It’s hard for some of us to truly believe that you’re three. You’re still a baby to us, in many ways. And yet even someone who’s never met you before can carry out a (reasonably coherent) conversation with them. You know what you like and what you don’t like (even if you actually do like it and you’re just being difficult), and you no longer parrot what we’ve said — you have your own thoughts.

And I gotta tell ya, kid … today, you made me a very proud daddy.

I think the hardest part for you today was when you woke up last night with a bad dream. Instead of crawling in bed with me, as you normally do, I intercepted you at your door, and ushered you back into your bed. It was unfair, I know, and for that I apologise. The reason was we didn’t want you to accidentally wreck the string of paper rings we’d hung there after you’d gone to sleep, and you might have accidentally taken them down.

When you woke up, you saw the rings and seemed unsure of why they were there. Even your name written across the bathroom mirror in two-foot letters, with a big “3″ didn’t seem to register. Mommy and I put this down as you not having woken up entirely yet (clearly, you needed your coffee as badly as I did). It wasn’t long before you realised that, yes, today was your birthday. Your special day.

(Choo Choo, I know that somehow you felt a bit maligned. Forgotten. Ignored. Your day will come, and then we’ll make sure you feel special. I just hope you kids realise Mommy and I have to do this at least another 17 times. That thought is a little daunting right now.)

We had blueberry pancakes. You wore your Ariel princess dress and your crown. (Which isn’t much of a surprise. You’ve worn that crown every single day since we got back from Winnipeg.) Then, while you read and played a bit, Mommy and I proceeded to get the house ready for your party.

It wasn’t easy. There were a lot of things we had to do to get ready, and the truth is we wouldn’t have got it all done without help from both Grandma, Nana, and Auntie B (your Great Aunt Brenda). But at five minutes before party time, you were dressed (still wearing the crown), and waiting.

The first ones to the door were Jenn and Braden. Braden can’t walk yet, but we were still thrilled to see him. It wasn’t long before others started arriving. When Michelle and Lindsay appeared, you shrieked, ran out of the house, and gave Lindsay a huge hug.

Mommy and I had to do all of the inviting this year, so I invited all of your family — you saw them all yesterday at Grandnana’s memorial dinner — while Mommy made sure your Fairy Godmother Sue could come, along with some of the friends you’ve made. Sadly, Christina and Luke couldn’t come, Luke was feeling very sick.

You played downstairs with some of the kids, you talked with your relatives, and you ate most of the Goldfish crackers. When the cake came out, you screamed “cake time!”, leapt off the couch, and ran into the kitchen and took your seat at the table. After a rousing chorus (I totally forgot to use my alternative lyrics), you blew out all but one of the candles without assistance (you needed help to lean in for the last one).

Although you take forever to eat ice cream, you loved your ice cream cake. And so did everyone else.

As is always the case with a good party, it was over all too soon, and people were headed on their way home. You said goodbye to everyone, and even hugged a few of them.

After dinner, the four of us sat down to open presents. You did the unwrapping, I recorded the event on video, Mommy kept track of who gave you what, and Choo Choo lay on the floor being intolerably cute.

I gotta say, kid, for a group of people who were told not to bring anything, they brought some pretty freaking cool stuff. You got a lot of neat things, especially to add to your growing collection of things in your play kitchen downstairs. Now you have a shopping cart, food, and ice cream to go along with it. You’ve got more colouring things, some dress-up dolls, a couple of more books, and your Auntie Cathy struck again with some awesome clothing.

Oh, you don’t believe me that you liked these things? We have video kid, cries of delight and all.

After a bath, we rolled you into bed for a long birthday sleep. It’s been a long, great day for you. And for us.

All I do is grunt and groan
Hurts me to walk anywhere
Went to see my physician, Dr. Jones
He took my trousers off, told me to cough
Doctor says there ain’t nothin’ to discuss
He tells me any day I might have to wear a truss

-“Living with a Hernia”, Weird Al Yankovic

A couple of months ago (could be longer, but let’s start there), I noticed a rather odd bulge just to the left of my [CENSORED FOR PUBLIC DECENCY]. At the time, I wasn’t too concerned — it didn’t hurt, and prodding it seemed no different than the other side. Given my new exercise regiment, I merely assumed it was a result of over-exertion. (As a side note, I’m probably still correct on that point.)

Yesterday, while having a shower, I happened to notice that it looked bigger than before. Alex, my personal medical encyclopedia, looked at it and said: “hernia”.

It’s amazing the things you can find when you google “swollen groin male”. Oddly enough, one of them is “inguinal hernia“. The picture you see there (probably NSFW, by the way) looks pretty close to what I see (and I swear the picture isn’t me). It gave me enough of a thought to call Alberta HealthLink.

After going through enough conversation with them, the net result was that I should see a doctor within four hours. Given that bit of news, I decided not to wait until the following morning, and trucked myself down to the Sheldon Chumir Urgent Care Clinic downtown.

For those of you not in the know, the healthcare situation in Calgary is reasonably grim. We have four functioning hospitals (one of which is restricted to children), one of which is also the trauma centre for southern Alberta, southeast British Columbia, and parts of Saskatchewan. The Urgent Care Clinics were set up to handle non-life-threatening situations, and take some of the load off the hospital ERs. I chose to go to the Urgent Care Clinic because I know this, and didn’t want to tie up a hospital ER with a non-critical patient.

That said, I had a near-three hour wait to see a doctor. Calgary also has a serious shortage in staff, as when the province took over all the health boards, staff got sliced as part of a budgetary action. Yeah, real swift thing, Alberta Government, cut back on healthcare. (Okay, cheap shot, the government now covers the Alberta Health fees, so it’s not all bad.)

Anyway, I had to wait mostly because other patients needed care more urgently than I did. But finally, I got called in, and led to a room somewhere well beyond the secured doors … which looked oddly familiar. It took a moment, but I was absolutely certain that this was the same room I’d been to back in December.

I waited in the room about another 30 minutes before the doctor finally arrived. He got straight to the point: drop the drawers, and let’s see. It took about five seconds and a bit of prodding: yep, it’s a hernia. He even showed that if I lay down and massaged it a bit, it popped right back where it’s supposed to be.

Yes, I can hear you getting grossed out. Try having one and not feeling all icky.

The short version he had was: surgery. It’s really the only way to fix the problem. So they’ll set up a referral, and I might have to wait “months” to have it fixed. MONTHS. So not only have I been living with a hernia, I’ll be living with one for a while yet to come…

Before I got home, though, the clinic called to tell me that I had a just-scheduled ultrasound for this morning, at 10:20. And I got a reminder call at somewhere around 7:30 this morning, with the information I needed … like, where I was going.

So off to Sunridge Diagnostic Imaging. There, the doctor confirmed in barely the time it takes to say “inguinal hernia” that it was, in fact, a direct inguinal hernia; the other type is indirect. The difference between them? In an indirect inguinal hernia (and I presume this happens only in men), the intestine goes into the scrotum.

Yep, now you can squirm like crazy. ‘Cuz I am.

Anyway, the prognosis hasn’t changed, and I have yet another followup tomorrow, though this is with my “family” doctor. Not sure what’ll change, if anything. If I’m lucky, it’ll up the surgery timeline. But I ain’t holding my breath.

‘Cuz that could hurt.

That, and two cups of coffee, of course…

Although Swift Current was inundated with fog when we got up, the sun had burned its way through before we hit the road for Alberta. The sky didn’t look threatening, but there was enough doubt there to suggest we might see some rain along the way. As I stands, the only things that hit the windshield today were bugs.

A curious thing I’ve noticed about Saskatchewan, and I’d love to know the reason for it. East of Swift Current, there are lots of little towns scattered along the Trans Canada (keeping in mind that the Trans Canada more-or-less follows the route of the Canadian Pacific mainline, which was how people got out here in the first place way back when). West of Swift Current, however, there ain’t much. It’s almost a void. It could because the terrain transforms from grasslands to scrublands, and eventually to badlands. Even parts of Alberta were settled only when Canadian Pacific built a water viaduct through Brooks to bring water to an otherwise desolate area.

A little over two hours after leaving Swift Current, we passed across the border into Alberta. Oddly enough, I felt really good about that, even though we still had over three hours to get to Calgary. We were still far from home.

We shot through Medicine Hat, and turned into the town just east of it called Redcliff. Mommy’s friend Marnie lives there, and she’d dropped a hint (through Facebook — I wonder if it’ll still be around when you get around to reading this) that we should stop in on our way back. Marnie was pregnant with her third baby at the same time Mommy was pregnant with Choo Choo, so there was some desire to meet the newborns.

Monkey, we didn’t see much of you. You played with Marnie’s two older daughters. Sadly, I think this officially turned you into a little girl, too. Until now, Mommy and I have done our best to try and butch you up. You have a grand total of two dresses … one of which was actually a gift for Choo Choo, but you fit it (until recently, anyway). But you discovered the joy of dress-up, and ran around as a princess. You were beyond happy, so much so I’m certain you were sad to leave. But we had to get back to Calgary in time to pick up Asia from her kitty hotel.

Grandpa had told me on the way out that the worst stretch of the entire Trans Canada Highway is the part between Calgary and Medicine Hat. At the time, I’d disagreed, having an albeit vague memory of Medicine Hat to Swift Current. I drove the final stretch home, and I have since apologised to Grandpa — he’s right, that three hours is terribly long and dull. It’s flat, featureless, nearly devoid of any towns, and the only real sense of you moving is the endless stretches of telephone poles and/or electrical towers.

Oh, and something else I noticed. When you see a dimensional load on trucks in Saskatchewan, it’s farm equipment. In Alberta, it’s oil equipment.

We screamed into the Rainbow Pet Centre around 16:15, and retrieved our poor lonely kitty. We did our best to shoot across Calgary in building rush hour traffic, and arrived home just after 17:00. Monkey, you were quite content to stay outside and read, rather than go in the house. Though when you did, you really wanted to just get into your own bed. I don’t blame you in the slightest.

