No Place Like Home

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Along hwy 200, just outside of Ovando, Montana

I have been to some places or events where I feel a connection- to the surroundings, the people, perhaps to the occasion or even the time.

I can walk into any ice rink in probably any country and I am immediately at peace. Cold, perhaps, particularly if its Rossland, BC but I understand and appreciate where I am.

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No Zamboni required here

I can spot where the Zamboni comes out and where the dressing rooms are. I usually can tell right away what level of hockey is played there by scoping out the audience benches and by what type of heating system, if any, is in place.

I feel comfortable and at peace.

I feel that way in most veterinary clinics and with most animals. It was something I learned as an adult but I feel completely complete with something furry in my arms.

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When Luigi first came home to Montana!

I am happy and able to connect with cats, dogs, ferrets, rats, guinea pigs, cows, horses and more. I can be a part of their community (which is basically how things run around the Fyfe Farm).

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Mummy and Mouse, part of each other’s family

We all want to be accepted even if it is only by one person, or one dog. Its natural. Human beings are herd animals and even though there are many who seek out private existences in the hinterlands, most of us live within communities.

I have lived in large cities (Vancouver, Tokyo) and smaller ones (Bismarck, Chilliwack) and have always managed to find people or groups to connect and fit in with.

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Looking west from a house in Ovando

And then there are the tiny little rural towns or villages like Ovando, Montana, where you would think the only thing to do is make plans to get somewhere else so you could do something.

Ovando has more cows and dogs than it does human residents.

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Rural Montana cows

It is tucked back a little off of highway 200 so you have to make a point to come through town.

And why would you unless you didn’t plan your mileage out very well and you noted that the town sign said “Gas” on it?

There is no ice rink.

No high school.

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My old high school in small-town Grand Forks, BC

No boutiques or spas or building supply stores. No fast food chains, no brand-name stores, no movie theatres and no mall. No medical clinic, no dentist, no dog grooming facilities. No cops, no realtors, no bank, no lawyers. No ski hill, tennis courts or football fields.

It has what appears to be an abundance of nothing.

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Ovando’s old Western jail last November

And yet, this teensy blip that takes less than 30 seconds to fly past on the highway has something that reaches in and clutches your heart and squeezes in a way that love and community come tumbling out of your eyes when you least expect it.

Like at the school’s 8th grade graduation ceremony the other night.

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Program for Ovando’s 8th grade graduation ceremony

My dear friend, Jessi, who used to be my veterinary assistant, is the mom to one of the graduates. She and Carson are part of a teensy, exclusive club of Fyfe Farm caretakers- they love our animals like their own and it was an honor to be invited to his graduation.

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Proud Mom, Jessi and I at the graduation ceremony

Where the 8th grade class consisted of 2 kids.

Yup.

2 kids.

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8th grade graduating class of Ovando!

Like I said, Ovando is small.

Their 3-room school combines kindergarten through 8th grade. All of the kids, regardless of age, must choose to get along.

And that is a real skill these days that I know a lot of adults haven’t mastered.

So you would think the attendance for these 2 youngsters on the brim of adolescence would be pretty small.

Not so much.

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Part of the crowd.

The floor seats were almost all filled and the bleachers behind them were full.

Not with relatives, either.

These were the townsfolk and neighbors and café owner and servers and parents of other children who came to celebrate Carson’s and Madeline’s journeys.

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Miss Valiton MCing the event. She has 2 really cute young cats and she bought my book!

They were the “summer people” who have just returned from Texas for their lovely season in Montana.

They were classmates of Carson’s parents, Jessi and Jake, who all had gone to school in Ovando years ago (Jessi and her sister each had one 8th grade classmate as well).

They were the new people who raise goats who have just moved to town whose children are all grown.

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The program for the evening

They come together every year to celebrate the kids who have learned how to get along with others, how to make the most of an education that must fit in math and science above and below their own learning, how to listen to the older kids and how to take care of and help along the younger ones.

They all play together on the playground because their community of companions is small.

And its actually a pretty special thing.

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Kids & parents enjoying cake and refreshments

They have traditions at graduation that many in the crowd had participated in themselves.

Parents of the graduates read “prophecies” of what they believed their child will accomplish or do in life.

Jake wasn’t there.

He’s busy protecting our asses over in Iraq right now for his 6th or 7th tour as a US Marine.

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Howard Fly, Carson’s grandpa!

So he wrote a letter that Jessi’s dad read to everyone.

And everyone in Ovando knows Jake because he and Jessi and half the audience went to school there and everyone knows the family’s sacrifices and everyone knows Howie because he also grew up in the area and used to run the one store/gas station/hotel in town and he’s arguably one of the most hilarious people in Ovando.

But not everyone expected to hear what Jake wrote.

How he doesn’t want his son to follow in his footsteps.

How he knows and loves and appreciates his son’s kindness and concern for others.

