Title:  Not-So-Secret Santa
Date:  December 23, 2006

We just finished our annual Christmas Mass and Luncheon at the Archdiocesan Headquarters.  It was a great day of celebration, good food, and good cheer. 

 Part of the tradition is the Secret Santa gift exchange.  We submit and pick our names a couple of weeks in advance and then are hopefully surprised and happy when we receive our gifts. 

 I went to the washroom just as Faye and the Social Committee started to hand out the Secret Santa gifts, and then on my way back to the party was asked to help load Archbishop Roussin’s gifts into his car. 

 As we exchanged a Christmas hug, he asked me:  “Did you get your Secret Santa gift yet?”

 “Nope, because I’m out here with you!”

 “Well it’s me.”

 “Uh….thanks for keeping it a secret.”

 “I hope you like it.  Merry Christmas.”

 I hurried back to the party and saw the lone package underneath the tree.  As if I was one of my sons, I excitedly ran towards the tree and dragged my present out, ripping the top of the bag in the process.  What on earth could make this so heavy?  I laughed as I pulled the contents out:

 -a 12-pack of Pepsi (my favourite)

-a “Hockey News” magazine

-an “All In” poker magazine

 I grinned from ear to ear as I reflected on just how well Archbishop Roussin knows me.  Then I got scared thinking of how well Archbishop Roussin knows me.  So here’s one of his Directors, addicted to pop and with a liking to poker (not the other way around…)

 Hopefully I have a job in the New Year.

 PS:  Turns out that Rob, who certainly knows me very well, offered his input in putting the gift together.  I guess 3 years of working together counts for something!

Title:  Potluck Problems
Date:  December 18, 2006

 It’s the season of Christmas, meaning good times and fun gatherings with family and friends.  It also means it’s the season of potluck dinners! 

According to Wikipedia:  “The word potluck dates from the sixteenth century, and the earliest written citation is 1592 - in England. ("That that pure sanguine complexion of yours may never be famisht with pot lucke", Thomas Nashe, see the Oxford English Dictionary for full reference). It is a portmanteau word formed from pot and luck.”

 While I have no clue what the paragraph means, I do know why people hold potlucks:  they simplify meal planning, they distribute the cost among participants, and they give the attendees a sense of ownership in the meal.

 I also know the most common potluck problem:  there is a good chance that the food will run out, making your place in the food order absolutely crucial to your enjoyment and fulfillment. 

 I recently attended two wonderful youth ministry gatherings:  the Youth Ministry Christmas Party at my home parish of St. Paul’s, and a going away celebration for Joelle at St. Joseph’s Parish in Langley.  Both events were well-attended, well-planned, and certainly well-executed.

 They also shared one other commonality:  there was barely enough food for everyone.  Don’t get me wrong….I’m certainly not complaining…my family and I were able to eat enough (luckily we were among the first to be called both evenings).  Near the end though, it was slim pickings.  Again, citing Wikipedia: “The only traditional rule for dishes is that they be large enough to be shared among a good portion (but not necessarily all) of the anticipated guests.”    

This rule seems simple in premise, but proves to be difficult in practice.  I think it’s only natural…some people don’t bring things (either due to lack of time, money, or other circumstances) while others just don’t bring enough.   

From experience (whether youth ministry-related or not), it’s nice to announce a potluck and have faith that people will come through and that things will work out.  My simple rule is that I bring more than I anticipate eating.  This rule, according to Wikipedia, is called “Jacob’s Join.”  If everyone or every family followed that rule, there would be enough food for everyone…maybe even enough for seconds! 

Unless they eat as much as my son, appropriately named Jacob.  No matter how much he eats for dinner, he’s a sure bet to be snacking throughout the evening.  Hey wait a sec…maybe he’s been the reason for the shortfall.

Title:  A Humbling Feet
Date:  October 25, 2006

Yes, I know I spelt “feet” incorrectly. But it’s the best way to sum up an experience I had this past Tuesday night while playing our weekly basketball game.

