Climb for Hospice

Last night I went downtown with a couple of friends to bask in the craziness that is Olympic Fever. Being the patriotic Canadian that I am, I decided that I needed to ‘show my colours’, and so ventured into that most patriotic of establishments, Canadian Tire, and went about searching for a flag to wave. However, being the lazy patriotic Canadian that I am, I found that carrying a flag and waving it occasionally may prove to be just too darn taxing.

Wait! What’s this I see? Some GENIUS has created the ultimate answer to my dilemma! SCORE!

And so, I walked out of Canadian Tire with a BIG Canadian flag WITH SLEEVES. Dude! How awesome! You just put your arms through, and voila! you have Flying Squirrel-esque Flag technology right on your back. Oh, Canada. Is there anything you can’t do?

So as we walked (and walked, and walked…) around the city, weaving among the hordes, inquiring as to line wait-times, we noticed something peculiar: we walked in people-crowded streets for hours on end, and I only had my foot stepped on once. Anytime someone bumped into me, there was “excuse me” and “I’m sorry” exchanged. Lots of smiles, lots of politeness… I think Canadianism is catching! We’re infecting the world! *sniff*… it makes me so proud.

We went to Saskatchewan House for dinner (those perogies are AWESOME. Seriously.), and there was a live band playing. When the singer asked the audience if they had any requests, a number of people shouted out “Oh Canada!!”. And so, as I watched two RCMP officers in their serge uniforms get mobbed by camera-happy tourists, and saw cheek-tattooed Canadians assist the hard working waitresses in picking up garbage, there was a guitar wailing out the National Anthem, accompanied by a raucous chorus of happy (Molsonified) Canucks.

And so after we finished our beers, we donned hockey gloves, had our photo taken with a plastic fish, and made our way up to Robson Street. Along the way I decided that I needed to remember some of the overheard snippets of conversation to put in today’s blog entry. Unfortunately I only remember two (that French guy walking into a tree was so distracting that I kind of lost my train of thought)… but they’re pretty good:

“YOU SOLD ME A FAULTY WIG!”

“…she’s over there, getting her picture taken with the yeti”

Ahhhhh, Canada.

However, for me, the best part of the night was when I saw a young man wearing a reflective vest, picking up garbage on the street. (I guess he works for Vanoc or something, I don’t know). Anyway, as he went along Robson St, I watched as people stopped him and thanked him for “helping out”, for “keeping our city beautiful”, and for his “hard work”. I have never seen a person smile so much while picking up garbage.

I love this city. I love this country. I’m a proud Canadian and a dedicated “Syrup-Sucking Icehole”.

WELCOME WORLD!

So, after discussing it with a couple of people, I decided to take the plunge: I’ve made a Facebook page. I created the group (it has the same name as this blog), but it took me a good 10 minutes to click the “create group” button that would publish it to the world. I sat and stared at it, hoping that somehow another idea would magically present itself and save me from having to do this. Nothing came about, so I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and published the page.

I was hesitant to do the Facebook group page because… well, I guess I felt like I didn’t want to hound people, or annoy them. With a blog, I can just passively type entries, and if people stumble upon it and read it, that’s great. But with Facebook, I am asking people to join… I’m asking my friends to give me money/support/time/gifts… I hate that. I feel greedy. I feel embarassed. I feel shy. I guess I don’t want to ever make people feel obligated.

When it comes to fund raising, I’m too apologetic, and not nearly assertive enough. I’m far too passive. I’m the Bambi of Asking for Spare Change.

“You know, maybe if you want to think about possibly donating (only a dollar will be fine!), I would be really grateful for your kindness and generosity. I’m so sorry to have to ask, but.. you know what? 50 cents will do. If you want. I mean, no pressure. I’m sorry. Here… have a dollar. You can donate that. You know, if you want to.”

Part of me is grateful for the Olympics being in town, because it allows me to procrastinate on my fund raising, as I can simply think that people are too busy with other Olympic-related thoughts to give any time to my cause. Come March, I’m going to get very, very nervous.

I have two weeks to get geared up. Two weeks to perfect my spiel. Two weeks to create the best posters and flyers known to all mankind! Two weeks to learn to trust that I am not, in fact, an annoying freakshow, drooling for money. I am a local girl with a good heart and positive ideas. Every cent I raise goes to The Delta Hospice Society. If I just keep those two thoughts in my head, everything will be just fine.

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!”

1) The ever-changing window displays at Bryan’s Bookstore

2) People you pass on the street happily greet you with a smile and a ‘good morning!’, even at 6am

3) The number of businesses that put dog-water bowls out front of their stores

4) Hearing the coyotes howl and the owls hoot in Harbour Park late at night, while I am standing on the other side of the river

5) The fact that my dog can happily follow behind a trotting miniature pony in the Trenant Park parking lot at 9:30 on a Thursday night.