How he knows his son would never miss his own kid’s 8th grade graduation and that if more people around the world showed a bit of the passion, respect and love that Carson shows to others maybe Jake wouldn’t need to be where he is.

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Respectful crowd

And how he wants his son to go and explore the heck out of the world and meet new people in far-off countries with different beliefs and cultural patterns and meet a girl and fall in love and bring her home to Ovando to raise a family.

So everyone cried and that was fine because everyone there is kind of like family.

We got to watch the power point photo production run by the 7th and 6th graders and then we saw diplomas handed out.

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Carson receiving his diploma from Jim, the guy we buy our hay from. They run cows just outside of Ovando.

And we laughed and ate cake and wished the kids well (Madeline and her family always came to my vet clinic in nearby Seeley Lake and they bought my book so I know them, too).

The kids are venturing off to different high schools in different directions but they will always know about each other.

Its how Ovando works.

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At the local café, the Stray Bullet last fall for my book signing. Howard and his wife Peggy visited and bought a few copies. It was my best-attended book event yet and the support was amazing!

They hold each other up and watch out for everyone’s kids and have community Luaus and they all go to the Helmville rodeo and they collectively cheer the local kids on as they leave the nest and they wait for those adult children to experience the world and then return to raise their own families.

Because they know just how special they have it in their 3-room schoolhouse and that the kids learn more about life and fitting in there than anywhere else.

And I felt very comfortable there and very much at peace.

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Carson and I!

You could definitely tell what level of hockey was played at Fyfe's Backyard Rink... audience seating was pretty limited and heating was nil

You could definitely tell what level of hockey was played at Fyfe’s Backyard Rink… audience seating was pretty limited and heating was nil

Seating wasn't really even 'exit accessible' so help was often required (note Casey all concerned, too!)

Seating wasn’t really even ‘exit accessible’ so help was often required (note Casey all concerned, too!)

 

Confessions of an Imperfect Housewife

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Housewife duties…

Perfectionist. Competitive. Type A….

I’m completely fine with these terms when used to describe me and my quirky ways.

And I’m okay with the fact that not everyone obsessively organizes her cd collection alphabetically.

CDs in alphabetical order. Just dare to remove Spirit of the West and try to place it up by One Republic

CDs in alphabetical order. Just dare to remove Spirit of the West and try to place it up by One Republic

Or color-coordinates her closet.

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Golf shirts… in rainbow order

While this behavior has made me a difficult room-mate, its just the way I am and you either accept it or you don’t.

But I will admit, there are some areas in my life where I am not perfect.

Where I don’t even try to be remotely successful.

Areas I don’t even make an attempt because I am too far from even being adequate that perfection would take up an enormous chunk of time and energy which I prefer to put towards other areas I’m busy trying to perfect.

Making par on a challenging par 5... it takes a bit of effort!

Making par on a challenging par 5… it takes a bit of effort!

Like golf.

I love practicing in our backyard or chipping balls in the front yard or watching the pros play or hitting the driving range or watching videos or reading about different parts of the game or talking with Alistair about that last shot or discovering a new golf course or just playing 9 or 18 holes somewhere!

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Exploring golf courses on Hawaii’s Big Island (Mauna Lani resort golf course)

My book is the same thing.

I love creating characters and their friends and families and hanging out with them at school or on the back of a dog sled as they grow and share and learn and discover.

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Sharing my book with friends in Bismarck, ND

I am totally motivated to finish my sequel and share the latest creation and adventures of Luke and Tabitha. I want to succeed. I am driven and focused.

Completely motivated by the beautiful jewelry to be the best bling-slinger I can be!

Completely motivated by the beautiful jewelry to be the best bling-slinger I can be!

And my adventure with Chloe + Isabel fashion jewelry has my perfectionist nature pushed into overdrive.

I am loving the monthly incentives and learning new things about social media and business marketing and jewels-in-general and the support from the company and my bling-siblings is fabulous!

But there are those other areas in my life where I just don’t bother to thrive.

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Good housewife does certain dishes by hand daily. Granted, its self-serving with the wine glasses but still, if you want nice things you have to take care of them!

In general, I am a pretty decent housewife.

A difficult roommate with my OCD-ness, as we’ve covered, but Alistair has his closet and I have mine.

And he knows the spices are also alphabetically arranged and where the white pepper should go.

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One platoon in my army of Dyssons

I don’t eschew housework- that’s not my problem at all. We have a beautiful house and I take great care in keeping it looking lovely. Its my little deal with the house.

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Maybe one area I don’t strive for perfection…

I will admit I’m not super close with the ironing board.

It might have something to do with the one time my mom took me aside when I was a little girl on a rainy weekend, probably right after skating, to “teach” me how to iron.

“You’re going to need to know how to iron your husband’s shirts some day, Tanya.”

