My weekend? I cleaned. I moved furniture and polished faucets and washed forty-seven-thousand loads of socks; I was a whirling frenzy of airborne dust-fluffs, wearing a crown of dead spiders and a shirt made of stray hair and dryer lint. I bleached and scrubbed and wiped and sanitized. The funny thing is I still don’t feel like I was finished; there are still cluttered closets, manky corners in the fridge, piles of shoes…

Why is there always such disparity between what was accomplished and the feeling of accomplishment? This 21st Century lifestyle seems well-suited to a Type-A Multi-Tasking Madwoman… which very few of us actually are. Thank goodness I don’t have children yet! And what does ‘living simply’ actually entail? I find that now that I’ve cut wheat and dairy (and a lot of meat) from my diet, eating has become a challenge. It’s good; I’m eating more fresh fruits and veggies, thereby creating less waste and less impact on the earth in general. I suppose that living simply doesn’t always equate to living easily. I also propose that the less “stuff” I have, the more easy my so-called simple life will be.

I’ve already changed the way I’m doing things due to the astronomical gas prices. I ride my bike more, walk, take the bus, and don’t go anywhere that I don’t NEED to go to. I am of the opinion that these steepening gas prices are a good thing. In fact, living easily is probably the last thing we need more of. My generation (X/Y) has been challenged very little and has known very little lack; there’s nothing like a recession to shock a society back into reality. Fact: North Americans are (by and large) GREEDY. Self-Obsessed. Shallow. These qualities don’t make us good world citizens. The high gas prices and high food prices might just be the smack across the nose we’ve been asking for.

Whew.

Nathan is off to the races this weekend—that crazy, crazy Vernon DH. Good luck Nate! I hope you don’t come back all broken in little bits! Those insane speedboarders, I tell you…

Me, I have no particular plans, thank goodness. Sarah wants to launch a cleaning attack on her chaotic condo this weekend. Sarah's been living at her parents house since her breakup, and the condo has been pretty much empty. Her ex was going to buy her out, but he's decided that Aldergrove isn't really where he wants to be. Sarah doesn’t really want to leave the housing market if she can avoid it anyway, so she’ll buy him out instead. We went by there last week to pick up Ivy, Sarah’s cat… the cats had pretty much been left to their own devices since her ex moved in with his new girlfriend. From the looks (and the smell) of the place, her ex didn’t really want the place anyway. Ivy sure was happy to get out of there! I carried her out of the condo and held her in my arms for the whole drive; she cried a little, but she never once dug her claws in or freaked out. As for the other cat, the new girlfriend came by to pick her up later that same day, so at least the kitty wasn’t left by herself for too long.

Sunday I’ll don my gas mask and rubber gloves and help Sarah give the place a major disinfecting.

Tomorrow… I’m not even going to say what it is I want to do. I’ll just let the day unfold naturally. Here’s hoping for some sunshine and pleasant times.

This past weekend, Nate and I tripped up to the Okanagan to scope it out, and to enjoy my mom and dad’s empty house. (Supposedly they’ll have moved back into it by the end of the month… but packing seems to be progressing slo—wly).

We drove up after work on Friday, and arrived around 9pm—we were shortly thereafter joined by my brother and our childhood neighbor, Brad Cook. They arrived with beer, rum, and a desire to start a fire in the outdoor pit. Before long, Brad (a self-proclaimed rapper) was laying down the phat tracks—“Yo, yo, yo, I’m Bradley C. and I’m here hangin’ with Sandy and E-- we all be chillin’ ‘round the fi-re and I be laying the lines on the ____” He encouraged us all to freestyle with him—Sandy was pretty sauced and would sit stunned for a few moments too long before spitting out a rhyming word. It was hilarious. Brad puked a few times in mom’s garden, and I don’t remember doing anything but laughing.

