Sixteen

I 'm unsure what more I can say about my darling 16-year old creaky girl, now in the twilight of her doggy life.  I have blogged about her and our relationship with her several times.  She is a special girl but a very old one now having turned 16 this past weekend.

Dogs have been treated very differently in all of the places we have lived.  In Canada, they are typically kept indoors because of the cold climate, and generally considered part of the family.  As Murphy was young whilst there, her preferred place was on the corner of our green sofa prior to retiring to our bed at night.

Christmas 2003, J was 6-months old and Murphy was 5 years old

Murphy's green sofa

In Geneva, dogs are revered and accepted in cafes, restaurants, and (gasp) high end shops.  Still it was rare that we took Murphy to a restaurant because she has always been ruled by her nose and she would consequently visit other tables when our attention was elsewhere.  In her middle age, her preferred place was on our white sofa prior to retiring to our bed at night.

Murphy's white sofa

Young Murphy

Now we are in Australia, where dogs are expected to remain outdoors, where finding holiday accommodation that accept dogs (of course she comes with us, why would you even ask???) is a challenge, and it's generally considered cruel to keep a dog in the city (seriously???).  In her old age, her preferred place is on her doggy bed and it's where she stays at night too  since arthritis has halted her stair-climbing, and age-induced night terrors have made her prefer the kitchen with several lights left on to the dark of our bedroom.

12-year old Murphy at Apollo Bay

14-year old Murphy in Melbourne

It has been heart-wrenching stewarding her through this part of her life.  She is not the same dog she was either physically or emotionally.  Her bones ache, her knees hurt, and her snout is completely white.  She has experienced a handful of age-related seizures that shake her confidence.  She is nearly blind and deaf, her eyes weep (we've nicknamed her Alice Cooper), and her teeth are ground low.  She no longer cares to cuddle as it is hurts her bones and skin.  She is too weak to jump on the sofa or to walk very far or very fast.

15-year old Murphy last month in Margaret River

So....you ask why?  Because, she still finds joy in greeting us every morning with a whack of her tail.  Because, she still thrills to the myriad of smells her Labrador nose unfailing leads her to.  Because, she loves to eat and spins in circles of excitement before every meal.  Because she stares expectantly at me until I give her a cookie after every short walk.   Because she still remembers when we eat Salmon that she gets the Salmon skins, or Grandma's apple core, or the odd watermelon rind.  Because she couldn't get to her birthday pancake fast enough yesterday.  Because she is still happy to be near wherever we are.  Because neither of us are letting go yet.

Bonjour Full Circle!

I speak French, did I ever mention that?  The Bienvenue in the blog header might have been a hint.  I think I speak French pretty well although there is puh-lenty of room for improvement.  I grew up in Quebec, the French-speaking province of Canada, with a father who's first language was French.  But here's the thing, he never spoke to me in French and I was educated entirely in English.  A most unfortunate decision.

Culturally, my youth was representative of Canada's two solitudes.  I learned basic French at school, however, all of my social experience was again entirely in English.  At the time, it was unclear to me what an incredible gift bilingualism is, and it was only when I went to a bilingual College (in Quebec, we attend College or CEGEP for 2-3 years prior to entry into University) that I began regretting the lack of attention to my second language.

The subsequent years were spent studying and working in an English-language University, and with the exception of a handful of friends and acquaintances, interacting entirely in English.  The language wars raged in Quebec during those years, with Bill 101 and Bill 22 the rights of the English language diminished, and society fractured through separation referendums.  While I fully believed, and continue to believe to this day, in the distinct character of the province and the imperative of protecting the French language in a sea of English, I could never understand separation as a means of achieving those goals.   Ultimately, fatigued by the language wars, and its economic and social cost, we decamped to  Alberta.  During our 8 years in Calgary, my French language skills were rarely exercised.

But here is where things get interesting.  When we moved to Geneva in 2005,  J was 2.  Geneva is in the French-speaking part of Switzerland and C2 and I were delighted to settle into this culturally and linguistically-rich part of Europe.  We resisted connecting with other Canadian or American groups deciding instead to integrate as much as possible with our neighbours and fellow villagers.  We sent J to the local French school where for the first year, all he said was "oui" (yes) and "regard-moi" (look at me), and we seized the opportunity to become as bilingual as possible.

