the Edmonton Adventures: Beginnings

Not long ago I wandered through an adventure of particular quality. It brought together the action of an Indiana Jones and the spirit of television's Jimmy Fallon, it crossed Ignatius Reilly with Chandler's Marlowe and then crossed it back again with both Jack Bauer and Alex Ovechkin, fresh off the set of the latest Oh Henry ad of course. Unfortunately (or, with great fortune depending on your level of comfort with the Strange and the Wonderful) I cannot claim much more organization to a synopsis than that, but this can't be unexpected, I referenced Ignatius, and like the swing of his plastic sword, meaning is left to abstraction, ambiguity, and the fool.

In May we found out that Kerry was now too smart to simply be known as 'Kerry', she was going to need to be a 'Dr. Kerry', or 'Kerry: MD', or just, 'the Brain' (which would make me Pinky, I suppose – I miss Animaniacs, ‘90s cartooning at its very best).

This Being-Smart was going to happen via UofA's Med School program in tropical Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, World. Appendix to the choice of location: UofC, you are dead to us – kidding, I’m totally kidding, maybe, I don’t know, kind of, well we’re not friends let’s put it that way... I HATE YO– okay, deep breaths, we’re fine, UofC and I, solid, quality institution, sort of, whatever the Edmonton thing is happening.

But before all that Cal-vs-Ed chatter got too loud, Kerry and I went to Europe. The Europa was gorgeous, exciting, romantic, and quite a contrast to the Edmonton scene that we would soon after call home. This contrast is mainly from the perspective that Europe has more old buildings, while Edmonton has only one quadrant, the North-West. That's right, the entire city has a NW address, Downtown is 102nd Avenue & 103rd Street. Where are the other three quadrants? Where did they go? And why North-West, why not North-East, or South-East? Could have gone and tried out North-South. Or maybe just “Edmonton”, and then if you needed to get more specific, one could just call the west portion the West, and the bit a little south of that the South-West, and the– wait a minute... ridiculous in all the wrong ways, I have no further comment on this 'creative' city planning, needless to say, Mathematics is not happy with this one quadrant operation.

Europe’s thoughts on the matter were quite positive: “Who cares. Look at what I have here. Look at these, or this, or that one there, not bad right?” And Europe was right, “these” and “this” and “that one” weren’t too bad at all. From filling the sails with the winds of the Greek Islands, to swimming through the clouds atop Jungfrau’s Swiss peak, Europa lead us passed some of her personal favs, filling the June Memory Bank with a surplus of rainy-day remedies. From Athens’ layers of history and a cluster of Cyclades, our tour of two took in the green forests of Poland’s north, the struggles and triumphs of Krakow, Prague’s Beauty, Beers, and Roast Beasts, hiking and canyoning the valleys from Lauterbrunnen through to Gimmelwald, trains-planes-and-automobiles, friends-fun-and-photos, before getting lost in the romance and radiance of Old Pay-Ree.

In July, more vacationating: K-Country, the Okanagan, Motorcycles on the TransCanada, typical Jack-style summering where Camping, Patio Wines, and a pinkish hue to my porcelain complexion manages to holiday-it at 90% while misdirection and cleverness convince the J-O-B that the reject-10% is good enough to keep full-time status.

July carried us towards August, where Kerry and I began to hunt down a way that we could become full time Edmontonians. Raised on Stampedes and Chinooks, every ounce of my existence had been taught to hate, nay, loooooooath those north-neighbours. Moving from Calgary to Edmonton was the relocation equivalent to crossing the floor, starring back at the now opposition, and inviting them into the Octagon. That’s right. That’s what the “Calgary to Edmonton” move is; a weird, wrong, Politics-meets-MMA disaster. Strangely enough though, this did not concern me. Adventure. Right? Adventure! Who in their right, and hungry mind can turn down Adventure? Like those Baggins and their Ring, I too have a restlessness stirring my soul, crying out for another horizon, another backdrop, a new chapter. Adventure! I couldn’t say no. Plus, to become Edmonton, to walk that walk, and let the blue challenge the white of my collar, opens wide the opportunities, shines new light on the ‘hate, nay loath’ situation; as one of them, I gain access to the secret stash, the complete works of “Edmonton is worse than Calgary because” saga. Adventure and Double-Agent, the decision had been made for me. Case closed, right? Sort of.

