#94- Sunsets

I found myself sitting on a dock in Muskoka cottage country, beside my girlfriend, last weekend watching the sun set on another great day and another amazing summer. 

It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that summer was done and I was leaving Ottawa and everything that city meant; my home for the last four years, memories, lessons learned, cute Parliament cats and of course my girlfriend who lives and works there. 

Even with all that in the back of my mind I just couldn't find it in me to be sad. Maybe it was the promise of s'mores, or the smell of BBQ wafting from the cottage (you can tell I like food).

But really I think the reason was the sunset. Next to its beauty, as the sun slipped behind the tree-covered hills and calm waters, the sunset signaled, as corny as it sounds, the beginning of something new. If I've learned anything it's that new is scary, but arrives at your doorstep anyways and should be embraced if you want to enjoy life.

The sunset is a moment to reflect on what has been, the day that has passed, the moments, the things you've learned, the obstacles and the triumphs you've had. It is a marker to prepare you for what is to come; a great night full of fun or a dark few hours to persevere through.

It is the end to one day and the promise that a new one will emerge, it is an end so a beginning can emerge. The daily example the sunset gives is important to me right now, on the cusp of a transition from school to applying my lessons to something that is hopefully progressive and helpful to society. It shows me that maybe new isn't just scary, but a chance to venture into another era of darkness, light and, at the end, another sunset that I will lament, but take joy in as well.

And most importantly the sunset is there to give hope. When the sky paints itself in colours thought unimaginable it shows that the impossible is not so impossible, that anything is within reach, that there is something that is still good in the world even if it seems like everything is crumbling around you.

So I am grateful for sunsets. I am grateful that I have been around for 8016 of them so far, out of car windows, airplanes, from desks, stores, porches, patios, half way around the world and right at home, 

wherever that may be. I am grateful for the way sunsets signify change and the opportunities that it brings, chances to have fun, be strong, achieve the impossible, reflect, get better and give thanks. 

#93- Losing My Bus Pass

Last Friday morning could not have started any worse. 

It was horribly and and unseasonably cold for a summer morning and I sat shivering at a table on the patio of a coffee shop. I was tired and still had to work that day. As I got up from the table I patted my pocket, a reactionary tick I have to check if I have everything. Where there was supposed to be a bus pass there was only a piece of crumbled paper and the feeling of utter despair. I desperately rifled through my backpack only to come up empty again. I had lost my bus pass. 

So much for T.G.I.F.

After a violent mood swing that featured more cursing than an R-rated movie and exaggerated "why me" moments fit for the stage, I accepted that losing my bus pass was not that big of a deal. It was in fact a blessing in disguise.

Losing my bus pass meant less sitting on crusty, blue seats watching the world go by and more walking around in the sunshine, taking in the world around me. 

I explored my new neighbourhood, I noticed interesting new nooks in a city I thought I already had completely figured out. I stopped to look at books at the little, independent bookstore around the corner from me. I saw a lady sing about an American privateer, whatever that is.

I had been stuck, stuck on buses, going about the daily grind and not noticing all the beauty that summer in Ottawa had to offer. Losing my bus pass was a ticket out of this rut.

So I am grateful for losing my bus pass. I am grateful that life made me stop and realize its beauty when I refused to do so on my own. And even though I know I will need to get a new bus pass for next month, I will always remember that part of summer my own two feet were the best transportation around.

#92- Fatherly Advice

I know, I know, I missed Father's Day, by a long shot, but I'm going to try to make up for it by giving homage to what just might be one of the best things about fathers worldwide; fatherly advice.

It seems to me that fathers have it hardwired into their brain to impart the cumulative wisdom of their years into bite-sized nuggets of information for their offspring. As a former student journalist it is astounding to me how concisely dads can put huge metaphysical queries into one or two sentences or a witty phrase.


On the eve of my departure to Kenya, almost four years ago, my dad and I were talking, probably about the Blue Jays or something, when he suddenly gave me some of that fatherly advice. He told me that when I faced adversity on my trip, when I had a bad day or felt like I couldn't or didn't want to continue, I should remember one thing; why I was there in the first place.


I nodded and thanked him, but I gave the advice a mental brush off, stuffing it in the back of my brain. Why would I need that, I thought, I'm on a once in a lifetime trip with friends, doing something good. I won't face any doubt or hurdles, emotional, mental or physical.

Of course I was wrong, as arrogant teenagers often are, and mustered up that sage wisdom of my father's more than once along my journey in Kenya, and was 1000 times better off for it.


And now I keep that advice close at hand in whatever I do. Whenever I start to grumble and get discouraged at the ice cream store where I work, I try to remember why I am there. I am there to serve ice cream, I am there to make people smile, help a family connect, a child find the extraordinary in the ordinary and give a sweet end to a sometimes bitter day. And when I remember this I realize the smiles and laughter much more and my tired legs and negative thoughts much less.


So I am grateful for fatherly advice. I am grateful that wisdom, kindness and knowledge can be passed from generation to generation to make this world a better place.    

#91- Lost and Found

It was one of those moments that was full of what I would like to dub the Sad Clown Phenomenon. I had had an amazing day, going out for lunch, a trip to the museum, and now a $2 dollar comedy with my girlfriend and had all the reason in the world to be loving life. And yet I was very, very sad. That's because, in my sheer stupidity, I had left my beloved J-school hoodie somewhere in the mall and was convinced that I would never see it again.

