Hard to believe September has come and almost gone already. Am I the only one whose sense of time is still completely distorted? What a strange summer it’s been, tacked onto the end of many tumultuous months of pandemic. I haven’t written anything reflective here yet this year, which I guess is par for the course these last many years.
Last summer, we didn’t know how good we had it. We never even really had a first wave, but even though we were “allowed” to do a lot last summer, I never felt completely at ease. Last October I wrote that we’d be lucky if we had a normal-ish Christmas 2021, but that seems up the air now too. It feels like a good time to capture the experiences of the last couple months. So voila: a semi-stream of consciousness recap of Summer 2021, not necessarily in any particular order.
The kids start remote school in early May. This necessary evil was announced on Mother’s Day; I listened to the presser in the car after I’d received my first jab. I feel relief and dread at once. They say it will go until May 30 but does anyone actually believe that?? I give the lunch kits a deep clean and put them away.
Getting the shot is the real gift on Mother’s Day. (That, alongside the brand new tablet I open that morning, which turns out to be immensely helpful for a household with two kids in remote school and two parents who work at home.) I am not expecting to get emotional – I’m just impatient by this point – but in the moments that follow the jab, I blink back tears as I stare at a tree outside the window and think about how I’ll probably remember this moment for the rest of my life.
Thankfully, “school from home” goes really well, beyond expectations, really. The teachers at my kids’ school are on it like a bonnet, total pros, adapting quickly and beautifully to the new format, so the kids do, too. Still, during those last few days of school at the end of June, when you’d just be watching movies and going on field trips anyway, it feels so good to turn off all the reminders and put the devices away.
I get my 2nd dose the day before my 40th birthday. Summer begins with a sliver of optimism. Things are starting to reopen but it feels like society has forgotten that there’s a huge demographic (kids under 12) who can’t be vaxxed yet therefore life can’t be “normal” for many families. We debate whether to go to Alberta to see my family, something we didn’t do last summer. We haven’t seen my brother and his family since summer of 2019. We decide to wait to see how things go post-Stampede, and book off the last two weeks of August as a placeholder. It feels very strange to be contemplating a trip to stay with family in another province when we are not even allowed to be inside anyone else’s house here in Manitoba.
Climate change has never been on my mind more. You can literally see and feel that it’s real. It adds an extra layer of worry and hopelessness onto the pandemic. It feels particularly real because we are doing all socializing outdoors, at least in the first part of the summer. You can’t escape the heat or the smoke or the bugs.
The late spring/early summer kicks off with frost warnings and extreme heat warnings within a week of each other. I will lose my mind if I heard one more jovial discussion on the radio about how darn crazy this weather is, without citing climate change.
Then at long last, after months of various stages of social restrictions, we are finally allowed to see people outside, but it is literally too hot to do so. Thanks, heat dome. A town in BC sets a Canadian heat record and then days later literally burns to the ground. What is happening?
The aphids are far and away the worst I’ve ever seen them since I moved to Winnipeg in 2008. There are times where it literally seems like it’s raining. The ground stays sticky and smelly for weeks because there’s been NO RAIN. At least there are basically no cankerworms, or mosquitoes.
By mid-summer, it’s the smoke from forest fires keeping us inside. When the heat breaks suddenly, mercifully, it’s only because there is so much smoke in the air. The thick, cool, quiet air feels feels vaguely apocalyptic.
Then the desperately-needed rain arrives. This is great, but also crappy because it ruins various much-anticipated summer plans.
Eventually, temperatures become bearable, the rain chills out, and air quality is okay. Time to enjoy the last few weeks of summer. But wait! Now wasps ruin every meal or drink we have outside. They are the worst I can remember them ever being. But maybe I’m only noticing because we are eating and drinking more often now than we ever did before.
My sourdough starter, Bill, is somewhere at the back of the fridge, just waiting.
I’m not turning the stove on much in the heat, anyway.
At the end of July, I take a quick solo trip to see my family in Alberta. In a touristy gift shop in Waterton I’m agog seeing throngs of children walking around maskless in close quarters. I tell my family that after the distinction of being the worst pandemic hotspot in North America, I can’t believe believe Manitoba is being so careful and restrained with its reopening. (The cringey “4-3-2-One Great Summer Reopening Plan”.)
