My love / hate relationship with sunscreen

When I was a kid there was no such thing as sunscreen. My mum had skin that wasn’t especially bothered by the sun but my dad, fair-skinned and blonde, burned like a lobster. So do I.

Neither of my parents had a clue as to what to do to prevent sunburn and, in fairness, I don’t suppose anyone else in that day and age did either. I remember going to Crimson Lake on a camping trip, playing in the water with the other kids, coming out of the lake and riding the merry-go-round, one of those push affairs, with bars stretching from the centre to the outside of a circular wooden platform. You grabbed one of the bars, heaved, and when the platform began to move, you grabbed the next one and gave it another heave, so that the contraption gradually picked up speed. The next order of business was to grab a bar and jump on. If the timing was off you might get whacked in the teeth, and if you slowed down the rotation by much you were sure to be subjected to a series of raspberries from the other kids who were already safely aboard.

When we got tired of the merry-go-round, or were so dizzy that we couldn’t walk straight, back we went into the water. After a day of this I had a pretty serious burn on my back and shoulders. I’m not sure what Dad had been doing while I was enjoying the beach but he was pretty red also. Mum didn’t know what to do. I think she put cream on my back but that didn’t stop the sting and the incredible heat. She probably gave me aspirin and I remember her telling me later that I spent most of the night whimpering in my sleep.

I don’t think I felt much like playing with the other kids the next day. It hurt too much to move. I was so hot that I really wanted to go back into the lake to cool off. I don’t think Mum was thrilled with the idea but she compromised and let me go if I put on a hat and wore a T-shirt. That was fine with me. From then on I was a little more cautious, wore the T-shirt, and spent more time in the shade. Well, most of the time.

A while after we got home, when the heat had gone out of the burn and the pain had turned to an itch, I remember sitting downstairs with Dad in his office where it was cool, peeling sheets of blistered skin off each other’s backs. I didn’t find that the least bit weird. Peeling off the dead skin decreased the itch.

No endorsement for any of these

After that I didn’t spend a lot of time in the sun. I remember trying cacao butter on my skin at one point, not to tan as the baby-oil set hoped to do, but to prevent me from burning. I don’t think it worked although it may have done something to keep the skin a bit more moist.

By the time I was an adult there were sunscreens and I used them. I like the feel of my face when it is freshly scrubbed and feels just a little bit tight. To have to ruin that lovely clean feeling with a lotion or cream was cause for considerable whining, although the memory of the few bad burns I had had were enough to eventually shut me up and get me to apply the stuff.

Once I had a job and steady income, I became interested in various outdoor sports, snowshoeing in the winter, a bit of downhill skiing, hiking, cycling and canoeing in the summer. Putting sunscreen on was part of the ritual of getting ready for the day’s adventures so, while I didn’t like the sensation of it, I did look forward to the miles in the forest, on the roads or on the rivers that it heralded. I joked that there should be a sunscreen setting on the shower so you could just jump in and douse yourself.

I managed to avoid serious burns for a number of years until I got married. For our honeymoon we went to Radium Hotsprings. Of course we had to take advantage of the pool and they didn’t allow any lotions or creams in the pool. No problem. Just stay in for a few minutes and then get out, go into the shade or the air-conditioned hotel room.

As we were enjoying the pool, someone called to Richard. It was a person he knew from teaching so we went over, stood in the chest-deep water, and chatted, and chatted, and chatted. I was enjoying the conversation and didn’t realize until it was too late that I was starting to sport that old familiar lobster glow. I knew from experience that the redness and pain would continue to increase for several hours even after I got out of the sun.

We said our goodbyes, got out of the pool, and Richard went in search of Solarcaine. It has a chemical smell but it does help to dull the pain of a sunburn. That certainly dampened the romance of the honeymoon. The only way I could stand to be touched was with a hand applying Solarcaine to the burn. I felt miserable and was cross with myself. If I had only put on a T-shirt, the burn wouldn’t have been limited to my face and arms. If I had left Richard to chat and gotten out of the pool sooner. If, if, if. Luckily Richard is a forgiving sort and he did not try to trade me in for a less crispy model. That is the last time I had a severe burn.

I still don’t like sunscreen and I’ve found myself recently staying in because the only kind of sunscreen I have is the mineral variety i.e. zinc. There have been advances since the skiers used to slap it on their noses so they looked like someone had covered their noses with vanilla icing, but I still think it makes me look like a failed mime or a ghost. And, it gets everywhere! I noticed a white film on the driver’s door the other day when I got out of the car. My collars and hats are streaked with white. Plus, it gums up the razor when I shave my legs.

