Fifty Years of a Golden Life and Love

Love

Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

This is the song that played as my  mother walked down the aisle, 50 years ago today, the day she married my father. June 10th, 1971. A different age. A different world. Could they have known on this day what kind of future lay ahead for them, for their family or their lives?

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The all important wedding photo with the parents.

This blog post is not a historical perspective of the past 50 years, nor is it the text of a speech that I would have shared, with a group of family and friends, had the world not been what it is today. My intent here is to share some highlights, thoughts and memories of a most wonderful love story, of a close intimate friendship, of two people.

Love

The Montreal Jewish community of the 1950’s and 1960’s was vibrant and growing, and from stories shared with me by my grandparents, I feel like everyone knew each other. Whether you lived in Côte Saint-Luc or NDG or Westmount or TMR, people were connected. My parents first met as children through a friendship my father made with my mother’s brother, and they found each other again years later, as teenagers.

LoveLike so many couples who stay together for many years, I firmly believe that their 50-year marriage is based on a strong foundational friendship. And a good sense of humour. Okay, a love of music too. Maybe also that one loves to cook and the other loves to clean (guess which one?).

And a commitment to family. On this point you may say to me, come on Alicia, of course family. But for them, the commitment to family has always been something central to everything they do. It’s extra special.

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Wow, the hair, and the green shag carpet.

1977. Yep, the baby is me!
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Early eighties in St. Agathe

So, my parents, Marla and Barry, got married on June 10th 1971. That was a Thursday, just like 2021. In 1971, a postage stamp was 8 cents, and the latest song playing on the radio was Joy to the World. The Montreal Canadiens had just won the Stanley Cup (will they do that again this year?). They honeymooned in Europe, as they road tripped through England and France. My mother often recalls tales of the road, in particular strange stories of my father’s driving prowess across England.

They returned to Montreal ready to start their life together, in a small rental apartment. Even before they had children, as a couple in their early twenties, family was important to them. Whether it was a quick hello to my mother’s parents who lived a few blocks away or a weekend at my father’s parents’ country house, staying close to those they loved always mattered. They were always surrounded by their large families, from siblings to parents to grandparents, aunts, uncles and tons and tons of cousins.

My brother, Neil, was born a couple of years later, the first baby of the generation for our grandparents. My parents stretched themselves to buy the famous house on Avenue Méridian, that I think is the house they loved more than any other they have lived in (in the city) during their 50-year marriage.

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I never knew my mother gardened.

I came along a couple of years later, just a few weeks after my parents made the BIG move to Toronto, in 1976. They left behind their whole world, of family and friends, really the only world they ever knew. When Neil and I were little children, in the late 1970’s in Toronto, our parents built a whole new life for themselves, with new jobs, a new house, and many close friends. We had visits from our extended family in Montreal, but for the most part, in those first few years in Toronto, it was just us. They had started to build their own family, in their newly adopted city. And they always had each other.

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1980. Party of Five. Now that’s a good looking young family.

Our family grew again the year I turned four, when Darcie was born. My mother often reminds me of the days leading up to Darcie’s birth, when I, aged 3, looked at my mother and said…”I will love the baby, even if it’s a boy.”

Well, the baby girl, who my parents always called sweet, quiet, smiley and easygoing, grew to be the little sister I had asked for. The three kids were not a quiet group. The Richler family definitely had a reputation of being loud and sometimes boisterous (okay, Neil not so much, he was just the referee!), and we were always surrounded by tons of family and close friends.

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Happy, and….
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…Just a bit silly.

My parents raised us in a loving and warm home, where we were always encouraged, but not pushed, to be the best we could be. My mother was always my role model of how a woman could have a career and raise a family, and also have her own hobbies and passions. My father has always been the person I look up to as a mensch, as someone so highly regarded by his family, friends and peers. He has inspired me to be ambitious, but always to be honest and decent.

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That’s a great picture of me and my parents!

 

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Chanukah 2019

Were we the postcard Canadian family of the 1970’s and 1980’s? Maybe sometimes. Has everything been perfect for my parents for the past 50 years? Absolutely not. Do they fight? Of course they do, and yes, there can be screaming sometimes. But it’s a marriage founded on mutual respect and

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Summer 2010, with two new babies

friendship. They have raised three kids, celebrated Bar and Bat Mitzvahs and weddings and welcomed eight grandchildren into the world. But they’ve also buried their parents, my mother’s brother and had to say good bye to countless friends over the years. They have seen the best of the world and the worst of the world over the last five decades.

And I believe today, on June 10th, 2021, that their marriage is stronger than ever. They still love music festivals and a nail biter hockey or baseball game. My mother still cooks some of the best food I have ever tasted, and my father is always by her side to eat that food and clean up after (and to vacuum too!). Their country house, that they built over 30 years ago, is still their favourite place on Earth. Bad jokes make them laugh. Chocolate makes them smile. Their grandchildren are central to everything they do. Their dogs, first Oscar and now Teddy, bring them both the greatest joy every day. And family is at the core of who they are.

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I feel fortunate that I could write this post today, as my parents celebrate their special milestone anniversary. Fifty years may have gone by, but the commitment they made and the love they share today is as strong as ever.

Love

 

Today is the Day After International Women’s Day

International Women's Day

March 8th is an important day on the calendar. Not only is it my paternal grandmother’s birthday (she would have turned 96 this year), but it’s also designated as International Women’s Day (IWD). It is significant that this day is marked around the world. But… I believe there is a more important day for women – March 9th, the day after International Women’s Day.