The next day, Sandy woke Nate and I shockingly early with demands for breakfast—Brad couldn’t be roused. Sandy is like an angry baby crow when he is hungry—actually, he’s like an angry baby crow most of the time. We headed into Penticton for a White Spot brekkie—usually my favorite, but I keep on forgetting that it has been routinely disappointing lately; crappy coffee, and those dreaded soggy shred-style hash browns that always seem to be lukewarm. Minor grievances aside, it was nice hanging out with my brother and my guy, and having breakfast talk. We went to the farmer’s market and purchased a mish-mash of items; bison sausage, burdock, and fresh honey. The best part was bumping into old friends and neighbors, and recognizing familiar people. I found Greg McLean at the ‘Sacred Sun Body Art’ booth—I worked for him and his wife one summer travelling around to different events and fairs doing henna ‘tattoos’. It was neat seeing him again; he even let me take up my old tools and do a wicked pin-up girl in henna on my brother’s arm. It proved very popular throughout the day, though Sandy did get the seedy eye from a small group of disapproving ladies at the market.

Later, there was to be a big 35th anniversary party at Bob and Kerrel Lincoln’s house—something I would have known about sooner if I hadn’t dropped off of Facebook. (My brother is still disgusted with me for doing so—“what, are you too cool for Facebook?”) Still pooped from the night before, we decided to preface the party with a nap and a visit to Tickleberry’s for an ice-cream cone. I opted for lemon sorbet, and Nate got my fave from last year, a horribly bright ice cream called ‘Play-dough’. Sounds gross, but it’s cherry-banana-blueberry. Yum. The murals I painted still look great; I’m so glad I investigated the colourfastness of all the paints I used, and only bought the best. We inspected the T-Shirts they have put out with my artwork this year—they’re very cute, and are already proving to be big sellers! I felt quite satisfied, and not a little pride for my small-town fame. I’ve had more than my allotted 15 minutes, lucky me! (take that, Andy Warhol!)

We eventually met up with Sandy back at the house and decided to walk up through Kaleden to the Lincoln’s house to bypass any chance of any drunk driving. When we got there I was attacked by a barrage of huggers—great! It was fun to see my old schoolmates and the ‘Kaleden parents’ whooping it up together. The party was neat; it started out sweet and mellow, and progressed to saucy and wild. Bob Lincoln is well-known for the potency of his home-made wine, so I wasn’t surprised to hear about the table-dancing and other highjinx that went on after Nate and I headed home early…

We had breakfast out again the next morning, with Tamara, Brad, Josh, Sonia, Cindy and Cassie. We got to meet Tam and Brad’s new puppy, Ivy… what a cutie! (But seriously—who doesn’t like puppies?) I heard far more about what I missed after Nate and I left the party—I think I’m glad I left! The farther away I stay from trouble, the less of it I get into! Nate and I cruised Penticton after breakfast, and he bombed Carmi on his longboard—that was probably the most scared I’ve been for him while I’ve been following him and spotting for him—how much good am I in a car behind him on a blind hairpin corner? Yikes. He’s crazy. I can’t beat him, but sometimes I don’t know if I want to join him, either. He’ll be up in Vernon next weekend for the DH event there.

It was sunny and breezy and beautiful for the entire weekend—the landscape is relatively unchanged from my childhood, with the exception of more houses being built across the lake from us (more lights on the hillside at night) and the evidence of the pine beetle scourge. Sandy estimates that within the next five years, the majority of the ponderosa pines will be toast.

Anyway, lots of fun was had by all; good to stomp the hometown ground once in a while.

I figured something out today. The less it takes to "make your day," the happier you're likely to be on a daily basis. I'm not saying don't have high expectations-- I'm saying that the higher your expectations are, the higher your level of enthusiasm needs to be.

Let 'what makes you happy' be as simple as dew on grass.

Things that make me happy:

Dew on grass
Snails (both the kinds on sidewalks and the kinds you eat)
Seeing old friends
Hand-written letters
Laughing kids
Chocolate tofu pie (ask me for the recipe!!)
Good dreams
A friendly voice on the phone at work
Sunshine
Shade
Green green bushy grassy early summer

...be happy!