I managed to forget about it and enjoy the movie, but was still sad enough to refuse candy from my girlfriend, a sure sign that the Sad Clown Phenomenon hadn't totally relinquished its grip. After the movie, however, I started to slip back into it until my girlfriend, a true optimist in her perseverance and determination, told me I should look in the mall's lost and found.

I, being full of Sad Clown, still despaired. Of course it wouldn't be there, no one would have turned in my sweater, it was probably being eaten by a pack of Ottawa's infamous hungry groundhogs by now.

Long story short, it was there and I had my sweater back and wore it, draw strings pulled tight for added security, all the way home in the summer heat.

And today I am forever indebted to Lost and Found boxes everywhere.

They are themselves a great thing, a chance to reclaim lost objects of significance and trivial appeal alike. But they are much more than that. They are a symbol of hope, a last bastion of promise and optimism that relief will come; that you will find what is important to you.

It is also an assurance that humans are indeed inherently good creatures. Lost and Founds are a sign that people will do the right thing and want, deep in their hearts and minds, for people to be happy even if they don't know that person and will get nothing, not even a thank you or a look of joy, in return for their good deed.

So I am grateful for the Lost and Found. I am grateful that they are always there, like a network of kindness and hope and human decency and selflessness, when you need it most. And I am grateful that it helped remind me that these things exist in the world and rose me up and out of the pessimism I had given into and back to seeing life like a glass half full.

#90- Dandelions

A couple weeks ago I was walking along the Rideau Canal and to keep my eyes and mind off what was potentially floating belly up in the water a few metres from me I set my eyes upon the thousands of dandelions that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Let me tell you, it was a beautiful sight.

Yes, dandelions are weeds, but they are not the putrid green, hand pricking, soul-sucking weeds that seem to ruin your every attempt to grow a small backyard herb garden, but nice yellow sprouts lining the various paths you walk on to work or school or a Sunday evening jaunt.

Sure they have their downsides, just ask people with allergies. But at least they are nice to look at, even if you have to take your eyes off of them for a few seconds to sneeze.

To borrow a quote about another, more loved plant: "You can complain because roses have thorns or rejoice because thorns have roses."

In other words, focus more on the positives of dandelions, the beauty, the good luck they bring when you blow their seeds into the wind, etc., rather than the negatives because as much as you try, they are always going to be around.

So I am grateful for dandelions. I am grateful for the splash of amazing colour they bring to any landscape. I am grateful they defy the normal perception of a weed as awful and harsh. And I am grateful that they stand as testament to a very important lesson I have learned in my life; focus on the good in everything rather than dwelling on any of the negatives that are bound to pop up and it'll brighten your day even when it's cloudy out.

#89- Aloe

My old photo instructor at Centretown News would be proud; I sacrificed my body to get the perfect photos for my new job.

Last Saturday I bravely weathered the harsh heat of the sun to take pictures of games all day for the rugby club I'm working for and I came away with a couple of things: a sense of pride and joy at having taken some decent looking photos and a wicked sun burn that hurt at the slightest touch.

I try not to think of the pain and the peeling, but instead of the duty I have to take great pictures, although this is kind of hard to do when a slight wind causes so much pain and you look like Elmo with blond hair.

No it's not easy being green, but I would say it's much harder being red.

But that's why aloe is such an amazing thing.

When I put that creamy, cool, slightly weird smelling lotion on my burns I swear I could see steam coming off my skin, but I felt an immense relief and praised that prickly little plant for producing something as heavenly as aloe lotion.

And although the aloe didn't completely heal my burns, it helped decrease the pain and damage to my skin. It prevented the peeling that makes me look like a human snake just in time for graduation. And it allowed me to put my arms down to my sides when before I couldn't even do that for the pain touching my shirt would give burns.

So I am grateful for aloe. I am grateful that when I was so very stupid to forget to put on sunscreen, it was there for me in my time of need and too-late repentance. I am grateful that aloe is nature's sunburn nurse that helped me counter nature's branding irons. And I am grateful that the aloe vera plant abides by the don't-judge-a-book-by-its-cover mantra because its spiky exterior hides an amazing medicine.

#88- Paramedics

Nothing says "Happy Sunday" like a head injury!

While that may be slightly (or largely) untrue, it was nonetheless my mantra this past weekend.

Here's the story: I was walking home from work, minding my own business, talking to my mom on the phone, when I heard a mysterious pop-pop-pop noise from the street. This noise caught my attention as it was vastly different than the natural sounds of the Glebe; hipster music, babies crying and patio chatter. I didn't have much time to think about it (maybe a split second) before something slammed into my head. The next thing I know, I have blood pouring from my head and I'm thinking, "Man, this is really going to make my glasses all smudgy."

In the end I was alright, and it was mainly because of some very kind-hearted people. My friend (who was randomly, perhaps fatefully, coming out of a store when I was running down the street) called 911 and my girlfriend came running over to do whatever she could to help (several Olympians would have been shamed by her speed and hurdling abilities at that moment).

But I want to thank the pros who were on the scene that day, the paramedics who came and treated my injury and took every precaution to make sure I was alright and able to get on with my day. These paramedics were complete strangers who cared about me and my well-being. They were calm and nice and very good at their jobs. They also put me at ease when they told me my sunburns were probably more of an issue than the head injury (sorry skin).

Before this weekend I have never had an encounter with a paramedic (I count myself blessed for being able to say that), but now that I have, I feel even better about this world knowing there are completely selfless and giving people out there like the ones who helped me.

So I am grateful for paramedics. I am grateful for the job they do. I am grateful that they can remain positive and caring in a job where there is so much hurt. I am grateful that they will do anything to stop this hurt, even if it's affecting people they have never met and will never meet again. Thanks to everyone who helped me this weekend, and, if you happen to read this, a big thank you to the paramedics.     