Wrong thing to say to me, even as a kid.

Feminist over-achiever from the beginning... in a tutu

Feminist over-achiever from the beginning… in a tutu

I remember wondering why I had to have a husband or why he couldn’t iron his own damned shirts or who would iron my shirts if I was the one bringing home the bacon?

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Doggie toys on the ironing board… at least its not dust!

I’m a clever person.

I figured ironing out just fine.

I don’t do it much (hence the dog toys) but when I do, its typical Tanya OCD fashion and I iron for a few hours  with the Hawaiian music station blaring through the speakers.

Don’t get me wrong- I do make mistakes.

The road to perfection is littered with potholes and low shoulders and poorly marked detours, which makes the journey that much more enjoyable.

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Working on being a perfect Step Gammy and veterinarian for Loki last fall when she injured her eye… while working on promoting my book!

Like the time there was “that smell” in our kitchen in Hazen for a couple of days late in the summer.

I discovered the source in front of the high school hockey coach we were assistant-coaching with when he was over for supper.

I opened the microwave to ‘bake’ some potatoes and found the pound of raw ground beef I had taken out to thaw a couple of days prior.

In our non-air-conditioned house during a warm North Dakota autumn.

Not so perfect.

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I sorry!

But the most glaring area of housewife imperfection involves needles and thread.

I don’t sew.

I CAN sew.

I just don’t.

Oh, I sewed up my husband, a friend, your cat, a neighbor’s horses, our dogs… wounds, cuts, spays, neuters, intestines, stomachs, paws, shins, fingers… tumors, lipomas, shin gashes, gastropexies, foreign bodies, dog fights and Grizzly Bear slashes.

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A certain kind of seamstress…

But I sent my physician-husband to work in slacks that were hemmed with a stapler one time.

And I am faced with a dilemma over my favorite pair of jeans that I have only worn once because the zipper broke.

Its busted in some weird way and it has nothing to do with the size of my ass.

Busted. The zipper, that is.

Busted. The zipper, that is.

I am at a loss as to what to do.

I don’t even know where one goes to buy a zipper, let alone how to remove and then replace one.

Are there zipper stores?

And so, my lack of an effort to master sewing means these uber cute jeans with very sparkly back pockets and cute boot cut hemlines sit in my color-coordinated closet (in the Jeans Section, not to be confused with the Tank Top Section or the Yoga Pants Section) not being worn.

I am appealing to my blog-reading friends for help and direction.

Bling-wearing, golf practicing, over-achiever who can't sew

Bling-wearing, golf practicing, over-achiever who can’t sew

What is a girl to do?

In the meantime, I’m off to watch the Preakness with hubby and enjoy a hike in the forest with UB and Cleo.

Because life is too short to spend time stressing about my imperfections.

I’m okay with them and Alistair is okay with them.

Even when I’m striving for perfection I know I can get annoying if I comment on the pots and pans being misplaced or a Michael Jackson cd is next to The Script. So it makes me more imperfect.

I know that.

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OCD-Spice-Girl

Just know that I will know if you’ve been screwing around in my spice cupboard!

I Am Completely Normal (or, The Case For Step-parents)

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I have never wanted to have children of my own.

There.

I’ve said it and I’m glad.

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Luigi and me!

Not human ones, anyhow.

I remember telling the dressing room of skaters my feelings about that as a kid.

It was one of those group discussions about how many kids each of us planned to have and I announced I would be having none.

That I would have to find a man who already had his own kids because he wasn’t getting them from me.

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Apparently I had things all figured out back then…

And it isn’t because I don’t like kids. That’s not it at all.

I love kids. They’re fun, they’re goofy, they like to play make-believe, they giggle freely, they like my stories, they like Rhonda, they like to watch me skate, they are full of wonder and, generally, they trust and believe openly.

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Harry and I back in the first version of my little vet clinic with the local pre-schoolers

I am completely comfortable around groups of kids regardless of whether I’m doing veterinary education or coaching figure skaters or hockey players.

I don’t break out in a sweat, I don’t have panic attacks, and I actually quite enjoy kids of all ages.

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Slightly blurry pic of a pic of our real wedding day with Gareth

So it was quite fortuitous that I met and married a man with all of the requirements.

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Same day, with Whitney

I had no expectations because, at 21, I had no friends dating older persons with their own kids.

None of my friends or siblings had any non-infant children of their own at that point so there was nobody to turn to for questions or suggestions.

I just winged it and tried to make our family as normal as possible.

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A long-ago blonde phase with Whitney & Gareth on our trip to Disney World

The kids even moved in with us in Watford City when Gareth was in grade 4 and Whitney was in grade 2.

At that point a few friends thought I was crazy (think I was 22 by then) but it never occurred to me that it was wrong.

Its not like Divorce was unheard of in the ’90s, its just that it didn’t happen much in the close-knit Doukhobor community and family I grew up in.