We had our first (mostly) home-cooked meal since leaving town a week ago, and it felt good to sit at our own table.

On a positive note, this was an excellent first family trip. It wasn’t an easy one, by any means, but both of you kids did very well in the car for such long times. It’s not easy being stuck in those seats with so little to do. (Well, for Monkey, anyway. Choo Choo, you tended to sleep. Which is exactly the right thing.) We’ll have to see how we do these in the future, as I’m not sure we’re going to be going such a long distance again for a while. I’m of the opinion that the trek to the homestead should wait until you’re both quite a bit older, and would appreciate it a lot more.

Like, 10 years or so…

Monkey, you slept like a log. We had trouble waking you up.

Today was relatively uneventful. Saskatchewan, as those who have travelled across it will also likely tell you, is filled with farms, the odd grain elevator, a few lakes, and not a heck of a lot else. (I should add that the eastern part of Alberta is much the same, and actually a little worse.) Our trip was from Moosomin in the east, to Swift Current in the west. Like I said before, we’re keeping it light in the interests of not overdoing it.

It had rained last night, and was still spotty as we headed out onto the highway. A few times the rain came and went, and it remained mostly cloudy until we were well past Regina. The storm looked pretty nasty, and apparently did a number to Regina, which we saw when we arrived. Our major stop was Regina, incidentally, for lunch. We ate near Victoria Mall, at a Mr. Sub (we’re swearing you off sandwiches for a while, Monkey — you just ain’t eating them anymore).

We then went off in a very painful search for coffee. Tim’s won’t apparently do, so we tracked down what I can only take to be the single Second Cup in the entire city. Which of course, is in a mall. Downtown. Right off a pedestrian area. With no place to park.

With coffees in hand, we headed back to a playground we’d seen on the way in so you could burn off a little steam before we hit the road. You ran around quite happily in what apparently was known as Core Park, until it was time for us to leave. You were asleep not long after hitting the ring road. Choo Choo, you were out pretty much the same time.

We drove to Largest Extant Species of the Deer Family’s Lower Mandible (Moose Jaw), where we had to stop for gas. Monkey, you woke up. Surprisingly, Choo Choo, you did not. We stayed only long enough to get gas, a snack, some juice, and we were gone. We were in Speedy Creek (another name for Swift Current) just around 17:00. The first thing we did was all go for a swim.

Dinner was at a place called “TNT Family Restaurant”. We’ve discovered that eating at anything listed as a “family restaurant” is generally a bad idea. The iced tea was powdered and the pasta sauce tasted like Chef Boyardee. The service, at least, was familial.

Sleep well, my pretties. Tomorrow, we go home!

Then we headed back down to Portage, which is one of the main roads in Winnipeg. After a stop at Timmy’s for a coffee recharge, we set our sights for Saskatchewan and our overnight stop at Moosomin.

The question was what were we going to do in between…

The answer is “not much”. Our only stop was in Brandon. Which is actually grossly understating the stop in general. While I would have been happy to stop on the highway (Choo Choo, you were extremely hungry at the time, and were very intent on making sure there was no doubt in anyone’s minds of that fact), Grandpa found a restaurant on the GPS further in town. While I admit I’m gaining a general dislike of restaurant suggestions on that thing, the fact that we went into town is proving to be very handy.

Lunch was at a place call Cranberry’s Family Restaurant. Overall, your basic average restaurant, nothing fancy by any means. Very strict on their menu, too. Mommy asked for a tuna melt, which was technically feasible since they had other melts on the menu and were offering a tuna salad sandwich, but there was just no leeway at all.

We decided to look for a park that had a playset so you could get out and run around a bit, Monkey. You’ve been really cooped up, and when you run around, you’re generally happier. We found one between 13th and 15th St, a couple blocks north of Victoria. At first, we saw only the park. Then the playset. Then we saw the water park. Given the 35-ish degree temperature, this seemed like the perfect thing for you to go running around in.

No sooner had we set up at a picnic table that an ice cream cart came by. Talk about your fortuitous timing! But you only had a little bit of the fudge bar before you wanted to go running about.

It took a fair amount of coaxing on my part, but I finally got you to run into the water, Monkey. The park itself was pretty simple: a red ring that sprayed, two big blue poles that jetted upwards, a purple candy cane-shaped pole that sprayed downwards, and some sprayed right out of the ground. Kids ran from spray to spray, as they all seemed to turn off and on in a slow cycle. Eventually, you were running in and out, too.

Shortly after 15:00, we started to load back up, and headed out of town. You were both asleep before we got to the Trans Canada again. From there, our trip went quietly until we got to Moosomin. There, we checked into the Canalta Hotel, a very new establishment — so new, the road is still gravel. Granny had spotted it on our way out from Whitewood, and I’d remembered the word “waterslide”. It’s a working hotel, meaning you get work crews in there a lot. That was obvious from the room we got — three queen-sized beds.

After charming the heck out of the clerks at the front desk, you and I went swimming, Monkey. Unlike the Holiday Inn in Winnipeg, the Canalta’s pool is cool. Not “cold”, but it didn’t take long for you to start shivering. And, like me, you don’t like hot water pools, so I couldn’t get you to warm up in the big pool. So, instead, I took you on the waterslide.

The waterslide is clearly meant for kids, because neither I or one other daddy could fit very well inside it (though we did manage to get down pretty easily). I’ve also determined with absolute certainty that I need new swim trunks for waterslides — the ones I have only seem to stick, so we didn’t get a lot of speed. We went down together many times before you went on your own, with the help of the other daddy (I waited at the bottom to catch you). You came down feet first, but on your belly. Although you would later said the waterslide was scary because it was all dark, you also said it was a lot of fun!

We had dinner at the Red Barn Restaurant, which is one of the oddest restaurants I’ve eaten at in a long time. The outside makes it look like a diner-style restaurant, the interior almost makes it look like a higher-end trendy restaurant (and the menu isn’t far off), but you order at it like a McDonald’s. My food was good, so I couldn’t slag the quality, though Mommy said her pasta wasn’t so good.

Bed comes early. Tomorrow’s another long day.

As for you, Choo Choo … well, I’m not really sure what to make of your thoughts. Aside from the fact that you’re only 4.5 months old, there’s also the consideration that, unlike your sister, you don’t sleep a lot. So we’re never really sure if you’re generally unhappy with being in your seat, tired, or hungry. I suspect at some level you’re probably all three at the same time.

Still it was absolutely necessary that we take the day off and not really go anywhere. So we went to The Forks.

I’d first seen The Forks back in 2002, when I was in Winnipeg with the CBC TV 50th Anniversary VIA Rail train. I’d been quite impressed with them at the time, not the least of which was when I learned of their railway heritage. After learning that the Manitoba Children’s Museum was there, The Forks suddenly became my favoured destination. Mommy felt we should go to a place called Tinkertown, which although further away, had far more to do. In the end, it came down to the fact that Tinkertown didn’t open until noon.

Grandpa and Granny came with us, having decided that they would not go to the cottage at the lake, either. We drove quickly downtown, and found a parking spot right next to the entrance. We all walked around inside for a bit, before we went over to the museum. Here we divided. Choo Choo, you went with Mommy and Grandpa back into the market to look around; Monkey, you came with Granny and I into the museum. You literally ran over to the train first.

The Manitoba Children’s Museum has a train inside it. A real one. Ex-CN 9161, and what looks like a passenger/mail combine, which were (and still are) common on the Winnipeg-Churchill run (which this train was representing). The train no longer works, of course. The museum is closing in September for a rebuilding, and I hope they keep the train — it really is a nice centrepiece, and as a railfan, it would be terrible to lose it. I suppose if worse comes to worse, the railway museum isn’t far away, and I imagine they’d like to have it.

You ran around the train, although you were initially scared to go in the locomotive’s cab for some reason. Then you were off down to the wall of long pegs that you can make impressions with. I found a set of tubes that ran on a blower: you put in a shower loofa in one end, it ran through the tubes (depending on how you set the valves), and it popped out of one of three places. That didn’t hold your interest as long as I thought it would, Monkey.

Around the corner was a big tree that you could climb inside, and come down a built-in slide. You did this repeatedly, and almost made friends with some of the other kids while doing it. Then it was back to the train for a while, when you suddenly realised you needed to pee. You’re getting very good at letting us know when you need to go, kiddo — you’re almost totally free of diapers (except at night).

We had lunch at the market. While waiting for Choo Choo, Mommy, and Grandpa, a busker drew a quick sketch of Monkey with her fingers in her mouth. We offered a donation, and he drew another one of Choo Choo sleeping in the stroller. You had a berry crepe, Monkey. Not quite as good as the one you regularly eat at the Farmer’s Market back home (in my opinion, anyway), but you didn’t seem to mind.

I had a roti. The last time I had a roti, I still worked in Toronto. This was 1997. It was at a place either called Coconut Grove or Crystal Grove (I can’t remember for sure). It was on Dundas Road just east of Yonge Street. The site is now the location of Dundas Square. My friend Mike introduced them to me, and I’d been on the lookout for roti ever since. I was surprised to not readily find any in Vancouver, and I haven’t really been searching too hard in Calgary. So this was a treat for me, and it was very good. Although I will say that goat generally tastes better than beef in a roti.

After lunch, Monkey, you and I went back to the museum for a while. We passed by a First Nations group that was dancing in a circle nearby, beating their drum and singing. You’ve never seen this before, so we spent a while watching. It was very, very hot (even hotter than on the coast of Costa Rica, as I recall) so we took refuge in the shade of one of the sculptures there.

You played with the pegs, ran around the train, played with the chalk, but soon it was time for us to go back. You didn’t want to leave. In fact, you put up a bit of a fight. I suspect that was mostly due to exhaustion. I suspect this because you fell asleep before we were out of downtown Winnipeg, and slept another two hours back at the hotel. It was your first proper nap since we left home.