#87- Garage Sales

You know what they say: one person's junk is another person's afternoon of browsing in someone's front lawn for that final piece to their living room.

Well maybe that's not quite how it goes. But as far as garage sales go it sounds pretty accurate to me.

Garage sales are the product of the annual spring binge of useless, but suddenly sentimental junk that you naturally try to con other people into paying you for. So it obviously makes for grand old time of treasure hunting and haggling for the best price on a singing moose head or those Pokemon cards you know are fake because they are purple instead of blue.

Stumbling across a garage sale is like actually coming across something with a metal detector on the beach; surprised euphoria mixed with an immediate downgrading of other priorities. I can root around in a garage sale for hours, trying to find hidden gems of books or toys or posters or you name it. Where else can you find a bowling ball for sale next to a blender going for $5? Maybe half a block down the street, but nowhere else.

I would even like to believe garage sales were the cause for my early education in business. At the age of eight I came across a set of long cabin-esque building blocks at a garage sale that I really wanted. I was told by someone that you should never pay the asking price at a garage sale and successfully haggled the price on the blocks from $5 to $3. Yep, Toronto Stock Exchange here I come!

So I am grateful for garage sales. I am grateful that they bring people out to enjoy the age old practice of bartering with their neighbour. I am grateful that they signal summer and they provide me with reading material or hours of play or, if nothing else, a few minutes of amusement as I look at the treasure trove in front of me, the objects telling a story about someone's life lived and a future full of hope.

#86- Ice Cream

The ringer on my phone went off yesterday and it sounded like celebratory trumpets to my ears. That's because it signalled an email I received telling me I got a job at an ice cream store.

Finally, paid employment!

So while last week at this time I had zero jobs, now I have two. So in honour of that, I decided to write about the very thing I'll be dealing with for hundreds of hours over the next few months: ice cream.

I love ice cream. Some of my best memories of childhood include ice cream, from getting Superkid as a treat with my mom, dad, aunt, uncle, siblings and cousins to hanging out and eating soft serve ice cream on the grass at Ribfest with my friends. Yes, ice cream is a powerful force, bringing people closer together and, if you're not careful, closer to being overweight.

But I never worried about that because ice cream was a special treat for me and it still is. It signals the end to a good day, a special summer afternoon or a family outing.

Ice cream also lets you express yourself. That may seem a little weird to think about, but as a guy who thinks about food more than is probably healthy, I think many foods do let you define yourself. But ice cream even more so. There are so many flavours that you are not limited to what someone else wants or what you always have. It allows you to be adventurous, or traditional or both. It lets you mix and match and lets the world know if you are zany or classy or whatever you want to be.

Also ice cream just tastes good. There's no two ways about that.

So I am grateful for ice cream. I am grateful for the way it can bring people together over something so delicious. I am grateful that it can be a special treat on the hot summer days or to cheer up cold and drizzly ones. And I am grateful that it is around or I may still be unemployed right now.

#85- Shade

We've been riding a minor, spring heat wave here in Ottawa which would be the great if I had air conditioning at my house.

Instead I must enjoy the warm, sunny days choosing whether to slowly melt outside or inside. At least I have a choice, right?

But then there is a third option: bask in the early summer days while sitting beneath a giant oak tree in the park, its shade creating the most comfortable of environments.

I chose that option a couple days ago and sat in the shade in the park, reading a good book and enjoying the blue skies without being roasted by them.

Shade has saved me a few times before. Last summer I was working at the golf course and the heat in the early afternoon would become almost unbearable, but getting that sweet, sweet assignment to tend to the trees meant an afternoon with slightly cooler temperatures.

Shade provides refuge, comfort and a reprieve from the sun without having to waste a beautiful day inside or freezing your fingers off in an over air conditioned building (that's when irony isn't so funny). Shade gives us a place to relax, a perfect picnic spot, a reading nook or a nap area. In short, shade can be whatever you want it to be except boiling hot.

So I am grateful for shade. I am grateful for the trees or awnings or the other things that create shade. I am grateful for way shade allows me to enjoy the summer at the height of its heat without suffering from heat stroke or sun burn. You can have your air conditioning and your fancy fans, but I'll take the shade of a good tree any day.  

#84- Fireworks

This past weekend was Victoria Day weekend, otherwise known as May 2-4 or The Royal May 2-4 if you're a member of the Conservative Party.

There are a few things that happen every May 2-4 weekend as many of you may know. These include cottage country traffic, patios filling up and the air beginning to smell like someone slathered sun screen all over the city.

But one of the best traditions on this holiday weekend is fireworks.

Unfortunately, since Mother Nature decided to make it pour rain last night, I didn't get to see the massive fireworks show in Ottawa. But that doesn't change the fact that fireworks displays are amazing.

Even in a time and place where the miraculous has become the norm with the help of computers, tablets, special effects and those weird glasses you get at 3D movies, the dazzling display of lights and sounds on such a grand scale as a fireworks show can transfix people. And that's the amazing part, that such wonderment and awe can still be felt, such joy can be well up inside of people at seeing the sky turn yellow or red or orange or purple or whatever colour you could think of.

It's so rare to get tens of thousands of people all appreciating such a simple, but beautiful thing at the same time, to get them together and watch as they fall silent in the presence of that beauty. And seeing the fireworks is like seeing a movie for the first time again, when you wonder for a second how such a thing can happen before enjoying the show.