My husband reminded me of this yesterday. I told him all about how my employer, ADP Canada, celebrated women on IWD, and we discussed the Insights Survey released by ADP entitled, Workplace Gender Gap Hits Home. He said to me, “Just like Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day,” don’t you care more about every day except that day?” And I realized, he’s right. Let me explain.

I have always told my family and friends that I did not need any specific day designated on the calendar to tell them how I feel. Take Mother’s Day. I should show love and gratitude to my mother every day. Or Valentine’s Day. I don’t need a special day of the year to tell those I love most that I love them. I should feel compelled to show my love, devotion and appreciation every day of the year.

In particular, I have always felt that the day after a special or designated day is most important. It’s the day the merchandise on the stores shelves is gone, replaced by items that represent the next one. Or it’s the day when we don’t see posts on social media or headlines in newspapers. It’s not that people forget, but it’s not top of mind anymore.

I feel this is particularly the case for International Women’s Day. I respect and honour this significant day on the calendar. And I am proud to celebrate on March 8th. But today, on March 9th, is the day I am choosing to write about it. And maybe tomorrow, and the next day too. Celebrating women is something dear to me. And celebrating the great boys and men around me, who help raise me up, and who have guided me and mentored me to be the woman I am today, well that matters too. The world is made up of women AND men, and I feel we will all succeed if we support, and celebrate each other.

As I have written here before, my career began in sports radio. I can’t remember how many people worked in the sports department at the radio station, producing shows, as on-air hosts and reporting sports news. But I do remember that they were ALL men. Well, except me. That’s right – I was the ONLY woman on the team at this all-sports radio station. And I have only kind, wonderful things to say about the few dozen men who I worked with there. I was never looked at as being different, because I was a woman. I was respected for my intellect, my hard work and my dedication to stepping up and being part of the group.

I felt the same respect when I worked on the assignment desk in sports television, and when I pivoted my career into communications. I count both women and men among the people who raised me up, taught me new skills and reminded me that I’m smart.

And what’s important is that all of the wonderful women and men who I have worked with throughout my career celebrated me, as a woman, every day. Not just on March 8th. I want women to know that it’s their right to speak up and speak out every day. They deserve to achieve whatever career – and personal goals – they wish. And they deserve to be celebrated every day for their achievements. They deserve to work in an environment that promotes equity and equality, every day.

The theme for IWD 2021 is #ChoosetoChallenge. So here is my challenge to you: celebrate the wonderful women in your life today, March 9th. And tomorrow, and the next day. Raise them up. Tell them that they are great and they can achieve anything they put their mind to. And when we cycle around to March 8th, 2022, remind them again.

Thank you to everyone in my life who have reminded me that as a woman I can do anything. You can too!

 

Why I left Sports Media

My son often asks me why I left Sports Media. In the eyes of a child, the early part of my career was glamourous. I met, and sometimes worked alongside, world famous athletes. I had access to a press pass on occasion, to attend games. Part of my job, both in radio and TV, meant I HAD to watch sports. My son just cannot fathom how I would ever choose to leave that world. But I did. And I don’t regret it.

I also don’t regret the wonderful and unique opportunity that I had to work in the industry. What has stayed with me today aren’t the memories of athletes I met or games I attended. I learned life skills, how to hustle and was lucky to work with some talented people who I consider my friends to this day.

My choice to leave sports media is one that I haven’t really thought about too deeply for a long time. But over the past week, hundreds of great journalists lost their jobs, many of them in sports media. Earlier this evening, in particular, when I saw social media posts from former colleagues, writing of radio stations changing their formats and wiping out their employees, brought a memory back of when I was one of those people, many years ago. It was one of the reasons that eventually led me to leave my job on an assignment desk and follow the career path of a communications professional.

Where it Began

In my final semester of my Master’s Degree in Journalism at New York University I had to choose an internship in media in New York City. I still remember listening carefully to the guidance from my mentor, Professor Michael Ludlum. He was my Radio Broadcasting professor from my first semester, who brought me under his wing and taught me everything I had to know about working in radio. He encouraged me to pursue a different kind of internship, at ABC Sports Radio. It was a small operation, a kind of central intake hub of sports news, and he felt that it would give me skills that I could take anywhere.

Of course Professor Ludlum was right. I learned how to grab quick interviews for the radio format, edit my tape and write copy. And my first big assignment was to represent ABC Sports Radio one night, to collect sound bites, on the field, at the World Series (the Subway Series no less!). At that moment in time I thought sports media, radio in particular, was my future. I knew it was for me.

Where my Early Career was Shaped

When I decided to pursue my career back in Toronto after graduate school, it took me a few months to find that coveted job in sports media. My first “real” job was at the Team 1050 sports radio station. The guys took a chance on me, a young, very inexperienced journalist, but I was eager to learn and grow. My colleagues were genuine, wonderful people who had a love of sports and great talk radio that was infectious. I was excited to go to work every day. I produced everything, from shows that started at 10:00 pm on a Friday night (when I learned sports reporters in Texas cover high school football, not hockey) to the morning show. Sometimes I arrived at work at 3:00 am and sometimes I left at 3:00 am. It was everything I dreamed of.

Then 16 months later, one summer morning, the Team 1050 radio station disappeared. Just like that. All of the employees were brought together into a room and were laid off. I was devastated. In a short time I got the taste of what I wanted my career to be, and I wasn’t ready to walk away. I remember Paul Romanuk, who co-hosted the morning show, walked over to me that morning and said, “Alicia, you are not a true journalist until you have been fired at least once. Welcome to the club.”

