatives of our travel agent (for free, I think). They had a great big book of Ukrainian folktales in English. The folk art illustrations were stunning. The owners of the apartment gave the book to us, maybe just because they didn’t have use for an English book, maybe because they wanted to give us something. I have it on my shelf now and it is one of the possessions I am most careful with (especially because it belongs to my sisters too, not just to me).

I don’t know why I am thinking of Ukraine today. Maybe because my friend Aliya (who is also half-Ukrainian) mentioned that she would like to go. Maybe because the warm sunny weather and my recent trip to the Prairies has me dreaming of blue skies and yellow fields. Maybe because I encountered some of the most generous people I’ve ever met in my life there. Maybe because there’s a tiny part in me, however small, that cries for the home of my blood.

Or maybe because today I just wanted to tell you, in case you didn’t know, about the time I went to summer camp in Ukraine.

Why feminism and my apron can be friends

July 20, 2012July 20, 2012 / Lauren / 4 Comments

“We are living the dream grandma” http://www.nataliedee.com

Once upon a time, I came upon this web comic on one of my favourite “let’s waste some time with funny things” website, NatalieDee.com. And I laughed and laughed and laughed. Ha ha, I thought, I’ve seen those ladies whose lives are so pretty and ladylike and are all so perfectly just-so. Do they really think having a choice between cute stripes and cute polka dots on their way-too-pricey for kitchen use, too-precious-even-for-Zooey-Deschanel, vintage-esque oven mitts makes them liberated? How charming! I felt pretty damn smug for a while and snickered and snickered judgementally.

Then my sister (who isn’t the kind of woman being described in the comic at all but is a clever and independent lady who didn’t want me to get too smug) reminded me that a liberated woman should be able to choose to do whatever the hell she wants to, even if it’s spend all day on Pinterest looking at pretty things, regardless of whether I personally think Pinterest is just a shopping list with pictures or not (don’t hate, all you Pinterest fans, I know there are very good ways to use the site, it’s just not my bag). I also had to admit to myself that I love cupcakes, and also, that my adorable apron has chickens on it (but I wear it sincerely, to keep my clothes clean, without a trace of irony).

So it seems that I live in a glass house, but I throw stones anyways. What else is new in this weird world of post-feminism feminism? I know I am feminist, in that I believe in wage equality and reproductive rights and that I do not believe in glass ceilings or the idea that “there are some things men are just better at”, but that’s kind of where it stops. Besides recognizing my full personhood (physically, mentally, morally, legally), I don’t really know how to express my feminism.

And now I wonder, do I have to? Is there something I’m supposed to be doing to stand up and be counted (besides politically–I already vote, sign petitions, all that good stuff). Should I stop wearing makeup because it’s just The Man’s way of telling me I’m not beautiful enough without it? Should I have gone into Math and Science in university instead of theatre and English because females are incredibly underrepresented in those areas of study and overrepresented in mine? Am I supposed to take the fact that I’m a smart lady as an indication that I’m wasting my life if I become anything less than a CEO?

I think the answer to all those questions is No. If I’m truly the master/mistress of my own destiny, my gender (or other people’s perception of it) should have very little do with my choices. And yet, the people who have made me feel, at different points in my life, that the answers to those questions should be Yes are WOMEN. Women in my personal life, women on the media, female bloggers–name any group of intelligent feminist women and you will find those who feel the answers to these questions should be Yes.

And maybe for them, they should be. But deciding how to express yourself and being confident in your choices does not mean you get to decide how another woman should express herself or become self-actualized. Another thing I’ve noticed about these questions is that they relate much less to me than they do to what a man is doing in comparison to me (not wearing makeup, studying Math, being a CEO, etc.).

I’m not sure about much in the way of how feminism is doing these days but I’m sure of one thing: masculinity is not going to be the benchmark of my success as a woman. I am not a man, so why measure myself with their yardstick? Why leave the control of my self-esteem in their hands?

Eff that. That said, this is ME saying “eff that” for myself, not for other women. If you are a lady who wants to not wear make-up, or wants to study Math, or be a CEO, more power to you. In fact:

For any woman who does not wear make-up: That’s great. It probably saves you time and money. I don’t wear much make-up but I do like to feel a little fancy sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Technically, there’d be nothing wrong with me piling on the stuff and going to work everyday looking like Boy George as long as I was happy.