We all went swimming when you both woke up. We splashed and played. Choo Choo, you seem to like the water — a lot more than when you have a bath, lemme tell ya. We swam for about an hour before we packed up to go have dinner.

Tomorrow, we begin our long trek home.

Granny drove with Great Uncle Ken and Great Aunt Marilyn so she “would have all-new material”, and likely because after a while, you just can’t stand being around us Sowreys any longer.

At Eriksdale, we stocked up on coffee and a couple of snacks, and then were off again in search of an unnamed and otherwise unmarked access road (I couldn’t even call it a rural road), which would lead us towards the old homestead site. We were working off the collective memory of Grandpa, and his brother (your Great Uncle Paul), and a couple of others who’d been to the site before. In addition, we were also looking out for an old teapot, hung there some 30 years previous by your Great Great Grand Uncle Frank, who would have also been on this trip, but sadly only passed away the day we left home.

I suppose in many ways this is an auspicious trip, though you kids won’t understand that for a few years to come; for you in particular, Choo Choo. You are the fifth generation of Aicken (the fact that you have my last name is mere legality), and this is your heritage. Choo Choo, you’re the most recent direct-line descendant of your great-great grandfather.

We almost didn’t make it. About 3/4 of the way there, we found the road had been flooded by the rising of Stewart Lake, likely as a result of all the rain Manitoba has been receiving this year. We weren’t sure how deep it was, or even it we could ford it. Thankfully, members of the Webster family, who now farm the area, showed to us that the water was really quite shallow, and even regular city cars wouldn’t have a problem. Even then, quite a few people took to the back of Paul’s pickup truck, which was the first across the 500-600 metre stretch. We followed soon after.

Rounding a few corners, and fording another flooded section, we found the teapot, right where Frank had left it. It’s rusted considerably over the years, but it’s still recognisable. You’d never be able to boil water in it, though.

Despite being prepared to be eaten alive, especially by deer flies (I think this scared you most of all Monkey — you’re a bit of an insectophobe right now, except for ants), we saw virtually nothing. All of us, except maybe myself (I can’t really tell) were bitten. Choo Choo has a nasty one on her wrist, but doesn’t seem to notice.

The ground was wet and very marshy, and the near-constant plodding of cows turned the wet soil into a very unstable and icky mess. Still, we managed to get into the homestead site, and Grandpa gave us the tour as he understood it. He even explained a story of some stone markers they’d once found, and now believe to be the grave of an unnamed sibling to Frank, who likely died as a baby. Given their location — roughly 12 kilometres from anything — it’s amazing they lost only one child, and seven lived to ripe old ages.

A little further down the road, we came to a corner, where Grandpa said we would find the northeast marker of the original homestead land. There’s a survey pole there, but the plot marker seems to be buried under considerable amounts of grass and mud, and none of us had brought a shovel to find it. A stand of poplars, which thrive throughout the area, offered a fair amount of shade from the heat. It seemed like as good a place as any for a picnic.

After lunch, a group headed further up the road to find the site of the old schoolhouse (gone probably almost as long as the homestead). The five of us (Granny was still with Ken and Marilyn) started towards Teulon, where we would have a big ol’ family dinner. It seemed like a great opportunity for both of you kids to get some sleep — you didn’t get any yesterday, and it showed.

At Eriksdale, I was more-or-less forced from the van to get coffee for Mommy and Grandpa. He drove down a sideroad for a couple of kilometres to keep you both asleep, then turned around to pick up the coffee and me. Then it was off again towards Teulon.

We had a pre-dinner party at Dennis and Daphne’s house, which was a wonderful setting: a huge yard, and lots of space for you to run around in, Monkey. You played with Rachel, Hunter, and Micah, as well as ran around with some of the bigger kids. Hunter shared all her dolls with you. You found a Woody doll (from Toy Story, currently one of your favourites) and were thrilled. Mommy and I were thrilled, too — we got to have a drink!

Just after 18:00, we all took off into central Teulon (basically, right next to the long-abandoned CP Arborg subdivision line), and had dinner at the Teulon Rockwood Centennial Centre. This was the best meal we had since leaving home, and possibly the best we’ve had in a month! (Well, for us, Choo Choo — you’re still breastfeeding at the moment.) Afterwards, Monkey just played with all the other kids.

We returned to Dennis and Daphne’s for a short prayer service (led by Grandpa), while you kids ran around. Sadly, that’s when you got whacked in the head, Monkey, and I lost my temper with Micah (after telling him to put the badminton racquets down before he did hit someone). It wasn’t pretty after that, and I was fairly relieved to be leaving after making an ass of myself.

The drive back to our hotel was about an hour. We had to stop at one point because Choo Choo simply couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel for her nightly feed. Monkey, you passed out (as usual) just before we got to the hotel. We unpacked quickly and got everyone to bed. I think we all passed out before our heads hit the pillows.

It took a lot longer than I thought to get here.

We kept our stops few. Beyond the stop at the Manitoba border (where we should have turned our watches forward, but forgot), we stopped only in Brandon for coffee and our sandwiches for lunch, and in Portage la Prairie to eat our lunch. The last stop was far too short, as we had very little time left to get to Winnipeg before our evening event. That was a shame, since Island Park is truly a wonderful place for a picnic, mosquitos notwithstanding. You got to play there a bit, Monkey. Maybe on our way back, you’ll get a chance to play a bit more.

It was after we left Brandon that you had your first real problem with the trip, Monkey. You’ve spent nearly half of the time since we left Calgary in your car seat. Sometimes, it’s hard for a little Monkey to be patient. You’ve been so patient on this trip, honey, but eventually you have to hit a limit. You were, shall we say, upset. It took a few minutes for you to calm down so that we could drive again.

You didn’t have a nap today, either, which would lead to your second problem — a real full-scale meltdown at bedtime. It just reinforces the need for you to sleep during the day. I’m not sure how much you’ll sleep in the days to come with all the activity that’s planned, but hopefully we’ll find a way.

With some direction from Grandpa’s cousin (and the man who had married Mommy and I), we found our way to our hotel in Winnipeg, the Holiday Inn on Pembina Highway. It was only when we got inside that I realised that it was the same hotel I’d stayed at in 2002 when I was last in Winnipeg, with the CBC TV 50th Anniversary VIA Rail train. I’d had a drink in the hotel’s lobby bar after a hard day, just before our worst day of the tour.

Mommy suggested that I have a shower. Almost right afterwards, we all hopped back in the Sienna again (sometimes, I’m sure it feels like we never get out of the car, kids) and drove out to the Immanuel United Church on Kimberley Ave. in eastern Winnipeg. There was the first of three Aicken-Campbell family reunion events. This is important for you two, since you’re descended from the Aicken family, and this year is the 100th anniversary of the Aicken family in Canada. That’s why we’re out here.

Choo Choo, you became the Belle of the Ball, being handed from person to person without so much as a single sound. Monkey, you made near-instant friends with Rachel, who is your third or fourth cousin (we’re not really sure) and followed her around almost like a little puppy. You also made friends with Micah, Mary’s little boy, and the two of you squealed as you rolled around on the carpet.

Dinner was simple, yet scrumptious: skewers of lamb and chicken, salad, and potatoes, all from a local Greek restaurant. You had KD, Monkey — the elders had enough sense to know you weren’t going to eat Greek.

Tomorrow is another big day. We’re off way up north to find the old Aicken family homestead, which is where much of the Canadian branch of the Aicken family began. Sleep well, I think it’s going to be a long one.

And as Mommy and I have noticed, neither you nor your sister, Monkey, really understand the idea of “quickly”.

While you kids might have slept well, none of we adults did. Some hotels seem to have a bizarre need to cram pillows as full of stuffing as possible, as to utterly negate the ability to sleep easily. (I’ve slept on rocks that were more comfortable.) Breakfast was a nice buffet, though shockingly short of bacon, in my opinion. We packed up, loaded up, buckled in, and hit the road.

The trip out of Medicine Hat was fairly quick, and we were at the Saskatchewan border fairly soon. We stopped for a quick picture, and then continued eastward. The land got flatter and flatter, and we soon hit the terrain where you could see your kids running away for days running in a straight line. (Thankfully, Monkey was buckled in her seat, and Choo Choo can’t even crawl yet.)

We drove past countless tiny little towns until we felt a need to stop for a quick break. Morse is a tiny town, founded in 1912. The Lutheran Church appears to not have been used in a couple of decades (even the power lines are cut), and the school closed sometime in the last decade or so. The original school, built when the town was founded, is now a museum. And an eclectic museum it is…

Monkey, you got to play here. You ran out across a wide field — formerly the school yard — and to an older, but still well-loved collection of swings and slides and half-buried towns. Long freight trains announced their passing from kilometres away, their horns echoing across the open spaces, and then flying across the plains between the playground and Reed Lake.

We stayed a while, long enough for you to get worn out a bit, Monkey, before we returned to the highway. More small towns, even a Potash mine, heading to Moose Jaw. There we stopped for lunch (although it took us a while to figure out where we were stopping) at the McDonald’s. Not my first choice, but was something we determined would be quick and easy … and it had a playplace, which you were actually a little scared of.

I took over driving from Grandpa, who had driven until that point, and we continued east. I had hoped to put in a bit of a surprise and take a detour, but apparently I had forgotten an earlier conversation where we’d already agreed to such a detour. We turned southeast onto Highway 39, heading for the small town of Rouleau.

For those of you not living in Canada (or for Canadians living either without cable, or under a rock), the CTV network used to air a show a couple of years ago called “Corner Gas”, which was set in the fictional town of Dog River, Saskatchewan. The real location of Dog River is Rouleau, which is about 50 kilometres southwest of Regina. It’s the pure definition of small-town Saskatchewan: founded by the railway, with a few brick buildings, and a big grain elevator. The buildings built for Corner Gas — the gas station and the adjoining Ruby cafe, actually sit about a kilometre up Highway 39 from the townsite (which played into one of the show’s plotlines about Corner Gas actually being out of town). The grain elevator still bears the name “Dog River”.

