Quote of the WEEK:
“Holding two sets of competing beliefs paralyzes them.”
-Martha Beck
I’ve been thinking about this one all week. It has been really relevant to me, as I think I have gone through much of my twenties holding two sets of competing beliefs simultaneously – ever paralyzed in one realm of my life or another. The key to getting past this is to make a choice. Any choice. Choosing is action, and action brings new choices and opportunities—so in essence, there can’t be any such thing as a bad decision. I also see this as a way to end fear about commitment. When you commit to a choice, you move forward – and even commitments have beginnings, middles and ends—so committing isn’t ‘forever’. (Thank you, Barbara Sher!) I can hack that.
Anyway.
I finally booked Taichi’s hotel for him. Wow, are Vancouver accommodations ever expensive! Poor Taichi thought he might get two hotel rooms for $200 a night (he wanted me to stay in the same hotel, as an easily accessible interpreter/tour guide/cultural hostess). Ha! Well, #1 -- I’m not so sure Nathan would have been entirely comfortable situation, and #2 – a cheapie room at the YWCA (with shared washrooms) runs $90 a night, so… I took a chance and booked him into a really beautiful suite with a Jacuzzi tub and a kitchenette and a King-sized bed. I figured if he has to spend around $180 a night for a decent two-star hotel room, he might as well spend the whole allotted $200 on himself and get something SUPERFINE. Right? Four stars for Taichi!
Other news regarding recent successes—I am pretty good at the ‘snake arms’ movement in belly dancing class. Yay for me. I have yet to master undulations. Or even really ‘get’ them, never mind ‘master’.
Oh, and the biggest best thing of all—I finally made a decision about my career. This is enormously satisfying. I had decided a little while ago, but wanted to talk to Sarah (aka my boss/best buddy) before I put it ‘out’ there. My goal is sustainable cultural immersion, therefore teaching English as a second language is a natural choice. I miss teaching, I miss the students, and I have very few ‘cons’ on my pro/con list for instructing ESL. I would love to possibly teach high school in the future, or perhaps be a travel writer— or this or that or the other thing. Any way I toss it, getting back into teaching English is a great first step towards any goal.
I finally feel empowered to want the things I really want, and not feel like I owe it to someone to behave a certain way or walk a particular path. There is no ‘straight line’ for me, and I am damn excited about it! Better than feeling apologetic for not jumping straight out of high school into a career as an art teacher, like many people assumed I would. Hooray!
The hardest thing about all of this so far is my relationship with Nathan – I suppose I did say that commitments have beginnings, middles and ends. Luckily he and I are able to talk about our relationship logically, and it’s beginning to be clear to both of us that while we may love each other, our life paths may take us in entirely separate directions. There’s no point in dragging Nate around the world if his dream is to live in the boonies raising koi and growing bonsai. And he doesn’t want to force me into loving his lifestyle either. We both already know that it won’t work. Right now we’re already living in that suspended state between two conflicting lifestyles. There is a sort generosity of spirit that comes from our being able to discuss these shiftings openly; I feel like now that the changes have been set in motion, we are enjoying each other’s company more than ever before. Now that we have been honest and clear with each other. Now that there is an ‘ending’ on the horizon.
I told you... big changes! Deep breaths, open heart.
Namaste,
Endrene
Friday, August 29, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Last night’s strange dream…
I was flying on a jumbo jet, super-jumbo, like a Passport Services waiting room in the sky. There were rows upon rows of people—this sucker was full. The guy next to me was a Japanese man. He was so small that he had to sit in a booster seat, which he seemed to take in stride.
Suddenly things started to go terribly wrong. I think I first noticed it when turbulence sent somebody not wearing their seat belt straight up in the air, like a popping popcorn kernel. The plane started to shake violently. People started to scream. I was alarmed, but not freaked out—I was just kind of taking it all in. People continued to fly haphazardly around the inside of the plane alongside bags knocked out of storage and dinner trays (which sprayed corn everywhere). People were screaming and screaming.
The worst thing was that people were starting to get abusive with one another, and that was what was truly upsetting to me. A husband and wife turned against to each other, shrieking about how they both wished they’d never married. A scared fat woman with a mustache, big brown eyes, and a lime-green coat, tried to push past us, looking for somewhere safer. People in my aisle hurled insults at her.