A few day later I eat my words when Manitoba goes “full Alberta”, abandoning masking and rendering vaccine cards useless unless you care about going to a Bombers game (not me!). The province says school will be nearly normal this fall.
Disbelief and discomfort rise. Why would we throw away all the progress we’ve made? It is patently obvious to me, a college grad who got Cs in biology, that in the face of the delta variant, abandoning masks and restrictions is a terrible, terrible idea. Universities, school divisions and institutions scramble to devise their own policies to protect the public and particularly children, when the province fails to do so. There are many days when it is hard to focus, just waiting for the public health update at 12:30pm.
We look at Alberta’s rapidly rising numbers and decide to stay put. Now that our case numbers are down and our vax rates are good, we can socialize more freely here. We enjoy BBQs with friends, long nights on the porch, go tubing in Pinawa, see planetarium shows, go swimming and to the zoo. We ride our bikes a lot, and have an awesome time doing some group rides. The kids all go to art camp, and sleepovers at my in-laws. We spend our travel dollars on lots of restaurant meals and local beer deliveries. My oldest remarks, “The summer is actually turning out to be a lot funner than I was expecting.” Music to my ears. I have never had any length of vacation time off here at home until now, and my two-week staycation is relaxing and enjoyable.
Having forced said employers/institutions to make the hard choices they perceive to be politically unpopular (but are they??) the government reverses course three weeks later, bringing back masking mandates and requiring vaccines or ongoing testing for many employers and venues. Hurrah? Relief?
We keep up with our Friday night take-out tradition to support local restaurants, dubbed “Commandredi” in our bilingual household. My pantry overfloweth with resuable takeout containers that I imagine someday having the energy to fill with baking for friends and neighbours.
We discover the show Manifest. It is gloriously addictive, mindless garbo-tainment. The script is so trite and predictable, we consistently beat the characters to delivering their own lines. Perhaps this is why we love it so much. It feels like soothing certainty during a time that feels out of our control.
We binge Line of Duty on Netflix and then take a free Britbox trial to watch the last season. Bent coppers and amazing accents: what more distraction could anyone want?
The first day that vax passports take effect, we go on a double date night. We ride bikes to the Exchange and drink fancy cocktails at Patent 5 then eat supper INSIDE WITH NO MASKS at Nonsuch. Feels like normal, and also like a dream.
At the same time as most of us are celebrating a return to some normal, the privileges we have because we’ve been able to get vaccinated, anti-vax/anti-science lunatics mob cancer patients and healthcare workers entering or leaving hospitals. In Canada. Big Apocalypse Energy.
I am so thankful that everyone I know is on board with vaccines–no divisions or rifts in my family or social circle and I don’t take this for granted.
My neighbourhood is full of orange t-shirts and other expression of recognition for the growing number of unmarked graves identified at residential “school” sites across the country. At first, seeing the shirts and teddy bears gives me a good feeling, but then I wonder if they really accomplish anything.
Our awful premier, the one whose likeness appears on street art around town with the words “Winnipeg Variant” beneath it, resigns. I debate buying a PC membership so I can vote on our next premier, hoping to perhaps tip the scales to someone less dangerous. My finger hovers over the “purchase” button for a long time before I take the advice of a wise friend and decide it’s better to let the PCs self-destruct.
September comes. Five days into the new school year, I already know two people who’ve already had to take their kids for Covid tests. Thankfully both come back negative. Of the testing site, one friend reports that it was very sad: mostly little kids, a lot of crying. I am so angry that Manitoba doesn’t have the gargle test for children like they’ve had in BC for a year already. I have first-hand experience with how awful it is to take a scared and resisting child for testing with the nasal swab. I have been the parent taking up one station at the test site for 45 minutes. The crying and screaming coming from our cube. I can’t be the only parent who struggles with this.
I watch as Alberta, my home province, where several of my loved ones are teachers and health care workers, descends into chaos. Surgeries cancelled, morgues exceeding capacity. I feel sick just thinking about it. Yet I have trouble turning away from the news.