When I made the Choice to Leave

I was one of the lucky ones, as I was hired by Rogers Sportsnet days later. It was an entry level job, but I took it. I had made some great friends in my days in radio, and one of them brought me over to TV. He knows who he is and I am forever grateful for his kindness. It took me only a couple of months to apply and get an opening on the Assignment desk. It was a different pace than radio, with different personalities, but again, some great people. This is where I really learned how to hustle and get the news on air.

The days were long, and during hockey playoffs I often worked until 4:00 am. Some days were exciting and full, and I felt the adrenaline running through me, but over time I became less motivated. I kind of lost my drive and desire to go to work. I knew I was good at my job and respected by my colleagues. I knew a career in sports media was unstable and while it never happened to me at Sportsnet, I continued to see colleagues within the industry losing their jobs every day. And I knew this problem would only deteriorate.

And so, I eventually left my job in sports media and pursued my career as a communications professional. There are many days when I miss the energy of the newsroom. When I read a piece of breaking news I can still picture what was happening at that exact moment at the assignment desk as the news came in. Who should they interview? What are some key questions to ask? What headline would be good?

No Regrets

While I may miss my days in radio or TV, I do not regret my decision to leave. I have met and worked for and alongside some equally talented and wonderful people during my years as a communications professional. In particular, I work for a company right now who respects me, as a professional and as a woman and parent. The skills I have learned along the way, from my Broadcast Radio class with Professor Ludlum, to producing the morning show at a radio station, are some that I use every day in my current job.

To all of you who chose to stay in sports media, who either lost your job recently or are currently employed, I applaud you. You are some amazing people, many of whom I had the honour to work with. Stay strong and follow your passion. That’s what I did, and I have never looked back.

My Girl Can Do Anything

my girl can do anything

I took this photo three years ago – January 2018, when my daughter, Julia, earned her Purple Belt in karate. That’s no small feat, no matter how big or how old you are. Julia was just seven years old the day she wrapped this precious belt around her little waist. I remember the day like it was yesterday, and it makes me smile with pride. I knew it already when she was very tiny, but on this day, when Julia raised her arms high, holding that purple belt, I knew: my girl can do anything.

There has been much written and discussed over the last week about the incredible achievement in the United States, that a woman is now their Vice-President. It took the U.S. 244 years to elect a woman to the second-most senior seat in their government. I, like millions of women around the world, am thrilled and feel that it’s about time. I even admit that I teared up, just a bit, on January 20th, when I watched this incredible woman, Kamala Harris, take the oath of office.

But through those tears of joy a little bit of the cynic in me was there too. Other thoughts were pulsing through my head, and I can’t get them out. Writing about my thoughts does not diminish Vice President Harris’s achievement, but I feel I need to share my considerations.

Much of the Democratic World is far ahead of the US: they’ve elected female leaders

I can’t help but think about the fact that the U.S. just inaugurated their FIRST ever woman Vice President, in 2021. If I look over the past 100 years, in democracies around the world, it’s not hard to find many incredible women who haven’t just achieved the second highest office in the land, but the highest. There are dozens of women on the list.

Margaret Thatcher was elected Prime Minister of the United Kingdom in 1979. Indira Gandhi was Prime Minister of India, first elected in 1966, then again in 1980. I can’t forget Golda Meir, who led Israel as its Prime Minister from 1969 to 1974. Even Canada had a female Prime Minister, Kim Campbell, for six fleeting months in 1993. Angela Merkel has been the Chancellor of Germany since 2005. Jacinda Ardern became Prime Minister of New Zealand in 2017 and has even had a baby during this time.

Throughout our nation’s history, in Canada, three remarkable women have achieved the office of Deputy Prime Minister, starting with Sheila Copps in 1993. Anne McLellan held the role from 2003-2006, and since November 2019 our Deputy Prime Minister is a woman of whom I have tremendous respect: Chrystia Freeland.

Celebrating the United States’ first ever female Vice President is important and is significant, and Kamala Harris is following in the footsteps of some of the world’s greatest women. But is she first on the world stage? Is the U.S. a leader here? No.

My girl can do anything: it’s not just about going after political office

During a recent conversation with a friend of mine, we discussed, in jest, what our children may be when they grow up. We both have three kids, and our third child, in both cases, is outgoing, confident, even a bit of a dictator. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but the fact that hers is a boy and mine is a girl didn’t even come up in our conversation. For us both, as successful working mothers, we know that our children can do anything. Whether their child is a boy or a girl, it doesn’t matter. I always know that my girl can do anything.

Here’s a question I have been asking with respect to women: is becoming the Prime Minister, or President, or Vice-President, the highest achievement? Is that what I want my daughter to think, that women have achieved greatness only once we have been elected, not just in the United States, but around the world? My answer is the same here: no.

To be the first woman to do anything is significant, and it must be celebrated. Books have been written, movies have been produced, on the many trail blazing women from around the world who were firsts to achieve greatness, and most of these women had no political aspirations. Those women, who have been our drivers of change, have made it possible for a female to be the Chief Medical Officer of Health in Canada, Chief News Anchor, or the President of a University, CEO of a Fortune 500 Company or the Head of my daughter’s elementary school.

What about the second woman?

The first is important, in politics for sure, and in medicine, journalism, education, corporate boards and more. But how about that second woman or third or fourth, or 717th or 7,000th?

I love to celebrate great women, and not just our trail blazers who are the first to achieve something great. Most of the young girls and women with whom I have crossed paths in my life and career have no aspirations to be the first or even to be a driver of change. But they do believe that they can do anything. And that’s because 717, or 7,000 or 7 million women have gone before them to create that path.