We stopped for pictures, of course. Then we went into Rouleau for a quick run around. We saw the Dog River Howler, and the “Municipal Police Station”, which is actually a cafe. The inside of the cafe was an attraction all its own. Rouleau gets up to about 500 visitors a day during the summer; when Corner Gas was being filmed, it was over 5,000. And those people signed the walls. The plethora of signatures is astounding. Even more astounding are the maps with their pins. I was amazed to see people from all over the world having visited — especially from Canada, and moreso the prairies.

We scooted back north to Regina, and continued eastward to Whitewood, arriving a few minutes after 17:00. Whitewood is another railway town, like so many in the prairies, and still hosts the Canadian Pacific mainline. The Whitewood Inn was our stop, and was also Grandpa and Granny’s stop when they crossed the prairies 20 years ago. As we would find out, not much about the Whitewood Inn had changed in those 20 years. To call the place a “dive” would almost be considered an insult to dives around the world.

(A bit unfair. In truthfulness, the Whitewood Inn is really not too bad a place.)

We all dressed to jump in the indoor pool, only to be thankfully thwarted at the last second. As it turned out, the pool was undergoing a maintenance cleaning, and was full of acid. You were highly disappointed, Monkey, and I think we all wanted to go for a swim after such a long drive.

We ate dinner at the Chicken Chef restaurant in the hotel. It was far from fancy. The chicken had clearly been cooked a couple of hours earlier and kept warm in an oven, the yellow kernels had clearly been corn once upon a time but had been cooked beyond their capability to retain flavour or texture, but you at least liked the chicken fingers.

At least we had adjoining rooms, which really only seemed to allow Monkey to run between the rooms well past your bedtime. I took a little walk after you went to bed, mostly to take a picture of the grain elevator. It seemed to me that the single biggest thing to do in Whitewood was drive donuts in the gravel parking lot of the Esso station, before blasting down the road.

Tomorrow, we’re off to Winnipeg.

Grandpa and Granny arrived after lunch. We loaded up the minivan (which had a fair amount more cargo space than Mommy and I thought there might have been), loaded up you kids, and hit the road for a town called Medicine Hat.

The beginning of our first great family road trip.

It’s a short beginning, I confess. We’ve got a long way to go. Winnipeg is over 1,000 kilometres from Calgary (note to those of you who don’t know Canadian geography: it’s far less than half the distance across the country — yes, Canada really is that big). You can do it in a day, driving for around 13 hours straight. But we’re not going to subject everyone to such a long day. That’s a little on the cruel side.

So we’re making a few stops. Our first is in Medicine Hat. Our next is almost an entire province further away in Whitewood, Saskatchewan. It’s going to be our furthest drive since Monkey was born. We’re not too sure how it’s going to go, since having you both locked in your seats will be a bit of a challenge. The third day is the trip out to Winnipeg.

Today’s trip was, well, a good start and a good test.

We left town going south to 22X, which is a little different than most people, who take 16th Ave N (which is the Trans Canada Highway through town) heading east. 22X continues into a provincial highway, and connects back to the Trans Canada near Bassano. I think if we feel the need to go east again, I might suggest it — for a drive, it is far more interesting than taking the Trans Canada right out of Calgary.

Once you get to Bassano, though … well, it gets kinda dull. We stopped at the Esso station there, mostly because Choo Choo was hungry and made sure everyone knew. Monkey had a chance to run up and down the aisles of the convenience store. I’ll admit that it worried me a little, since we were barely over an hour into the journey, and stopping another 12 times on the way to Winnipeg didn’t fill me with hope.

But we persevered, and made it all the way to Medicine Hat. We drifted through town until we got to the east side, and found our way to the Medicine Hat Lodge, a four-floor hotel casino. Checking in proved a little difficult, as there was a considerable amount of difficulty in the staff understanding the term “adjoining”. Granpa managed to get the problem sorted out, and soon we were checked in, and then eating a long-overdue dinner.

Our our meal, Mommy and Choo Choo headed to bed, while I took Monkey to the pool with Granny and Grandpa. We didn’t get to splash for very long, unfortunately, as it was already well past your bedtime, Monkey, and I wasn’t sure that taking you on the waterslide was a great idea. Still, you had fun. Then we went back upstairs to our rooms.

You slept with Granny and Grandpa, Monkey. You were very good, and did as you were told.

Tomorrow should be an interesting, albeit long day. I hope we all enjoy it!

At the end of the appointment, the doctor told me she suspected I might have something called “narrow angles”, and sent me to an ophthamologist. It took nearly two months to get into see him. That was an awkward appointment, and ended up with the news that I needed surgery. Which I got, today, on my birthday. Laser surgery. In my eye.

Ow.

Okay, truth be told, it wasn’t that bad. The procedure is called “yag laser iridotomy“. “Yag” refers to the type of laser used, which is a Yttrium Aluminium Garnet (basically, a fake ruby). It’s highly controlled, and tuned exactly to burn a tiny hole in the iris. This allows the fluid that flows between iris and the lens to drain properly without causing pressure build-up, which can lead to glaucoma.

And for the record, it’s not Lasik. Lasik surgery is about reshaping the lens to correct vision problems. The iridotomy is a preventative measure. And I don’t have the same recovery issues — unlike Lasik, I have no drops, no drugs, no major vision issues, and no protective covers. Basically, I’m no different than I was this morning.

Well, except for the slight swelling feeling, which I take to be normal, given that part of my frickin’ eye was burned out by a frickin’ laser.

After dropping the Monkey off at daycare (she’s a handful when both of us are free to keep an eye on her, and a weapon of mass destruction pretty much the rest of the time), Alex trucked me over to the Rockyview Hospital, so I could visit the Eye Clinic.

Dr. Latka runs the iridotomy clinic once a month — that indicates how often these actually happen. It’s pretty much an assembly line thing: arrive, check-in, nurse checks your blood pressure (mine was a little higher than normal, showing that despite my relative calm, I was a little nervous), gives you some drops in the eye (including a contracting agent and a freezing agent), then you wait to see the doctor.

The “surgery room” looks little different than a regular eye exam room. There’s the typical bracket you place your head in, and the seats. Aside from a largish irregularly-shaped black box, there’s no indication that this is, really, where you have frickin’ lasers shot into your frickin’ eye.

A couple of more drops, and Dr. Latka slid the massive magnifying lens on top of my eyeball.

Have I mentioned how much I truly hate, loathe, and despite anything coming near my eye, let alone touching it directly?

There was a little dim green light just off to my left that he wanted me to look at. Then the clicking started. The clicking was the sound of the yag laser firing. And yes, I could feel it. Ever been in a strong wind, and have sand hit you in the face? That sudden small, sharp sting? It’s like that. At the back of your eye. (Or at least, that’s where I felt it.) In reality, it’s burning away a hole in your iris, but I can only assume that the feeling was because of where my optic nerves are.

I could barely register the laser light because of where I was looking. Twice, the doctor had to reposition me because I was instinctively trying to get away from frickin’ lasers being shot into my frickin’ eye. After about a dozen shots, I was done. The only instruction was to return in about an hour for a quick follow-up.

An hour later, I went back to the clinic, where the nurse immediately (I had just literally be called) into an exam room. More drops, and then she placed a probe on my frickin’ eye (did I mention how much I hate that stuff?) to test for any change in pressure. She said “fantastic”, and I was off.

I still feel a little funky, and I imagine a lot of that is psychosomatic from, well, things touching my eyeball. Oh, and because of frickin’ lasers being shot into my frickin’ eye. I mean, wouldn’t you feel a tad queasy after all of that?

What does it all look like? Well, how about a before/after picture!

The top shot is the before, the lower is the after. I didn’t ask Dr. Latka (but I will), but I think the part circled in red is where the new hole is. The white glare is the bathroom counter.

It’s one eye down, and one to go. The next won’t be until the first Friday of August.

As for the rest of my birthday, it was quiet. I owe a million people “thanks” for all the birthday wishes (especially on Facebook), but it’s been too busy a day for me to get on there. But there was, of course, time for cake.

The last four days have been a lot of fun. Maybe even too much fun. Both of us are pretty pooped. You went to bed and for the first time in a long while, there wasn’t hours of chatter from your room. I think you pretty much passed out. I won’t be too far behind you, I think, but I do wish to describe the fun that we’ve shared.

‘Cuz, frankly, I’m not sure how the heck I survived it all…

First off was Canada Day. This year, Mommy and I decided to try a visit at Heritage Park. If you got there early enough, you got a free pancake breakfast. It seemed like a fun thing to do. And it probably would have been more fun if it had been a few degrees warmer — it was rather chilly for the first day of July.

Still, you had a lot of fun. Once we’d gobbled down the pancakes, we went and got ride tickets. You swung on a vintage ship-styled swing, rode the big steam train around the park, went on the paddlewheeler out in Glenmore Reservoir (although you barely stopped moving the entire time, necessitating me following you around the entire time), and went on the merry-go-round (you demanded to ride the white horse).

You ate a pretzel, and drank some frozen lemonade with me. We saw the farm animals (you mooed at the cows, and nearly had your bright red Crocs eaten by a misguided horse). Then we went through Gasoline Alley. By this point, you were tired and got fairly cranky, so we all opted to go home.

Mommy wanted to go visit with Grandpa for a week, and had to take Choo Choo with her. (Choo Choo’s still nursing, so she goes wherever Mommy goes.) But … well, Monkey, all me to be rather honest for a moment — travelling with you lately requires a lot of high-test drugs to keep people calm. Either you or us, it doesn’t matter. But Mommy travelling with you and Choo Choo wasn’t even discussed as an option, and Mommy really wanted to go without all of us in tow. (You’ll understand this years from now, when you have a near-3 year old.)

Of course, what all that means is, it was just you and me, kid. And we got off to it before Mommy and Choo Choo’s plane had taken off.