My language skills with the help of tutoring improved dramatically and rapidly.  Within a couple of years both J and I were functionally bilingual.  By the time we left Geneva for Melbourne in 2010, I was determined that neither of us would lose our skills.   There was one primary school in Melbourne that offered an innovative bilingual French program for native speakers.  I stalked stayed in regular contact with the principal in the weeks before our move, and we ultimately received acceptance for J.  The next 3 years were amazing.  J's language acquisition and cultural appreciation for the language never flagged despite only speaking English outside of school.  Our entire social network was Franco-Australian so we were never very far away from anything French.

We resisted moving to Perth, even though it was clear that we should have been here from the beginning, in large part because of our commitment to J's language acquisition.  He worked hard to earn those skills and they remain a high family priority.  However, we did come to Perth four months ago.  Where am I writing this epistle to bilingualism?  At the Alliance Française de Perth, the language and cultural epicentre of all things French in most major cities around the world.

In English-speaking Perth, J goes to after-school French school once a week, just like my Hebrew-, Greek-, and Italian-speaking friends did when I was a child.  I come once a week to a conversation class, and we all speak exclusively French at home on Mondays.  It's not perfect but I hope it will suffice.  I remind J every Monday as we walk into the Alliance, that one day he will thank me for insisting he speak French.  Maybe then we will move back to Quebec.

Exercise for Everybody!

It's no secret that exercise is a big part of our lives.  I  principally do it to indulge my well-documented Tim Tam addiction, but the endorphin high doesn't hurt either.  We've managed to include J in many of our activities and he does love the outdoors, running on the beach, climbing dunes and hills, hiking, and bushwalking.

Last weekend, we went on a bushwalk with our neighbours in the Yanshep National Park, about 50km north of Perth.  The Australian flora is always a treat, we were surrounded by Gum trees off all sorts, Tea trees, and gorgeous blooming Wattle.

 It was a glorious Winter day to bushwalk 12.5k though my feet didn't feel so glorious 4.5 hours later!

We really didn't expect this Croc to leap out of the bush at poor J.  He managed to fight it off thankfully.

 Gum trees galore!

 Deep in conversation, probably about something Minecraft-related.

Then we saw this fella, we were terribly impressed to see him, but I don't think the feeling was mutual.

Meanwhile, it is important that my mum continue to exercise in order to maintain good health whilst visiting us down under.  She's been working very hard!

FROZEN in Perth

Winter in Western Australia, how do I explain it?  Let me step back a minute.

 I grew up in Montreal and my clearest recollections of Winter were salt-stained boots, freezing toes, snow plows, snow drifts taller than me, digging my car out, and slipping on the glacier of uneven ice that thawed and refroze above the Guy-Concordia metro station. 

Seriously!

No exaggeration!

After leaving Montreal, we spent nearly 8 years in that Winter capital Calgary.  My blocked-out clearest recollections are taking Murphy out for a final evening walk and near flash-freezing, skiing at minimum temperatures of -20c, and planes being delayed due to long queues for de-icing.  

Ah the joys of air travel during Canadian Winters

OK, Winter does have some charms (Chateau Lake Louise, Alberta)

Moving on, we had 5 years of Winter in Geneva, a serious improvement over Canadian Winters.  Skiing at normal temperatures, few blizzards, but we still had that northern blast known as "La Bise" to contend with which could whip the Lake into a frenzy and render cars and benches into instant ice sculptures.

The effects of La Bise in Geneva

Melbourne for 3 years was again an improvement, but I still wore boots and a winter jacket; we still used our fireplace....a lot.  It just never snowed and I never wore gloves.

Now we have arrived in Perth where central heating is rare, where everyone uses an exterior clothes line, not a dryer, yet the Winter rain comes down in sheets, and the wind whips stinging water into your eyes, and an umbrella will not prevent a drenching.   Clothes stay wet  and soggy on the line waiting for a dry day between storms.  We sleep under our Canadian-weight duvet (called a doona here), and wear Uggs as slippers, as they're supposed to be worn.

All of this Winter fun is feted in the city for two weeks in July known as Perth's Winter Wonderland.
It is celebrated with outdoor ice-skating venues (where the ice is half-melted), an artificial snow ramp for tobogganing, artificial snow balls being launched into the air to the squeals of children who have never known the joys of -30.

J at Perth's Winter Wonderland last month

In fact, Winter is sufficiently regarded in these parts that J's class recently presented a performance of "Frozen".  J was the King, I think he looks very kingly...even if he did send Elsa to her room for 10 years.