To be the first woman Vice President of the United States is an achievement. It is worth a celebration, across social media, newspapers, TV, movies. Everywhere. If it makes even just one young girl develop the ambition to seek the highest political office, then the world is a better place. And you will hear me cheer. Let’s also cheer on the second woman who will one day be Vice President of the United States, or the fourth woman to become Deputy Prime Minister in Canada, or the next woman to be named the CEO or President of a University, or really, to achieve whatever dream she has.

Let’s encourage girls and women to do anything and be everything they WANT to be, no matter what that it is. That’s what I do in my house every day, and I know that my girl can do anything.

My Food is Like Your Food

food

Over the past nine months, since our world changed in mid-March, I have made some new friends through my workplace. Even though I haven’t seen any of them face-to-face, and I only met a few of them recently, I have shared many personal, emotional and hilarious moments with them. The WhatsApp-based conversations are highlights of my day and centre around many topics. One common theme is food. What are you eating? What did you cook or bake? Do you have a photo of what you just ate? Oh my gosh I ate so much and just gained another 5 pounds. We are from ethnically diverse backgrounds, and I have enjoyed learning about food and culinary delicacies from around the world.

This week it was my turn to share recipes, stories and of course, photos. While I wouldn’t call myself anything close to a professional chef or baker, I’d say I’m rather experienced. I love to cook creative dishes for my family, and no matter how busy my day is at work (most days are!), I cook a full dinner every night of the week. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, on Saturday night I tell my kids to fend for themselves and send them to forage in the fridge and freezer. I need a night off.

But I digress.

Latkes

Besides making these new and wonderful friendships, I have learned so much about food from around the world and how many of our dishes are quite similar. While the names and select local ingredients may differ, they have a lot in common.

Since it’s the holiday of Chanukah this week, let’s start with the important, and I’d say, famous latke. I have been using the same recipe for 22 years, that my mother sent me back in 1998 when I lived in France. It’s simple, clear and I believe makes the best latkes around. Message me if you want the recipe! But back to the latke. What is it? Well, basically it’s a shredded fried potato. A delicacy like the latke exists in every culture where potatoes are grown locally.  Consider Swiss potato roti, even Polish potato pierogi. How about the American hash brown?

Cook a potato in oil, and what could be wrong?

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Look at the golden brown of these latkes. They taste as good as they look!

Sufganiyot

Staying on the Chanukah theme, I also make donuts at this time of year, and only this time of year. For the rest of the year, as my workplace friends know, I rely on Krispy Kreme. The donut traditionally made (and of course consumed in large quantities!) are called, in Hebrew, Sufganiyot. This traditional donut is yeast-based, fried (of course) and filled with a jelly flavour of your choice.  Making a successful sufganiyah is a bit more complex than a latke, but it’s worth it.

While I’m not an expert on food from around the world, I’d have to say that many cultures have some kind of sweet, fried doughy dessert. Take the Mexican churro, the French beignet, and I just read about the Youtiao in China and Sfenj in northern Africa. I’m looking forward to asking my workplace WhatsApp group what donut-like delicacies they often consume (besides Krispy Kreme, of course).

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You can see them here, at many steps of the process.

 

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This photo was taken moments after these sufganioyot were fried. Hot, fresh and so tasty.

Challah

Moving on to bread. I remember back in March and April, besides toilet paper, which definitely was #1 in everyone’s list of must-haves, flour and yeast were hard to find. Securing a bag of flour was harder than finding a diamond in a coal mine. Everyone was suddenly a baker and attempted to make all kinds of recipes. A day didn’t go by when I didn’t see someone posting a photo on social media of their latest loaf of bread.

I come from a family of bread bakers. Again, we are not professional, but we do enjoy baking our own bread. Our specialty: Challah. Like latkes, the word “challah” is well known in society. What makes it unique is that a traditional challah is made with eggs and is often braided. Hence its other name, which is on the label at many grocery stores, “twisted egg bread.” Bread of some kind is in every culture, even if it’s not necessarily a loaf like challah. Consider pita, or a baguette, focaccia, or chapati.

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This the challah that I made this Friday.

Since I’ve been working exclusively from home, I bake a fresh challah every Friday. And I’ve been teaching my WhatsApp friends how to pronounce this difficult word. The “ch” at the beginning of the word is not pronounced like the “ch” in “chicken” or “chocolate.” And you can’t get away with calling it Hallah. You have to dig deep, into the back of your throat for that unique pronunciation of the “ch.” My friends have been excellent students and practice often.

I have consumed many latkes, sufganiyot and challah in the past 48 hours, and I am confident that I will continue to do so over the coming days. I admit, I should have been a nice friend and delivered some of these goodies (or offered curbside pick-up?) to my new workplace friends (it would have been kind to them, and to my stomach and thighs). Well, the holiday of Chanukah is not over yet (it has 8 crazy nights!), and my Friday challah happens every week. You never know, a special delivery may just happen soon.

No matter what or how you celebrate, Happy Holidays! And may your food dreams, whatever they are, come true.  

It’s Groundhog Day, Again

Groundhog Day

 

Then put your little hand in mine, there ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb…. These are the words that Phil Connors hears each morning, at 6:00 am, in the famous 1993 film, Groundhog Day.. It’s a favourite in my household, with its humour and downright silliness, and yet lesson about being open to change and being with those you love. Now I’ll state the obvious, what so many of us have been thinking: we are living the movie. It’s Groundhog Day, again.

As I thought about writing this post, and as I started to put the first few words on my screen today, I wanted to state something very important up front: it is not my intention to make fun of or to minimize the impact and power of COIVD-19. This virus is to be taken seriously, and so many people are ill or have died. I am not poking fun at COVID-19.