Which sites we surf sort of become like the stores we would have visited back in the day when you actually had to go downtown to do your shopping… only there’s no friendly clerk in the stores. The internet is weird. It gives us these illusions of interconnectedness and accomplishment.

Not that we’re not connected by the internet, and not that we don’t accomplish meaningful things online. But the humanity is dimmed and distorted; layers of courtesy and propriety are peeled back until everyone is a dancing set of sex organs and bones. It’s rude and raw, and beautiful, but it has its’ own reality—I hate to see us all forsaking a sense of real community, and solid human interrelation.

Go hug your mom.

Work is good lately. I don't talk about work a lot, because it seems to be where I focus a different kind of energy; something organizational, very left-brained. It's certainly different than what I might have expected for myself several years ago-- before I couldn't imagine myself NOT in a place where creative chaos was the reigning mode operand. I do like my current job, as I am immersed in a daily opportunity to stretch out and build up aspects of my personality that were previously dim or non-existent. It's the adolescence of my career life; the learning curve is significant.

My parents are in Mexico now... I am amazingly envious! Mexico is not my first choice for 'warm places to go', but when you're wearing fuzzy winter socks to bed in JUNE... something is not right here. I don't like this soggy cold grey nonsense-- it makes me miss Japan too much, and itch to travel when I really don't have the resources (nor time, nor rhyme, nor reason) to do so. Sarah and I have a goal of getting the office ticking like clockwork, so that if either one of us wanted to travel, it would be an easy-breezy thing. Sounds delicious, if not promptly feasible. I wonder if Mom and Dad will bring me a present?

Greedy me.

Last weekend Nate and I went to Kenmore, WA (USA) for a koi auction. We got there late, so didn't get to participate in the auction, although there were some amazingly beautiful fish up for grabs. They were mostly imports from-- (correct me if I'm wrong) Sakamoto of Hiroshima. Nate had to have some real Japanese fish to add to our international family. Unfortunately, we had to shop retail after the auction ended. Nate dropped 150$ on two koi, a feisty Sanke that we named Nozomu, and a funny Kouhaku that I named Zuma-- she has an inazuma or 'lightening' pattern in red along her spine. The fish are reeeally expensive when you factor in the $50 in gas and the $80 fee paid to the DFO inspections guy... not mention all the food the ravenous beasts slurp down. Nate's obsession with these fish sometimes give me the impression that he loves the little slimers more than me. They are pretty, but I still have issues with having a 200 gallon pond in our living room. It's so noisy...

Cancer seems to be claiming a lot of victims lately. Probably no more or less than it usually does, but when it’s hitting the people I know and love, all within a short period of time, it seems to be a more significantly malevolent force than usual.

Goodbye Ernie. What will Gerrie do without you? I remember sitting with you at Donna’s kitchen table, around Easter time last year. Your cancer clinic was closed for the Easter holiday, and so they kicked you out for the duration. Too wracked from chemo to go home, you hunkered down at Ken and Donna’s house, sleeping on the couch when you weren’t sleeping on the bed, always exhausted, never hungry, your skin thin and loose and grey. Donna had made some banana bread, and left it on the table for us, mostly hoping that you would eat something. I made some tea, and I asked you about how you met Donna’s sister, Gerrie. You smiled then; your whole being warmed up when you told me the story. Friends for years, you first met when you were working at the bar that Gerrie frequented. She went through one asshole husband, and then another, and eventually you found each other again, and ventured beyond friendship. You were great together.

Gone: Just a few months ago, my cousin Simone, the beautiful, hilarious, sparkling light of her family.
Just yesterday, Elaina, only five years old. What must her young mother be going through?

Fighting: Our family friend George, wonderful, warm and funny man—I always think of him with his eyes crinkled up and sparkling with laughter.
Gabrielle’s niece, who only recently moved to Ontario to be with the love of her life. She’s only two years older than me…

All I can do is send love, all of my love, and all of my hope. This world deals out wicked shit sometimes.

Cancer sucks.