Today I had a serious talk with myself. The weather is nice, not too hot, not too smoky, and it is absolutely ridiculous to stay inside because you don’t want to put on sunscreen. I checked out the Canadian Dermatology website for recommended brands, slapped on the zinc and walked to the nearest drug store. I now have a tube of what, I hope, will still protect my skin but will be a little less nasty.

Thank you sunscreen for keeping the burning rays at bay. No thank you sunscreen for being just plain icky. I have a feeling this love / hate relationship is not about to resolve anytime soon.

Of novels, sketch books, and friends

I recently finished reading The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. There were parts of the book that I liked very much but somehow, it didn’t quite come together for me. I could launch into a detailed book review but that’s not what this is about. It is about how we remember and are remembered and it made me think, this morning, of three friends.

One is a former student who reached out to me after nearly 30 years to tell me that I had made a difference in her life. One is a Jewish friend who has adopted me and welcomed me into her home on ordinary days and High Holy Days, and one is someone I have known since both of us were in our teens. I’ll call the first one P because I have not asked permission to name her. I’ll call the second one S, and the third one L for the same reason.

P reconnected with me through Facebook and we have kept track of each other for several years now. Today P made a post that sent me scurrying to one of my notebooks. Actually, it’s an artist’s sketch book and, for me, it’s not quite a journal, not quite a scrapbook. It holds the important things that can be captured on paper either through words or images. I copied what P posted today, into my book on September 25, 2020, just after the death of feisty US supreme court judge, Ruth Bader Ginsburg. It is used in Reform Jewish Liturgy.

Meditations Before Kaddish
From the Mishkan T’filah

Epitaph
by Merrit Molloy

When I die give what’s left of me away
to children and old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
cry for your brother walking the street beside you.
And when you need me, put your arms around anyone
and give them what you need to give me.

I want to leave you something,
something better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I’ve known or loved,
and if you cannot give me away,
at least let me live in your eyes and not your mind.

You can love me best by letting hands touch hands,
and by letting go of children that need to be free.
Love doesn’t die, people do.
So, when all that’s left of me is love,
give me away.

Today I needed to remember this. B’s mother died earlier this week at age 96. She lived a long and full life and there is relief in her passing. P and S are both wrestling with family issues, and I am feeling tired and worn down, for a host of small reasons.

Today the sky outside is a smokeless blue, the temperature is moderate, and I have made my first cup of tea at our new coffee station. We will soon be able to inhabit our new spaces and with that will come a purging of what no longer serves us from the past. We mourn not only people. We mourn experiences we will never have again, relationships that might have been different, and objects, once so important, that we will never use again. Perhaps as I go, unwillingly, through the collection of stuff, these words will help me to focus on what is truly important and allow me to let go of the rest. All things are no longer possible but there are still exciting possibilities. Perhaps “Epitaph” will help me achieve a balance between appreciating the past and anticipating the future.

May it be so.*

https://www.patrickcomerford.com/2020/01/when-all-thats-left-of-me-is-love-give

*The Reverend Erin Klassen of Scarboro United Church in Calgary often ends her messages with these words and I hope she won’t mind my borrowing them here.

A bit of smugness

I suck at selfies

There are many memorable moments. Sometimes they are huge and life-changing but, more often, they are the small incidents or brief encounters that are unexpected and delightful.

As you know we are having our house renovated. The reno, as most do, has been dragging on. This is through no fault of the contractor or the sub trades who have been working their butts off when they have time and materials at the same moment. We have anticipated stinky painting twice before and have gone off in the van to leave the house to the painter. Because of one thing and another, neither of those times actually resulted in the lacquer being applied to the cabinets inside the house. We had fun in the time away anyhow. This past week painting was, once again, on the schedule. Instead of heading for the hills we decided to stick around and get out of Dodge on lacquer day.

Yesterday was lacquer day. The painter came and told us it would take her about an hour to prepare. We finished our morning beverages, found the national park pass, after a bit of hunting, and headed off to Banff for the day.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Banff and, of course, it’s far from the town I knew when I lived there almost 40 years ago. We had been warned to park at the old railway station and walk into town. When we got there we were ready for lunch so we headed to a restaurant we’ve been to a few times and found we were ahead of most of the crowds. By the time we finished, there was a line-up at the door.

