Well, it’s time I shared the other big news of my life. After a year of hunting for a permanent, full-time position, I’ve been offered a position for a job I’m sure to love in Yellowknife.
For the geographically challenged folks out there, Yellowknife is the largest city (pop. 20K) in the North West Territories atop Canada –find Alberta on your map and let your eye drift northwards– and is rather close to the Arctic Circle. 
In fact, the picture at left was taken from my hotel room at about 1:00 or 1:30 am, and the midnight almost-sun shows the necessity of having thick curtains in the summertime. In the Winter months, there’s an equal amount of darkness. Summer temperatures range from 15-30C and the mercury in Winter can often drop to -30C. (People’s tires freeze to square shapes, I’m told.)
No doubt a few people are scratching their heads. Why, they ask, are you heading to a small, frigid place enshrouded by darkness half the year? Well, that’s a misperception, but I’ll deal with that in a minute.
The days of short-term contracts can be frustrating, especially when it comes to ensuring any sense of stability, and –with several mouths to feed– knowing where the next meal is coming from is always a worry. I used to love freelance work, but owing to a number of factors (mainly geography, overseas outsourcing, and those user-friendly technologies accessible to more amateurs), the contracts are becoming less frequent and less interesting. I want a job where I can grow, where I can learn, where I can exercise my media-related skills, and where I can become part of a team that really cares about what it’s doing. Jenny and I want a community that’s small enough to be close-knit, yet large enough to provide for our wants (including fresh produce like cilantro and mangos) — we want a place where we can feel comfortable settling down. And I’m a pretty rustic guy, so I like to commune frequently with the natural world, a faithful hound by my side.
I flew up to Yellowknife for a weekend (it took 23 hours to arrive from St. John’s, Newfoundland — a heck of a commute), and I got to know more about the organisation and the city. I can say that I was pleased at every turn. The company and its projects seem quite exciting, the opportunities for professional growth and learning are certainly there, and –hey– it’s mostly a Mac shop. Meanwhile, the people in the city (population about 20,000) are exceedingly friendly and culturally diverse, the shops seem to cater to every one of our necessities, and a wild and wonderful natural world of trees and lakes and animals is only minutes away. It’s also very warm, and the air is fresh and alive with all the greenery and flowers. Between the job and the location, it’s certainly the most exciting offer I’ve received, and there’s no hesitation in seizing it.
I’m in the throes of packing right now (Jenny just returned from hospital, so she won’t be in any condition to do much), and I’ll be heading north in the next few weeks to find a place and get things set up. Jenny, two-year-old Conor, and newborn Daniel will be joining me within a month or so. I must say, every indication points to a great future for the Johnston clan….
June 19th, 2006
Introducing my new son Daniel Karl Johnston, born late last night at 9 lbs 3 oz. Here he is, some five minutes old, with his proud mama and papa.
For those interested, I’ll post a photostream later with more pictures and details.
I also have some more big news to share, which I’ll post as soon as I get a breather. (I assure you, there are good reasons for my absences of late….)
June 15th, 2006
My wife Jennifer Pohl, a well-known artist, has launched her own blog, entitled the space above the couch (very tongue in cheek, no doubt). She’ll be exploring artistic, creative and inspirational matters, and will be posting another of her paintings each week. An online gallery of her work is also on its way. There are many truly beautiful pieces in her body of work, and I hope that others might find them as inspiring as I do.
I love you, darling, and wish you the best of luck with it.
June 29th, 2005
For those of you following along, there is a new update to the Gallery: Conor 04/09/28. I’ve also taken the time to update the software (an excellent Open Source web-based application called –appropriately enough– Gallery) from a beta version to the latest stable version, so most of the outstanding bugs should be clobbered. Let me know if you find any funkiness.
October 2nd, 2004
Conor Douglas Johnston, our first-born, emerged into our world at 5:18 am, Saturday, July 3rd, 2004.
Jenny was eleven days late. We had just finished moving apartments in the wee hours of the night before, and the place was filled with boxes, bags of clothes, teetering piles of knick-knacks, computer guts and wires. Still, we could get to our bed, and that meant we could get a few hours of restless sleep before we had to appear at the hospital to be induced. We rushed around in the morning, extracting things like hair dryers and underwear from the various boxes, and eventually grabbed a quick McDonald’s breakfast on the way to the hospital, our poor little hound stuffed into a cage in the back of the Jeep.
Jenny had been suffering from pre-labour contractions for the past month (which, I’m told, are quite different from real ones), and this morning was no exception. She was put on a machine that measured the duration and intensity of the contractions, and the doctor gave her the first “smear” around 9:30 am. The chemicals used are generally given in small doses, so as not to be too overpowering, although women sometimes need several doses. Even then, many of them do not begin labour, and a “drip” is set up the next day which rushes things along.
By mid-afternoon, the doctor had to administer another smear. The contractions continued, but by 8 pm, the nurses told us that labour had still not started. Since Jenny’s mother had shown up, Jenny told me to go home and get some rest, and that they would call me if labour started during the night. I borrowed a cell phone (our apartment phone had not yet been activated), and went home. I spent a few hours unpacking before dropping into a dead sleep around midnight.
At just after 2 am, the phone rang and I lept to my feet. Jenny’s mother said that she was now in active labour, and I should come as soon as possible. I quickly threw on a t-shirt and shorts, grabbed the dog, and sped to the hospital, my heart beating in my throat.
Rushing up to the maternity ward, I found Jenny spawled out on a delivery bed. She had been sucking down nitrous oxide for a couple of hours, and was murmuring things like, “Take those tea-towels down, they don’t belong there.” Her mother told me that she was in a fair degree of pain earlier, but they let me get a few hours’ sleep as long as I could make it in time for the delivery.
I stood beside her and helped talk her through the pain of the contractions as best I could. I told her how very proud I was of her, and that she was handling everything so well. After nearly three hours, the nurse called the doctor.
Jenny’s water had broken, and the nurse was monitoring the situation as best she could and waiting patiently (there was another woman giving birth at the same time just across the hall). The doctor arrived just in time.
What a strange and miraculous sight! The head appeared, seemingly with the crown of his head folded in half. The nurse told Jenny how to breathe, and when to push. Jenny cried and screamed and breathed and pushed, over and over. The baby’s full head started to emerge. I saw cords wrapped around the neck. Another push or two and he was out. The doctor quickly unwrapped the cords while the nurse exclaimed, “It’s a boy!”
Jenny and I cried tears of joy. All I remember saying was, “It’s a boy, it’s actually a boy! We have a baby boy!”
My joy was short-lived as the doctor quickly snipped the umbilical cord, and I noticed that the body was mostly blue, and it wasn’t moving. He rushed the baby over to the waiting nurses, and they began pumping oxygen into him and rubbing his extremities to aid his circulation. I didn’t want to let Jenny know my worries, so I pretended everything was perfect.
A long minute or two later, we heard the first little cry. It was a short, muted, high-pitched cry, like that of a puppy. A few seconds later, and the voice picked up in intensity and tone. He was all right….
We all began to cry again, partly out of relief, partly out of joy, partly out of sheer exhaustion.
Moments later, little Conor took to his mother’s breast and began to feed. I stared into those dark little glimmering eyes, and stroked his arm. The tiny fingers seized my finger and held it strong.
You can find some pictures of Conor in our new online gallery (www.douglasjohnston.net/gallery/).
July 6th, 2004