So I am grateful for fireworks. I am grateful for the people who work on setting up the shows for the special days and for the nights when the sky is clear and the air warm enough to enjoy such a display of beauty and might. When I was little I used to be scared of the tremendous sound of fireworks, but I loved watching the bursts of colour and crazy patterns. So I would watch them the window in my bedroom, sad when they finished, not able to get enough of the spectacle. And I don't think I ever will.

#83- The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass

Today is the start of May 2-4 here in the land above the 49th parallel and that means one thing: the start of summer.

This is the weekend when patios fill up, cottages open up and fireworks light up and for many this marks the beginning of a few months of glorious sun, or, if you live way up there, a few months of bad skiing season.

But for me there is something else that appears around this time that puts my head in a summer place and that's the smell of freshly cut grass.

When I walk down the street and get a blast of that newly chopped green in my nostrils I can't help but think of days spent playing soccer, swimming in pools or just reading a book on a lawn chair as dusk sets in.

For me the smell of freshly cut grass marks a beginning. It is like nature's version of a ribbon cutting for a new building. It is a rebirth of sorts where the old is taken out and the new brought in. It means the grass is growing and the winter has been left far behind.

Last summer I had my fair share of days where all I did was cut grass, but that smell still makes me think of care-free times and has me looking forward to more in the near future.

So I am grateful for the smell of freshly cut grass. I am grateful for the thoughts of good times it can provoke. I am grateful that the sound of a lawn mower can be the starting gun for summer, but hopeful that we won't race through it, but enjoy whatever comes and all the fun times, sunny days and summer nights that follow.

#82- Beaver Tails

I've eaten many an exotic dish, from bison roasts to crocodile nuggets and even ostrich meatballs, but one of the most delicious has got to be beaver tail.

For those not familiar with the famed beaver tails you should know two things: you should get familiar with them fast and don't worry, they aren't actually the tails of real beavers.

Really what they are is dough, stretched out into the shape of a beaver's tail and fried until golden brown and then topped with delicious toppings such as chocolate sauce and bananas or cinnamon and sugar.

So no, they wouldn't be a food featured on Body Break segments (something for those 90s kids), but they are a great bad habit once in a while.

But beaver tails are more than that. They are a Canadian delicacy (Canada: serving up horribly addictive and unhealthy fried food for more than a century). This is usually how it goes with traveling foodies: they flock from all over just to get a taste of the beaver tail, are a little disappointed that it's not real beaver and eventually leave happy with chocolate smeared all over their faces.

Beaver tails are also a staple of one of the greatest events I have ever experienced; skating on the Rideau Canal. Skating on the canal itself is amazing (the largest rink in the world!), but when the wind is blowing and you can't feel your fingers, having a nice warm beaver tail in your hands warms them up quite nicely. And you don't even have to take off your skates.

In short, beaver tails are something to enjoy and to take pride in. They are a Canadian invention, right up there with the zipper, basketball and twelve different ways to say sorry. They are delicious and certainly not nutritious. They are a tradition, a hand warmer, a conversation starter and one of the best possible ways to end off a night out with friends.

So I am grateful for beaver tails. I am grateful that we can honour one of our greatest national animals with its very own food. I am grateful for how good they taste and that I can feel better about eating them after having skated a few kilometres. I am grateful that they are so popular and awesome that the president of the United States came all the way up here just to have one (and do some other diplomatic stuff I guess). And I am grateful that I can say I've had a beaver tail before, because that's something not too many people can admit they've done.

#81- Reunions

I was waiting anxiously at the bus terminal yesterday for my girlfriend to arrive from Paris. I paced up and down the gates, looking out the window every couple seconds in hope of catching a glimpse of an incoming bus. 

And then finally I saw one pulling in and ran to the gate. Through the glass doors and the window of the bus I could see a girl with short, blonde hair that could only mean it was my girlfriend. I pushed through the crowd, almost in slow motion. My only thought was to get to her, to hug her for the first time in two weeks.

I got to the front, my smile growing with every step. As she came out the door she looked up and... it wasn't her. No, it was some other girl and I was standing there, a dopey smile still on my face because my face muscles still hadn't registered what my brain had; this wasn't the bus from Montreal that my girlfriend was on.

Nope, life isn't a Nicholas Sparks book, but the reunion between my girlfriend and I did come, about 20 minutes later, and it didn't matter that there was no corny soundtrack or slow motion run towards each other through the rain or gently swaying tulips in an open meadow. 

What really mattered is that we were together again and that dopey smile was back on my face as we hugged and talked about her trip and laughed while we ate greasy burgers together as a welcome back to North American cuisine. 

What mattered was not how it happened, but that it happened.

I'm sure everyone has had a reunion like that. Maybe not with so much hugging or the smell of diesel fumes spinning around, but one where you felt like the world was a picture hanging slightly off centre and had been straightened up again with the reunion. 

It's always great to see your family again, or friends you haven't talked to in a while or a mentor that shaped your life's path and it's because when you're with those people again everything makes a little more sense, everything seems a little safer and you feel more confident. It's because you have the same memories, a shared history together, through good and bad, which makes you smile or laugh or even just makes you stronger on the inside. It's because being with those people makes you a better person and they feel the same way.

So I am grateful for reunions. I am grateful that I was reunited with my girlfriend yesterday. I am grateful for all those time in a year when I see those I love again after being away and the way my face lights up when we have a reunion. I am grateful that reunions bring people together, even after years of being apart sometimes. And I am grateful that they aren't always fairytale perfect, because that means each one is special in a way, each one is something to reminisce about at the next reunion.     