I request a mail-in ballot for the dumb federal election because I know the polling place will not be at the neighbourhood school and it might be a hassle to get to wherever they choose instead. The next day they announce it will be at the church on my street–even closer than the school! On election day I watch the line-up with a pang of envy. I love the act of voting and am sorry to be missing out on that experience. Even in a pandemic.
Pfizer announces the vaccine for 5-11s is almost ready to go. Surprisingly, Manitoba is doing pretty well with vax uptake, but geographic pockets with low rates keep the virus active. The longer we drag out vaccination, the more the virus mutates.
I read a thread from a pastor in Steinbach who points out how we’ve crushed the vaccination targets and more people are getting their first shot every day. The vaccine mandates and passports are working. Folks in other provinces on Twitter are pointing to Manitoba’s QR code/app setup as something to emulate!
So this was our second pandemic summer. On any given day, my mood oscillates between despondent malaise to cautious optimism with gratitude for how things could be so much worse, but aren’t. There are moments I realize I have forgotten momentarily about Covid. There are others when I can’t turn my mind off of the horrors that could still unfold.
We tell the big kids they might even get their shots by Christmas, and with any luck, their little sister will get hers soon after that. That maybe, just maybe, Summer 2022 might be pretty close to normal.
Strange how we can go from the envy of the continent, to worst per capita, and back to something that feels like hopeful again.
Anyone else finding a little bit of enjoyment/distraction in starting their Christmas planning early this year? Full disclosure: I started picking up the odd thing here and there in September!
Even though it looks like we’re headed for a household-only Christmas this year, it’s still nice to think about the perfect gifts, especially for the kids who are being such troopers during this year of endless cancellations and disappointment. And ok, I’m also hoping that if I hit on JUST the right presents, it might buy me an extra hour of peace & quiet to enjoy my coffee and Baileys.
It’s pretty clear: small businesses need and appreciate our patronage this year, more than ever.
One of the coolest things that’s come of this pandemic has been watching these local businesses pivot and adapt so quickly. The availability of delivery has been a game-changer for me, since we don’t have a car and aren’t taking the bus any more than absolutely necessary.
Sometimes it takes a little more effort to buy from a smaller retailer than from a big box store, but it makes a massive difference to our community, our local economy and the environment.
So, today I am sharing some of my favourite places to shop locally and safely and conveniently this holiday season!
For books, music, movies, games, baby books/toys/gifts and so much more great stuff! Grab a Reader Reward Card while you’re at it and save 10% on all purchases, which will get you $5 Canada-wide shipping so you can send gifts to your loved ones elsewhere, no post office trip required.
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
Toad Hall Toys
For toys, books, games, art & craft supplies. Lots of items in their online shop but only a fraction of what they actually have in stock so call or email to be sure. Honestly, something for everyone here!
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
Tara Davis Studio Boutique
One of my favourite local shops. She doesn’t have an ecommerce site, but she’s doing phone/email sales! Check out her Instagram or FB page for a glimpse of the gorgeous soaps, textiles, ceramics, jewelry and other beautiful treasures she’s got in store, then let Tara work her magic.
Kite & Kaboodle
Giant selection of toys, games, puzzles, and much more. This is one of the only places you can buy LEGO from a local independent business!
Taking phone orders for curbside pickup at St Vital Centre and The Forks.
Across the Board – Board Game Cafe
For a massive selection of games & puzzles of every kind and for every taste.
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
MB Children’s Museum Gift Shop
For science & craft kits, toys, books & more.
Free local delivery over $25.
For beer & gift cards, obviously, but lots of them carry cool merch, too! Most offer local delivery and/or curbside pickup. Neat to see breweries offering goods from other local makers in their online shops.