My good friend Rich and I were on our way from a meeting at Immaculate Conception Parish in Delta to St. Joseph the Worker Parish in Richmond when I returned my friend Mike’s call. Mike, my beloved next door neighbour and Strata Complex Bodyguard, had tried to call me 3 times during the meeting, but being the focussed person I am, I simply pressed the “reject” button on my cell phone. He got the hint by the 3rd call and left me a voicemail.

“Clay,” he said. “Are you going to basketball?”

“Yeah, we’re on our way now. Why?”

“I need you to tape up my ankle!”

“Do it yourself!” I replied.

“I can’t,” Mike said, “I need someone else to do it.”

“We’re half an hour away,” I replied, “Get someone else unless you want to wait.”

We ended up getting there in 20 minutes (I guess I was excited to get my only form of weekly exercise in…chasing Sean and Jake around the house doesn’t really count) and after I changed into my gear, I noticed that Mike had his ankle taped already. Breathing a sigh of relief, I asked him who did it for him. He said that he taped it himself, because he had asked 2 other people, and they both said no, citing the “I don’t know how” reason (though Mike would have walked them through it).

As Mike was running on it, he lamented that he had done a poor job. Another player happened to hear this, and commented that he had an extra roll of athletic tape. I knew what was coming next.

“Hey Clay, can you re-do the ankle?”

My mind raced through the options. Do I tell him not to waste more tape? Do I tell him that his initial attempt was fine? Do I tell him that I don’t want to smell his feet? Then, it hit me. John 13: Jesus washing the Disciples’ feet. And in the scripture Jesus says “For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” Recalling that fact that 2 people had already said no, I told Mike “Sure.”

We sat down on the bench while the rest of the guys started a game. Mike undid his first wrap and then proceeded to teach me how to wrap his ankle and foot properly. Start here, wrap there, figure 8 here, rip there. It wasn’t the most pleasant sight or smell (but whose feet do smell or look nice after 14 hours on them???) and we were done in about 2 minutes. The entire time, I was thinking of Jesus and the point of serving others being at the heart of following Christ.

After an intense 90 minute workout, we headed home. I saw Mike the next night and he told me that he wouldn’t be playing ball for a while; the ankle had gotten worse overnight and currently can’t withstand the pounding (I hope it wasn’t the tape job).

I told him that that was unfortunate news…but he’s welcome to re-join us anytime, and I that I would help him tape up his ankle if necessary. The taping situation wasn’t as bad or as sticky as I thought it would be.

Title:  Bridesman or Groomsmaid?
Date:  October 10, 2006

I was blessed to be part of an amazing wedding last month: two wonderful friends of mine, Aya and Ken, were married at the Brock House. I was involved in two main facets: I co-emceed the reception in the evening, and I served in the wedding party for the actual ceremony. With one twist: I served on the bride’s side.

I was humbled, flattered, excited, and surprised when Aya took me out to lunch earlier this year in March and asked if I would serve in their wedding party at her September 30 wedding. I said yes without hesitation, as Aya is one of my closest friends and Ken and I have known each other since 1993, through our days at UBC Commerce and then PwC.

Then she calmly stated: “There’s just one catch: you’ll be on my side…with the girls.”

“Pardon?”

After she repeated herself, my first question was “Does that make me a bridesman or a groomsmaid?”

Aya shot me a wide grin and replied: “I’m not sure, but you can come to the stagette, you just can’t dress with us.”

After removing the food from my throat, we went thru a few other details: I’d wear a suit and not a dress (though my pink tie would match the pink lining on the ladies’ chocolate brown dresses), I’d wear a boutonniere and not carry a bouquet (more on that later), and I’d be processing down the aisle while my “partner” Leigh would wait at the front with Ken and the other guys.

I went home and shared the news with my family: Gail was surprised yet supportive, Sean called me a girl for about a week, and Jake had no clue what I was talking about. For the next seven months, I corresponded with Ken and Aya (who had since moved to China for work) via email and in person whenever they came back to Vancouver. Then, they arrived in mid-September to prepare for the wedding.