#80- Glasses

I was at a fast food restaurant the other day and the most amazing, miraculous thing happened; I could finally stand at the counter without climbing halfway over it just to see the menu options on the wall. I didn't have to squint or crane my neck to see the prices and then look to see the cashier giving me a look that said "Why do I always get the weirdos?"

Nope, I could see clearly now and it was all because I had my new glasses on.

My eyesight has slowly been getting worse and worse over the last three or four years to the point where I had to sit at the front of the class not because I really enjoyed the topic, but because if I didn't, the notes would be a big smudge on the board or projector.

I guess it had gotten so bad that when I went into the optometrist to get my eyes looked at a few weeks ago this was the conversation I had with the doctor:

Her: "Did you drive here?"
Me: "No, I took the bus."
Her "Thank  God! (After looking at my startled expression) There is no way you could see any of the road signs."

So I took a trip to the glasses store and now I can see a whole world I haven't been able to enjoy for a few years. Now everything takes on a more intense colour, an exciting sharpness, like a bold statement to my eyes. I can see words written on shop windows and the detail on clothes and fruit and other such random things. But it's the random things that make this world come alive many times. It is seeing these everyday objects in a different way that makes me smile and give a little laugh, like it really is some miracle.  

And I can thank my new glasses for giving me this second look at life, a fresh opportunity to experience things. It is like I am looking at some things for the first time, like the familiar has become the unfamiliar, like I am exploring the city for the first time. It's exhilarating.

For me, observation is one of the greatest strengths and experiences I have. Observing the world around me is a key ingredient for me in the things I am passionate about, like writing and traveling. So now that I have my glasses I can do these things even better and look quite distinguished while doing it.

So I am grateful for my glasses. I am grateful that I have the opportunity to have my glasses because many who need them don't have the opportunity to get them. I am grateful for the way they have opened my eyes to an entirely different world and that they keep give me a second chance to see things I have already experienced, which doesn't come along every day. And I am grateful I can see the world again with all its little phenomena and flaws that make it so amazing and exciting. 

#79- Sandwiches

Last night I had a dream about a sandwich. I don't know what was in it, but all my mind kept telling me was that it was the best sandwich that was ever made. I was so hungry too. But each time I went to grab for the sandwich someone would come into the room and ask me to go see something else in another part of the house.

I was never able to bite into what was surely the most delicious thing ever and woke up licking my lips in anticipation of a sandwich that would never come. And now I badly want a sandwich, but since I don't have the stuff for one, writing about it must suffice.

According to one website, dreaming of a sandwich suggests that "a lot of pressure and stress is being put on you. It also reflects your ability to do two things at once." Maybe I can put that on my resume.

It goes on to say, "Alternately, sometimes a sandwich is just a sandwich." I don't agree with this at all. A sandwich is never "just a sandwich." It's so much more.

Sandwiches show your character, your likes and dislikes, your creativity and your culture. For example, if I were to put anything other than my family's homemade tomato sauce on my veal sandwich, I would probably be disowned and made to live in a cave with only potato sacks to wear. That's because my family is proud of this tradition and also because it's extremely delicious to the point where I am now Googling veal sandwiches to get a minor fix.

Sandwiches are the ultimate mix and match dish that you can tailor to your own tastes. You can have fancy ingredients and bread, imported cheeses and weird sounding mustard or you can simply have a ham and Swiss on rye. It can be healthy, stacking vegetable upon vegetable on whole wheat bread or devilishly and deliciously bad for you (see the aforementioned veal sandwich with all the fixings). But whatever your taste there's something there for you in a sandwich.

So I am grateful for sandwiches. I am grateful that the 4th Earl of Sandwich was such a heavy gambler that he decided to create the food just so he wouldn't have to stop throwing the dice. I am grateful that sandwiches offer so much variety and that they can reflect the person that is making them. I am grateful that they can be enjoyed anywhere at any time. And I am grateful that they appear in my dreams because now I know what I'm having for lunch.

#78- Solitaire

Solitaire is the king of procrastination activities. Which is why, naturally, I played for 45 minutes before I started writing this post (and since I completed a paragraph it's only fair to reward myself with a couple more games).

It's the game that is at the same time mindless and intellectually stimulating. This makes it perfect for tedious in-class post-morts when I can reason with myself that Solitaire is more helpful to my cerebral development than class, but I can still answer any question thrown at me.

It really does train your mind on strategy and patterns and memory, which has to be better for your mind than playing NHL 08 for days on end (which I sadly have done before). It keeps my mind sharp when working late into the night on a project and at the same time gives me a little break from what I'm working on so I don't go crazy.

I enjoy Solitaire so much that I've played 2166 games (of which 401 of them are wins. Not too shappy eh?).  Forget about those new-fangled computer games that require the internet, Solitaire just requires enough power on your laptop to run it on low (good for those bus rides where internet connection is as rare as serious, potential owners for the Phoenix Coyotes). Or, if you're the retro type, you can use a deck of cards.

Solitaire doesn't have any flashy lights or sounds or graphics which takes me back to the good ol' days of my childhood where Game Boy and Roller Coaster Tycoon were the height of video gaming experiences for me. There is of course the fireworks and exploding cards when you win, which is still something that makes me smile with pride at having bested those pesky cards.

So I am grateful for Solitaire. I'm grateful it comes free on my laptop so I can whittle away the hours and stave off boredom on long trips on the Greyhound or while waiting between appointments and classes. I'm grateful it actually hones some skills like memory and pattern realization. And I'm grateful that such a simple game can mute the bells and whistles in my head in a few short minutes during stressful times.  