Our first stop was the Galaxie Diner on 11th St., not far from Grandma’s house. There we enjoyed a filling breakfast, because we had a long day of chasing trains ahead of you. I hadn’t chased a train since before you were born, and I was itching to go out and take pictures. I figured you might like to see a big train in motion, and when my friend Graham told me CP 2816 was going out to Banff on 2 July, I couldn’t resist.

After breakfast, we went home just long enough to get a few things together (like my camera), and then we went searching for our first place to wait. I originally thought of a place known as Keith, which is roughly where Stoney Trail crosses the Bow River. But as we came down Sarcee Trail towards the highway, I spied an even better location: where the train tracks cross 32nd Ave NW. It would give me an easy access for photography, a decent backdrop, and not far from the highway to get back out again.

We ended up having to wait longer than I would have liked. One thing you’ll learn, kiddo, is that when you chase trains, you have to be patient and wait. A lot. Even though Graham was sending me text messages on the train’s status, it didn’t come quickly. We saw a freight train have to wait for CP 2816, too. But eventually, we got the note that she was heading west. Before long, we could hear its whistle echo through the valley. It came towards us, barrelling along as fast as it could, belching out black smoke.

For a moment, I saw myself in you. When I was your age (maybe a little older), your granddad (my daddy) used to take my family (Nana, Auntie Cathy, and me) to the train tracks near our house, to watch another steam locomotive — CN 6060 — come racing by, huge clouds of black smoke filling up the sky. It used to scare the hell out of me. Of course, I look back at that now and I feel really glad that I did see that — it’s a fond memory. I hope maybe one day, it is for you, too.

We hit the road and headed out to a place out towards the mountains called Ozada. You were asleep before we were outside city limits, and slept all the way there. Ozada is on the Stoney Indian reserve, and is one of Canadian Pacific’s old stations for servicing steam locomotives. (The concrete pylons for the coaling and water towers are still visible.) Today, it’s little more than a siding in the middle of nowhere, just off the highway. And we waited there because Graham had told me CP 2816 would be stopping there for servicing as well.

We were not disappointed. We saw the train come in slowly, pass by, and stop in the siding. After it had passed, we drove to the other end of the siding, and watched it race westward. (The train was about two hours late, so they had a reason to move quickly.) We drove out to the highway, and saw the train’s smoke as we drove by it on the highway. We saw some other people we’d seen back in Calgary stop at the side of the highway to take more pictures.

Finally, we stopped in Banff, and waited about halfway between the station and Bankhead. We had to wait a long, long time before we saw CP 2816′s lights. As CP 2816 was going on show at the station, the train stopped again not far from us for one last servicing before going in. This gave us a fantastic view, although the whistles did give you a bit of a scare — they were quite loud.

After meeting up with Graham at the station (it seemed only fair to thank him in person for the information), we had lunch at Bruno’s, and then headed back to Calgary. You slept from Canmore all the way home.

On Saturday, you and I went to the Calgary Farmer’s Market, mostly so you could go to the jumping castle — probably your most favourite thing in town (after me, of course). You ate your mixed berry crepe almost as fast as I could eat my ham and cheese crepe. I swear it’s the only thing you eat quickly — everything else requires a pry bar and a shovel…

When I asked what you wanted to do next, you said: “I want [to see the] giraffes!” So off we went to the zoo. We went though the dinosaurs, then over to the giraffes, zipped by the gorillas, and spent a lot of time at the playground (you love the playground, there). Then it was into the Australian pavilion (I was devastated to find that the nocturnal animal area is permanently closed), through the monkey house, and then over to the elephants (where we had hot dogs), zipped over to the carousel (just opened), before going through the Canadian Wilds (where you were completely obsessed with the prairie dogs).

For dinner, I took you to a Japanese restaurant. I found that your chopstick skills had degraded quite a lot — we’ll have to work on that. But you ate half of the edamame, a couple of avocado rolls, and even a piece of hamachi sashimi (well, it was nigiri sushi, but it was just plain easier to give you just the fish). You wouldn’t touch the miso soup (I’ll work on that, too). For your first shot, I was very proud of you.

The next morning, we walked over to the #2 bus stop. You were ecstatic about riding the bus. I’m sure it’s from singing The Wheels On The Bus so much.  We went to the Silver Dragon restaurant, where we met up with my friend Tamara and her husband, Dan. There we ate dim sum (Mommy was rather annoyed that we went without her). It was so good. You ate buns, and pork dumplings, and quite a lot of deep fried squid. Yes, you ate squid. I kid you not. Mind you, as I’ve said to others, the squid tastes a lot like scrambled eggs. So I told you it was scrambled eggs. You couldn’t get enough.

Following dim sum, you and I walked along the river over to Eau Claire Market (which really isn’t a market anymore — it’s mostly businesses and empty store space — nothing like it used to be), where you and I saw Toy Story 3. I cried a bit. You seemed to like it a lot, though. Especially anything with Woody.

In fact, you like Woody and Jesse (the Yodelling Cowgirl) so much, and because the Calgary Stampede is just around the corner, we walked over to Stephen Avenue afterwards to try and get you a cowgirl outfit. You’ve got the boots and jeans, but you need a hat and a shirt. Sadly, we were less than successful — no-one seemed to have a cowgirl shirt in your size.

On the way home, much to our luck, we ran into Grandma on the bus (she was coming to our house, anyway — we just had really good timing). You had some fun with Grandma while I went off to get something for us to eat for dinner.

In fact, I’m so tired from all of this excitement that it’s taken me a while to write all of this. But I hope you had fun, Monkey. I know I did.

And now, I need to go to bed. ‘Cuz I’m really, really, really tired.

Nana was my last living grandparent. She was the special grandparent when I was young — she lived hours away by plane, so she was spoken of in near-legendary terms. She wasn’t just my Nana, she was Nana The Mysterious, Nana The Wise, Nana The Great Gift-Giver. She was the embodiment of never acting your age — truthfully, I didn’t even know how old she was until just a few years ago. She was a model of long-life, and happiness.

For those, and a million other reasons, I cannot say goodbye to you, Nana. I can only say: Thank you.

A few weeks ago, Nana had a bit of a tumble, and had hit her head. For this, she had to go to the hospital, where she had to be kept under watch. (Head injuries aren’t good for us most of the time, anyway — add in long life to the mix, and things can get rather complicated.) Reports were few, but the general sound was that she was doing well — which is pretty good, when you think about it.

I visited Nana two weeks ago in the hospital, dropping by to make sure she was comfortable. It was, unfortunately, also the last time I saw her. For the first time, Nana looked her age. I talked to her, helped her drink some water, asked if she needed anything. I was a ghost in her vision, a voice she probably recognised only in the distant mists of a dream. I received little response; the nurses not much more. She was tired.

When it came time for her to rest, I kissed her, laid my hand on hers and said: “I love you, Nana.” It wasn’t “goodbye”, though as I walked back to the elevators, that very thought was in my head. I choked back the tears as I left.

But this is not how I will remember you, Nana. No, my memory of you will be of the woman who knit, who baked cookies, who took us out on the golf cart at Waskesiu and gave me my first ice cream sandwich. I remember you as the one who denied the years, and believed that you always had that little more in you.

Thank you, Nana.

But today … today was a new echelon in fear. Today Mommy and I joined the ranks of millions of other parents who have had that moment where they doubt all the confidence and belief they have built up over years of careful watch and control over their child’s life. They see it crash down in a single moment, utterly ruined when they come to the horrific realisation that they don’t know where their child is.

Today, Monkey, you disappeared.

I had the day off. The company gave me the day off, following two months of near non-stop work to get our project delivered. After your Animal Class, we decided to check out the “new” mall in Calgary, CrossIron Mills, just north of the city. Mommy wanted to pick up a couple of things for you and Choo Choo, but otherwise it was just a random adventure.

We got to the mall just after 11:00, and walked in near the hockey store (as I would comment to Mommy later, an all-year hockey store just seems natural in Canada), and headed down towards the Toys ‘R Us. Mommy and Choo Choo made a stop at the nursing room (Choo Choo was getting hungry), while you and I went hunting for the mall’s play area.

CrossIron Mills’ play area seems to be patterned after the one at Market Mall — you have to reserve a space in one of the 30-minute blocks, and wait your turn. As it happened, the next block started not long after we got to the play area. I couldn’t come in with you — the play area has a strict socks-only policy, and I was wearing sandals. That didn’t stop you from climbing the faux-volcano and sliding down over and over, running around, and jumping on the soft dinosaurs. You even played well with the other children.

Mommy and Choo Choo finally arrived, then went to Toys ‘R Us. We followed when the play time was up, finding them looking at rain covers for the stroller. We wandered around the store, looking at play sets, dolls, little plush chairs (that you’re now too big for), and you even found a Ya-Yas (Backyardigans) book. You carried the book all over the store while we were following Mommy on her quest for a few more things.

Mommy was looking at stickers, and I — carrying Choo Choo — was distracted by some LEGO sets. We both thought you were still sitting on the floor, reading the book. We both thought when we turned around, you’d still be there.

But you were gone.

Our first instinct was that you’d walked off into one of the aisles of toys, or was hiding in a corner, something you love doing. But you weren’t coming when we called your name. There was no giggle, your normal response when you tell you to come back and you’re walking away. There was nothing. You’d vanished.

I gave Choo Choo to Mommy, and she stood where we’d seen you last. I was no longer walking. I was running. Up and down every aisle, calling your name. I ran into every corner, ran outside, looking up and down the hallways outside the store, and along the walls outside in the parking lot.

Thoughts were already going through my head, and I struggled to dismiss them. You weren’t kidnapped. You weren’t taken by some strange person. You weren’t going to be one of those children you see on TV, sold into slavery. Basically, all the worst-case scenarios. These are the things you think about as a parent with an over-active imagination. I was trying not to panic. I focused instead on being frustrated that you hadn’t answered when called — something you do a lot at home.

