Hello Calgary...I'll be here all week!

A month ago, I had no plans to be in Canada for my Grandpa's 80th birthday. Having just landed the lead role in a feature film due to start filming in a few days, my thoughts have been elsewhere. But determined mothers make the world go round, and thus I am freshly jet-lagged and still marvelling at the fact that I have just spent a week in Calgary with a family I haven't seen in 14 years. Sitting on a plane in a dark sky somewhere over Greenland, I scribbled down the new buffet of memories I have to savour...

Certainly, the breakfasts I shared with Grandma and Grandpa top the list. I loved the routine; Grandma sets the table the night before, and in the morning slices each ruby grapefruit with practised perfection while still in her flowery

robe. Then we reconvene when more suitably attired (although less so in my case as I tend to favour sweaty running gear) and select a bible reading from the tiny, well-thumbed stack of cards that has sat in a little pottery loaf of bread since as long as I've sat at that breakfast table, and each read a verse aloud, before saying grace. Grandpa's face barely visible over the tremendous tower of pancakes (each one an 'I love you' from Grandma) radiates disapproval of all things sugar and gluten. I put on ten pounds in a week, I swear. And that was despite going for long runs in Fish Creek Park!

The running in Fish Creek was heaven. The plane touched down onto a runway freshly cleared of snow to loud groans from fellow passengers, but I was thrilled. Calgary was a wintry

wonderland, just the way I left it 14 years ago. I couldn't wait to get into Fish Creek Park, which skirts the Bow river behind Grandma and Grandpa's house. But it was a startling moment to realise that the park, which as a girl I believed was Narnia and went on forever, is barely good enough for a 20km run...that is, until I discovered it goes for miles in the opposite direction, too. I ran for happy hours through the snowy forest, with an eye out for hungry bears, eating snow when I got thirsty an

d thanking God for everything... Certainly, running in Calgary has improved my knowledge of icy precipitation in all its forms, and I can now list black ice-detection among my talents.

Getting to know my family again was incredible. These are truly wonderful people, and sitting among them as one of them was a great feeling. Jessie and Maigan and Steph and Kayla and Larissa were all little blonde sprites when I was last around and suddenly my cousins are all beautiful blonde women with careers and distinct personalities and busy lives.

What I was most struck by was how much we have in common, despite such different upbringings. I treasure the memories of our drives into the mountains on mini girly roadtrips, and the conversations that were warm while the weather outside was distinctly less so. Jessie and I went to Banff (named after the founder's birthplace in Banffshire, Scotland) where Bruce the Moose used to have the run of the town's streets. The hot springs still draw people into their olfactorily-insulting waters under the impassive gaze

of the Rockies, and Jessie suggested we rent the 'Heritage' suits... as in, the suits they have been renting since the 1920's, complete with fetching flap for extra modesty. Very Gatsby, even if the petite Chinese ladies taking the waters next to us in their Burberry bikinis didn't think so.

Tim Horton's is another thing Calgary wouldn't be Calgary without. Special mention to the chocolate glazed Tim Bits. Over coffee and bagels on the morning of his 80th, Grandpa and I talked love and marriage and longevity and other light topics. Grandpa told me how he fell in love with Grandma when he was 16 and hasn't fallen out of it in 57 years of marriage. And it shows. They are a wonderful example of what love looks like. And Grandpa, being Grandpa, couldn't resist telling me with his customary twinkle that they are still great in bed. I remarked on the delicious coffee in an attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. Glad as I am to know it, there are some things one is never old enough to get one's head around.

Speaking of love, watching my Uncle Shaun and Aunt Ruth laugh together was another highlight of the trip. And getting to know my Uncle Rod's boys, Rodney and Zach, was delightful too. They invited me over for supper and the boys displayed budding culinary skills (Rodney on bbq duty and Zach dealing with potatoes). Rod, you are a true hero for making such a great home and being the father you are to your boys.

Grandma took me to the local Co-op, which was another unique cultural experience. London may be well-served in its grocery stores, but in North America there is a completely different kind of choice. I spent a mind-boggling twenty minutes in the bakery section alone. They have angel food cake. I'd forgotten about how ridiculously white it is. And then Cheezwiz... Grandma waxed nostalgic about it, remembering how her mother let her have it as an occasional treat. You see, the feeder gene is ingrained in us Driediger girls. We love, therefore we feed. But the ease with which the men in my family say I love you and express pride and appreciation was a revelation to me. I just about had to hold my father at knife point (I exaggerate, of course....slightly) to get him to say those three words but my uncles do it easily and often. I wouldn't trade my dad for anyone, but its still lovely to see.

Leaving was hard. It always is, but this time I made it slightly easier on myself by promising to return for Christmas. After all, I didn't get to eat gingerbread in Heritage Park, which no trip to Calgary is complete without.

And then England threw open her arms and welcomed me home to her newly-green bosom this morning; well, perhaps not quite, but to arrive in the British countryside on a sunny April morning could almost make a girl feel the island is her own special playground. My life waits for me here, and there are people whom I love here too. And a little Blue cat, but whether or not she loves me is subject for speculation.

P.S. Note to Self; do not attempt to write names and particulars of people to contact in an emergency into new passport while jet-lagged and on a lurching train. Disaster.