At some point I turned to the little Japanese man beside me. He was calmer than everyone else, like me. We looked at each other and I held one of his small hands. I was thinking, “he understands…” but then he began to profess his love for me. I felt annoyed and disgusted with him, and maddened with everyone—like everyone had it wrong. Everyone had this moment of terror to get their lives right, and everyone was wasting their energy on useless emotions—anger, fury, bitterness, regret, fear, even love and passion. In being annoyed, I felt myself losing the grip of ‘rightness’. I let go of the man’s hand and turned to watch the disaster unfold.
It didn’t. The plane righted itself. People began to get up off of the floor, move back to their seats, pick corn out of their hair. Everyone had an air of embarrassment. People began to murmur apologies, make small jokes to pretend that nothing had happened. I was so shocked—it was as though everyone had just sold their collective souls, and now they were in denial of the momentous event.
I woke up, feeling like I was choking on an angry yell.
I was flying on a jumbo jet, super-jumbo, like a Passport Services waiting room in the sky. There were rows upon rows of people—this sucker was full. The guy next to me was a Japanese man. He was so small that he had to sit in a booster seat, which he seemed to take in stride.
Suddenly things started to go terribly wrong. I think I first noticed it when turbulence sent somebody not wearing their seat belt straight up in the air, like a popping popcorn kernel. The plane started to shake violently. People started to scream. I was alarmed, but not freaked out—I was just kind of taking it all in. People continued to fly haphazardly around the inside of the plane alongside bags knocked out of storage and dinner trays (which sprayed corn everywhere). People were screaming and screaming.
The worst thing was that people were starting to get abusive with one another, and that was what was truly upsetting to me. A husband and wife turned against to each other, shrieking about how they both wished they’d never married. A scared fat woman with a mustache, big brown eyes, and a lime-green coat, tried to push past us, looking for somewhere safer. People in my aisle hurled insults at her.
At some point I turned to the little Japanese man beside me. He was calmer than everyone else, like me. We looked at each other and I held one of his small hands. I was thinking, “he understands…” but then he began to profess his love for me. I felt annoyed and disgusted with him, and maddened with everyone—like everyone had it wrong. Everyone had this moment of terror to get their lives right, and everyone was wasting their energy on useless emotions—anger, fury, bitterness, regret, fear, even love and passion. In being annoyed, I felt myself losing the grip of ‘rightness’. I let go of the man’s hand and turned to watch the disaster unfold.
It didn’t. The plane righted itself. People began to get up off of the floor, move back to their seats, pick corn out of their hair. Everyone had an air of embarrassment. People began to murmur apologies, make small jokes to pretend that nothing had happened. I was so shocked—it was as though everyone had just sold their collective souls, and now they were in denial of the momentous event.
I woke up, feeling like I was choking on an angry yell.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Another weekend past—another week closer to September! This is the time of year that we all start to wonder what the heck happened to summer. Particularly if a) you are going back to school (which I am not) or b) you live in a climate which is rapidly cooling (which I do). I am especially annoyed by the waning days, as summer took far too long to get here in the first place. The cool beginnings made for a fantastic and extended blossom season, but the hot-hot days were far too few and far between.
My friend and former student Taichi Nakamura is coming to Vancouver in a couple of weeks. I am his designated tour guide, and I am feeling a little bit panicked as he wants to do the following in the space of three days: Go to Queen Elizabeth Park. See Canada Place. Go hiking. Ride a ferry to Victoria. See Butchart Gardens. Eat smoked salmon and oysters… OK, so it isn’t so bad. I’m just feeling a huge wave of overpowering obligation because I always have this sort of NEED to show Japanese people (any Japanese people, this includes strangers on the Skytrain too) how great BC is. And how nice and polite Canadians are (even if my own experience with my people might illustrate otherwise at times).
Anyway. He also wants me to book his hotel, and pick him up at the airport, and I am anxious because I’m not sure I’ll pick the right hotel. And I’m embarrassed by my junky little red go-cart car with the enormous crack in the windshield and the pervasive smell of wet dog—even though I don’t own a dog.
Why am I panicked? Why does this matter so much?
As long as he has fun, I’ll have fun too. And he’s never been here before, so he can’t have too many expectations—I hope.
My friend and former student Taichi Nakamura is coming to Vancouver in a couple of weeks. I am his designated tour guide, and I am feeling a little bit panicked as he wants to do the following in the space of three days: Go to Queen Elizabeth Park. See Canada Place. Go hiking. Ride a ferry to Victoria. See Butchart Gardens. Eat smoked salmon and oysters… OK, so it isn’t so bad. I’m just feeling a huge wave of overpowering obligation because I always have this sort of NEED to show Japanese people (any Japanese people, this includes strangers on the Skytrain too) how great BC is. And how nice and polite Canadians are (even if my own experience with my people might illustrate otherwise at times).
