Shelley Cook

I’ve been watching a show on HBO called The Rehearsal. It’s written, directed and stars Nathan Fielder (from Nathan for You and This Hour Has 22 Minutes). It’s a docu-comedy type show that you’ll either get and subsequently love, or that you’ll hate because it’s so far out there. That’s sort of standard for Fielder, because his comedy is so awkward and quirky, but it’s also genius. At least in my opinion.

On Friday nights after we get the kids to bed, my partner and I usually get a chance to watch something we want to watch. If I’m being honest, it’s one of the more exciting parts of our day, because that means it’s time to wind down and take a load off. (Also, my kids are into watching some shows that grind on my eardrums, so I welcome the reprieve.)

This is the stage of life and level of excitement we’re in.

Anyway, the show features Fielder, known for his deadpan delivery, who is on a mission to help ordinary people rehearse difficult conversations or life events before they actually go through with the real conversation or life event.

It’s a place to gather, connect and take refuge in the shade from the summer heat or block wind from a winter chill.

The yard of the North Point Douglas Women’s Centre is a meeting spot for people in the community and, until recently, so was the rickety old wooden picnic table at its heart. The table is now gone, succumbed to time, use and Winnipeg’s extreme seasons, replaced (for the meantime) by a couple of stumps someone donated when they cut a tree down.

“There are so many ways that people use this spot — it’s a super popular spot for people in the community,” said Khalida Benedictson, office administrator of NPDWC, adding many would connect there with neighbours for coffee and conversation.

What’s more, Benedictson explained, the table outside was an accessible place for the centre to cater to clients in wheelchairs and with mobility issues, as the building located at 221 Austin St. N. (a former corner store) doesn’t suitably meet those needs of some.

When the work-from-home model became mainstream during the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, it was new and a bit scary.

Those of us with school-aged children were also participating in (and often failing at) home learning and trying our best not to drown in the hectic and foreign dynamic.

I remember how hard it was to adapt to this change, though I knew early on how privileged I was to be able to secure myself and my family during a pandemic.

I missed that work version of myself — the one who did her hair and wore red lipstick; someone who wasn’t being asked for a snack or a glass of chocolate milk every five minutes. I remember how sorely I missed my work friends and our cubicle and lunchroom chats. It felt isolating to be away from that building I spent nearly every single day going to and from.

My youngest daughter and I travelled to Vancouver to visit my sister on the May long weekend.

The city holds a special place in my heart. It was a whirlwind of a trip, though we made the most of our time there, packing in as much as we could.

On the last day, we were driving through the tree-lined streets of a neighbourhood just outside of downtown Vancouver, talking and listening to music. I was high on that feeling of being in vacation mode and filled with fantasies of what it would be like to live in this big, vibrant city, and my sister was basking in our company. There was a bit of sadness in the air, knowing the visit was winding down. I miss her terribly.

The conversation flowed about regular sort of things that happen in our daily lives, and we somehow ended up talking about our goals and hopes for the future — some which seemed impossible or just out of reach. It was easy for both of us to point out the things we lacked or the things we felt defeated in. Looking forward, we were at the beginning of our current journey.

A few weeks ago, I gifted some of my kids’ large plastic backyard toys — including a tower slide and pool combo, a small picnic table, a Little Tikes playhouse and a water table — to friends who have smaller kids.

These toys have taken up so much space in our backyard — a heap of colourful plastic telling everyone in the neighbourhood that yes, we have a bunch of kids who live here.

These structures have been well-loved throughout the early summers of my kids’ lives, though less and less. They have been the setting for some of the most fun days outside in the sunshine, and the backdrop and stage for core memories they’ll take with them into adulthood.

I can’t tell you how many times my kids have had water fights in that old pool, or about the countless dance parties that took place on the top of the tower slide. The water table brought so much joy to my toddler, who grew up too fast.

A few years ago, in the wee hours of the morning, Virgin Radio’s Ace Burpee and Chrissy Troy were getting ready for their morning show.

“It was the end of 2019, maybe early 2020,” Troy said in a phone call. “Ace and I were in the studio before the show started and he just said to me ‘do you think Hal and Joanne are in the sports hall of fame?’”