#77- Calling Cards

I was getting so jealous of my girlfriend being in Paris that I picked up a calling card and dialled her number yesterday in hopes of getting a slight whiff of intoxicating crepe aroma or catching the sound of a man serenading cafe-goers with an accordion.

All I ended up smelling was my running clothes I was too lazy to put away and the sound filling my room was the pesky little squirrel who sits outside my window and yells at odd hours of the day and night.

But the call gave me something much more special than crepe odors and musically inclined Frenchmen. It gave me the chance to talk to my girlfriend and hear about her trip.

It was great to hear the excitement in her voice when she was telling me about seeing the Eiffel Tower or the anticipation as she talked about plans to travel outside the city. Not to mention that it was really helpful to learn how to skip a four hour line and get into the Louvre for free.

And it was all thanks to that calling card I picked up.

The way we can travel now in days has always induced wonder in me. You can fall asleep in one continent and wake up in another. But what is just as amazing is how we can communicate over such large distances, it's like magic. I can pick up a card, any card (as long as it's an international calling card) and be talking to someone thousands of kilometres away as if they were beside me.

This connection brings us closer together than ever before. We can share so many things with people we've never met or those we have known our entire lives. It's an amazing opportunity to learn, to love and to explore and the small card I bought at the corner store down the street is where it all starts.

So I am grateful for calling cards. I am grateful they are a gateway to whole other cultures and experiences a world away. I am grateful they can act as a line to those I care about and that it can be a tool to open up my imagination with their stories. They may not be your typical greeting cards, but they welcome you to a world of possibilities. 

#76- New Running Shoes

I knew something was wrong when I couldn't feel my foot.

It was after one of my morning runs last week and I had sprinted the last hundred metres, but when I stopped I nearly fell flat on my face because my right foot felt like a block of cement strapped to my leg.

I came to the conclusion, after months of denial, that my three-year-old training shoes had come to the end of their lifespan.

Those shoes had been with me through a lot. From lacing up with me as I ran down the beautiful Rideau Canal to the snow-dusted paths on campus and the goose-filled park near my house in Toronto.

But they were starting to become a pain in the Achilles Tendon.

So I made the trip to the running store over the weekend to find myself a pair of trainers that wouldn't have me hobbling around.

And after a few solid runs in my new shoes I love them.

They are snug, comfortable and even make me look good while I run down the streets (although I may be a bit delusional about that last bit as I frequently envision myself running in epic slow motion with the soundtrack from Chariots of fire in the background).

But really, they are a great pair of shoes that allow me to go out and get some exercise (those Beaver Tails can really weigh on a guy), explore my community, soak up the great weather we've been having here (no really, there is such a thing as good weather in Ottawa) and most importantly do something I love; run.

Running has been a part of my life for a really long time. It's something I've done with friends, family and in my own peaceful world. It's something that keeps me active and challenges me and makes me feel a natural high (I try reminding myself of this point when I'm cursing a particularly long hill or a stiff breeze coming in my direction as I run). My shoes help me do all this. They are the vehicle for this activity in my life that brings so much happiness.

So I am grateful for my new running shoes. I am grateful they allow me to run comfortably and safely and  give me the chance to do something that is good for my body and mind. I'm grateful I have them as a tool to challenge me in new ways and hopefully make myself a better person.

#75- The Penny

It is time to say goodbye to long standing Canadian icon. A constant in this nation since before Confederation. A small token with a powerful symbol. Today the Canadian Mint made their last penny and it's a sad day.

Yes that weird jingle when I walk down the street is from the scores of pennies in my pocket and sure I have mountains of the copper coin stacked all over my room and getting in the way. In short, I, like many in this country, sometimes see pennies as a nuisance, but they've meant something special to me since my five-year-old self was given a handful of shiny cents as my first ever payday.

Since that day when I quickly stuffed the pennies into my Power Rangers wallet, the little coins meant a sense of hope, an opportunity, a door to something new and fascinating. I was finally part of the adult world where I had money, I had responsibility, I had the option of buying the Sour Keys or Fuzzy Peaches or saving up and splurging on an Air Head candy.

And I'm sure everyone remembers how amazing it was to pick up a dropped penny as a kid. The glint of the coin was piece of sunshine in your day, a slice of good luck to hold tight. That's why whenever I see one on the street or the ground I'm tempted to pick it up and relive this childlike sense of wonder, optimism and bliss. But I stop myself, smile and leave it for someone else to experience those feelings (dimes and quarters are another story; hey an unemployed, recent grad has got to eat right?).

I've heard a few of the economic arguments for and against eliminating the penny, but the real pro of having the coin around is to remember these positive feelings that we all lose sight of sometimes as we grow up and see the tough things the world has to offer. It's the opportunity of the penny, the way they can band together to make a difference, what they represent that can teach us a thing or two.

So I am grateful for the penny. I am grateful for the positive way it has made me see the world and for those times when it has meant, quite simply, a small piece of optimism in my day. The penny will no longer be made in Canada, but it will still live on in my memories and scattered around the nooks and crannies of my room.

#74- Nuga the Dog

What is one of the best things that can greet me after a particularly stressful day or one of Ottawa's patented, teeth-cracking, horribly cold winter days?

Not a warm cup of tea, nor a particularly soothing playlist. A comfy spot underneath my covers pales in comparison and a nice book is a close second.

No, the real thing that cheers me up as I arrive home after a tough day is the sight of Nuga the dog.