Our lives changed in an instant on Wednesday, March 11th, 2020, when the World Health Organization (WHO) declared COVID-19 a “global pandemic.” We were scared, politicians and scientists had more questions than answers, and we all panicked. In Canada, at least, we locked down. Our lives, it seemed, stopped in an instant.

Which is when the real-life version of Groundhog Day began.

Since that fateful day in March, does it ever seem like every day is the same? No matter what your routine is, does it seem repetitive? Here’s my typical weekday. And when I say typical, this is my life, every day:

A Groundhog Day in the Life of Alicia since March 16th

  • 6:50: radio turns on, by timer of course, to Newstalk 1010. Yep I love to hear John Moore in the morning. I listen to the daily updates and chatter for a few minutes, in a semi-comatose state, until I have the strength to roll out of bed just after 7:00.
  • 7:20: Shower and make myself look decently presentable.
  • 7:40: Start the process to wake up 13-year-old son.
  • 7:42: Return to bedroom of said son and see if he’s conscious.
  • 7:45: Return once again to bedroom of said son with louder voice and make him respond.
  • 7:50: Wake up my daughters, who now insist on sharing a bed. Enlist the help of the dog, to climb on them and lick their faces. They get up.
  • 7:55: Run downstairs as fast as I can to avoid hearing the fight that the four-year-old needs to pee but her brother is still in the shower.
  • 8:00-8:20: prepare breakfast and lunches for the kids, load school bags and get everything ready at the door.
  • 8:20: Sit down at my new home-office desk (which used to be my dining room but now is my office/sitting room) and turn on my computer. Have a quick check at morning emails.
  • 8:25: turn on the espresso maker, grind my beans and get my morning cappuccino ready.
  • 8:30: Raise my voice that it’s time to leave and maybe children should get their shoes and coats on.
  • 8:32: Raise my voice further as at least one of them is ignoring me.
  • 8:34: Remind them to bring their backpacks as they run out the door to the car with my husband, as he drives them to school.

**Note the “drive to school part” is only as of September 8th. In the spring they learned virtually and most of the morning still looked like this.

  • 8:35: the workday formally begins, with meetings on Webex, email, writing, phone calls and a lot of multi-tasking. Jump from one file to the next and back again. Finally take the first sip of my cappuccino. Brain is waking up.
  • 8:35-4:00: the heart of the workday, when the house is quiet and the kids are at school. My main distraction is my cute personal assistant, aka my dog, who takes issue with any person who dares walk along the sidewalk in front of my house.
  • 11:00: I suddenly realize that once again I’ve eaten nothing and make myself a light breakfast. Same thing a few hours later when I realize maybe lunch is a good idea as all I’ve consumed is coffee and yoghurt.
  • 4:00: My girls arrive home from school, bursting through the front door like a tornado. Note that sometimes I pick them up and sometimes my husband does. So I guess there’s some variety in the day. Dog goes wild. Children scream. Everyone who I work with knows my children are home.
  • 4:20: My son arrives home. He adds to the pile of school junk at the front door and disappears to some corner of the house to check all the sports news he’s missed in the past 8 hours.
  • 5:30: I start to try to wind down my workday, though this will often stretch to 6:00, 6:30 or beyond.
  • 6:00: Enter the kitchen, to discover a hurricane has yet again come through, with a sink full of dishes, empty food containers on the counter and a dishwasher that needs to be emptied.
  • 6:01: Get over the daily shock, turn on the TV and watch CTV News at 6 for the day’s daily depressing update.
  • 6:30: Once my kitchen is sparkling clean, start cooking dinner. Yes, I cook dinner every night, and not simple basic food. This part of the day is cathartic for me, though I do scream at my kids every few minutes to leave me alone while I cook. How do they constantly want a snack?
  • 7:30: Dinner is finally ready and everyone attacks. I will admit it here: we gave up on sitting together at the table for a family dinner months ago. The five of us spend so much time together that the kids dumped us when it came to mealtime. So everyone does their own thing.
  • 8:30: I realize that the evening has flown by and maybe I should start putting the four-year-old to bed. Sometimes she’s jumped in the bath already and other times I look at my messy, yet only lightly dirty child, and decide a bath isn’t worth it. Meanwhile I holler to the 10-year-old that screen time is over for the night. She has just spent the past 4 hours on her phone and laptop, socializing with her friends and it’s time to say good night.
  • 9:00: If I have my act together, I have the girls in bed, ready to read with me. First it’s a preschool book for the younger one. Then I switch to the good book: Harry Potter, which I’m reading aloud with my 10-year-old. We’re on book 6 now, and we enjoy every minute. And yes, I do all the voices and even some accents!
  • 9:45: I fall asleep reading to my daughter, which displeases her every night. Her sister (and the dog) have finally fallen asleep, and I slowly get up and move on with my evening.
  • 10:00: I consider doing something around the house, like a load of laundry or cleaning my office but instead fall over on my bed. Luckily my husband has cleaned the kitchen. At this point my son is ensconced on the couch, and depending on the night, either watching football, playing XBOX or reading up on yet more sports news.
  • 10:50: After lying on my bed for the past 50 minutes, either chatting on WhatsApp with friends or playing Scrabble against the computer, I get up and get ready for bed.
  • 11:00: I’m in bed, watching the news and seeing that it too, hasn’t changed.

I’ve missed a few details, and sometimes a few things change, but the beginning, middle and end are basically the same each day. And so it is, I believe, for many other people. My long, often monotonous day, is repetitive and really, not exciting at all. I watch and read too much news. I participate in some of the most inane conversations with friends and family on my mobile device. I’m constantly paranoid that I forgot to add certain items to my online grocery order. I regularly check my storage room to see if I have enough toilet paper, power towel and flour. Then I head to my computer and buy more.

