Advice for the newly minted (Brooke)

I wish that I remembered being in my mother's womb, or even better, exactly how it felt to be in the world  for the first minute or five or ten. I bet there are people who remember or have even a semblance of memory from those moments. Or at least those who claim to remember and mistakenly associate some other first-ever with the experience of being born (first bath?). The first in the next generation of my family was recently born--on my birthday, no less--and so I started thinking in this vein again. Childbirth, childhood, memories, advice, and most importantly, what it's like to be born in 2010.

This child has no idea what she's in for. I can barely guess, given how rapidly our culture has changed in the last ten, twenty years. Proud parents used to rent phones at the hospital and call relatives one-by-one in due time, and eventually they might circulate or mail a picture to those concerned. Lately, most babies have made an ultrasound debut on Facebook or Flickr before they come close to making an entrance to the world. Within minutes of birth, friends and family were already demanding my exhausted sister and her husband to post pictures, name, weight, likes, dislikes, hobbies, religious views, etc. Okay, I exaggerated those last few. Having said this, the younger you are, the quicker you adapt. Perhaps I feel, at times, burdened by technology because I was born in 1980. I didn't own a cell phone until the age of 23 and I have yet to fold to the smart phone phenomenon because you can't convince me that I need to be connected at all times. Oh yes, and I still listen to records.

Over the weekend, a friend of mine gave me a birthday card/1980 yearbook. It was about 10 pages filled with old references from the eighties. Most of us had a good laugh (anyone over 26) and mused about how things have changes, like a bunch of accomplished old people *satisfied sigh, far-off gaze*. We know we're not old, and we're not nearly satisfied enough to feign it, but honestly, a world without cell phones and everywhere internet seems a trillion light years ago, doesn't it?

With all of this in my head, I put my name on a list for an iPhone and bought an old, ratty version of a book written in 1915 (Of Human Bondage). And I devised a list of advice that I hope will transcend time (or at least provide time-machine-like laughter, as did my 80s card) and help ground my little niece when she needs it.

• Never forget the importance of reading a good book, in any medium. You will feel richer for it.
• Don't wait for occasions to buy gifts for people you love.
• Ensure you play outside of your comfort zone enough. Join a club. Travel alone. Write if you hate writing. Sing if you hate singing. You don't have to tell anyone.
• Learn how to cook for yourself.
• Make time for breakfast and staring out the window in the morning.
• Bundle up and enjoy winter. Make snowballs and forts, no matter your age.
• Find humour in something every day. Even if it's at your expense.
• Decide on an instrument and learn to play it. You don't have to master it to understand the importance of music in life and how it feels to make it.
• Stand back once a year and evaluate your life. What are you proud/not proud of?
• Don't be afraid to say you're happy or not happy.
• Determine how a genuine gut instinct feels and follow it. Accept that you are an ever-changing being and what you liked last year you may not like this year, or vice versa.
• (Relates to above) Don't be flaky. Nobody likes flaky.
• Quality, not quantity.

Easy, right? Good luck in life, baby Brooke.

Auntie Erin

Have legs, will run for advice

Having just booked a ticket to Kathmandu, I felt the need to start a regular training regime, particularly one that includes stairs or steep inclines of some sort. As I run/walk/go in the general upwards direction, I think about how I've always perceived this place like I have Transylvania. Just saying the name of this exotic city aloud elicits thoughts of lingering and unexpected fog. It feels good to say it, so I do so on a regular basis. It imposes itself on otherwise humdrum conversation like an Irish accent and begs to be heard.

I'm going to come back to Kathmandu later. After all, I still have two-and-a-half months to contemplate it.

It's the training regime I want to talk about. I hate to use the word 'regime' to describe what has been a half-hearted attempt at best. Typically, I like to run down the promenade, down Victoria Park Hill and up the stairs from Victoria golf course a few times and run/walk home from there. I know this isn't much, but it incorporates a little of everything in a manageable time frame.

First off, stop laughing. Indeed, Edmonton has it's very own promenade perched on the lip of the river valley peering over Victoria Park Road. It stretches from 116th to 121st Street. I'm shocked at the number of Edmontonians who eye me suspiciously when I call this stretch of avenue a promenade. Honestly though, if you were over 75, you would know this place. It's the avenue of the old and wise.

The first time I ventured out to try my route, an 87-year-old woman (name unknown) waited as I ascended my final go of the stairs. "My daughter does that six times a day, you know." She also noted that if I continue to do this (six times a day?!), I would look as good as her at 87. She looked pretty able for her age! Noted.

The next time, I met Freddy. Where to begin with Freddy? He lives on the promenade and if you make eye contact, you may as well discount a good half hour from your day. Having said that, he will make it well worth your time. Freddie is 84 and here's his life secret: "No alcohol but the finest cognac." Oh yes, and only share it with your real friends (because it's expensive). How do you know real friends from your fake friends? "Look them in the eye and you'll know their character."

This man is straight out of a Dostoevsky novel. In the span of 30 minutes (him talking; me listening), I saw the lighthearted Freddy ("How old was that other lady you were talking to here? Does she live around here?" - referring to the 87-year-old lady from my last jaunt), the humorous Freddy ("you're young, but not that young."), the thoughtful Freddy ("this modern architecture [referring to a new condo on the promenade] it's built like a prison! Why would I pay $1 million to live in a prison!") and the dark Freddy ("I survived for 70 days on leaves during the war.")

After a half hour, I had to tell Freddy to save some stories for next time we run into one another and I cut my stair climbing short to make my escape. It's rare that you meet people so sure of themselves and of life. Over the weekend, I found myself wondering what Freddy or the nameless 87-year-old woman would think about _________. I wonder if I'll be more inclined to talk to strangers when I'm old?

Tonight...six flights of stairs, the finest cognac and hopefully another gem to add to the agenda.