the real friday night lights.

A confession -- I still don't understand how football works. I know the basics: the scoring system, the end zone, touchdowns, tackles. But in terms of critiquing good plays, smart strategies and dumb moves... I'm lost.

I blame this on my Canadian upbringing. Football was that American sport where large men piled on top of each other and the ball didn't move much. My boredom with the sport may also have had something to do with growing up in a hockey family -- hockey is fast-paced, the puck moves around a lot more than the pigskin, and there are less lines to deal with -- only five! Plus they're colour-coded. Nice.

Also, the whole high school football thing doesn't really exist in Canada. Sure, Canadian high schools have football teams... probably... somewhere. Maybe. But the jocks that all the girls want to date in Canadian high schools are the right wing forwards or the libero on the volleyball team. QB? What's a QB? A... quesedilla burrito? Sounds okay. I prefer fajitas.

We've been in Michigan for over a year now and have almost reached the end of another high school football season. When we moved here we were stunned at the size of high school football stadiums -- stadiums that dwarfed my alma mater's stadium, stadiums with enormous lights blazing onto astroturf, stadiums right next to glimmering lakes that reflect the waving of the giant American flag standing guard. Our interest piqued, we decided to go to a Friday night football game.

The strange phenomenon of the high school football culture has completely blown our minds.

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If you've ever wondered why Hollywood is flooded with so many high school football-themed movies (Friday Night Lights, Remember the Titans and The Blind Side, to name a few), I can assuredly say that the reason for this lies in the complete hothouse of drama and chaos that takes place during a Friday night football game.

First of all, the football players themselves. These guys are just pulsing with adrenaline and so focussed on the game that they don't notice the late October temperatures or the cute water girls who poke into their huddles to pass around gatorade and winks. Okay, maybe not winks. But that's somewhere in the back of their minds, I'm sure. Then there are the coaches who just about lose their minds screaming at either their players or the refs. They march out on the field, faces red, shoulders hunched, only to have a yellow penalty flag thrown at their feet (resulting in more anger).

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Then, the fans: I had never realized this before, but there's a Students Only section of the stands. This area houses hundreds of raucous high school students who scream and pound the bleachers and coat their faces with layers of warpaint. Beside them is where the Marching Band sits when they're not dancing around the field. These kids, dressed in their super goofy (yet somehow impressive) marching band outfits, spend the game sporadically bursting into pump-up music then put on a real show during halftime... usually an attempt at a current Lady GaGa hit. Yikes.

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The rest of the crowd consists of parents and siblings and next door neighbours. All of these people are wearing The North Face coats. I kid you not. Not sure if they're the official sponsor of high school football or something, but Wayne and I enjoyed counting how many of these jackets walked past us. Around us parents are discussing how to housetrain a golden retriever, how the swim team will do this season, and how they think the vote will go this year. More recent high school grads, back for homecoming, reminisce about games that happened back in the day. Snarky middle school girls parade back and forth along the stands, anticipating the day when they can sit in the hallowed student-only section. One of the girls calls to another in the stands, "Wow, I can't believe it, you actually came to a game..." The girl sitting in the bleachers stiffens and calls back "What do you mean? I'm always at the games!" The first girl laughs carelessly and walks on, a posse of diet Pepsi-toting friends following behind her.

So incredibly glad not to be that age anymore.

Another group of girls walks by -- high school girls coming back from the concession stand with hot chocolate in their hands, undoubtedly to help them warm up since their outfits consists of thin leggings and trendy cardigans in the 45 degree F weather. We're hit with a cloud of teenage perfume, a smell that brings me right back to the hallways of my own high school.

Amidst all this teenage drama is pure chaotic fun being had by an innumerable amount of little kids -- kids who have been set completely free (within the bounds of the stadium) to run and run and run and run and spend sweaty little handfuls of dimes on sweaty little handfuls of candy. By the beginning of the second quarter these tots have hit an all-time sugar high and with perma-wide eyes are providing a constant flow of commentary to their parents about the happenings around the field.

The halftime show courtesy of the marching band brings enthusiastic cheering from parents, and Wayne and I laugh into our mittens when the homecoming king and queen parade down a red carpet into the centre of the field to be crowned while sitting in plastic chairs-turned-to-thrones. We think it's completely absurd, but I'm sure that everyone around us would disagree. "I love this part of homecoming," says one middle-aged man. "It's just so fun for the kids." You're entitled to your own opinion, sir.

By the fourth quarter, the sugar-hyped kids have completely and fully crashed. They lean into their parents' shoulders, whining about how cold they are and how annoying their brother is and "When are we going to go hoooooommmmmmme?" The underdressed high school girls have surrendered fashion to warmth and have somehow produced North Face jackets to fight the cold. The football players know they've got the game under control, and we've decided that they don't need us there to help them finish up. We sneak out early to avoid the post-game traffic jams and are quite alright with missing the end of the game if it means warming up. Those metal bleachers are cold.