As those of us living in Toronto head into a new stretch with increased restrictions, I guess I’ll just keep singing the song, I Got You, Babe, every morning. As long as COVID-19 rages across the world it’s going to be Groundhog day, today, tomorrow and for many days to come.

To Every Thing there is a Season

To every thing there is a season

 

The famous words of the poet, Kohelet (also known as Ecclesiastes) are often in my head. No matter who you are, how old you are or what you have experienced in your life, you can find meaning in these most profound eight verses. Though penned over 2,000 years ago, if you read the words carefully, they are relevant even today:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend and a time to sew; a time to keep silence  and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

I have a file, in my “notes” section of my iPhone that I call Blog Ideas. Ever since I started to write my blog, over 3 years ago, this is where I house my quick thoughts and ideas as a I walk through life. Someone cuts me off in traffic, an idea about rude drivers. My husband experiments with eggs one day in the kitchen, and a post about Dads making dinner. Take me out to the ballgame is sung during the 7th inning stretch at the baseball game, and there I go, writing about how much I love baseball.

So many of my blog posts are inspired by a moment, or a person, or even a joke. I see or read something, and it sparks an idea. But sometimes I have thoughts that keep coming back. I write a note to myself, sometimes in the middle of the night (yes, I keep my phone beside me at night, and random thoughts go in there sometimes!), and whatever I wrote just eats at me. I don’t jump onto my computer to write. It has to marinate for a while. The thoughts have to properly form and develop.

That’s the case here. I can’t remember exactly when I scratched the words, “To Every Thing there is a Season” into my blog ideas file. I also wrote “Kohelet – note the words.” I studied this book, which is part of the “Writings,” or “Ketuvim” of the Tanakh (the three books of the bible, which include the Torah, Prophets and Writings), way back in high school. So many of the phrases are ingrained in my head, and not just because they’re part of a well-known song by Pete Seager, “Turn, Turn, Turn.”

The ideas have been churning in my head, and I decided earlier this week that finally it was time for my For every thing there is a season post. It was, let’s call it, a tumultuous week in the United States, and it got me thinking. Then on Saturday night, the new US President-Elect, Joe Biden, stole my thunder. Here’s what he said during his victory speech:

“The Bible tells us to every thing there is a season – a time to build, a time to reap and a time to sew and a time to heal. This is the time to heal in America.” His words were true, and I believe, were from the heart. But this blog post is not about politics, in the US or Canada, or how individuals have conducted themselves over the past four years, four months, four weeks or four days. What President-Elect Biden’s words did (though he pulled phrases from across the verses!) were to remind me of that true relevance of Kohelet’s words to every one of us.

Pick any day in your life. Choose an experience or a story from your recent past or long ago, and I promise you, I can connect it to at least one phrase in these first eight verses of chapter three. Here’s a few that I can think of easily. Take, for example, the current COVID-19 pandemic. How about, “a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.” How about the many paths and turns I have taken in my career? My first job was in radio, where I began to build my career, and where it came crashing down 16 months later when we were all laid off. Sometimes you build up and then you break down. (note I quickly got another job, but the day I lost my first job I thought my professional life was over).

Some moments are burned into my memory, like the exact second each of my three children were born. And yet the moment each of my grandparents died, including my Poppy’s death in April this year, can never be erased. I think of these often. As Kohelet says, “A time to be born, and a time to die.” Planting a seed doesn’t mean growing vegetables in the backyard (though it can of course). Every action we take must start somewhere, with some small idea in our heads and hearts, that grows and blooms.

“A time to keep silence, and a time to speak” is a phrase to which my eyes keep returning when I read these verses. Some may ask, is there ever a time that the better choice is to keep silent? Don’t we live in a society, where we value our freedom to speak? Shouldn’t speak be raised up on a pedestal? I see the choice of one or the other – silent or speak – to be what I value most. Or maybe that’s what Kohelet was telling us. His words are less about the meaning of life and more about the choices we make in life or options laid out before us.

It is less about for every thing there is a season and more about a key word in the next phrase, a time to every purpose under the heaven. Time. There is a time for everything. In one’s lifetime, most of us will face everything Kohelet writes about. Birth and death. Peace and war. Laugh and weep. Get and lose. We may choose all of these. Or they may choose us. There is a time for sure.

2020 has been a rough year. It’s probably why Kohelet’s words keep streaming in my head. This year has been about breaking down, weeping, mourning, and a lot of hate. I hope our future will be a time to plant, heal, peace, love, dance, and laugh. That’s right, dance and laugh. I look forward to that most of all.

Search and Secure: How do People Find a New Job?

search and secure

 

Kinetic Motions is the place where I share my musings. My life is busy, and often stressful, and writing here is cathartic for me. I think about so much, and I am blessed to have the opportunity to write about how I feel. Sometimes the journalist in me just wants to ask questions and seek those answers by writing. Today is one of those days. I want to ask a question that at first seems so simple but is actually quite complex and a bit terrifying to even ask: how does one search and secure a job in today’s world?

Many of you, instead of having a quick and easy answer for me, are probably going to ask a question right back to me: Alicia, are you looking for a job right now? My answer: I am lucky to not just be employed right now but to have a great job at a great company. I’m treated well and respected, and I work with some of the most talented people. The question I posed is not about me. I ask it, for the most part, in general, and it’s not the first time this question has irked me and caused me tremendous anxiety.