Nuga is the little pug of a dog that lives a few doors down from me that my mother accidently identified as a pig while moving in last summer. At the time I wondered what kind of neighbourhood I was moving into and where I could get such a pet. Now I wonder when I will get to see the little guy again.

Whenever I am walking down the street and cross Nuga's path he greets me with an emphatic lick of his tongue, swiping paws on my legs and a flurry of excited snorts that I can only assume is the sound of a friendly greeting (and which sound oddly like a pig. Hmmmm).

He is always so happy to see me, no matter the circumstance. Rain or shine, hot or cold, triumph or trial, Nuga is always there to give me a happy greeting. When I am doing my strides after a tough run and my chest hurts, my legs feel like cement and my brain feels like it might spill onto the street I look up and see Nuga at the window of his house, panting at the window, eager to play.

It is this kind of unconditional friendship that makes animals so comforting even on the toughest days. It is this love that makes Nuga one of the brightest beacons, even in the darkest hours.

So I am grateful for Nuga the dog. I am grateful that even after the briefest encounters with him I am left smiling for a long time. I am grateful for his unending enthusiasm and optimism. And I am grateful that he gives me all this without even asking for anything in return, except a pat on the head and the chance to bury his snorting nose into my hands for a second or two.    

#73- Hoodies

My computer chair is no longer suitable for sitting on any more.

The hoodies on said chair have taken it over and appear to have formed some sort of symbiotic relationship with the chair that does not allow me to pry them off. I am currently conducting research into the possible benefits of this phenomenon.

Okay, this isn't actually the reason, but it is true that my hoodies are piled so high on my chair that it makes it difficult to sit comfortably on it.

If you know me, you know that I love wearing hoodies, the immensely comfortable and fashionably questionable sweaters. I wear them almost every time I go to run errands or went to school. Once the harsh Ottawa winter hits they are pretty much my best friend (sorry everyone else, avoiding frostbite is a top priority for me). So I don't see much point in hanging them up in my closet when I'm just going to use them again (again, sorry mom, that sentence must pain you). I guess I love hoodies so much I have unconsciously build a little nest of them around me.

But what is there not to love? Other than the aforementioned warm and snuggly feeling hoodies give you, they also provide a chance, like any clothing, to be original or show your true style and character. They come in all colours, sizes and styles.

Also, since I wear them so often, my hoodies have taken on a major role in my nostalgia department. I look at my maroon and navy blue striped hoodie and remember my 19th birthday, the day I got it as a gift from my girlfriend. I zip up my faded, beat up, brown sweater I wear to the gym and remember all the workouts with friends or peacefully alone. Or I pull my J-school hoodie over my head and flashbacks of the last four years explode in my mind.

So I am grateful for hoodies. I am grateful for their warmth and comfort. I am grateful that they allow me to express myself and let me remember my past and carry the good times around with me. And I am grateful they let me proudly wear this past right there on my chest. And because of all this, I don't mind sharing my chair with my hoodies one bit. 

#72- Rain Storms

There is no activity more humbling than carrying a jerry can full of water up a hill. I can tell you from experience.

It was August, 2008 and I was in Salabwek in Kenya's Maasai Mara region with Free the Children. We were given the afternoon off to go on what was referred to as a "community walk".

At one point in our tour around the village we came to a pond and beside it a tiny stream, a creek with barely any pulse to it. Our guide pointed to the stream, the water limping along over the rocks.

"That is where we get our water," she said, "the pond is for the animals."

There had been a drought, she explained, for months and months and water was already a scare resource.

Now this was a major reality check for a city boy from Toronto who had spent many a gleeful hour filling and refilling water guns and water balloons as a child.

We were asked if we wanted to carry some water in jerry cans for some of the people who had been at the stream when we arrived.

Reality check or not, I still had an over-exaggerated macho streak in me so I ran to the front to pick up one of the faded-yellow jugs.

What no one told me was that it was heavy. Really heavy. Also, the walk was uphill.

While I struggled up the hill, several five year old kids overtook me, carrying, with ease, the very same thing I had trouble lifting off the ground. Seeing something like that does something healthy to your ego; it deflates it, it humbles it, it puts it in its place.

Just when I was coming to the top of the hill, the rain started coming down.

It came down harder than I had ever seen rain fall. It felt like a giant hose had been pointed at me and was dousing every inch of my body.

Our group lugged the jerry cans quickly to where they needed to be and headed off at a trot to find some sort of shelter, like we had always done when a storm hit back home.

And that's when I witnessed one of the most amazing things I will likely ever see; the kids from the village who had gathered around us were going crazy. Some were dancing, others running around, and some were just looking up at the giant hose in the sky, smiling.

The drought had ended.

We all slowed down, stopped and began to join in. We laughed, we slid on the mud covered paths and we walked with the kids, all the way back to our camp in a downpour that didn't really faze us anymore.

That night there were more smiles in our camp than at a synchronized swimming competition. We had experienced pure joy in a burst of rain.

That day made me realize a lot of things. It taught me to stop thinking in a negative, cynical way all the time and about things I couldn't stop. It made me realize the magnificence of things I took for granted way too often. It uncovered the power of life-affirming, refreshing, smile-inducing water. And it made me realize that you can go five days without showering it you get caught in a rain storm at some point in those five days.

And now every time I get caught in a rain storm I try to think about that day instead of how wet my socks are or wondering if the bus will be late because of the weather. I try to think of the contagious euphoria of that day in the rain in Salabwek.

So I am grateful for rain storms. I am grateful for the way they nourish the Earth, our bodies and most importantly how they can nourish our souls.  