Nonsuch – beer, glassware, art prints, sweatshirts, enamel pins, etc
Sookram’s – beer, tees, hats, glassware, jerky, etc
Kilter – beer, coffee, soap, patches, tees, hats, glassware, etc
LBJ: beer, glassware, local maker gift baskets, etc
Half Pints – beer, tees, hoodies, hats, glassware, etc
TCB – beer, hats, hoodies, tees, soap, etc
OGC – beer, hard seltzer, apparel, etc
Torque – beer (their own + 5 other local breweries), hoodies, hand sanitizer, etc
Barn Hammer – beer, apparel, candles, honey, coffee, etc
Stone Angel – beer, glassware, jerky, apparel, etc
Oxus – beer, glassware, jerky, hand sanitizer, etc
Fort Garry – beer, apparel, hats, bottle openers, etc
Plain Bicycle Project
Bikes (new and used) and every bike accessory you can dream of. Plus fun t-shirts, masks and new for this winter, KICKSLEDS!!
Way more than just cheese. Order online from hundreds of products from 80+ local makers. Cheese, charcuterie, preserves & sauces, olives, baked goods and too many other categories to list. I’m definitely going to be adding some goodies from Bothwell to my gifts of home baking this year.
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
For coffee, cool shwag, honey, brewing gear, cool mugs, chocolate and other stuff that will make you feel extremely cool.
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
Forks Trading Co
This is a place I have to drag myself away from IRL. So many lovely things! Lots of nice Christmas stuff, and plenty of items from local maker. Thinking I may be getting stocking stuffers from here.
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
Little Sister Coffee Maker
Coffee, chocolate, cute mugs, totes, cards, tees, etc.
Curbside pickup & local delivery.
That’s just what I can think of off the top of my head, and there will almost certainly be many more innovative and creative offerings to come over the next few weeks. Just this morning I saw the West End BIZ has launched a gift box initiative that looks amazing!
Other recommendations?? I welcome your suggestions in the comments!
p.s. For grocery delivery, don’t forget Diversity Foods (I’ve ordered from them many times and their produce quality and service are excellent), King’s Head, Pineridge Hollow and Gimli Fish (much more than fish!),
Years ago, during a particularly long, cold March, I wrote a post called “A Winter Event of No Fixed Duration“, in which I tried to embrace our inability to know how long winters will last.
This week I find myself thinking about our current “pandemic event of no fixed duration”. I sensed in March, when things happened so quickly, that we would not be going back to normal within weeks or months. I bit my tongue when people expressed hope that the kids would be back in school before June. For a while, I thought maybe we’d have things under control by Christmas 2020. Now I know we’ll be lucky for a normal-ish Christmas 2021.
It’s the not knowing how long that’s hard. My mum and siblings live in Alberta and BC. I have no idea when we might get to see each other. If I’d been told at Christmas 2019, “ok, you’re not going to see your family for two entire years”, it would suck, but by now I’d be thinking, okay, we’re almost halfway done. Instead it’s just, I have no idea.
I alternate between feeling extremely low, like I’m moving through molasses, and like that reaction is a selfish, privileged one that I should snap out of.
In my head, I compose thoughtful letters and emails to friends and family who’d love to get a letter. And lengthy, reflective essays for posterity. I debate firing up the ol’ LiveJournal or posting here more often.
Instead I pour a glass of wine and pick up a cozy mystery, which I have learned is an actual genre, and escape to a world where people can pack into shabby chic bistros and host boisterous dinner parties where the killer may or may not be among them. (OH THE IRONY)
My mind is exhausted from the never-ending calculations of morals and risk and reward and trying to apply public health principles to real life.
In the early days it was figuring out the answer to “should I bake with this flour? because what if I run out and can’t get any more?”
And “should I spend a little extra money supporting local business, or should I be saving in case one of us loses a job?”
And “can I hold my newborn nephew in good conscience”?
Now it’s “Should I be spending money on local small businesses and breweries and restaurants that I really want to survive the pandemic? Or should I donate the money I would normally spend on wants to organizations that will provide the less fortunate with their needs?”
And “Am I bad parent if my number one priority is for the kids to be able to keep going to school?”
Despite our rising case numbers, I’d just started feeling like I could let out the breath I held for all of September. School is going ok. The kids are used to masks and everything. They are amazingly resilient. Yes, there are cases in schools but it doesn’t seem to be spreading at school. I think they are safe on the bus and in class. They are so much happier there than they are cooped up at home, bickering nonstop and driving me up the wall.
