Do I play for the Canadian Roughriders or Sit the Bench?

Jon and I Become Roughrider Fans in Green

Recently I posted photos on Facebook of my recent Canadian adventure when Jon and I became true Saskatchewans by parking our bottoms and Canadian beers in the Mosaic Stadium in Regina to cheer on the Roughriders. The photos received many “thumbs ups” from family and friends, but one of my good friends was the first to notice what was “really” going on in the photos: “Do I spy a new shirt? :)” Beth wrote.

How do you end up going to a sporting event in a different country in the visiting team’s colors?  Well, simple. You could only bring enough clothes to fit in a suitcase and half of them were dirty from your recent fly fishing trip, so you take a chance on what is clean. I wore a black t-shirt and shorts.  When we arrived, the Hamilton Tiger-Cats were of course clad in black and yellow—go figure.

Flashbacks of being at my first Wisconsin Badger game came back to me. I remember watching a young man who wore a blue shirt (not even a color of the opposing team) get pointed at by huge sections of the crowds as he climbed the stadium steps to his seat—all the while being called an “A**hole” in unison.

I knew right away I would not be making a very good first impression on the multitude of fans painted thick in Irish green like it was St. Patty’s Day in Regina from the fresh cut-out watermelons on their heads to sparkly sequin flats embossed with the team’s “S” logo.  I have to say, I didn’t expect this. Being from the home state of the Green Bay Packers and Badgers, I didn’t think any fans could compare, but yes, Canadians too were serious football fans; their clothing said it all.

Thousands of Green Roughrider Fans at Taylor Field in Regina SK

Yes, Beth, readers, it is a new shirt that Jon (remember the bet is with him and not just me) insisted on, that I was proud to wear. After not buying any new clothes for almost 7 months now, and I still haven’t, I’m beginning to realize the magic that comes with clothing again. One person in Roughriders gear is just well, one person in Roughriders gear, but over 35,500 people in Roughriders gear is a community. I got to be part of that community by putting on that shirt on Sunday, and, now, whenever I sport my green gear again. . . .  I also justified the new shirt by claiming that it’s Jon’s size, so it’s his shirt too that we can share.

Don’t tell Him you Got Fishing Gear at Walmart and Not Cabela’s

My Almost New Waders for Fly Fishing

“You can’t tell anyone,” Jon said to me after leaving the store.

“Haha! Why?”  I clutched the bag to my chest like a little girl who just got the newest Barbie—Adventure Barbie equipped with hydro pack, walking stick, and head lamp.

“It’s just disappointing.”  He looked like he had just caught the biggest trout in the river and before he could snap a picture to prove it, the line snapped. (Yes, that disappointed.)

“It” refers to the fact that we couldn’t find fishing waders for me at his favorite store, Cabela’s, when we had traveled almost two hours to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan Canada to do so.  We ended up walking across the street and purchasing them at Walmart.

I could somewhat share his disappointment. I’m not a fan of Walmart either. I usually try to avoid it at all cost unless I need an oil change.  What don’t I like about it? I think it is the same for many:

• cart tires smashing into the back of your heels from the huge crowds that treat the aisles like freeways

• empty fountain drink containers left on shelves where you are shopping for fruit

• the fact that you can’t just go in and buy what you need (Yes, this is more my problem than Walmart.)

So, why did we choose Walmart? No, it wasn’t because it was cheaper even though it was. It’s because of my abnormally big feet in comparison with my height. This is why I told Jon he shouldn’t be so hard on Cabela’s. When you are 5’ 5’’ with 9 ½ feet (sometimes 10 depending on the day, depending on the shoe, depending on what I just ate), trying to find an item that fits both at the same time, is like trying to find Adventure Barbie dressed in Patagonia gear; it just doesn’t happen.

Cabela’s fishing waders were pretty much picked over when we arrived. There were only a couple women sizes left, and these women were all centers for the WNBA, not me.  The only one that fit me height-wise was “young adult.”  Yes, I’m wearing a little kid’s pair of waders.  I know they look like they fit in the photo: I’m smiling, looking like I’m having a great time, but in reality, I’m in pain, well, my feet are. I may have the body of a young adult, but my sasquatch feet were screaming for release.

I did find release and at Walmart of all places.  I guess dodging carts, ignoring garbage, and avoiding the “stuff” can make miracles happen: This weekend I, Jodie Liedke, will for the first time go fly fishing in a pair of waders that don’t suck the life out of my toes or stretch up over my head.

I will let you know if I catch that big fish.  Perhaps that will perk Jon up and give me an excuse to buy more fishing gear because that doesn’t count as clothing, right?

