My Personal Ledgend

My personal legend is one that is shared with few people in my family – I’m not even sure if those others consider it legendary but to me it is something that is burnt into my memory.

Every summer my Great Grandmother, (Nan Hipson) spent the whole season at a campground in Bridgewater that is specifically for ex-military members. My family and I would visit Nan every few weekends at the campground, and once every summer she would have our entire family in for a reunion gathering.

It was a Sunday afternoon in July, after Nan’s big family reunion; everyone had gone home to prepare for the following workweek. Sitting down on the dock overlooking the lake, my mom, dad, nanny, poppy, Nan Hipson and I were having lunch and relaxing after the commotion that had gone on the past few days.

Nan always has either cats or dogs and every single one of her pets is named the same name, Hippy, (get it, Hippy – Hipson!). Her Hippy at this time was a wiener dog that was about 20 pounds overweight because Nan would excessively feed him.

As usual on this day, Nan gave Hippy the left over’s from the steak she was having for lunch. She left a little bit of meat on the bone and shared with Hippy who had been bumming for food since before she sat down. He happily took his bone and went under a chair to enjoy. Suddenly we heard him choking and gasping for air. A piece of the bone had gotten caught in his little throat and he came running out from under the chair unable to breathe.

So many things happened in the span of the next minutes it’s hard to describe the whole situation but this is a basic visual break down of what I experienced:

Nan Hipson: crying and screaming “just put him out of his misery!”

My Poppy: Running up six flights of stairs to the trailer to try and get anything that may help,

My Nanny and Mom: Sitting in shock with terror in their eyes, because they were watching Nan’s dog die,

And my dad: Who grabbed Hippy by the collar, flipped him over on his belly, stuck his fingers down his throat to dislodge the bone, and giving him CPR until he came back to life.

I watched Hippy take his first breath, roll over and bounce back to his happy little self. Nan Hipson was overjoyed with happiness, tears rolling down her cheeks while she kissed my dad up and down.

The whole time I don’t think I moved from my lawn chair or said a word, but I know I will never forget my dad’s actions the day he became a hero by saving Hippy’s life. 

My earliest memory

My earliest memory dates back to when I was two years old. My parents had tried to place me in daycare while they were working but I absolutely hated going and cried every morning when my mom attempted to leave me in the care of the daycare workers. I whined and complained that I hated the food and my teachers were mean to me, when really my little two year old ulterior motives were to cry so hard that they would pull me out and send me to be babysat at my Nanny and Papa’s house. I loved going to my Nanny’s house, she was like a second mother to me, who offered that special type of love only grandmothers can provide.

My master plan was successful. My tears and sorrow broke both my parents and grandparent’s hearts and they decided daycare wasn’t for me. From then on I was the happiest little girl because I was in the care of the one person I loved most in this world.

Every day if it was nice out my Nanny and I would go for a walk in the afternoon, down the street to my house with my nannies next-door neighbor and her grandson who she babysat – I think his name was Brandon. I loved our walks; I would push my baby doll in her stroller with one hand while holding tightly to my Nannies with the other. I remember telling Brandon that he wasn’t allowed to push my baby doll because he may drive her into the ditch.

When I was four years old my Dad told me that a new family would be moving into the house next door to ours and that they had a little girl about my age. This made me so excited; I was going to have a new friend who lives right beside me to play with all the time!

For one week every day when we arrived at my house on our afternoon walk, I would go around to my backyard, pull my little red lawn chair from my playhouse and sit in the middle of my driveway facing their house, watching and waiting to see if my soon to be best friend showed up.

Finally one day out to the small wooded area that separates our houses appeared this tiny little two-year old girl who looked like a smaller version of me. She walked right up to us and introduced herself as Stephanie. We immediately became friends and started playing together in my front yard. It wasn’t until her dad came over to talk to my Nanny that we found out her name was actually Samantha!

Samantha and I grew to be best friends. We lived beside each other for ten years and she basically became the sister I never had, but always wanted. We shared toys, imaginary best friends and worst enemies (one named Power Kaya – we were huge Power Rangers fans). We fought just like real sisters do, claiming that one wasn’t invited to the others birthday party even if it was six months away, usually over the silliest things such as who was going to dress as Sailor Moon for Halloween.

Together we welcomed the second addition to her family, Jamie with curiosity and excitement. It was so much fun to have a little baby to play dress up with and carry around the house. But to this day I still feel terrible for the way we treated Jamie when she was a toddler. We would torture the poor little girl, probably scarring her for life. Sam and I used to put scary Halloween masks on and chase her all around the back yard until she would cry and run inside. We would fall over laughing about how funny we thought it was until we would be yelled at; I sent home and Sam to her room.