For any woman who studies Math or Science: Coolio. I hope you build a bridge or cure something. I’m terrible at both of those subjects (mostly Math) so I would not have added anything to your field of study. I also love theatre, writing, and books and that’s what I’m involved in. So, y’know, I think we’ve both been learning things we like.

For all you female CEOs, Supreme Court Justices, and other Captains of Industry and Influencers of High Finance and Society: You rock. You are inspirational to women who share your goals, and I appreciate being represented in certain political and legal spheres. Personally, I just want to live on an island in the sea with the people I love and write things and be happy. I’ll use your motivation to reach your goals as inspiration to meet mine, without having to follow your path.

And that’s what it’s all about. Maybe. Natalie Dee will draw her very funny comics. I’ll keep laughing at them and wearing my apron (when I cook, obviously) and wondering what the heck Pinterest is all about. Somewhere out there, some woman will keep on rockin’ her job as a CEO. Little girls will play with cars, or Barbies, or mud, or whatever they want. And that’s what it’s all about?

Well, no, of COURSE that’s not what it’s all about. When I read the news it’s glaringly obvious that we have a LONG LONG way to go. Watching Rachel Maddow being patronized on Meet the Press made me sick. We’ve got a long goddamned way to go.

But you know what won’t get us there any faster? Judging other women for petty choices that have nothing to do with anything, like how they dress themselves or their hobbies or what they like to do.

So please be a feminist. Be a feminist any way you like. And I will do the same. Because the enemy is not my apron. It’s an attitude.

My Reply to the BC NDP’s Sucky Survey

July 12, 2012July 12, 2012 / Lauren / 1 Comment

It should come as no surprise to anyone that has read any of my political blog posts that I am a card-carrying member of the federal NDP. I joined before Christmas because I wanted to be able to cast my vote for the new Leader of the Opposition (such fun!).

What was a surprise to me (though not a necessarily unpleasant one), was that membership in the federal NDP automatically made me a member of the BC NDP as well. That is why I was the recent recipient of a disappointing mail-out called the “BC NDP Pre-Election Opinion Survey”.

Now, I love surveys. Love them. I love sharing my opinion (again, no surprise). I have not been very involved in BC politics and I was excited at the prospect of my opinion helping shape the direction the party would be taking in the next provincial election.

Much to my dismay, this “survey” proved to be little more than a request for donations, and a collection of questions so leading and so obvious you’d have to be a Nazi to answer any differently than the party expects you to. Since this survey was sent only to BC NDP members, I suspect Nazis were not given the opportunity to respond.

An example of the in-depth research this survey is doing.

Of course it’s important to ask questions about housing, persons with disabilities, the economy, education, etc., but the way these questions are phrased simply asks questions we all know the answer to. I think I can safely say all British Columbians (no matter which party they support) would agree that people with disabilities should be provided some assistance and security and that well-paying jobs are a priority for the province. What the survey failed to ask was how we felt about how the BC NDP proposes to do this. How is good housing for adults with disabilities to be secured? How will apprenticeship programs be expanded and well-paying jobs created? Who will pay for these initiatives?

A more useful survey would be one in which respondents were asked to rank the issues/iniatives which were most important to them (in the economy, education, health care, etc.), and were then asked what they would be willing to see their provincial government do to make these initiatives happen. Would we be willing to see income tax increases? Corporate tax increases? Would we be able to stomach cuts in certain areas? If so, which?

A criticism of the BC NDP that I have heard repeated several times since moving to BC is that although they are against whatever the BC Liberals do, they themselves do not seem to have a plan and do not seem to have any solid alternatives to offer. You can’t simply decry cuts to this and that without any alternative plans for balancing the budget. Although I will likely give the BC NDP the benefit of the doubt and vote for them in the next provincial election, I can’t blame British Columbians for having little confidence in the party, especially when its own members are receiving stupid surveys like this one.

After ripping open my survey envelope in delightful anticipation of participating in the political process and having my hopes immediately dashed, what I found most galling is that the confidential survey finishes off with a money grab.

Soo confidential! With my name and address on it and everything!