As if on cue, the murky clouds parted in the morning setting the stage for a wonderful day. After taking Sean to his soccer game in the morning (he scored 5 goals…including 3 in one minute…more on that in another blog) we rushed home to get changed, dropped the boys off at Grandma’s, and headed downtown to meet Aya and the ladies at the Hotel Vancouver. We got to the hotel on time at 3pm and headed up to a beautiful suite on the top floor: Aya was getting her makeup done, Kanoux (Aya’s sister and maid of honour) and Tiffany (Aya’s friend and bridesmaid) were finishing their hair, and Sandy (the photographer and coincidentally the same photographer for our wedding 6 years prior) was snapping shots. Meanwhile, I stood in the middle of the room and took in the sights and sounds (the sights being a lot prettier than the sounds).

Turns out that when Aya mentioned to me in March that I could go to the stagette but not dress with them, she had it reversed: I ended up not going to the stagette (but I went to Ken’s stag…well half of it…so it worked out) but indeed helping Aya get dressed into her wedding gown. It was quite surreal having my lovely wife in the room watching me assist two lovely ladies helping another lovely lady get dressed. Technically, Kanoux and Tiffany helped Aya, while I just stood there and smiled.

We took some pictures in the hotel lobby, then more across the street at the Art Gallery before making our way to the park beside the Brock House for yet more photos. We hurried back to the Brock House by 5:30pm to prepare for the 6pm wedding.

By 6:05pm, the guests were seated and Ken and the guys were waiting at the front with the Justice of the Peace. As the music started, I excitedly yet calmly (if that’s possible) made my way up the aisle. Then something weird happened. Extremely conscious of what to do with my hands (it’s one of my annoying hang ups…just ask anyone who’s seen me on the dance floor), I proceeded to move them from behind my back to in front of my body to behind my back and then back to in front of me, as if I was holding a bouquet. So there I was, walking up the aisle with imaginary flowers in my hands.

The ceremony itself went well, with the Pacific Ocean and North Shore Mountains serving as the perfect backdrop. The plan was for me and my partner Leigh to exit separately, but we quickly scrapped that and decided to walk out together. In a truly Leigh moment, he proclaimed “This is mildly awkward” and proceeded to half-slap, half-hold my hand to the giggles and cheers of those in attendance.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch: dinner was scrumptious, the speeches were entertaining and heartfelt, and most importantly Aya and Ken were very happy, especially when their guests would tinkle their glasses.

Except for the very first tinkle…that one was for me and Leigh (who also happened to be the other emcee). He’s 6’2”, I’m 5’6.” So he planted a kiss on the top of my cranium.

Even with that kiss, it was all worth it to stand beside one of my best friends on the happiest day of her life.
 

Title:  Be Aware…Be Very Aware
Date:  August 21, 2006

I was involved in two situations this weekend that are quite laughable, embarrassing, and truly typical Clay.

After a successful and inspiring week at Latona Beach for YouthLeader, Gail and the boys came to pick me up from Horseshoe Bay.  She bought tickets for that night’s BC Lions game versus the Edmonton Eskimos.  Sean and Jake leaped out of the van to give me hugs…both of them decked out in Lions’ gear.  We loaded the van, said our goodbyes, and headed downtown with Stan.  Once we got to 150 Robson, we ate a scrumptious McDonald’s dinner and headed to the stadium.

We had almost an hour to pass (we went at 6:30pm so Sean and Jake could get BC Lions backpacks) so I took the time to explain to Stan the subtle and not-so-subtle differences between Canadian and American football.  (Stan found the single point on a missed field goal or punt through the end zone particularly strange).  Then, it was about time for the game to start.  And as they were announcing the starting offense, I pointed to centre Angus Reid while he was running out on the field and told Stan:  “He’s Catholic and goes to church in Richmond.”

The lucky Lions beat the Eskimos 30-28 in an exciting game…so exciting that we were really hungry afterwards.  So we hit Boston Pizza in Richmond and enjoyed a yummy dinner.  While we were eating, I saw a larger guy come in the restaurant with a female companion.  I thought I recognized him from a wedding I was at the weekend prior.