Now, I am told I don't have to cheer for the Oilers, which, being as I am a BearCat-to-Iggy caliber Flames fanatic, was one of the pivotal negotiation points during this tour-de-force. But I gotta tell you, on their end of the QE2, up here with all the misery of their winters, and the Rexall drug stores on every corner, these EdmonChucks make a pretty tough case for the Oil. Hall, Eberle, the history and legend of Ryan Smyth, the excitement and anticipation of RNH; I’m eff’d. How was this not going to be an issue? What I know now is that the next time I move, I am going to hunt down a spot based solely on their sports squad. A place where the home team doesn’t crush my spirits, leaving me broken down, and teary-eyed, and all battered-wife’d up – Calgary, Edmonton, Battle of Alberta, there are no winners here. In the end after breaking your heart with yet another playoff race exodus at the 82nd hour, you pull yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep coming back for more dreams of conference banners and playoff rainbows and laughing and dancing and Cup-Craze fun... only to catch it square on the jaw as you mistakenly prep for change. Save yourself, it’s already too late for me. I’m now bouncing back and forth, abused by Alberta’s arguing athletics, caught up between the Red-and-Yellow’s rock-bottom refusal to rebuild and the too-young, too-soon Blue-and-Orange’s pre-mature excitement as they slip from the top. Yeah, a kinder caring home team, that will be the plan. And maybe a little warmer climate. And, I think I’ll pack up all my friends and family too; Distance is the Meter-Maid, Customs-Officer, evil metaphoric thorn-in-the-side of my world, and I don’t like it.

In August we moved into a condo just off Jasper Ave - it's wicked. I can say with confidence that Edmonton is way better off now, granted Calgary has suffered, but the Ed is looking much classier. Of the 20-plus condominiums, apartments, townhouses, and condemned messes that Kerry and I critiqued during our search, Our place, Our home, was the only one that embraced us with the right balance of familiarity and novel-new, with Calgary-esque comfort and Edmonton-ing excitement, with the buzz of downtown only steps away from the resolve of residential. It had location, it had amenities, it had the cost, it had the vibe... let's be honest, it had enough closet space and was big enough for my TV: Sold!

After starting with the mortgage payments and moving back in with my parents (a surprisingly fun combination of activities), Kerry and I were done with the QE2 separation. I quit my job while simultaneously snagging a new position with a new company up in the City of Champions (don't bother trying to figure out how Edm thinks they can get away with naming themselves this, I've looked into it, there is no explanation - momentarily I wondered if they had come up with this title after bettering Calgary in the battle over Kerry-and-John, but it turns out they have been greeting visitors with this claim long before the trade went down).

Though summarized as a seamless swap, the truth of the working-world transition ended up being slightly more complicated than just following up the good-byes with hellos. With no help from the Company-of-Old during my initial Edmonton inquiry, I had begun to look elsewhere, searching for a Company-of-New, digging up anything and everything that put “Engineering” and “Edmonton” in the same breathe. I was ready to settle for the “anything”, but stumbled across the “everything”. Interview, Offer, Acceptance. Suddenly Edmonton was a reality and it was being served up with a side of “Career Upgrade”. The only thing left to do was answer my curtain call. They said no. I tried to quit, and they wanted none of it. Company-of-Old now wanted to be of-New. Chats became Talks, bosses of bosses found me and found involvement, suddenly the no-opportunities that had kept me from the move up north had turned into all opportunities and plenty of Edmonton. I was the rope in a tug-of-war, and it felt kind of nice. After assuring the miniature, shoulder-dwelling, angel-version of myself that feelings were not going to be hurt, the truth tug favoured New over Old. Old tried to scramble, and I could hear them calling audibles as the game clock slipped away, but they had no play, and in the end, they let me go.

One might ask how I had managed to leave such a pivotal piece of the puzzle, (the make-money-to-survive piece of the puzzle) until, arguably, the too-late point in the move. Rest assured, this was the best option, there were complications that are beyond the scope of this ramble, foreseen unpredictable certainties, and unforeseen predictable uncertainties; really dynamic stuff. It was all part of the plan though, and in the end, it was a masterpiece.

Everything is perfect right? Yep! Well, almost...

I didn’t make mention of it before, but throughout the great debates, the ‘to-move-or-not-to-move-that-is-the-question’ question, the scale held a heavy tip towards Edmonton as the Edmonton held a heavy pro over con; Kerry. Not long after the mid-October move, I sent out the following message:

Hey Team,

I know some of you are like me and can't commute to the Down Town Cal Core with quite the same finesse as others (or as our past selves could), but, if possible, on Friday, November 4th, you should make the commute and be one with the Calgary - Word on the street is I am having an Engagement Party. Let it sink in, and...

BAM! Yep, I am having an Engagement Party because last weekend, ahead of Turkey Dinners, many a toast, and the surprise announcements to immediate family, I channelled all the romantic experiences that I have acquired over my many years of TV and Movie watching and I asked Kerry if she would be my Dr. Webb. She said yes.