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It's a whole different world, that stadium. We enjoy going to the games, but we're perfectly okay with the fact that we missed out on our own high school football experience. It's a rather chilly hobby, and I don't know that I could afford a North Face jacket.

what not to say when someone dies.

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It's been three years today since my Dad died. Ugh, that still sounds so terribly blunt. To be perfectly honest, I have a hard time believing that three years have already passed by. I can go right back to that moment in my basement the morning after we learned of his death, sitting beside my now-husband saying "I don't think I can do this -- I could barely get through last night. How am I supposed to get through the next week -- the next year -- the rest of my life -- with him just gone?"

This thought was running through all of our heads -- just this unbearable weight of grief that we didn't know what to do with or how to hold properly. And yet, three years have gone by and somehow we're all still here. Changed, yes, but here.

Through my experience with grief and death and funerals and freezers full of strange lasagna, I've learned a couple of things. Not many things -- but at least three things, which I'll share today. So, without further ado -- what not to say when someone dies and you're standing in line at the wake waiting to talk to the family and thinking about how terribly sad and awkward this is.

1) "Your life will be so different now."

I'll just say this right away -- it's going to take a great deal of self-discipline to not be sarcastic in this post. But come on. Do you really think I haven't realized that my life has been utterly and completely changed with the loss of one of the most important men in my life? I'm perfectly aware that this death has thrown my life onto a totally different track than the one I had anticipated for myself, but thanks for the clarification.

(Sorry. Couldn't quite avoid the sarcasm.)

2) "You're going to have a completely different group of friends now." 

Definitely something my mother did not need to hear while standing beside my dad's casket. Not only had she just lost her spouse, but someone felt it necessary to inform her that all her friendships with other couples would fall apart and her only option would be to hang out with other widows.

For the record, this hasn't happened.

3) "Oh, this is just so sad. But I know this couple who lost all four of their parents, one of their siblings, and their infant twins all within 2 months... and now they both have cancer."

No one actually said this exact thing to us, but you get my point. I know that there are people with worse stories than mine. I'm quite aware that my situation is like a Florida vacation compared to what others are struggling through. I'm genuinely sorry for those people, and hope dearly that they'll be able to get through their own dark valleys. But right now, at this moment, I'm standing across from my dad's lifeless body and being indirectly told to "suck it up" is not what I need to hear. Is this selfish? I'm not sure. But it's how I felt, and how I'm sure most people would feel were they in the same situation.

"Okay Suzanne," you're saying. "You've sassed us long enough. You must think you're pretty funeral-savvy. What are we supposed to say in the awkward sad lineup at the wake?"

Two words:

I'm sorry. 

That's it. That's all you need to say. It's that simple. Sure, there are other appropriate things to say and do (like give a bear hug! Mmm), but this is the easiest, most basic approach. There's a long line behind you. The family is exhausted emotionally and physically. A long conversation or an offer to help with something is best saved for another time and place. Going to the visitation is a quiet, simple way to show the grieving family that you love them and are hurting for them and want to support them. And that's it.

I'll be honest, though -- despite my funeral expertise, I still dread going to wakes and funerals because here's the thing -- I still sometimes can't think of what to say. This is why I can't hold bitterness in my heart towards the people who spoke thoughtlessly. It doesn't matter what you've been through, death is still hard, and it's still a challenge to know what to say and how to act. It's hard to know how to deal with it. It's hard to know how to get down to the level of grief that someone else is experiencing and find the right level of compassion and sympathy, even if you're someone who has been in that same place.

With this in mind, I swept the thoughtless comments aside and just kept the wisdom gained through those experiences for use when necessary. In short -- we're humans and we're terrible at loving each other well. Fortunately God sent Someone who could completely identify with our sorrow and grief and pain... because without Jesus I may have had a little less patience in that lineup. Thanks be to God for another year of His love, provision, and grace.

clean eating and why chickens stress me out.

A few weeks ago my boss was going to get rid of some magazines that had been hanging around the waiting room for too long. They were some back issues of "Clean Eating", a magazine that's packed with recipes for meals that are "clean" -- meaning healthy and natural by whatever means possible. I took them home because though I don't consider myself a gourmet cook, I enjoy looking through new recipes and trying out a few here and there.

Well... I ended up getting rid of the magazines anyway. Here are a sampling of some of the ingredients needed to perform these acrobatic feats of recipes:

Black bean veggie burgers

Chevre goat cheese

Food for Life Ezekiel 4:9 Organic Sprouted 100% whole grain flourless bread

Soba noodles

Miso

Sucanat

Chipotle chiles in adobe sauce

Bocconcini cheese

Escarole

Udon noodles

Oricchiette pasta

Armenian crackers

Chayote

WHAT ARE THESE THINGS!??!