But then in the span of 24 hours I found out that two friends are in isolation because a close contact tested positive. I don’t have any friends or family or acquaintances who’ve tested positive yet, but the degrees of separation are decreasing. It’s getting much closer to home. And with winter on the way it feels like the walls are closing in. I find myself having regular mini teary breakdowns. My pledge to get more sleep so that I’m better able to cope with the stress lasted exactly three nights.
24 hours later and another two people I know personally, including a close family member, are in isolation for potential exposure. All of them because of school.
They’ve just announced the ICU at St B is over-capacity. Doctors are sounding alarm bells.
This week feels like that week in March when everything changed so quickly and drastically, almost hour to hour, and it was impossible to focus on anything.
The words in the earlier part of this post, which I wrote two days ago, seem like an underreaction. It seems likely we’re on the verge of code red and now I’m second guessing whether school is a good idea.
The “lockdown”, if you can call it that, we had this spring was an emotional trial for me. On Twitter people were talking about what series they were binging, all the sourdough they were baking, what hobbies and skills they were taking up with all their spare time. Or how lonely and isolated they felt, longing for human connection and hugs.
I felt the opposite. Intensely envious of anyone who was busy running out of things to watch on Netflix while I was juggling work and devices and school video classes and running out of toner and paper for all the worksheets, while defusing yet another sibling spat and trying to figure out how and when I might be able to get groceries next, watching our TP stash dwindle, and honestly wondering we should maybe start rationing food and supplies a little bit.
And simultaneously, as an introvert, feeling like I was drowning in people and noise and contact but still feeling like a bad friend and family member if I didn’t make time to check in with my loved ones who may actually be feeling lonely/isolated/overwhelmed/scared to see how they were doing. The days felt unbearably long. The novelty of video chats wore off in about a week (it’s always nice to see people’s faces, but does ANYONE truly enjoy an awkward group Zoom??) We stopped setting alarm clocks. From the moment I got out of bed in the morning, I was counting down to bedtime.
People would ask, how are you managing? And honestly, the answer I usually gave was, “it’s hard, but we are so lucky compared to so many others, that we are actually fine.” In the big picture, we really were. But still.
As we waited for the case numbers that never really came, and the days got longer and the trees began to bud, we had things to look forward to. Nice weather. School wrapping up for the summer. Bikes. Beer on the porch. And then even in-school classes starting in September. Some activities re-starting. Routine.
But now it feels like there’s nothing to look forward to. In retrospect I wish we’d travelled to see family this summer. And now we know it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.
I try to remind myself of all the ways we are still so lucky, through privilege and chance.
I try to focus on the little things that will bring joy to us and to others over the coming months. Pleasurable things to distract and delight. Christmas music and baking. Sledding and seeing a fresh layer of sparkling snow on the naked elm canopy. The fun and satisfaction of finding the perfect gifts for each person on my list. I do this while trying to quiet the voice in the back of my head that scolds me for indulging in these luxuries while people are worried sick about their loved ones, sitting ducks in care homes, and dread the prospect of bringing the virus home from their healthcare job and infected their families.
I try to use my long-standing mental trick for easing nerves or anxiety about an upcoming event or situation: by reminding myself that “by this time tomorrow/next week/next month, it’ll be over”. The problem is, there is no end date for this.
When things first started getting crazy in March, I surprised myself by immediately adopting a “no fixed duration” mindset. I knew it would be easier to do that than to get my hopes up only to have them dashed. Somehow, I knew that in order to cope, I had to have zero expectation of how long it would last – whether it was months or even years. And in some ways I think has helped.
But that was a lot easier to do six months ago. I was about to say that six months in, I know what life in a pandemic feels like and what I’m in store for, but it occurs to me that I really don’t. It’s clear now that we didn’t even really have a first wave here in Manitoba. Horrors may well await.
And now today (it’s taken me days to write this post) we are indeed in code red, a state of semi-lockdown for at least two weeks. Obviously it’s what needs to happen, but it might already be too little too late.