I followed that up almost immediately with a trip to the emergency room and a fairly heavy dose of pneumonia (I checked, it turns out that it's not just infants and 90-year-olds that get this illness - it's manly men with chests full of love that get it too). Since Kerry too had watched her fair share of Romantic Comedies, not only did she appreciate my pneumonia-equals-too-much-love-in-the-heart jokes, she also had heard about the "in sickness and health" bit, so her "Absolutely" answer to my pre-ER Excursion question still stands. We are getting all kinds of Married in 2012.

Because I live on the other side of the planet, and haven't had the chance to re-enact the proposal for all of you yet, I was hoping you'd be able to help Kerry and I celebrate how great Kerry is and join the fun at our Engagement Party in Calgary (Kerry tells me that we can celebrate Me a bit too).

An official invite with all the details will be heading your way soon, but I wanted to get a pre-invite out to the VIP crowd in advance of the general invitation to all the Normals, the non-VIP types. Hope you can all make it on November 4th.

Your soon to be stay-at-home-husband-of-Dr.-Webb,

Jack

ps - my pneumonia is no longer contagious, but all that romance still is, so beware of that, attend responsibly...

The Engagement Party was perfect, partly due to the proposal being its fair share of perfect too. Not only are Kerry and I now Engaged (solid gauge for success as far as Proposals go), but we are Engaged with a crazy story of how it all went down; elegance meet chaos.

Begin the telling… I had the Friday off, but Kerry didn’t know this. Saying that I enjoy a little surprise here and there would be stating the obvious, completely misusing the word little, and flat out lying about “enjoy”. I LOVE orchestrating surprises almost as much as surprises love my orchestrating of them. I set the stage by having Kerry call me after her exam that day, specifically before she walked in the condo. I wanted movie moment magic. I wanted the door to swing open, instantly replacing a conversation distracted by the separation of distance with a rush of all the reasons we are “more than just friends”. The magic was beautiful.

Passed the first reveal, there were obese stuffed-animal rats, cereal, studying, talk of weddings, and a nap, and that’s what went down before I popped the question.

Pop! Kerry and I stared into each other’s eyes as we gently touched champagne flutes together. It was actually Kerry who first told me of the importance which eye-contact bears on the significance of a Cheers – an aspect I have never questioned as Kerry’s big blues are no tough task. That is, until that very moment, the moment the jig was up, the moment when I had to stop the champagne flutes, the toast, the celebration, and replace it with another. We were inches away from toasting my new job. Misdirection and distraction are a surprise’s best-friend. It had been 5 hours, 3 reveals, 1 nap, and a whole lot of excitement, but the proposal still hung in the balance, out in the open; the unknown for Kerry, the expectation for me.

I smiled down the sudden on-set of nerves and told Kerry to wait for a second, that I needed to grab something. And just like that, the idea which had lived in my mind, in the vagueness of my future, was no longer; it was happening. I took my iron-ring from its pinky place and slid it on Kerry’s left ring-finger, which lay bare and in anticipation. I asked her to hold it for me. She would later tell me that she was scolding herself for thinking that this was the moment, that this was the start of something special. She would also later tell me that along with scolding herself, she would need to scold me for toying with that ring-finger of her's. No need for scoldings. As quickly as I had left her, keeping company with the champagne, the lingering toast, and this iron-ring place holder, I had returned carrying a small box that only ever holds one thing. There were no Jumbo-Tron announcements, no serenading quartets, no hot-air balloons, or choose-your-own-adventure puzzles. There was only me, a promise of our future wrapped in romantic what-nots, and a question: “Will you be my Dr. Webb, will you marry me?”.

And like all great adventures, whether complete with an Ignatius Reilly or not, the end is never the end. The story continues, and changes, and events come and go, and I get lost in the telling of it, and it’s great. As you can see, there is no need to preach about the importance of the journey, because it’s all the journey. As for the end, I can’t find it yet. Kerry rushed me to the ER, there was morphine, and x-rays, and antibiotics, and the pneumonia (hence all the pre-proposal napping). Later we found Thanksgiving, and the warmth of family, and of course the excitement of the announcement. The Engagement Party took center stage, then there was a long weekend in Banff, a photo shoot which had nothing, and yet probably everything to do with Kerry and I, and then the inevitable dot-dot-dot of this tall tale. La vita è bella, and I am ready for the next great chapter, even if the Beauty and Proposal’s of it require a little pneumonia here and there.

I am Jack’s colourful memories…