Sam’s family moved to British Columbia when I was in eighth grade as her Father was in the Navy and was posted. From then on as we grew older we lost touch with each other although we are still in contact somewhat today. Her family has now moved back to Sackville where we grew up, but Sam is actually living in Europe with her older brother.

There are two people in my life who define my childhood. These people are my Nanny and Samantha, both of who are gone from my life today but the memories I have from my time with them I know, will last a lifetime. 

A Day at the Beach!

Coasting downhill on the barley paved rural farm road atop my five speed bicycle, I hear my friend’s shrieks calling out from behind, but am too afraid to look for fear of flipping over my handlebars. Approaching the 90 degree turn that brings back painful memories of the time I cut the turn too hard and drove right into the thorn filled ditch. I’ve made it around the turn safely and can see that the tide is out at the secluded beach just five minutes of dirt road peddling away.

From the dirt road, about a half a kilometer downhill lies miles of sand, rocks and sea creatures. The hill is so steep we leave our bikes at the top and start our careful decent downhill. The mixture of grass, sand and dirt makes it difficult wearing flip flops, so I carry my shoes in my hand and travel the path that looks the least painful to the soles of my feet.

I reach the entrance to the private beach, at first I look to see is how much sand I have to work with today. If I arrive at just the right time, the tide will still be on its way out, creating endless miles of the ocean’s bed to roam. Hundreds of jellyfish beached along the sand brings thrill and excitement to my core.

We drop our sandals, clothes and towels on the nearest rock and are off and running to the water’s edge. Approaching the biggest jellyfish I can find, I throw myself down on the cool, wet sand and begin prying it away from the sand by its dried edges. The purple jelly is a familiar feeling of endless hours of joyful pastime. Once the jellyfish is loosened from the sand I pick it up with two hands, careful to not touch its underbelly where its stingers are located and run towards the ocean.

Once in the water at knees height, I drop the jellyfish back into its natural habitat. I receive a splash to the face and a mouthful of the Northumberland Straight’s salt water which will remain in my mouth until I wash it out back at the cottage. After the initial shock of salt water in my mouth and face, I then look to see that the jellyfish is once again adapting to its natural habitat. A flood of emotions washes over me when I view it pulsing and swimming away.

Once the jellyfish rescue has ended for the day, we hike along the miles of granite boulders that act at the meeting point between earth and sea. While atop these rocks, the salty scent of the ocean, sand and rocks below provides a freedom that washes over you, similar to what a bird would experience while flying high over a body of water. Visitors to this beach could spend hours walking the rocks, but eventually our little legs tier and the young explorers are forced head back to the beach.

 Eventually the smell of barbeques from nearby cottages and the sound of families gathering for an outdoor meal bring groans to our bellies and force us to call it a day at the beach. We head back to our bikes and make it home in time for supper, knowing full well, we will be back within the next 12 hours to do it all again!

Do what you gotta do, to get the job done

At the ripe age of 19 I found myself working on the Marketing and Communications team for the largest multi-day event of the summer, the Tall Ships Festival 2009.

The ships were the main attraction, and it was our job on the event management committee to provide onshore entertainment for our guests from around the world and the general public to enjoy.

Halifax’s two most prominent radio stations broadcasted live from the Waterfront during the five days the ships were in town. One of my many duties was to ensure that both radio stations constantly had people from the event to interview during their on air spots.

I had thoroughly crafted a plan prior to their arrival on who would be available when. As luck would have it, on the second day my 8:15am spot for the breakfast club didn’t show. There I was, standing on the platform in front of the “big wave” on the Halifax boardwalk about to explain to Peter, Adam and Moya, that there was no one to interview. I was about to let down the radio announcers I spent my entire childhood listening to…this was not an option.

I carefully explained the situation to Peter Harrison and told him I was actively looking to find a replacement interviewee. Peter looked in my eyes and said, “Katie, I don’t care who it is, just have someone here in the next 20 minutes that I can put the mic in front of.”

I was off and running.

To my advantage the ship perched nearest to the C100 tent was the American Bounty, commonly known as the celebrity ship among our visiting fleet.  The Bounty is famous for its appearances in movies, Pirates of the Caribbean and Mutiny on the Bounty, directed by Marlin Brando.

There I stood, in front of one of the most famous ships in the world, phone in hand trying desperately to get a hold of the Bounty’s ship liaison contact, who conveniently was nowhere to be found.

Out of the fog appeared a young boy sweeping the deck of the ship. I had no other choice but to call out to him and ask if I could come aboard, (you never step foot on the deck of a ship without permission).

The young boy approached me on walking plank to get onto the ship listened to my situation. I had previously had conversations with the live-in chef of the Bounty (another story for another time), and told the boy I would like to bring his Chef to an interview just across the way, pointing to the blue tent with the three radio announcers happily providing HRM it’s favorite music.      