And while I shake my head wondering what on earth the government was doing with that 6-month headstart on pandemic planning, I am asking the same thing of myself. How did I fail to make my own plans to endure more of this pandemic event of no fixed duration? As we head into winter, no less. I don’t know.
By this time some day, it’ll all be over. Or it won’t really be. We’ll have to get there to find out.
Well, we are closing in on March and I think I should put my Winnipeg Gratitude series to rest, even though I fell short a few days.
This is the last post in my series of reflections on the people, places and things I’m grateful for in my adopted hometown of Winnipeg. This one is easy, and I’ve had it in the back of my mind all along. I’m grateful that there are so many wonderful experiences yet to come, the many fun adventures that I can look forward to, and the progress our city can make. Some things were on my mind because of the recent holiday season (like making 2020 the year I will see the RWB’s Nutcracker – something I’ve been wanting to do since I was a child!) and some are things I’m dreaming of doing once the weather warms up (like checking out Back Alley Arctic in Wolseley). Or going to a migration supper at Oak Hammock Marsh, seeing a Planetarium show, canoeing in the Seine, biking to Birds Hill…the possibilities are almost endless. There are dozens of only-in-Winnipeg things that 11 years in, I still haven’t experienced.
I embarked on this project because I wanted to feel less crappy about this struggling city, with issues and challenges that seem insurmountable. I found 26 things that I’m truly grateful for – some of them serious, others less so, but all of them, a special part of Winnipeg life.
Today I will add one final thing to the list. Millennium for All just unveiled a massive surprise: a new song from John K Samson & co.:
I’m grateful, and brought to tears, by seeing, hearing, and even just thinking about this.
I’d been feeling tired, so tired of trying my hardest to fight for change in our city, while balancing my family, friends, personal interests and activities. I had been feeling awful, like I was trying and failing (or not trying hard enough, or at all, and so of course, failing) at all of it. But seeing this video reminded me that I am not alone, that others are working relentlessly, that a better future is possible if we stick together.
In my neighbourhood there is a big beautiful church, officially named Gordon-King Memorial United Church, but known fondly as the Big Red Church. It is home to some of the friendliest people I have ever met and it is rapidly becoming a vibrant community hub for Glenelm.
What can I say about this lovely congregation? These folks are truly walking the talk of “loving thy neighbour” and it’s a boon to our neighbourhood that they are so committed to this principle. From knitting clubs and all-ages/instrument jams, to climate strike delegations and parents morning out, to the community gardens and bulletin board, and the famous Gordie’s Coffee House, there are so many great things happening that that have nothing to do with religion. While I’m no longer a church person, and my spiritual beliefs are not as straightforward as they once were, I grew up in the United Church so this place feels very familiar and comfortable to me. That said, I believe that many find this space as welcoming and free of agenda as I do.
Oh, and the sight of this majestic building brings me joy every time I pass by. Simply beautiful. I especially love seeing on a Thursday night, all lit up with the coffee house crowd inside, glowing in the night.
I’m super grateful to have such a great neighbour in the Big Red Church!
Oh hi. It’s me again, still plugging away at my “31 days of gratitude” series that will have taken me more like 60 days to write.
For my 25th day (should I just call it number 25?) I’m reflecting on how sidewalks are awesome.
I really didn’t think too much about them or what it’s like to live in a neighbourhood without sidewalks until we were visiting family in Ladner over the holidays. We had an absolutely wonderful time getting to know this sweet little place and walked into the village from the Port Guichon neighbourhood almost every day. The only part of that I didn’t love about that were some residential streets without sidewalks, where we had no choice to walk on the road. Maybe (?) not terrible if you’re an adult and there’s plenty of daylight, but with a gaggle of young children it really changed the feel of our pleasant stroll.
In my neighbourhood not only do we have sidewalks everywhere (except for one connector with sidewalk on one side only – blarg), in most places the sidewalks are buffered from the street with a wide boulevard, which hosts our magnificent elms and a growing number of diverse young trees!
They say you don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone, and man, I came home from that trip with a newfound love and appreciation for the humble sidewalk. Sidewalks or bust!