Fenland Trail

It was over 30 C so we decided to walk in the shade. New to me, is a pathway along the river from downstream of the bridge to the start of the Fenland Trail. We were going to head for Bow Falls but decided instead to take in the art walk in the other direction on the path. We carried on past the library and decided to walk the Fenland Trail Loop. In all the time I lived there, and all the times I’ve visited, I’ve never walked that loop. We were a little nervous because the sign at the beginning of the trail said that bear encounters were likely. We didn’t have bear spray with us and took a chance, hoping that all the bruins would be sleeping in the heat of the day and that enough people were using the trail that the bears would be elsewhere.

It was an enjoyable walk and I was happy to be in the shade rather than huffing up a mountain in search of great views. On the way back, we noticed there was no line-up at the canoe rental place. We debated about whether or not to rent a canoe and then, following my new ‘senior’s’ directions I asked myself, “If not now when?” We rented a canoe for an hour.

The canoes were fairly nice ones with no nods at all to the fact that they would be paddled mostly by people who understood little about how to get a canoe to do what you want it to. I’m not knocking those who want to have some fun by being on the water and who have little or no experience in canoes. That’s primarily why canoe rental places in tourist spots exist.

We filled out the waivers and R left his drivers’ license as collateral for the canoe. We got fitted with life jackets and then one of the guys working there handed us each a paddle. I asked for a shorter one; R asked for a longer one. I was in luck; R wasn’t. Paddles in hand we made our way down to the dock.

I didn’t realize that the most difficult part of the whole experience was going to be actually getting into the canoe. The canoes had moulded seats and it was a very long way down! I had my paddle across the thwarts and ended up kind of flopping into the canoe, without disturbing the balance of the craft. I wondered how inelegant I would be extracting myself at the other end.

Paddling upriver on the Bow

The guy gave us a gentle shove and we fell into our regular rhythm on our regular sides of the canoe. It felt familiar, comfortable, and companionable despite the chaotic traffic around the dock. We saw one canoe where both paddlers paddled on the same side and then when the direction went wonky they both changed so that they were both paddling on the other side. Nobody was actually going in circles although there was a lot of enthusiastic zigzagging going on and the majority of the canoes on the river seemed to be out of control to some degree. Some folks seemed to be enjoying the adventure while others looked entirely frustrated by a boat that was seemingly incapable or unwilling to go in a straight line. We paddled our way out of the chaos as soon as we could and then relaxed as we made our way up river. The current isn’t terribly strong and although there was a bit of a headwind we could make as much progress as we wanted to depending on how hard we wanted to work.

We both felt out of shape and realized that an hour’s paddle would be quite enough. Still, we had not forgotten the basic skills of moving the canoe and putting it where we wanted it to go. We kept our eyes out for sweepers and deadheads although we got fairly close to one because the river was murky. We figured out how long it would likely take us to get back. Because we were paddling upstream and against the wind on the way out we figured we’d be faster on the way back.

Mount Rundle from the canoe

The breeze on the water was lovely. We saw the remains of a beaver dam, some horse riders on the left shore, and a few killdeers flying along the shore and then landing farther upstream. We weren’t close enough to make out their colours but I recognized their characteristic flight. There didn’t seem to be any others going our direction but we kept meeting people coming down the river. Some folks had kayaks, some had paddle boards and others were in canoes. We exchanged greetings with some, and most looked happy to be out.

We decided to turn back shortly before our set time and the trip back was quicker than the trip out. We both remarked that, in the morning, we would probably feel a few muscles we hadn’t noticed in a while. As we came toward the rental area we rejoined the chaotically zig-zagging boats. We were confident that we could avoid any of them if we needed to. We stopped and let others approach the dock first.

When the guy on the dock motioned to us to come in we headed for the dock at a leisurely pace, came alongside and then I did a cross-bow stroke which brought us perfectly in line so he could grab a thwart and steady the canoe. “Wow,” he remarked, “You don’t usually see a cross-bow draw. That’s the best docking job I’ve seen from anyone who didn’t work here!” I was quite pleased with myself, quite pleased with us that some of the skills we developed over the years of wilderness canoe trips were still available for us to call upon. Neither of us had any illusions that we were capable of hopping in a canoe and undertaking a wilderness river trip but it felt extremely good to have caused a nice young man to take notice of the two old people who knew how to dock a canoe.

As predicted, getting out of the boat was humbling and not particularly graceful. R got out first, then braced himself, extended his hand and hauled me to my feet. From there I put a knee on the dock, climbed out, and then stood up. Not graceful, but grinning all the same. I think I will advocate for us to rent a canoe whenever the opportunity presents itself. It was a delightful experience and it will be one of those memories we return to often. ‘Remember the time we went to Banff when the kitchen was being painted and we rented a canoe?’ We will both smile. 

If not now, when?