The Toys ‘R Us had effectively locked down with a “Code Geoffrey” — an alert to all staff of a lost child. After a couple of minutes, it was clear you weren’t in the store (or if you were, you were very well-hidden), and we extended the alert to the mall security. All the while, Mommy clutched Choo Choo, trying not to panic.

I had run over to the play area, not far from the store. I had thought that, maybe, you’d gone there. But you hadn’t. You can run about as fast as I can walk quickly, but I figured you hadn’t run. When you walk — you don’t move quickly. You hadn’t gone far. But I didn’t know where. I thought, maybe, someone at the store had found you, so I went back. A mall security guard was there, and quickly took your description. They were watching the cameras. Within a moment, he’d reported that they’d found you.

One day, you will probably hear something derogatory about mall security staff, “mall cops”. They’re “fake” or “wannabes”. Make no mistake, once you see past the uniforms and peach fuzz, there are people who are dedicated to their tasks, and very understanding of situations. Today, I have a much better appreciation for their value.

The man who met me at the store took me to the security office. He explained that you were either there already, or “en route”. Barely a minute after I got there, his colleague — a man I could scarcely believe out of high school — brought you in tow. You followed him diligently, without complaint or concern, not looking at all worried or scared, still carrying the Ya-Yas book. (One day, we’ll have to make sure you understand the need to pay for things before you take them out of a store.) The man who’d brought you to the security office explained that he’d found you following an elderly couple. I can only assume you must have thought they were Grandpa and Granny.

After giving you a big hug, I let you know that walking away wasn’t good. On the way back, you seemed to understand just how scared Mommy and I were that you’d walked away. Mommy looked so relieved when she saw you, and gave you a big hug.

Then we buckled you in tight into the stroller. You weren’t wandering away again.

But we can’t keep you from wandering off, not unless we tie a rope to you. (Which, coincidentally, I happen have about 30 feet of 1/2 inch nylon rope in the shed I’m starting to seriously consider putting to use.) You will do this again, if we allow it. And that’s the lesson we learned today, I guess. We have to watch you, always. At least until such time as you’re able to understand that when you can’t find us, it’s not a good thing.

You’re fearless. Being fearless is good, at least to an extent. I don’t want to make you fearful, either, though. I don’t want you to go through life, constantly looking over your shoulder. There’s a middle ground, we just have to figure out what it is.

Sleep well, Monkey. And don’t worry if you wake up and see me watching you from the corner. You might be fearless, but I’m not.

A few years ago, this probably would have put me into a panic. And a few years ago, it would have been just me to worry about. Now I have a wife and two kids (well, one at the time, and one on the way) to support. Really, that should have put me off the deep end. Having lived through a significant amount of adversity over the last couple of years, though, I found myself not even concerned about the prospect of unemployment.

I attribute that to having kept contact with just the right people.

And so it came to pass that on 5 January, I walked into a meeting room on the 2nd floor of 805 10th Ave SW, and sat at a table with nine other people. Nine people I already knew. Nine people I’d already worked with before at another company. I couldn’t help but smile.

I was working — and still work — for the Evans Hunt Group, a small interactive marketing agency made up, largely, of former employees of Critical Mass. The principals of the company, Dan Evans and Bill Hunt, were both my managers at Critical Mass at one point or another, and Bill had been the one who started up the Costa Rica operation. My long-time mentor and also former Critical Mass manager, Allard Losier, is the technical lead, and the one who really convinced me to come in.

That conversation had occurred at the Cabin Cafe on Bow Trail and 45th St. SW, on 22 December. He and I had sat down over a coffee (two, in my case), and had a long conversation about events of the last 18 months, and potential events for the future. I hadn’t made any decisions at that point, although there had been heavy hinting at coming in to work for Evans Hunt, and I was rather enjoying the not-working aspect of my life.

The conversation had really shown me the things that I had really missed over the previous 18 months: mentorship and trust. I had lost my mentor when Allard had left Critical Mass shortly before I went to Costa Rica. And I had felt since about that time that there hadn’t been much trust in me, and always felt on the defensive. Going anywhere else was … well, it needed to be the right place.

My project — the reason I was brought in — was to help Tourism Calgary with their website. The project, at least at a high level, was pretty simple: site overhaul. (Yes, at the high level, that’s all it is. Once you start going down in the levels, you really find out what kind of trouble you’re creating for yourself.) My job? Lead the tech team, work with the PM, and help deliver the final product. Time was originally pegged at about three months, and we’d see where things would go from there.

I didn’t get a consulting agreement for three weeks. Normally, that would probably freak most people out entirely, my Mom being one of them. From her perspective, which I totally understood, I was working without any legal backup, and was likely to get screwed somewhere along the line. From my perspective, I wasn’t working for a company — I was working with friends. Friends I trusted, and who trusted me. People I knew wouldn’t pull anything shifty, so long as I didn’t do the same.

That level of trust has permeated my now five-month tenure here at Evans Hunt. Knowing that the right people are there, that the right things will happen when they need to. All of that led us to the launch of our newest little baby, VisitCalgary.com. Today, I supported Jim at a presentation by Tourism Calgary to the tourism industry at the Glenbow Museum (chosen because of Calgary’s recent bout of inclement weather — originally, it was supposed to be outside), and got to see the reaction first-hand of the very people we’re trying to support.

And that’s when it really hit me. I’m not working for some massive multi-national conglomerate. I’m working for a group who’s trying to bring in tourists to the city I live in, to bring in money to the businesses that exist in the city I live in, to support the families of the people who work for the companies in the city I live in. I had disconnective issues working with American and European vendors for a very long time, partly because they never really affected me in any way. But this? This, I can get behind.

It’s been a long project, and a little harder than I’d thought it be. The site, for the record, runs on Drupal. (For those of you unfamiliar, I suggest checking it out. Very powerful tool, Drupal.) I approached the project with a lot of confidence, believing that we’d be cruising along in no time. That’s when reality hit me.

Drupal wasn’t at all like any content management system I’d ever worked with. And as a result, I was giving bad directions. It wasn’t until we started to engage Brian, one of Evans Hunt’s developers, that I began my Drupal education. A content management system, it is not. As Brian put it, it’s a content management framework. Yeah, I know, I know — splitting hairs, right? Not really.

In every other CMS I’d spent significant time with, the rule of thumb was to build your templates first, and then embed the CMS functionality into them to build out the site. But with Drupal, you do it the other way around — let Drupal define the structure, and then make it look pretty afterwards. We lost time because of my direction.

Thankfully, we also had some very talented developers. The first up was Lorne of Open House Concept, who was the initial developer, and was the core layout guru. Kalen jumped on not long after to work on templates, and then buzzed back in towards the end of the project in a weird little game of leap-frog. Brian joined the project, which got us pointed in the right direction again (notably, correcting my oversights), and we brought on Boris to help us with the backend data synchronisation.

It sounds like a lot of people, but in truth we only had three developers running at any one time. And considering I can barely code my way out of a paper bag, I am truly amazed at what the four of them did to get this site out the door. Especially considering that the office is just finishing a near two-month renovation, which had us working remotely from our PM-extraordinare January’s house for over a week.

And yes, there were a lot of hours put into this project. They kept us working late, and more than a couple of weekends. This is where, in the past, I would lament the time away from my family. But this is also where that aforementioned trust comes in. Working from home is encouraged (assuming you don’t need to be in the office), and working at hours that suit your schedule is not a problem (provided you get your work done). End result: long hours, but still got be a family man.

So, damn right I’m a happy camper. All told, I would say this has been one of my more favourite projects, and I’ve had a few doozies to compete with, too.

And, really, you can never go wrong working with friends. (And yes — with, not for.)

I’m working with friends, people I’ve known for years — they’re people I also trust implicitly, so I have no reservations about working long hours. The downside, of course, is that I’ve seen less of you two. That’s probably what’s been hardest on me. Especially since Monkey probably feels a little neglected with all the time Mommy needs to spend with Choo Choo. It’s also why, despite the workload, I simply had to take some time to be with you and Mommy, and do something fun.

So went to see dinosaurs in Drumheller.

Okay, Choo Choo, you didn’t really “see” them. You’re only nine weeks old right now, so your observational capacity is limited to something like a metre in front of you. Not to mention that about the only things you do currently are eat, sleep, pee, and poo. (There’s a few moments of alert time thrown in there, too, usually followed by some pretty loud crying when you realise that you’re hungry again.) One day, you’ll find them more interesting, but for now … well, it is what it is.

As for you, Monkey, you were pretty excited about seeing dinosaurs. You were excited about it for days, after the first suggestion. So Sunday morning, we packed up into our loaner Impala (the Jetta’s in the shop, following a nasty transmission failure last Tuesday evening), and headed out for adventure.

Our first stop was breakfast: Cora’s at Northland Mall. We got there around 9:30, by which time the lineup was well out the door, and almost out the mall’s doors. I think I nearly broke Mommy’s heart when I suggested we find somewhere else. I was starving, and I figured we’d be well over an hour before eating, let alone heading towards Drumheller. We settled for what I consider to be pretty darn good breakfast sandwiches at the Second Cup.

Soon, we were out of the city, and heading into the prairie countryside. I always feel reinvigorated when I go into the prairies — there’s something about the endless horizon and the huge blue sky that makes me feel more alive. I don’t know if you two feel this way (you were asleep, Choo Choo, so I suspect you didn’t even notice), but maybe one day you’ll be able to tell me.

We arrived in Drumheller just after noon, and we went right to the Royal Tyrrell Museum of Palaeontology (or as most people I know call it, “The Tyrrell”), which is one of the best museums I know of for dinosaurs. (Truth be told, though, it’s not just dinosaurs. Although dinosaur fossils are plentiful in parts of Alberta, the museum prefers to cover the entire timeline from the dawn of life all the way up to modern man — there just happens to be a big portion that’s dinosaurs.) We’d all snacked in the car, so we pretty much skipped lunch.