Searching for a job, in particular when one is unemployed, is one of the greatest challenges that any person faces. There are any number of reasons why you must find that new job, no matter how smart, talented or experienced you are. Company reorganization Bankruptcy. Mass layoffs. Your company is bought by another. I could go on and on. This has happened to so many of us over the span of our careers.

Everyone around you can say, hey it’s not your fault. You will be scooped up by someone great soon. But when is soon? How will I find someone great to hire me? How will that person know that I’m great too? Where do I begin? How do I put myself out there? Where do I search? Who do I talk to? What should I include on my resume? Do I delete the stuff from 20 years ago? How do I get noticed?

I could fill the page with the hundreds of questions that go through the mind of a person who is searching for a new job. I’ve been there. It’s awful. And depressing. You feel that all your skills and talents that were so valued at your previous employer don’t matter. Each day seems so long, and waiting for an email response or phone call back is interminable.

All the power is in the hands of the people doing the hiring. Whether it’s a recruiter or an HR team or a hiring manager, ultimately it is their choice. It has to be, of course. If you imagine a set of scales, the weight of power is clearly on the side of the person doing the hiring. But why is it so weighted? Why does the person who is looking for a job feel weightless and often powerless?  I will ask my same question again: how does one search and secure a job in today’s world?

I understand that we are in the middle of a global pandemic right now. There is higher unemployment and some very smart and skilled people are looking for work. Competition is greater than ever, and like everything in the world, the hiring process had to adapt. But there are still some fundamental elements to the job “search and secure” process that I do not understand. I don’t know if there are easy answers to my questions but I hope this can start a discussion.

Before I ask my next set of questions, I want to turn this piece from general to personal. My husband is searching for work right now. He is a licensed, Professional Engineer with years of experience. Like so many of us, his career hasn’t followed a straight line. His areas of focus have changed over time. Fundamentally, he is one of the smartest people I have ever met. He’s a problem solver, and the harder the challenge in front of him, the more determined he is to solve it. Anyone who has worked with him knows that he’s not shy to seek help when he needs it and produces quality, detailed results.

A couple of years ago he brought together his years of experience from various jobs and started his own consulting business called Adaptor Analytix. He actively sought short and long-term contracts and was very successful at doing so. But then the world faced a global pandemic, and his most recent contract suddenly ended a few weeks ago. What seemed easy last year – to secure a new contract – became impossible.

What you plan for doesn’t always happen, and you may face variables that are out of your control. That’s the case when one wants – and needs to “search and secure” a job. Or contract. Or any other kind of employment. My husband had an open mind a few weeks ago when he started his most recent search. He applied to postings online, spoke with recruiters, connected with people in his network. The early conversations are always positive and hopeful. But through no fault of his – or his many wonderful contacts who have been so kind – most paths have led to a dead end.

So, back to my next set of questions. Is there a formula? Are there do’s and don’ts? Do you email the person who interviewed you? And if so, when? What do you say? Do you call them if you don’t hear back? And speaking of which, if someone interviews me, why don’t they email or call me, no matter what? Is it normal to be interviewed by a company two or three times then never hear back? How do you get noticed amongst a pile of 200 resumes? Does knowing someone inside help? What’s a reasonable amount of time to wait before you just give up on what you thought was a real spark but whose potential flame is just smouldering?

A hiring manager is a busy person. I know this – I’ve been that person too! You have to do your busy, full-time job, and in between find the time and headspace to read resumes, interview candidates and make decisions. You fit this in when you can, and it can take weeks, or sometimes months. Even if you know you need to fill that position soon, you perceive time differently than the person who wants that job you posted. Waiting a day or a week for that call back from the hiring manager is emotionally draining and painful.

Every hour that goes by, the person looking to secure a job questions themselves, their behavior and their actions. Did I say the right (or wrong) things in my interview? Should I have sent a thank you email the day before? Should I have told the hiring manager about that story? How do I follow up? Which is more important to this person – my skills and experience, or my personality and how I’d fit on the team?

I admit I am feeling anxious as I write. This post is quite different than my gentle musings of the last few weeks. I am watching my spouse feeling despaired and more vulnerable than ever, and I just want to help him. I guess I’m desperate for some insights into this process. I know that there are no easy answers.  There is no simple single path to the search and secure process in the job market. But maybe writing about it, asking the questions, will get us talking. I am naturally an optimist, and I know that good things are just around the corner for my husband – and so many other people searching for that next great opportunity.

I’ve Lost My Son to Sunday Football

football

 

I am a sports fan. Anyone who knows me – family, friends, work colleagues, hey even social media acquaintances – understands that I really love sports. I am not a great athlete and definitely not a coach. But I love to watch sports, talk about sports and of course, write about sports. Baseball is my first love, but I’ll happily watch hockey, basketball, tennis, soccer, Olympic sports and much more. But not football. I will admit it: I don’t like football.

Early in my career, after a relatively short stint in radio, I had the opportunity to work in television. Rogers Sportsnet hired me to be a Broadcast Associate. That meant it was my job (that’s right sports fans, my JOB) to watch sports. Now I realize, many of you reading this are thinking… what? Where do I sign up? Let me explain.

Sportsnet didn’t hand me a bag of popcorn and a big screen TV and say, hey, Alicia, watch that MLB or NHL game. When you watch those recap reels on the news at night, someone had to build them. It was my job to watch an assigned game, note the time codes on important plays and suggest a group of clips for a producer to use so they could package it together. I had to know the sport, the players, the teams, so that viewers could see and understand exactly what happened during the game.