As we were leaving, I lifted Sean (still in jersey) onto to my shoulder to carry him out (he had fallen asleep during dinner). The big guy at the table next to us shot us a big smile, so I said to him, “He (Sean) got stressed out from the exciting game.”

The big guy said, “Tell me about it.”

I asked him, “Oh, were you there as well?”

He replied, “Yeah, I was there.”

Then, his lady friend asked me “Do you go to St. Paul’s?”

I said, “Yes, I do…do you?”

She answered, “Yes, I went to St. Paul’s School and Angus here went to Vancouver College.”

I started to shrink in my shoes as I turned my attention back to Angus and sheepishly said, “You’re Angus Reid aren’t you?”

He laughed and said politely, “Yes.”

Feeling the blood rush to my face, I said, “Gosh, I feel like such an idiot.  Of course you were at the game.”

In an effort to make me feel better, Angus replied, “Don’t worry about it man…I’m undercover.  I’m not wearing my pads.”

I introduced Angus and his wife, Izabela to Gail, Stan, Jake, and sleeping Sean and we went on to have a nice chat for a few minutes.  We talked about the game, the crowd noise at BC Place, church, and the merits of living in Richmond.  We took a picture, thanked him for his time…and walked out of the restaurant giggling hysterically.

Saturday thankfully went by without incident.  Then came incident number two…this time Sunday night at St. Paul’s.  We arrived a few minutes before 6:30pm and while Gail and the boys went to find seats, I had a quick chat with Father Luterbach and the Eucharistic Ministers before they headed to the altar.  As the music ministry practiced, Father Luterbach, Jan and I talked about golf.  They shared that they had gone golfing earlier in the week.  Father Luterbach said that Jan was quite good and that Jan’s favourite club was the Big Bertha driver.

“Big Bertha?” I replied.  “That’s also the name of Jan’s ex-girlfriend.”

While Father Luterbach cracked up, Jan tried his best to look intimidating (but I knew he was smiling inside).  Then, I noticed the silence in the church…I guess the music ministry had finished their warm-up.  A horrible feeling shot through my body. 

“Father,” I whispered.  “I think your mic is on.”

Sure enough, Father Luterbach tapped his lapel mic, and we all heard the familiar sound resonating through the church.  I hurried to meet Gail and the boys in our usual pew, careful not to make eye-contact with anyone around me. 

After Mass, I asked a lot of my friends what they had actually heard over the church PA system.  Almost all of them said “Something about golf…and a lot of laughing.”

I was thankful that I hadn’t said anything too scandalous or inappropriate over the mic.  I’m sure Father Luterbach feels the same way.

But I’m not out of the (Tiger) woods yet (haha…that was funny...c’mon…admit it).  I still might get a call from Bertha.

Title:  Know What I Mean?
Date:  July 23, 2006

 As I continue to work on my public speaking skills, communication skills, and overall mastery of the English language (by the way…do you know how painful it is to tell others that my lovely wife Gail is fluent in 4 languages and I can barely speak one???) I’m becoming more aware of errors that I and others make when speaking.  Some of these errors might be grammatical, while others are bad speaking habits.

 For instance, I know that I ask “Know What I Mean?” a lot when explaining things (just ask Faye and the rest of the YMO Staff).  I knew it was becoming a problem when they would all respond (sometimes in unison):  “No Clay, we don’t.”  Or what about the people who use the word “like” like it’s going out of fashion.  And if you ever want to hear the highest use levels of the terms “you know” or “you know what”, then just listen to any sports interview:  athletes and broadcasters are the worst culprits.  Around the YMO, we answer each others “You know what?” with a quick and snappy “what???” in order to rectify the problem.

 Some errors are redundant:

 -Have you ever heard a Wally Buono interview?  The likable coach of the BC Lions loves to say “Like I said” over and over.  The problem is, when he says “Like I said” he technically hasn’t said whatever he might be referring to yet.  An example might be:  “Dickenson played well last week.  Like I said, it’s going to be a great game next weekend.”  The now-defunct Sports Page tv show had some fun with it, actually putting the words “Like I said” under Buono’s name when showing his interviews.  (As an aside…sports personalities are also the best (or worst) at using cliches.  Th