Burpee was referring to Hal Johnson and Joanne McLeod, the iconic BodyBreak duo that has been delivering their “keep fit and have fun” message on Canadian television sets since the 1980s.

Scouring the Canadian sports hall of fame website, Troy found no sign of Johnson and McLeod. She and Burpee figured the pair’s induction was a no-brainer. However, the morning show, which they host alongside Lloyd (Kevin Frobisher) and Amber Saleem, was about to start and they dropped the pre-show conversation. Nothing else really came of it — until earlier this year.

It was one of those days, where nothing fit and I fretted over my reflection in the mirror.

My hair wasn’t right and no amount of styling seemed to work. My three-barrel curling iron, set on high, only produced frizzled strands of singed hair instead of the beachy waves I was going for. My makeup didn’t seem to cover my blemishes, and my body seemed particularly rotund that day. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

Body image issues were creeping in fast.

I try so hard to be body positive and to embrace and appreciate who I am and what I look like. My body, after all, has walked me through many years and experiences in life. It was my daughter’s first home, as she grew from it. It might not be perfect, but it is strong, and it is a gift.

It’s trivia, except instead of being the first one to know the answer, players of Non-Trivial Trivia strive to be the quickest to find the answer through a Google search. The goal is to learn the histories and have fun doing it.

The online quiz was born in the summer of 2020. Michael Young, a Winnipeg programmer of industrial control systems, was taking Yale University’s online course African American Studies. He started the course a few months after George Floyd was murdered by Derek Chauvin, a white Minneapolis police officer.

“I felt like I needed to do something,” Young said, adding a friend pointed him in the direction of the course.

Young figured learning was a good first step in being part of change. The more he learned, the more the world and his view of the world changed.

HEADINGLEY — The sounds echoed in the Camp Manitou ice rink as the women-led Southern Thunderbird Medicine Drum group sang out into the unseasonably cold March morning.

The thumping of the drum, so heavy you could feel it all the way in your soul, is an invitation to gather in ceremony and celebration. On this day, the thumping was in honour of the partnership between the Winnipeg Aboriginal Sport Achievement Centre and True North Sports and Entertainment Ltd., and their commitment to investing in youth.

A fair-sized group had gathered at the spot for the unveiling of the new WASAC and Follow Your Dreams jerseys and a cheque presentation event at Camp Manitou, in Headingley. Many in attendance were wearing shirts and hoodies bearing the Indigenized Winnipeg Jets logo — an NHL first of its kind, designed four years ago by Leticia Spence of Pimicikamak Cree Nation.

John Olfert, True North president and chief operating officer, presented Lindsay Campbell, WASAC North co-ordinator, with a giant cheque for $43,447.85 — proceeds from retail initiatives that will be invested back into Indigenous youth throughout Manitoba.

During lulls in the day, when my partner has a few spare moments between online meetings and work, he picks up his acoustic guitar and strums, practising notes and chords, turning them into songs.

Sometimes he’ll give commentary on how the music comes together or about the song itself. Sometimes he’ll sing along to the music he’s making or mutter in frustration when he’s made a mistake. His teacher is a guy he found on YouTube who uploads videos from his home somewhere in America.

For the most part, we are both still working from home. I’ve been listening to my partner practise over the months, sometimes in tune with his hobby and other times annoyed by it because the sounds are in the way of whatever I’m doing. He has managed to finesse sloppy chords into smooth transitions, giving life to a song and his hobby.

The funny thing is, I didn’t notice how good he’d gotten until a song he was playing one day caught my attention. I thought to myself, “Dang, he got good.”

A few years ago, Robyn Brown was working as a family centre co-ordinator in the Louis Riel School Division. Part of her job was helping to outfit children and families, who needed a little bit of help during the winter season with attire.

She worked with community capacity builders such as Harvest Manitoba and Koats for Kids, but there were a couple of students still in need.

“I had a mom phone me to ask if I had any boots for her kids,” Brown explained in a phone call, as her one-year-old daughter gurgled and cooed in the background. “She couldn’t get her kids to school because they walked, and they didn’t have boots.”

The phone call moved her; a light-bulb moment that made act.