Anyway. He also wants me to book his hotel, and pick him up at the airport, and I am anxious because I’m not sure I’ll pick the right hotel. And I’m embarrassed by my junky little red go-cart car with the enormous crack in the windshield and the pervasive smell of wet dog—even though I don’t own a dog.
Why am I panicked? Why does this matter so much?
As long as he has fun, I’ll have fun too. And he’s never been here before, so he can’t have too many expectations—I hope.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I broke through.
I’ve been stuck, frustrated and deeply annoyed with myself, until 6:47pm on Tuesday evening.
I have been reading “I COULD DO ANYTHING, If I Only Knew What it Was” by Barbara Sher. At first, I was elated, because the exercises at the beginning of the book really led me to plow through the junk piles of “what if” and “I should” and “maybe I ought to”. I began to peel away my scabby guilt-gobs, to see what was plugging up the portal of my potential. A whole lot of stuff, it turns out!
I’ve been so afraid. Afraid to commit. Afraid to plunge into the depths of my abilities. Afraid to go for what I really wanted, because it’s always been easier to stay in roles where I knew how to please, how to be the ‘good employee’, the ‘good girl’. Not surprisingly, bringing these things into my complete consciousness unleashed a torrent of anger. I was furious at myself for wasting my own time, for not figuring this out sooner. Thankfully, Barbara Sher continually reminded me to be gentle with myself, to be forgiving—you can’t get angry at a car that doesn’t go, if the problem is that it’s out of gas. And you can’t get angry at yourself for utilizing the coping mechanisms you learned as a kid. All you can do is realize that you’re a grown-up now, and it’s time to find a better way to do things. A more fruitful way.
Regardless, I was still mad. I couldn’t find myself in the second part of the book, the part of the book that breaks down the various types of blockages and tells you what to do about them. I was getting frantic, reading three chapters at once, flipping between them, hoping the next page would be the one with the mirror.
On 6:47pm on Tuesday evening I found it, I found the mirror. I was trying to gulp down the last of the three chapters before my counseling session, so if nothing else, I could at least say to Gerry “I tried to use the book, but it didn’t work for me”. But it did!
I am a ‘Frustrated Diver’. To everyone on the outside, I appear to be a ‘Scanner’ (someone who needs to do and taste and try a little bit of everything). But what I really am is someone who desperately wants to dive, to get really deep into something—but I have allowed my fears to keep me floating on the surface. My fears have turned me into “Odd Job Joe” (as my brother once so kindly put it).
I think I instinctively knew that it was my high-speed scanning that sent me into my high-speed wobble, so I forced myself to try and ‘settle down’—because from the outside, that seemed like the good, normal, sane thing to do. I don’t think I thought very much about whether or not it was what I really wanted for myself. I got the job, the basement suite, the fish tank, the fiancé. Then I sat back and waited for the happiness to come. And it didn’t.
I pushed too hard. I tried to follow rules that were never really there. I tried to be the “good girl”.
Now everything is starting to open up again. I’m starting to feel passion and hope come flooding back in. I’m making plans. I’m dreaming dreams. I realize the next bits of my life might be scary and difficult— I'll have to make some big changes. But I realize that I’ll learn so much more than I ever could sitting still. I also realize that I can make these big changes by taking small steps.
I’ll be doing a lot more for the world by being wholly myself than I ever will by trying to ‘behave’ for the make-believe ‘someone else’.
I’ve been stuck, frustrated and deeply annoyed with myself, until 6:47pm on Tuesday evening.
I have been reading “I COULD DO ANYTHING, If I Only Knew What it Was” by Barbara Sher. At first, I was elated, because the exercises at the beginning of the book really led me to plow through the junk piles of “what if” and “I should” and “maybe I ought to”. I began to peel away my scabby guilt-gobs, to see what was plugging up the portal of my potential. A whole lot of stuff, it turns out!