I wasn’t a happy person when I got the Sunday afternoon shift and was assigned an NFL game. Give me anything, I would tell my manager – even golf – but not football, please! I didn’t understand the sport and I didn’t want to. How could a team be “up” when they achieved a “down”? How could a 350-pound man be successful at anything athletic? What was tail gating?

The guys at work just laughed at me, and the more I complained, of course the more football they gave me. But they also taught me the rules of the game. And the intricate differences between the NFL and CFL (oh the arguments I caused on the floor when I asked the question… which is better, the CFL or NFL?).

I only lasted about 8 weeks as a Broadcast Associate, until I was promoted to the Assignment Desk, and thank goodness for that. Maybe they knew my skills were better used chasing down stories and getting the news on air than piecing together plays from Sunday football. No matter how much I learned about football, I couldn’t learn to like it.

Jump ahead a few years to today. I don’t work in sports television anymore (though I admit, there are many days when I really miss it!). I don’t get paid to watch the Cubs versus the Marlins, the Nuggets vs the Clippers, or (and I’m thankful for this), the Broncos vs the Chiefs (who are playing now as I write… with the play-by-play blaring on the TV a few feet away).

Which brings me to my headline: I’ve lost my son to Sunday Football. I’m proud to say that I instilled in my son a deep love of sports. I remember watching the NHL playoffs with him when he was an infant and being amazed how it calmed him down when he was fussy. He became a Blue Jays fan at a young age, and soon after that (despite my pleas not to do this) he joined Leafs Nation. Convincing him to follow basketball and love the Raptors was easy. He even watched tennis with me and every kind of Olympic sport, from speed skating and alpine skiing to track and field and diving.

But there was one sport he didn’t touch: football. Did I convince my son that football was not for us? Was I that influential on my child’s life that he too decided that Sunday afternoon in October was better spent raking the leaves or taking a long walk? For 12 years I could say yes. I joked on Monday mornings at work that I had managed to avoid the dreaded NFL Sunday TV in my house.

But then my bubble burst. My son joined a fantasy football league with a bunch of friends at school, and you see, he takes these seriously. He couldn’t just join – he had to actively participate. And to actively participate he had to watch the games. All the games. And read about the players. And the injuries. Of course also have long conversations with his buddies about how many points he got each weekend.

It’s Sunday afternoon and the TV is blaring beside me. Kansas City is at Denver. I have no idea what’s going on. A bunch of grown men are running up and down the field, intentionally bashing into each other. My son is yelling at the TV and clapping with delight. I’ve lost him. He loves football. I guess I can live with that. At least we will always have our shared first love: baseball. World Series game 5 tonight. I’ll happily watch that, anytime.

It Starts with an Onion

It starts with an onion

 

An onion is where I begin today. Whether metaphorically or functionally, the onion can explain so much about life or the start of an activity, like cooking. Let me explain how I came to think about the onion and the centrality of it in my life.

Permit me please to be philosophical for a moment. This blog, Kinetic Motions, is a place for me to share my musings about really anything that comes to my mind on any given day. The inspiration for today’s post occurred one week ago, as I prepared for a video meet with my friend Elli and her daughter Samantha.

I won’t go down the path of why it was challenging to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving in a traditional way this year. I host a group of old friends every year, and for the last few years Samantha, who is almost 14 years old, has been cooking with me. I gave her her first professional knife a couple of years ago and have instilled some wisdom and cooking skills upon her each year.

This year, as we logged in to Google Meet, I held up ingredient number one, and I said to her, “It starts with an onion.” I’ll get back to the importance of the onion in cooking in a moment. But first I will continue to philosophize.

It starts with an onion
That’s the best photo I got of us cooking together. That’s me and Elli.

Samantha looked at me and smiled, and it got me thinking, as I cooked that day and as I went about my week, how true my statement was that it starts with an onion.

An onion is an edible bulb. It’s a sphere, that could represent the cyclical nature of the day, the year and of course life. The onion has layers that can be peeled back from the outside in or cut in half and seen all at once.

It’s quite beautiful to look at and can bring a smile to one’s face as you pick it up. It’s a great example of Earth’s beauty. It may bring you joy as it’s the beginning, the foundation of what you may build. But as you pull it or cut it apart, its pungent smell may bring tears to your eyes. It may force you to show emotions that you tried to hide as you chop. If you want to complete your task, the tears must flow.

This seemingly simple bulb is actually quite complex. Just like life. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the onion is a great metaphor for my career path. Some people may look at their career as following a diagonal line upwards. Or maybe that line zig zags as you humbly rethink your path and have to start again.

Mine is an onion. There are some key skills and personality traits that I believe I always had. Those sit in the centre of the onion. I am passionate, loyal, creative and ya, I am a great writer. During my years of education, and through my career, from a sports radio producer, to a non-profit advocate to a communications professional, I have grown and added layers every day. If you want to find my full potential, pull those layers back. I may make you laugh or cry, as I come with a wicked sense of humour too.

Okay, now back to the functionality of why you must start with an onion. It is a top-five staple in my kitchen. I could list off any number of recipes that start with an onion. Those pungent fumes as you chop it up become sweet, delicious smells as you sauté it in a hot pan (or Instant Pot, of course!). Sauté that onion until it’s translucent, add some garlic and other ingredients, and I promise you, you have foundation of a great dish.

As an onion is a perfect sphere, so is this post as I circle back to where I began: it starts with an onion, like my day of cooking did with Samantha. I taught her how to make the perfect stuffing for our turkey. What’s ingredient number one: you got it, the onion. We peeled off the skin and chopped up our onions. As we cooked, we laughed and we cried. And the stuffing, wow, was it amazing.

it starts with an onion
The stuffing before it was stuffed. Yes the onion is in there.