To my delight, the boy took me into the belly of the ship, the kitchen. I was offered coffee and pancakes, which I respectfully declined due to time restraints and began preaching about needing someone to come do a radio interview and thought the Chef would be a great person. When I finally stopped talking, one man, wearing a ratty t-shirt and ripped jeans piped up and said, “well Chef is busy at the moment cooking our crew breakfast but I’ve sailed on this ship for 20 years and would be delighted to do the interview.”

I jumped on his offer, took his name and practically dragged him behind me all the way to the C100 booth. When we approached the tent I explained to Peter this man was from the ship the Bounty and is willing to answer some questions.

It was not until mid-interview I found out that the man was actually the Captain of the Bounty and had personally worked with Marlon Brando and Johnny Deep themselves! He was a wonderful spokesperson and conducted the interview beautifully, so much so that C100 invited him back a few more times throughout the festival for more on air spots.

I was thanked ever so kindly for coordinating the interview, and had my direct phone line placed on sticky notes in front of each announcers work station so they could call me at any time to assist with production of the radio shows, (and did they call me!)

What I am most proud of, is that I didn’t take any time to stop and think about what I was doing I just did. On any normal day yelling from the docks of the waterfront to a boy two stories above me would not be the norm for media relations protocol, but in times of haste, I do whatever I have to do to get the job done!

Who am I – in case you were wondering…

“Great student, talks too much.” For thirteen years these six words haunted my every report card. Twice a year I would shudder at the thought of having to bring my report card home to my parents knowing they were going to see that I was still talking too much in class.

The actual grade was of little concern - A’s were expected. What mattered most were the teacher’s comments in the small box next to the grade. No matter how many times I was told to pipe down in class, I never did…and I mean never!

When the teacher opened the floor for class discussion, I was (and still usually am) the student to wildly flail her hand in the air until I was called upon. If I wasn’t called upon I would shout my answer anyway.

Ironically, my chatty nature lead me into the field of study I am in today, Public Relations - the one career where my conversational skills will help me grow in the work force. Whether it’s talking to co-workers, the public or the media, awkward silences are a rare occasion.

Today, I understand that sharing my voice is not a bad thing. Although there are certain things I always try to take into consideration before I open my big mouth:

·       Knowing when it is appropriate to speak and knowing when to simply shut-up,

·       Confessing when I am wrong,

·       Admitting when I don’t have the answer and not being afraid to ask for clarification, and

·       Understanding that we all view the world differently and to respect our unique differences.

***

I am best described as the product of “only child syndrome.” Both of my parents are from large families and made the mutual decision when I was born that one was enough!

As the only child in my home I became, completely dependent on my friends to stay entertained. I always wanted to be surrounded by friends and therefore was always looking for ways to entice them to come play with me. Here began my passion for event planning.

Born in January, my birthdays were always inside at the bowling alley or the swimming pool. I desperately wanted to have an outdoor party, so at seven years old, I saved my allowance and hosted a party at my house during the summer. I purchased bubbles, games, skipping ropes and other outdoor play items. I delivered invitations and even created an event schedule!

I remember sitting on my back porch eating hot dogs and how my friends talked about how my party was the best they had ever been to! Although I didn’t know it then, this day inspired my continued passion for event planning.

Later in my youth I would move from planning block parties, to student council in Junior High and Special Events Rep in High School. The icing on the cake was when two co-workers at a part-time job convinced me to apply to the Public Relations program at the Mount - I was accepted and have been loving it since day one!

Hello World...

Ok here goes nothing, my first blog…but how I can make this little piece of cyber world my own?

Maybe it's in the name. A blog title should describe you in a way that only those closest to you understand, with hopes that it will entice others to want to get to know you a little bit better.

Katelyn's Candid Commentary describes what can be found within my blog, while Outspoken. Passionate. & True. are the set of values I vow to uphold in my writing. 

Outspoken means not being afraid to share my thoughts and feelings with the world, while realizing that other's opinions are different than my own, and respecting our unique differences.

Passion is what gets me out of bed every morning. With passion comes motivation. Passion motivates me to achieve my goals, build on relationships, complete my degree, etc. I plan to write blog topics based on items in my life I am most passionate about.

The truth is what guides us. I intend on being true to my followers as well as myself in my writing. I will not compromise personal opinions because of status quo, I will stand up for what I believe in, and I will admit when I am wrong.

Within my blog you will find posts written on topics close to my heart, my personal opinion on issues that arise in the world around me, and constant referral to my set of values. I truly hope you enjoy my writing and find entertainment value, common interest, or other reasons for continued reading. 

Sample Blog #1

This is my sample to see how my blog posts are going to show up!!