I’ve been so afraid. Afraid to commit. Afraid to plunge into the depths of my abilities. Afraid to go for what I really wanted, because it’s always been easier to stay in roles where I knew how to please, how to be the ‘good employee’, the ‘good girl’. Not surprisingly, bringing these things into my complete consciousness unleashed a torrent of anger. I was furious at myself for wasting my own time, for not figuring this out sooner. Thankfully, Barbara Sher continually reminded me to be gentle with myself, to be forgiving—you can’t get angry at a car that doesn’t go, if the problem is that it’s out of gas. And you can’t get angry at yourself for utilizing the coping mechanisms you learned as a kid. All you can do is realize that you’re a grown-up now, and it’s time to find a better way to do things. A more fruitful way.
Regardless, I was still mad. I couldn’t find myself in the second part of the book, the part of the book that breaks down the various types of blockages and tells you what to do about them. I was getting frantic, reading three chapters at once, flipping between them, hoping the next page would be the one with the mirror.
On 6:47pm on Tuesday evening I found it, I found the mirror. I was trying to gulp down the last of the three chapters before my counseling session, so if nothing else, I could at least say to Gerry “I tried to use the book, but it didn’t work for me”. But it did!
I am a ‘Frustrated Diver’. To everyone on the outside, I appear to be a ‘Scanner’ (someone who needs to do and taste and try a little bit of everything). But what I really am is someone who desperately wants to dive, to get really deep into something—but I have allowed my fears to keep me floating on the surface. My fears have turned me into “Odd Job Joe” (as my brother once so kindly put it).
I think I instinctively knew that it was my high-speed scanning that sent me into my high-speed wobble, so I forced myself to try and ‘settle down’—because from the outside, that seemed like the good, normal, sane thing to do. I don’t think I thought very much about whether or not it was what I really wanted for myself. I got the job, the basement suite, the fish tank, the fiancé. Then I sat back and waited for the happiness to come. And it didn’t.
I pushed too hard. I tried to follow rules that were never really there. I tried to be the “good girl”.
Now everything is starting to open up again. I’m starting to feel passion and hope come flooding back in. I’m making plans. I’m dreaming dreams. I realize the next bits of my life might be scary and difficult— I'll have to make some big changes. But I realize that I’ll learn so much more than I ever could sitting still. I also realize that I can make these big changes by taking small steps.
I’ll be doing a lot more for the world by being wholly myself than I ever will by trying to ‘behave’ for the make-believe ‘someone else’.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I hate it when nuts get caught in my teeth. I just mauled one of those Sweet and Salty Mixed Nut bars and a chunk has lodged itself in the small black hole that appeared behind my meat shredding teeth, following the loss of a filling. I don’t like nuts in my teeth, but I don’t like the dentist more. It’s a good thing that I am a habitual flosser.
Why are we all so sad? When did apathy become cool? Long before Emo, long before goth cool, before grunge… I remember how I savoured and coveted my little store of private enthusiasm in high-school. I couldn’t wait until University! Where everyone would be happy! Pep rallies! Football games and sunny days and ponytails and shiny white teeth!
Wow. Was I ever disappointed. My 1950’s Pop-Dream was dashed to pieces on the cold ubiquitous cement walls of SFU, circa 1997.
I have been drifting, searching for enthusiasm. Only recently have I discovered that my pervasive habit of stuffing desire down whenever it peeks up has been responsible for suffocating enthusiasm before it can shriek its announcement of life. It’s time to let desire and passion and gusto breathe freely. Hey, everybody! I’ve decided that I DON’T CARE if you think I’m odd when I blow bubbles on the beach, when I sing out loud in my car, when I start wiggling with joy over good gelato (or these days, over a good rice cracker with antipasto)!
Here’s the thing—being happy in and of yourself is MAGNETIC. It attracts good things to you; good people, prime situations, awesome opportunities. You know this if you’ve read the Secret, if you’ve read A New Earth—hell, you know it if you’ve taken the time to read the back of a box of Froot Loops. We get happiness and satisfaction out of deciding to be happy.
Making the decision, and following through on it isn’t easy, though. Maybe that’s why we all stay stuck and sad. Because there is no purple pill that can infuse us with this understanding. Being happy is work, even HARD work. But I think it’s worth it.
Why are we all so sad? When did apathy become cool? Long before Emo, long before goth cool, before grunge… I remember how I savoured and coveted my little store of private enthusiasm in high-school. I couldn’t wait until University! Where everyone would be happy! Pep rallies! Football games and sunny days and ponytails and shiny white teeth!
Wow. Was I ever disappointed. My 1950’s Pop-Dream was dashed to pieces on the cold ubiquitous cement walls of SFU, circa 1997.