Thankfully, you both are free right now, and will remain so until you’re 7 years old. Mommy had to take Choo Choo off for a feeding (Choo Choo is usually very hungry when she wakes up), but Monkey and I dove right into the museum.

Although you’ve played with dinosaur toys and watch Dinosaur Train, Monkey, you’d never seen anything remotely “life size” before. When you first entered the museum, you were met with a small pack of raptors, and a pair of massive theropods (Albertosauruses, I think). Oh, and a herd of humans. I’m not sure which you were more hesitant of — the replica dinosaurs, or the throngs of people. Either way, you needed a little leading.

You wanted to see the “bones”. (I’m not sure where you picked up the need to see bones; Mommy swears it wasn’t her.) We had to round corner, but soon you were looking at arms, and skulls, and legs, and even a half-uncovered skeleton. I’m not sure what you thought of it, and I think you were a little overwhelmed at first. I got a picture of you next to a sauropod leg (you’re under a metre in height right now, and barely were above the leg’s ankle bones).

Walking past the lab where the technicians dig out the bones from the rocks, we found ourselves face-to-face with your first Tyrannosaurus Rex. At first, you gasped, exclaiming “dinosaur!”, and we walked towards it. Then you stopped, shivered a bit, and mumbled “don’t like dinosaurs” and tried to go back the way we came. I managed to calm your fears, and we looked at the skeletons, and even got a picture of you in front of the T. Rex.

From there, we followed the path through the museum: up the ramp through the special exhibits to the “time tunnel”, which leads up to the start of the regular exhibits. You love ramps, and were quite happy to sprint up and down the ramp several times (me having to keep up with you, I might add), pausing at the top to look at the massive wall of purple-lit bubbles. The time spent here wasn’t wasted, having to wait for Mommy and Choo Choo to catch up to us.

Finally managing to move past the ramp and the bubbles, you looked down into the Dinosaur Hall (exclaiming, again, “dinosaur!”, followed with a “rawr!”) and looked directly at the head of a T. Rex. You didn’t seem at all fazed. You raced through the Burgess Shale (I had difficulty catching up), and paused only long enough at the Devonian Reef to declare: “fishies!”, before racing down the stairs into the Terrestrial Palaeozoic exhibit. You spent only long enough here to look almost at Dimetrodon before Mommy and Choo Choo caught up to us.

Already, you were showing signs of being too tired. You didn’t blink at a 21-metre Ichthyosaur, tried to run into the Allosaurus exhibit (thankfully, we caught you before that), and generally wanted only to play with blocks and be carried by Mommy (I was carrying Choo Choo in the Bjorn). We sped along through the rest of the museum and into the gift shop (because, don’t all museums end in gift shops?). There, you decided on a small “baby” T. Rex doll — though you could have easily gone with something much larger. I was impressed.

We headed back into downtown Drumheller, finally stopping at Gus’ Corner Cafe for lunch. It wasn’t much, but it was something. By the time we got to our hotel, it was nearly 16:00, and you were just plain baked. Down you went, like a log, for a short nap. Mommy, Choo Choo, and I went down to the lobby to let you rest.

A little over an hour later, I woke you up so we could go for a swim. It had been a long time since I’d taken you to a pool, and I didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity. There were a lot of people there, so we couldn’t do very much. We spent the time practising how to swim: kicking and pulling. You’re getting a lot better Monkey, and with more practise, you might even be ready to swim on your own (with water wings, mind you) by your birthday!

We went to O’Sheas, an “Irish restaurant” near our Super 8 hotel for dinner. It was … well, it was “okay” at best. Mommy and I have had the luxury of eating in actual Irish restaurants, and … well, let’s say they take a few creative liberties about their food. It wasn’t that it was bad or anything, just that it wasn’t as Irish as I expected. Oh, and you ate spaghetti.

After dinner, you and I went back to the museum on our own. There was barely anyone else there. You wanted to run around on your own, which you pretty much did. In fact, we went through the museum twice, because you just had to see the bubbles again. Afterwards, we stopped at the World’s Largest Dinosaur — I just had to get a picture of you with it in the background. No matter how hard I tried, though, I just couldn’t get you to go “rawr!” again.

Maybe it was all the excitement of the day, maybe it was the short nap, maybe it was that we stayed up too late, or maybe it was that you and I shared a bed — but no matter what the reason, you didn’t sleep well. You woke up a few times, screaming. Deciding that it was probably because you kept kicking me as you rolled around, I moved to the couch. Not that it helped much…

We headed home on Monday, unable to stay any longer. It was a fun trip, Monkey, and I hope we get to do it again before too long. As for you, Choo Choo, I can’t wait until you’re able to express interest in things like this. I’ll make going to museums a lot more fun than they are now.

The results were pretty much what I expected: I need glasses. Well, not need, but should probably get for reading and night time. And even then, it’s only a recommendation and not mandatory — I still see (more or less) fine, though there is a wee bit of blurriness. Dr. Amy (my first eye doctor) told me I’d need glasses when I was 40, and darn it I’m going to wait until I’m 40!

But then there’s the glaucoma…

No, I don’t actually have glaucoma. I’m just at risk for it. The doctor noticed in one of those painfully-bright-light tests that I might have something called “narrow angles” in my eyes. At this point, I’m not in any immediate danger, but this is something that could worsen in time, and the prospect of going blind is enough for me to get over my phobias and see a specialist. Which is what I did this morning.

Dr. Arun Latka at the Calgary Opthamology Center had a couple of preliminary tests run before he saw me (which appear to be standard), and quickly verified that I do, in fact, have narrow angles in the eye. This involved a new test that I’ve never had before, which struck me with absolute terror: he wanted to place a rather LARGE magnifying lens (looking something like the lens from a jeweller’s loupe) right on my eye.

Cringe. Heave. Try not to barf. Yeah, I have an issue with people getting that close to my eye. Ugh.

When he first placed it on my right eye, it felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. I suddenly regretted eating peanut butter for breakfast. I couldn’t open my left eye from the reaction. Although it was only there for at most a minute, it took a few more for me to not technicolour yawn over the equipment. I wasn’t nearly as bad with the left eye, likely because I knew what to expect. But it still gives me the shivers.

The confirmation of narrow angles led to the next step: laser eye surgery. And no, I haven’t had that yet — but I’m now scheduled for it. The surgery isn’t Lasik (I’m likely never to do that), and considerably simpler. It’s to correct the fundamental problem my eyes apparently have…

The eyes, like most parts of the body, have a flow of fluid within them. This regulates general health. The fluid flows from near the lens out to the cornea, circulates, then gets pushed back in through a narrow channel where the cornea and iris nearly meet, at a point referred to as (I think) Schlemm’s canal. Normally, the fluid flows out and all is well. In my case, the canal is so narrow that it could be blocked by the iris contracting too much (such as being in a dark room). This leads to too much pressure in the anterior chamber (between the iris and the cornea), which causes a pressure build-up in the interior chamber, which causes deadening of the optical nerve … and blindness.

The correction seems pretty trivial (and apparently is fairly common-place): bore a teeny hole in the iris to allow the fluid to balance.

So, for my birthday this year, I get to have laser eye surgery. At least on one eye, anyway. The other one won’t come until August (only one eye at a time, and the surgeon only does this one day a month, for some reason).

Sigh. Someone else near my eyes.

Ugh.

The events of the last few weeks have been extremely tiresome to say the least. Far too many people and groups have been prognosticating the future of personal computing, and there’s been far too little in doses of reality. The future is coming, but it’s not coming nearly as quickly as everyone thinks it is, and rushing to meet the future will likely only harm the present. A little rational thought would be appreciated.

Okay, let’s address the elephant in the room, first. Steve Jobs hates Flash. There, I’ve said it. Now let’s move on.

I’m not here to argue about openness or stability, or any of the claims/counter-claims made by anyone. There’s no point, since a large part of it is highly subjective. Apple will do whatever Apple wants to do, regardless of any other company’s desires, intentions, or abilities. And while Apple might be on the right path to the next major shift in personal computing, we’re still quite some time from critical mass.

Right now, in the industry, we have a need for rich, engaging experiences. These experiences are the things that help capture attention and keep people using a website or service long enough for that website or service to deliver its message and achieve its function. It could be easily argued that a much simpler user interface can do the same thing, but I can also easily argue that there is a wide gulf between utility and ubiquity: I love the simpleness that comes with pure utility, but the ubiquity of “fun” is what wins the day.

As a result of Apple, a lot of people are starting to tout the death of Adobe (formerly Macromedia) Flash. It’s doomed because Apple said so, or at least that’s the narrowly simple version of the story. A longer version introduces the up-and-coming HTML5 standards, which start to blur the lines between what Flash does now and what could be done without Flash. That’s what a lot of the major players (Google and Apple being the two most obvious) are moving towards, and there’s no reason why their direction shouldn’t be taken as the final chapter on Flash, right?

Right?

To the best of my knowledge and five minutes on Google, there has never been a technology that has up-and-vanished overnight (even figuratively-speaking) merely because one company said so. While I have a significant amount of respect for Apple and their attention to detail, and I nearly worship at the Altar of Google, I’d be quite the fool to be agreeing to abandon Flash.

Yes, you heard me. Dropping Flash is a foolish idea.

I know, I know. Don’t I hate Flash? Aren’t I the one who railed against it for years and years and years. In a word: no. I’m technology agnostic. I’ve been agnostic for a almost a decade. I learned a long time ago that ignoring a solution merely because you don’t like it immediately cuts you out of possible success, and you end up reinventing wheels. I don’t hate Flash — I hate inappropriate use of a technology.

Flash, as a platform for providing a rich media solution, has a place in our industry. For today, tomorrow, and the foreseeable short-term future (I’m saying at least two years, personally), any company pulling support for Flash is being extremely short-sighted. It’s like ditching your extremely reliable car at the side of the road to climb into an open chassis that has no doors, no roof, the colours and interior are still being decided, the engine periodically doesn’t work properly, and you’d better hope the dang thing has brakes.