All of this lasts....about five weeks...then Winter is over, O...V...E...R, as in good-bye rain, hello warm sun on my face, good-bye heavy duvet, hello crazy 11-year olds swimming in the ocean waves (it is still technically Winter), and welcome back shorts and t-shirts.

Cottesloe Beach last Saturday

J and his mate T braving the Winter waves

That's how I explain Winter in Perth.

Mom, Margaret River, and Mea Culpa

I know it's been a month since I last posted, mea culpa!  My gorgeous mom joined us three weeks ago for her annual pilgramage from Calgary to her far far away family.  It is completely amazing having her here, just sliding into our life without judgment, not to mention that every time I turn around, my dishes are done.

It always takes a couple of weeks to get our rhythm right, the pacing between the things an 11-year old wants to do, the things a spontaneous husband decides must be done now, and the things a near 80-year old can do, requires patience and a little ingenuity.  Somewhere in the pursuit of balance, blogging got lost but I'm back on track now.

Margaret River Chocolate Company

J was beginning his Term 2 break when mum arrived and we spent the first week happily showing her a little of Perth and Fremantle.  However between her jetlag and the rapid fire "here's the Indian Ocean", "there's Cottesloe Beach", "here's the Swan River", "that's a Kookaboora" commentary, I'm not sure how much she took in.  The second week, we drove south to Margaret River for a little family holiday.  The Margaret River region, for you non-oenophiles, is arguably Australia's premier wine-growing region, renowned for its superior wine, market-fresh produce, gourmet restaurants, and world-class surf breaks and beaches along the spectacular south Western Australian coast.

The paddocks at our little house

Murphy loving all the open space

Margaret River was an inspired and perfect fit for our varied age groups.  We three adults dragged J to four cellar doors over the week,  he brought a book, we took our time, he drank tea and ate scones, we tasted wine, and all were content.  The four wineries we visited each offered a fantastic location, as elegant and evolved wine production as I have witnessed in France, with a new world attitude that was refreshing.  The wineries for reference were: Cullen Wines, Vasse Felix Wines, Voyager Wines, and Cape Mentelle Wines.  There are dozens of other wineries still to be discovered in our future in the region.

Prevally

In addition, our little rented house had paddocks leading to the actual Margaret River.  We quickly adopted an early morning routine of strolling with Murphy through the green paddocks filled with fields of Peace Lillies, Kangaroos, and Wallabies down to the river.  We'd leave mum at home with an extra cup of coffee while we explored and played.  Murphy, in spite of her very advanced age, thoroughly loved it.

Twice we deposited mum for a few hours in the township of Margaret River while we went caving.  There are dozens of caves in the region formed by fragile limestone along the spine of the Leeuwin Naturaliste National Park.  Some have been developed as show caves, well lit and with relatively easy access in and out of the deep caverns.  We visited Lake Cave which was a spectacular example.

Lakes Cave, Margaret River

Later in the week, C2, J, and I ventured into Giants Cave, a VERY different experience.  In this case, we had to follow a barely lit trail through dark descents, ascend steep fixed ladders, and squeeze through tiny spaces between rocks.  Not for the faint-hearted but a great deal of fun.  It's always exhilarating to try something never experienced before.

 

Thinking this might'nt have been such a great idea after all

Yes, we had to squeeze through the tiny opening at the top of the ladder

The exit....such as it was

On our final day, we drove to the extreme south-western point of Australia to Cape Leeuwin where the mighty Southern Ocean collides with the Indian Ocean, and where Humpback, Southern Right, Minke, and even Blue Whales pause to rest on their annual lengthy journey north to more tropical waters where they give birth.   During this time of year, whales can be sighted from the beaches near Augusta and from the point, but we joined a small adventure boat heading out to open ocean to sight the pods.   Three boats headed out together in 3 directions to look for the pods, and we all had plenty of long-range sightings.

Cape Leeuwin, where the Southern Ocean collides with the Indian Ocean

After 90 minutes, two of the boats returned to Augusta.  Our crusty captain, however, knew the pod was close, possessed an amazing and respectful understanding of whale behaviour, and we were rewarded with an amazing show of Humpbacks in the natural environment.  The females with their protective male escorts (not their mates), flirty other young males trying to make an impression and the intricate social dance they perform.  It was memorable for all of us.  Mum even saw a Great White Shark which was following a pod of Common Dolphins beside our boat.  She was at the back of the boat alone with a crew member while the rest of us were at the front watching the whales.

Common Dolphins

The magnificent Humpbacks

C2's photography was just a little amazing on this trip.