Honestly. I have a hard enough time finding the mozzarella cheese in my grocery store, never mind that Biblical bread. And what's wrong with Ritz crackers? Why do I have to use Armenian?! Sheeeez! I have willingly and happily gone back to my Taste of Home recipe books.

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In other news, this past weekend I cooked a whole chicken all by myself for the first time ever. It was a ridiculously low sale price at the grocery store and I thought it'd be a fun adventure. Well... it was an adventure, anyway.

First I had to defrost the thing which took several days. Then I had to take the gizzards out. UGH. Won't go into detail there. Then comes the stressful process of cooking the thing and trying to figure out whether or not it's done and whether or not you're going to treat yourself and your spouse to a lovely round of salmonella food poisoning because the digital thermometer can't seem to make up its mind about whether the dang bird is hot enough. Then, hours later, you eat a pile of meat that tastes really good but this doesn't erase the fact that you're totally paranoid about ingesting bacteria and you sit through a movie all evening wondering when you're going to start throwing up. After this you have to peel the remaining meat off the carcass and chuck the thing in the dumpster then sit in a house that smells like Swiss Chalet gone a little... off. Then you go to bed and have dreams about raw chicken.

Conclusion: Chickens stress me out. Maybe one day I'll try it again. But for now... stir fry! Yay!

fridays.

On Fridays I like to blast music like this. Sorry, neighbours. 

Sometimes I even dance to the above music like I'm a real hip hop star, as the kids say these days. I'm pretty sure I look this intense when I dance:

But Wayne would probably tell you otherwise. Mostly I look like a white girl in her 20s pretending to dance well to reformed hip hop. 

In any case, go dance a little. It'll make you feel happy. 

the wedding pt. 6: the gents.

Six men stood up for Wayne at our wedding. Six super guys. Six guys who didn't get to spend the day lounging around posing all snazzy-like for weddings photos and smoking cigars. We put them to work -- hard work -- because weddings aren't about fun. They're all about doing things you'd rather not spend your day doing but you do them because you kind of like the people who are getting married.

 

Okay, it wasn't that bad. But these boyz did a lot for us, including but not limited to...

1. Throwing Wayne a perfectly respectable (though not un-crazy) weekend-long bachelor party involving a cottage, bacon, beer, and lots of paintball.

2. Posing all snazzy-like in 40 degree celsius heat and humidity while wearing suits for wedding photos. In my experience most guys don't enjoy spending several hours having photos taken of them, but all six of these guys did it happily (or at least faked it well). 

3. Buying new suits. As with the bridesmaids, we gave the guys complete freedom in attire (provided the suit was black and wearable). They all opted to just buy a new suit instead of renting a tux (ends up costing the same, and you get a new suit out of the deal!) and looked pretty first class.

4. Being completely ridiculous during the rehearsal and causing us to go way overtime. I don't regret any of it. 

5. Taking care of business. When a couple plans on becoming aliens by moving from one country to another, there are certain legal procedures that need to take place and certain things that need to be submitted to certain governments (ie passports, visas, signatures... and marriage licences.). Say a hypothetical couple plans on moving from one country to another five days after getting married and can't receive some sort of important piece of paper needed for a particular border crossing until submitting their marriage license. Well, that's where the super men came in. As soon as the marriage licence was signed, that baby was faxed and UPS-ed by our groomsmen to the important people who could get us places... and we got our papers just in time. I MEAN... the hypothetical couple got their papers just in time. Phew. 

This picture is not showing how Wayne feels about tying the knot. We're discussing legal documents. Happy wedding day!

6. Rocked it as co-MCs. Yeah, we made them multi-task. Plus, they were really funny. Thanks guys. 

7. Disc-jockeyed those mP3 files like a boss. No, we didn't hire a DJ. We just asked our bro to man the soundboard and let the speakers do their thang. And Eric, you did a fab job, even if you're still confused by our profound love for Christian hip-hop.

Such excellent men. 

{All photos courtesy of Darryl Schipper Photography. }

indian baby!

Our friends had a baby two weeks ago -- a very delightfully sweet caramel macchiato baby boy. We were headed back to Ontario for Canadian Thanksgiving and made last minute plans to drop in and visit the newest addition to the family and so I scrambled to make a baby card for them. Unfortunately I was in a bit of a rush and didn't colour as carefully as I normally would have, and as a result the baby looks Indian. Canadian + Jamaican = Indian baby. Not sure how that math works out. But there you have it. Arghhh! Babies! So wonderful.