#71- $3.99 Breakfast

As my official title has changed from bright eyed student to unemployed and desperately looking, I can tell you that nothing tastes as good as a free meal. But since I'm not getting too many of those, breakfast for $3.99 comes pretty close.

Today I ventured downtown to a local eatery to have breakfast with my girlfriend. Since she will be traveling to Paris in a few days this will be one of her last chances to eat greasy, fried food before the taste of fresh bread, cheese and street crepes takes over her diet. In an attempt to wrestle with my jealousy, I joined her and was glad I did.

Yes there was plenty of butter, too much bacon (I can't believe I'm writing that) and fried potatoes for miles, but it was delicious. Besides, breakfast is an important meal that gets your metabolism working and your brain firing on all cylinders.

The price was also a draw. I mean how can you go wrong with a $4 meal from a restaurant that doesn't have smiles on the menu or spaceship themed bathrooms? You can't, it's simple logic.

But the price was really just a bonus. Having breakfast with my girlfriend was the best part. Eating meals can sometimes be a lonely endeavor, especially when everyone seems to be at work or traveling to the far reaches of the world. But today I was able to spend some time with someone I love.

So I am grateful for $3.99 breakfasts. I am grateful for the boost it gives me and the delicious nature of home fries and toast. And I am grateful that I could sit down, have some amazing company and enjoy a side of morning sun with my eggs and bacon without it meaning a bounced rent cheque.    

#70- My New Phone

Before I explain my new phone, I must first take a minute to eulogize my old phone.

It was a good phone. It was a simple phone. It lasted me three, long years and I enjoyed that it was small and had no ability to access the internet or download apps or even turn on properly sometimes. I mean don't be fooled, it was a reliable phone and was always trusty when I needed to text someone or call a source for an interview (as long as it was a shorter than twenty minutes because that's as long as the battery could last). And despite its duct taped backside and the fact that for the last three months I had to open it gingerly and with surgeon-like precision because the two pieces were hanging together by a thin, thread-like wire, it survived a lot and went through many an adventure snug inside my pocket.

But when I saw it tumble to the floor and break in two, I sunk to my knees, put my head in my hands and did a little mental fist pump because, finally, the last chapter on my old phone had been written.

So a week ago I went to buy a new phone and I discovered that these newfangled smart phones weren't all that evil after all. I tried to act the shrewd business man and seem uninterested in the sly selling points the salesperson was throwing at me, determined to get the best deal I could. I lasted all of two minutes until I folded like a kid in a toy store upon seeing that instead of hitting individual buttons on the screen to text I could simply swipe my fingers across the keyboard to spell words.

In all seriousness though, I walked out of the phone store with not only a new phone, but a reopened gateway to friends, family and the world. I could once again hear my girlfriend's voice and make plans with hometown friends I hadn't seen in weeks or months. I could call my grandmother while I was doing errands to tell her I was coming to visit. I was able to wish my brother good luck on his exams. I could receive the non-existent phone calls offering me a dream job. I was able to spell words like actinomycin and pentangle without even trying. I was connected and life was a little happier.

I know I don't need all these things to stay connected and have a meaningful relationship with people (Believe me, two and a half weeks without a phone will teach you that), but it gives me options and as far as I'm concerned options are never a bad thing when it means more interaction with the people you love.

So I am grateful for my new phone. I am grateful not just for the functions it provides, but the benefits that come with them. I am grateful not only because it adds convenience to my life, but opportunity: the opportunity to talk to people I care about, make connections and achieve goals. And I plan to see what sort of crazy journeys these new opportunities will take me on, with new phone by my side of course.   

#69- J School

I guess if I'm talking about J-school I should probably start off with a nice, solid lede, one that's punchy, but concise, informative, but engaging, one that's... oh, I guess I already dropped the ball on that one. Oh well.

But seriously, I just finished my undergraduate career eight days ago and J-school is already transforming from the thing I cursed every morning, noon and night while secretly loving it to a word dripping with nostalgia and covered in memories.

As I write this I look around my room at artifacts of my J-school career and it feels like I should be a character in a movie; the old man who wonders into his attic trying to find his cane only to suffer flashbacks of his life when he sees old pictures and such. Heartwarming? Sure. Corny? Definitely.

But I can't help it. I can see the pub crawl shirt in my closet out of the corner of my eye, the very same one that has the names of some of the greatest people I have ever had the honor of calling friends on it (although in barely legible scrawl that can obviously only be attributed to the poor lighting in the pubs).

And there in front of me on my desk is my recorder and microphone, the very same ones that I swore at when they wouldn't work properly and I lost half an interview about the pie industry in Ottawa. But also the same ones that hung by my side during the toughest production days that left me utterly exhausted, but indescribably exhilarated.

And what's that on my desk, an assignment from my political reporting class? Plenty of red ink on it, but a decent mark and, even more importantly, encouraging words from my professor (although even less readable to my eyes than the pub crawl autographs). I can't help but smile and remember the lessons I learned from all my teachers and not just about journalism, but about life too.

Yep, as I look around my room I know two things for sure: I really need to spend a day cleaning it up and I'm really going to miss J-school with all its crazy deadlines, early morning classes, mind numbing post-morts, awesome friends, history-witnessing moments and quiet nights doing what I love most, writing. And I would do it all again, the very same, if I had to.

So I'm grateful for J-school. I'm grateful mostly for the people I have met in it, from my girlfriend, to friends who have shaped my last four years, professors who have molded my brain and sources who have challenged, changed and reaffirmed my perspective on the world. I'm grateful and I'll never forget it, but it's time to move on. Peace out J-school. 

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