Jocey (sister) and I made the trip to Summerland last night to catch the youngest of the five Ingram girls, Laura, 16, carry the Olympic torch through downtown Kelowna this morning.

Riddled with Canadia/VANOC threads (even Ringo the pooch sported a "Canada" toque compliments of Grandma) and ready to cheer, we joined the parade of Ingrams caravanning to her route at 6:00 a.m..

Laura's torch party bus pulled up shortly after, where she eagerly jumped off singing "I Gotta Feelin" by Black Eyed Peas. As the doors closed behind her, you could hear the rest of the g gang inside singing along at the top of their lungs.

Enter megaphone toting VANOC running/dancing/cheering squad who chanted Laura's name as she took off on her 300m journey - these guys really know how to throw a street party at 7:00 in the morning!

The twelve of us ran beside her on the sidewalk, snapping shots like the paparazzi on Paris, and watched as Dad held back the tears.

Just as quickly as her torch was lit -  it went out. She passed it along to the next bearer, gave him a hug, and he set out  for his very own five minutes of Olympic fame.

We celebrated over breakfast at IHOP, and laughed about some of the "Top ten ways to make best use of your Olympic torch after the Olympics". But don't tell the officials - Laura quickly explained authenticity of what the torch represents to the games is no laughing matter. But you have to admit, the thought of bringing it out to a family BBQ is kinda funny.  I'll let you decide.

Go Canada go!

I moved to Vancouver with stars in my eyes at 18 from the small town of Summerland, B.C.. A place where families lived on lakefront property, an uptown dweller or a farm in the valley.  The Ingrams were tractor driving, hay bailing country girls on 15 acres with a horse named Ferrol and a goose name Henry.

I appreciate my country roots, but I was born to live in the city.  At 13, I stopped asking for barbies and started collecting housewares - my poor mother. She was supportive of my independence and managed to keep me in the house long enough to graduate, but the end of school couldn't come soon enough for me.

At grad my bags were packed and an apartment was waiting  in Vancouver.  I drove away in my 1989 ford escort (I'm now a proud Volkswagon owner) blaring Life is a Highway, wide eyed and guns a blazin. 

I adore this city, so it was an easy transition.  Since both my parents were born and raised here, the majority of our family trips were to Vancouver.  Memories of the original Stanley Park, PNE and evening trips down East Hastings are a dime a dozen. 

I vividly remember one specific trip to the beanch. I was 6. I snatched a starfish from it's cozy home under a rock in the ocean and put it under my shirt. I took it back to Grandmas where the poor thing soaked in a pale of fresh water underneath bathroom sink until mom found it about an hour later. The day ended well, at least I hope, for the starfish who was respectfully returned to its home a short while later.  As for me? I ended the night with a nasty rash and lecture from mom.  A pretty valuable lesson learned that day. 

It's been well over ten years since the move, and I haven't looked back.  Vancouverites say this often, I say this often but still I feel I just can't say it enough.  We live in the most beautiful city in the world, and I'm proud to call Vancouver my home.