I’m used to being asked for donations so that didn’t bother me much, but I couldn’t believe that my “No” option for donating was enclosing $6.50 to pay for the privilege of answering this absolutely useless survey. If the survey questions had been decided on as the product of intense research and thought I would have likely been happy to support the initiative. I do not feel like I need to pay $6.50 for what is essentially junk mail.

While I’m in the process of bashing the provincial party I will likely vote for, I’d also like the point out that the letter I received with the survey was stupid too. As you can see, the letter uses underlining to great effect. Good god. I’m not in elementary school anymore. I don’t require underlining to tell me which words are important. Remember that this is a letter to the BC NDP’s own members, not someone completely unfamiliar with the party. If I was so stupid that underlining key words would sway me, I wouldn’t be voting NDP (the Liberals and Conservatives have better soundbites and use more repetition). Eugh.

You may ask why, if I am an NDP-supporter, I would write a post criticizing and poking fun at the BC NDP. The answer is because I want to vote for them, and I want to vote for a party that doesn’t underestimate my intelligence. I want the BC NDP to step it up. Ill-conceived donation drives like this one (masquerading as surveys) do not increase my confidence in the party.

C’mon BC NDP. If you can’t give me solutions right now, at least show me that you’re making an honest and genuine effort to come up with some. Until you do, your sucky missives are going straight in the recycling.

Ooh Saskatchewan!

July 6, 2012July 8, 2012 / Lauren / Leave a comment

Driving through southern Saskatchewan.

Last Friday, my TC and I packed our bags for a week in Saskatchewan. Our trip took us through Saskatoon (briefly), Weyburn (for a wedding) and Cochin, but most of our time was spent in the house I grew up in, situated on 240 acres of forest and fields (mostly forest) in northwest Saskatchewan. Technically I did not grow up on a farm (I grew up on an acreage), but considering how far we lived from the nearest town (Turtleford–at least a 30 min drive from us, population 500) and the fact that at different times we’ve had rabbits and roosters and laying hens and a duck (in addition to the more usual dogs and cats), I suppose I could forgive your confusion.

This trip was TC’s first time deep in the country, and there are a few things he found a little bit “crazy”:

Saskatchewan is flat–you can see power lines for miles. Except only really in the south. It is not that flat where I’m from, comparatively, or nearly as open.
Giving directions includes, “Head eight and a half miles out of town on the highway and turn right at the white barn.” In our defense, we were in Weyburn for a wedding, and none of us were familiar with the community. Had we known where we were, the instructions would have certainly included the family surnames of the farms we were passing.
Dirt roads. We do not live on a dirt road. The roads out here are gravel thank you very much.
There’s no street signs out here. Of course there are no street signs out here. There are no streets. We get to our houses via roads (see above). Gravel roads don’t need names.
Wild strawberries. Heck yes wild strawberries.
Massive properties with hundreds of old cars and some buildings erected to form a kind of “car village”. To be fair, the property TC is referring to is a neighbour’s farm, and this neighbour is a devoted collector of vintage (and rare) cars. The bison farm he owns with his wife is a pretty special, very unique place, not the norm for Saskatchewan farms. The fact that his collection and its set-up is not commercialized in any way is also very special.
Cows and other “critters” on the side of the road. Yes, this happens sometimes. And yesterday, we saw a badger!
There are three cats in the house. This is only crazy because TC is so ferociously allergic to cats. For the rest of us, it’s just triple the cuteness.

Our provincial flower, the Western Red Lily.

It’s hard for me to describe my home because I love it so much. I love the fields, I love the woods, I love the gigantic skies. I love driving the gravel roads that form a near-perfect grid across the province. I love Bright Sand Lake, I love the neighbourliness, I love the quiet (except in its own way, the Prairie is very loud). I love watching thunderstorms roll in. I love that my parents and their friends talk about hilling their potatoes, and the weather (because it impacts more than their mood and their beach plans), and never about salaries or how much people are paying in rent/mortgage/car payments etc. (which is somehow acceptable conversation in a city). I love that we ate good food all week and no one took a photo of it. I love being in the house my dad designed and built (except I hate when things inside it change). It’s the home of my soul, and always will be.

Despite his cat allergies and his newness to the region, TC and I had a lovely time. My only regret is having to head back to the city tomorrow. Sigh.