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Fyfe Family time on the outdoor ice rink in Watford City

So there was no reference point other than having 2 loving parents who wanted to make the best life possible for their kids.

Even if they weren’t my kids.

It has always helped that Alistair and his first wife had a fairly amicable divorce.

There was no throwing of cutlery or evil phone messages.

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Visiting the kids in Vancouver (with Rhonda)…

It may have helped that the ex lived in Vancouver, many miles and a country away. We have a mutual respect for one another, (particularly now that the kids are grown) and appreciate that we offered very different ‘mothering’ styles to the kids.

Maybe it also helped that I was so young- there are as many years between Alistair and I as with Gareth and I.

Which was fun when they were teens and we could sometimes sort of hang out.

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Camping trips with the kids & their friends

And listen to the same music and share our friends and learn to be a different but normal type of family and shop at Abercrombie together and be a part of each other’s lives as we were all growing and changing.

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Fyfe Life classic… Old Maid with Morgie!

And I can’t tell you how many of the kids’ friends I keep in good touch with via social media.

And some we even hang out with when we can.

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Morgan and I enjoying a great meal together in Bismarck a couple of years ago

And I think I am a very lucky woman to have the relationship I have with my now-adult stepkids.

They have never called me “Mom”. I was adamant about that because they already have a mother.

I was “Tan” back then and I’m “Tan” still.

Just because a person didn’t give birth to a child doesn’t mean they can not love them.

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Gareth’s high school grad with Whitney & I in Bismarck

Or be immensely proud of them and their achievements.

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Whitney’s high school grad a couple of years later in Vancouver

I have loved helping raise these 2 cool young people and I have so enjoyed watching Alistair raise them and care for them, too.

They aren’t my own children but I am his partner and I worry about his worries and I’m excited for his excitements.

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Proud Dad with Whitney’s hockey!

The main difference, which I had to remind the kids from time to time (like after the group of AAA hockey boys made a run on the Go Karts a living Hell for the owners of the place… AGAIN or the one prom night I won’t go into), was that I didn’t have that built-in ability to love them no matter what.

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Gareth, assuring me it wasn’t going to be like the summer before when we all almost got kicked off the course… (he was very, very wrong)…

When I used to say that I didn’t want kids I would get the typical responses:

“You will change your mind when you’re all grown up.”

“Once your friends start having kids you’ll feel differently.”

“You don’t mean that.”

But I did mean it.

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Me. Not wanting to have kids.

As years went by those comments turned bitter:

“You’re being selfish.”

“What’s wrong with you not wanting kids?”

“That isn’t normal.”

You know what, though? It IS normal for me.

I have always been career-driven and I knew, as a little girl, that children might get in the way of that.

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One of my careers

I also knew that I was extremely motivated to succeed- whether it was on the ice, with my textbooks, coaching, writing, slinging bling- whatever.

I moved away from home at the age of 12 to pursue skating at the highest level.

I graduated high school at 16 to get going on an education.

I moved by myself to Tokyo at 19 to make some money teaching English.

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Training & competing at as a high a level as I could dream. I couldn’t do that in my home town.

And deep down inside where you have a core that you know is your true self I knew that there was the slightest, teensiest possibility I could have a child who wouldn’t be like that.

And that would disappoint me.

And that would be wrong.

I knew that you shouldn’t ever be disappointed in your own child but there it was and I never, ever wanted to resent a child of my own.

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4th grade boys at their track meet in Watford City

So I didn’t mind that Alistair had his own kids. Heck, they could pee and eat on their own by the time I showed up so that was a huge bonus right there!

I took an active role in their parenting and have never felt like I missed out on anything.

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Whitney and I in Saskatoon, right around my vet school graduation!

And I absolutely love the young adults they have become and the journeys they have been on and we celebrate together in person or over a phone line or Facetime or we say goodbye to a group of animal companions that each and every one of us has loved on a sunny day with pink roses and we cry and hug together and laugh at shared memories and encourage one another’s dreams and we enjoy the good old days and the great ones now and the endless possibilities ahead.

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Whitney & I show-girling with the Luau men on Kauai

And I appreciate how truly lucky I am to have the relationships I do with these two.

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Vet school grad, 2005, Saskatoon

And I look forward to the times ahead… perhaps on a golf course or two…

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We are in the process of corrupting Whitney by making her a golf addict. We had both made par on her first day playing last month!

And its still fun to look back at where we all began.

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Hallowe’en, 1995, Watford City (goodness, there’s Rhonda again!)

And I know I am normal for me and you are normal for you.

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Whitney & Mulder a couple of years ago visiting us in Montana

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Gareth and the RX-7 for prom… (no, that’s not THE prom story…)

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Much younger Gareth and much younger Boomer back in Bismarck

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Lucky stepmom, (taken a few years ago in Vancouver)