If there was a theme to my 2019, it was finding ways to put my dreams for a happier, healthier, safer city into action by getting involved with grassroots groups. From our boulevard tree project and trees coalition to Safe Speeds Wpg to YIMBY Winnipeg, I’ve found so much optimism and hope in meeting other folks who share a common vision, and trying to take concrete steps towards making that vision a reality.
Not only am I grateful for the opportunity to create change, I’m personally grateful for the relationships I’ve formed and, somewhat unexpectedly, the chance to learn about myself and about working in groups as a result. It’s been quite a journey exploring what my strengths are, identifying or confirming what my weaknesses are, and sometimes challenging myself to step outside my comfort zone.
Volunteer work isn’t always easy and often feels futile, but when it’s good, it’s great. I’m grateful to be in such good company. And I’m grateful for all the grassroots groups in our city pushing for critical change, like Functional Transit Winnipeg, Millennium 4 All, Manitoba Youth for Climate Action, Bear Clan — and so many others.
My sister-in-law and I have been taking each other to Thermea – Winnipeg’s amazing outdoor Nordic spa – for our birthdays for a few years now. It is truly one of the most relaxing, enjoyable experiences I can think of!! I used to feel a little sheepish raving about Thermea – it seemed a little lavish, excessive, indulgent, something. Spending 70-odd dollars for a day of lounging and pampering? But my frame of mind changed when I thought about it compared to another popular leisure activity that many of my peers seem pretty cavalier about doing: going to Jets games. Suddenly my splurge of choice seemed completely reasonable.
From the eucalyptus steam room and impressive aufguss rituals to the fancy infused waters and the thrill of a cold dip in the Polaber pool, every second at Thermea is a serious treat that I look forward to for weeks ahead of time. And I love that every season brings a different experience! I’m grateful to have the opportunity and the means to take advantage of this marvelous facility a couple times a year – it is such a restorative way to care for myself, and a cherished opportunity to connect with a dear friend in a peaceful, unhurried setting.
Last winter I got myself a pair of mukluks from Manitoba Mukluks. They are toasty, they are comfy, and they. are. gorgeous.
Intrigued by the name, I researched the company before I made my purchase, and I was thrilled to learn that many of their products are made right here in Winnipeg. Those that are made internationally are clearly marked as such; the company is transparent about its international production policies and is committed to ethical sourcing of leather and fur. Manitobah Mukluks is Indigenous-owned, and when I had to made an exchange for a different size, I was delighted to discover that their headquarters are located in North Point Douglas, just a stone’s throw from my neighbourhood. Talk about local!
This year I asked Santa for a pair of Manitobah Mukluks moccasins to wear as slippers around the house, and lucky for me, I got my wish. My feet have been super toasty and the subject of many compliments ever since.
I’m grateful we have such a wonderful local footwear company in Winnipeg. Seeing the cool footprints left in the snow by my mukluks always makes happy – something I am extra-grateful for in the long, cold winter!
When I moved to the ‘Peg 11 years ago, I believe there were only two local breweries: Fort Garry and Half Pints. A few years back the liquor laws changed and craft breweries began popping up at an impressive rate. At first I could keep track of all the new additions (thanks in great part to the Beer Winnipeg blog and the beer proclivities of Winnipeg Twitter) but now there are enough that I’ve lost count. It’s awesome. To me this is a better indication that we’re becoming a cool big city than any piece of sexy infrastructure or big box store.
One Great City, Nonsuch, Torque, Barn Hammer, LBJ, Grain to Glass, Farmery… there are so many great options to choose from. Whether it’s a cool location, beautiful branding, delicious food at their brewpub, awesome collabs or supporting a great cause, I love that so many local brewers have something unique about them, and I appreciate all these things. And, not to overlook the original two, it’s hard to beat a Stir Stick Stout or Fort Gary Rouge.
I’m grateful for local beer!
(Now, can we please get Pedal Pub to come set up here??)
(And can someone please buy Hamilton House and turn it into a brewpub? Please?????)
(No seriously. That would be amazing.)