Can you Carry-On a Bunny Hugger or a Hoodie?

My New Bunny Hugger aka Hoodie

What is big, red and comes only once a year? No, I know what you’re thinking, and it is not Santa though he does make a trip to my parents every December bearing gifts. Yes, even though I’m 29 years old he still makes a stop for me, but nope, it’s not Santa, but my brand new Badger red hoodie or as the Canadians like to call it a “bunny hugger” or “bunny hug.”

Last week I waited impatiently as the Canadian customs worker reviewed my passport. He was the only male working and of course I got stuck with him by chance, well, not by chance but because the previous woman with him is oblivious to the rest of the world with her huge yellow polka-dot suitcase that was “supposed to be” considered a carry-on that she couldn’t even carry.

Let me define carry-on for all you present or future flyers. A carry-on is a suitcase that can be “easily” stored in the overhead compartment in the plane. I say “easily” because if you have to “People’s Elbow” your own luggage to try and make it fit, or others in that row need to be removed and placed further up in the plane so that yours can fit IT’S NOT A CARRY-ON.

I watched this woman for a good five minutes as she wrestled with her suitcase the size of a toddler. She tried many ways, too many ways as if she was playing Jenga but instead of trying to remove a piece she was trying to put one in—a piece that didn’t even belong to the game like a jumbo eraser. The gentleman next to the window in our row with a long graying pony tail who had only brought on a lap top bag whispered to the woman sitting between us, “That’s supposed to be a carry-on?”

“That’s called ridiculous,” I said. “Anyone who brings a bag like should be tossed onto the runway with their big bag.” I’m a very impatient flyer. I want to get on and get off.

The woman’s eyes widened at my comment. She was probably thinking: Well, this will be a long flight. I’m sure she was happy when I put on my headphones and started to read my book.

The man laughed, “I agree.”

Anyway this woman flew on two flights with me. From Wisconsin to Minnesota to Saskatchewan she performed her same suitcase battle twice, so it was no surprise to me that when we landed in Regina, she didn’t even have her paperwork filled out nor her passport ready, which led me to be stuck with the male customs worker, who didn’t look so friendly, and why would he be?  He had to deal with disorganized polka-dot Hulk Hogan.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi.” I handed him my passport. (This was a good start.)

“Why are you making this trip to Canada?”

“I’m visiting my boyfriend who is working in Moose Jaw. He is helping build a hospital.”

His eyebrows rose. “And how long have you been dating?”

I smiled. What this a legit question? Surely he was joking? “Well, he would say December, but I would say much earlier than that.”

He didn’t laugh at this. He really wanted a number.

“About six months.” (I went with Jon’s answer.)

“Did you bring him any gifts?”

“Just me,” I laughed.

Again he didn’t laugh. “And you’re not working right now?”

“No, I’m a teacher, so I have off during the summer.”

“Well, you’re a keeper aren’t you,” he smirked.

Haha! Was this really happening? Yes, the Canadian customs worker was actually making me feel pretty horrible. Why didn’t I bring Jon a gift? At that moment I kind of wished I was the lady with the oversized polka-dot case with a gift for Jon inside. I’m sure the customs worker thought she was a gem next to me who he thought would probably be a drain on their economy, especially when I told him I only had $40 dollars in my purse. (Just so you know I brought my credit and debit card too.)

Needless to say I was feeling like a big jumbo eraser walking through the sliding doors to meet Jon. But of course, he greeted me with a huge smile and a white plastic bag. We gave each other a quick hug and kiss, and then of course, I had to ask: “What’s in the bag?” Part of me hoped it wasn’t a gift.

“Just a little something,” he said.

The bag looked bulky.  “Is it clothes?” My eyes lit up like it was Christmas, and I was a pre-teen again. Except instead of pulling stoned washed jeans out of the bag, I pulled out a bright red hoodie that said Regina Canada.

“They call is a bunny hugger here,” Jon said.

I snickered. “Why?”

“I have no idea,” Jon said.

“Does it come with a bunny?”

Later we would come to find out that Saskatchewan’s definition of a hoodie was a bit in the past. The earliest hoodies had fur, usually rabbit, lining the front pocket like a muff, so it felt like one was hugging a bunny. I didn’t care what it was called, to me it was new and it was clothing, my first piece since last December when I had sworn off new clothes all together for a year.  It was reassuring to know that Jon didn’t think I was an eraser, a drain, he thought I was a keeper.

I can’t wait to wear my bunny hugger. Now if only the weather would open a window and let in some cold so I could. It hasn’t been under 70s since I arrived in Canada—go figure.