Yes, you can do a lot without Flash right now. A number of websites (the site for new Nissan Leaf, the HTML5 presentation, HTML5 video, HTML5 audio funkiness) have proven that you can use these new standards quite effectively, and move away from Flash. And to that end, I say “congratulations, I hope you do well”. You’re going to need a lot of help, and pray that you can get away with it.

Why? Well, guess what folks, the HTML5 “standard” isn’t complete — It’s still a working draft. CSS3? Not finished, and not properly/fully supported by any browser. Video? Well, as much as Apple has tried to say that H.264 is the de facto standard, it’s patented, and the license fees will kick in at the end of 2015. Google’s bought On2, with the widely-held hope that they’ll release the VP8 codec openly. Firefox is only supporting Ogg Theora. And lest we forget the Browser That Just Won’t Die: Internet Explorer 6 will make your life a living hell.

Anyone remember the standards fights from the late 1990s? Does any of this look at all familiar?

Okay, so let’s assume that you can develop to some standards. How many authoring tools are you going to need? How many libraries? There’s no one consistent authoring tool, and your developers are going to need some seriously good (and seriously expensive) skills to make it all blend together smoothly.

Now let’s add in the added complication of rights management. Try find that little detail in the HTML5 specs. Go on, take a look, I’ll wait. Didn’t see anything? That’s because it’s not there. Big Media (read: Dinosaur Media) needs this in their vain attempt to keep their archaic business models creaking forward. They need DRM. They need encryption. They need the stuff built into Flash to keep their delivery systems operating. If for that reason alone, Flash has a long life ahead of it.

I’m not dancing around here with rose-coloured glasses. Flash is dying, of that I have no doubts. As a plug-in solution, its days are numbered. More than likely, it’ll morph into a development system not unlike Microsoft Studio, where it will be a rich media solution system. What it generates as a final product will depend on the need, supporting different outputs is definitely a possibility.

But for now, I’m sticking with Flash. It’s helpful, it’s handy, and it works.

So, here I am, a scant seven years later, probably at the opposite end of the scale. No, I haven’t ballooned out to slovenly proportions, but I’m definitely not where I was by the end of 2003. I’m far, far from it. How do I know this? Because I biked today, for the first time in (what Alex figures) is about three years.

All I gotta say is: Holy crap, I’m outta shape.

I have a whole whack of really lame excuses, most of which start with “I want to spend more time with my family”. That meant a need to get to and from work faster (therefore maximising my time at home), not going out for bike rides or runs, and generally not doing anything to avoid the pudginess forming around my middle. My former four-pack (never quite got the six) waned to a keg…

I honestly tried to make an effort in Costa Rica. But because of our general feel for the area, the heat during the day, Avalon Condominium’s outright lies about a fitness centre (they stopped construction about six months after we arrived, and may not complete for at least another year), and my general distaste (read: hatred) of running, I didn’t really get much further than our weekly walks to the market and back.

Which lead me to where I am now: spectacularly poor stamina, and highly weakened strength. I am not the man I used to be.

Now, I knew I wasn’t particularly well-off before today. Once the weather had moved away from the evil, nasty cold stuff (which I haven’t the equipment or interest to ride through), I hauled out the bike and checked to see if it was still rideable. About the only thing it needed was air in the tires. Finding my tire pump, I had little other excuse. So this morning, I set forth the mission: bike to and from work.

That’s when I realised my pump is actually crap, and couldn’t even inflate Rush Limbaugh (remember, he’s self-inflating). Having no backup, I had to walk 30 minutes to the nearest gas station to get my tires pumped up. Then I hit the road … and the bike paths, and the fields, and the roads, and an elevator at the other end.

Getting to work? Not too bad. Not as fast as I would have liked, but I also intentionally kept it light. Until today, I didn’t even know that there was a shower at the office (I hadn’t actually looked). I felt winded, but not so much that I felt things were in anyway amiss.

Then I went home.

From the office to the Bow Trail/Crowchild interchange, not too bad, but I had a hint that this wasn’t going to be as normal as I had thought. By the time I got to the trail that leads up the side of the bluff to the area I live, I already feared the worst. I geared down. Way down. To the first gear. I never use the first gear.

I chose the paved route over the switchback, thinking that the paved route might be a bit easier on my street tires. It’s also in two stages, giving a bit of a breather as you scoot up the 150-odd metre climb. The lower half rises maybe 15 metres before turning and going to the top of a 90-ish metre climb. Then down a block, turn to the right, and up the remaining 60 metres. Ish.

I think I made it up 50 metres before I stopped. I was so ashamed that I faked a leg cramp for the “benefit” of the mountain biker who tore past me going up like he was on flat ground. I stared down and tried not to think of how high I was still having to go, pedalling as steadily as I could.

I took my time going down the block, waiting for my heart rate to resettle a little. Then came Stage 2. I didn’t make it a third of the way before I finally dismounted and walked the rest. If I could have hung my head in shame without gagging on the heaving breathing, I would have. I had suspected I’d gone a little, but never dreamed I’d lost so much.

What this really means, though, is that I gotta get it back. And without a second car to drive to work and back, I have little other option. If nothing else, this sets a baseline from which I can work my way up to a level of fitness I’m comfortable with. And no, I won’t be posting pictures of my progress — I’m sure that me posting a “before” picture would somehow constitute an attack on the well-minded populous of the world and land me in … well, probably a bootcamp, which really wouldn’t be so bad.

In the meantime, though, it’s the pedal to the pavement, and a lot of wheezing. Hopefully, within a month or so, I might be at a point where I can look like I belong biking up a hill, rather than a wannabe.

One thing that regularly amazed me, however, was how often a client’s internal IT group seemed to have non-trivial input on almost every aspect of an initiative, from the way it was hosted right down to the specific use of a given image. I often found myself watching our best-laid plans being eaten away to the point of delivering something I was less than happy with. The repeat experience led me to focus on one inexorable fact:

IT departments should never have any input on the marketing website. Ever.

Before the IT folks all try to kill me, please understand something — I’m on your side. My background is technical — I have done corporate IT in my previous lives, and am well aware of the implications and consequences of a haphazard platform rollout or a half-baked application install. I know why Sarbanes-Oxley creates havoc every quarter. And yes, I too have denied people hardware upgrades merely for the reason that I didn’t see the need. I know where you’re coming from.

To over-simplify things, it’s the men and women problem: they’re both human, but communication and understanding sometimes comes in very short supply. Hence the book, and the numerous parodies thereof. (Though why women got stuck with the toxic atmosphere planet remains a mystery to me.) In my view, IT and marketing are on equally distant worlds, with the same challenges to understand given needs.

This is not about just mere communication. This goes past communication to perceptions, politics, policies, and also budgets. The resulting confounding confusion ends with uncertainties, namely: who actually is responsible for the website, who owns the website and its operation, and who pays for it. (Yes, IT and marketing work for the same company, but each has their own budgets.) This is where the tug-of-wars start, and why IT tends to get sucked (or shoved) into the website space.

Like I said, IT, I’m on your side. And believe me when I say this: You do not want to handle the trouble of the marketing website.

Simply put, a marketing department’s purpose is to sell a company’s products or services. As the adage goes, you have to spend money to make money. In the world of profit/loss, a marketing department is almost entirely loss — they spend the money to raise awareness and encourage sales of their organisation’s wares.

An IT department’s purpose is to support the organisation’s internal operations through implementing technology standards, ensuring stability and control over technology infrastructure, and assisting when things go awry. Like marketing, internal IT is entirely loss as well — it is the traditional form of a “cost center”, meaning it doesn’t even feed directly into a revenue chain. That also means that it’s a constant focus of cost control.

The two departments also (typically) report up through different executives as well, with marketing going to a marketing-oriented office (such as a Chief Marketing Officer) and IT going through the financial/administrative office (such as a Chief Financial Officer). This means that messages provided to each of them are different, the directions given to them are different, and their are told to focus on different things.

Which means, of course, that when the marketing department asks for something, the IT department will think it means something else.

In my experience, this usually arises when a company’s web presence is the point of discussion. This is the ultimate tug-of-war: marketing needs the freedom to do what they need to do to their job, and IT sees this as something they need to own and support. Almost invariably, it ends up getting messy, and the marketing department ends up subservient to the IT department.

Now, before all you geeks out there cheer for this apparent victory, this is a bad thing. As alluded to above, IT departments do not understand marketing needs. What IT departments see is a need to keep things in line with supported standards, and keep costs to a minimum. This misunderstanding has been lampooned many times in cartoon, often sending those in the industry to nod their heads sadly at the truth.

Consider the following scenario: Marketing has a project that will raise awareness for a new product. Their budget allows for about two weeks of work, and will have a one year lifespan. They want to really reach out to Gen Y as a primary audience. When Marketing and IT see these rough requirements, they’ll each see something different:

There’s two places where IT falls short: understanding the creative aspect of marketing, and the need for flexibility. Marketing campaigns are highly creative, by sheer necessity — remove the creativity, and all you have is a message without hooks. The flexibility allow marketing to react to need, as well as attempt strategies to better broadcast a message. Such flexibility flies in the face of most standards, which strive for stringent consistency.

In other words, marketing is not something an IT department should ever want to understand. I assure you, it can make your head hurt.

So what are we left with? In my view, keep IT doing what IT does best: supporting the internal infrastructure of a company, and staying out of the website game.

As for the website, it should never live with the company (unless the company itself is geared utterly around its website, but that also changes the game entirely). The website should live at an external location with a third-party hosting vendor. There are thousands to choose from in all sizes, shapes, securities, and softwares. You do this because you don’t want to have to deal with the infrastructure of a website that supports your business (either directly or indirectly), and because it allows a marketing department to do things that would scare the bejeebus out of an IT team.

So, dear IT friends, do yourselves a favour: if someone ever tries to suggest you take on the task of managing the company’s website projects, do yourselves a favour: run. And leave behind a note with the five hosting sales reps who cold-called you last month.