I have been drifting, searching for enthusiasm. Only recently have I discovered that my pervasive habit of stuffing desire down whenever it peeks up has been responsible for suffocating enthusiasm before it can shriek its announcement of life. It’s time to let desire and passion and gusto breathe freely. Hey, everybody! I’ve decided that I DON’T CARE if you think I’m odd when I blow bubbles on the beach, when I sing out loud in my car, when I start wiggling with joy over good gelato (or these days, over a good rice cracker with antipasto)!
Here’s the thing—being happy in and of yourself is MAGNETIC. It attracts good things to you; good people, prime situations, awesome opportunities. You know this if you’ve read the Secret, if you’ve read A New Earth—hell, you know it if you’ve taken the time to read the back of a box of Froot Loops. We get happiness and satisfaction out of deciding to be happy.
Making the decision, and following through on it isn’t easy, though. Maybe that’s why we all stay stuck and sad. Because there is no purple pill that can infuse us with this understanding. Being happy is work, even HARD work. But I think it’s worth it.
Friday, August 15, 2008
I was looking at some of my posts from when I lived in Japan, and decided to scroll thought them randomly. I ended up selecting December 5th, 2006… which began with my tale of woe about “chronic (something) of the patellae” – knee trouble—and ended with me sobbing into my clean socks in the laundry room of Dia Palace Sakosanbancho, Tokushima. Habit of Happiness? I was slipping there.
The entry previous to that one was a slap-dash list of the events I experienced in Kyoto when I travelled there with Ume and her mom—it brought back glimmers of memories that I had almost forgotten about. Like wandering around the labyrinth of the geisha district, hoping to see one; eating tiny perfectly shaped creamy Kyoto tofu in a restaurant the size of a small bedroom; sitting among the little red-dressed buddhas and slabs of indecipherable carved rocks on Inariyama, watching the yellow leaves drift down. We even experienced a “Fox’s Wedding” on Inariyama—when the sun shines and the rain falls at the same time. It was gorgeous, and perfect, because we were near an Inari shrine at that moment, and Inari is a shape-shifting goddess whose primary messengers are white foxes. Additionally, I sort of took the foxes on as my patron spirits while I lived in Japan, and never passed up an opportunity to stop at a fox shrine if I came across one. (Although most of my male Japanese friends did not think highly of the foxes—they are associated with sneaky devious female wiles—which might conversely be why I liked them so much).
Anyway—back to the sobbing in the socks part. I was lonely. I didn’t know what I was doing, and yet I look back, and I can see that I WAS doing. Doing something. Teaching. Working. Exploring. I think what happened was once the newness and freshness of my adventure wore off, I was once again struck with a crisis of meaning. I knew all the dirty words in Japanese, and a good smattering of clean ones. I had been to an onsen, eaten fugu, dressed up like a geisha. I wanted (and still do want) to have my work, my time on this earth, be of some value and significance—and not just to myself. I want work that engages me fully AND presents opportunities for adventure AND does good things for others. I will find this work! It is my solemn promise to myself. Additionally, a friend of mine reminded me that I had given myself until this coming September to figure out what my next move would be, and she’s going to hold me to it—so if I can’t do it for me, I can always do it for someone else! (^_~)
I’m working on this, I really am. There is nothing I want more than to bring the wholeness of myself—my creativity, empathy, my ability to create beauty, my own particular ‘light’—to the world, and share it as a gift, as I was meant to. Remember this, everyone: in the history of the universe, there will never be another person exactly like you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Endrene wholeheartedly recommends “I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was” by Barbara Sher… the best first step she has ever come across for finding your true calling!
The entry previous to that one was a slap-dash list of the events I experienced in Kyoto when I travelled there with Ume and her mom—it brought back glimmers of memories that I had almost forgotten about. Like wandering around the labyrinth of the geisha district, hoping to see one; eating tiny perfectly shaped creamy Kyoto tofu in a restaurant the size of a small bedroom; sitting among the little red-dressed buddhas and slabs of indecipherable carved rocks on Inariyama, watching the yellow leaves drift down. We even experienced a “Fox’s Wedding” on Inariyama—when the sun shines and the rain falls at the same time. It was gorgeous, and perfect, because we were near an Inari shrine at that moment, and Inari is a shape-shifting goddess whose primary messengers are white foxes. Additionally, I sort of took the foxes on as my patron spirits while I lived in Japan, and never passed up an opportunity to stop at a fox shrine if I came across one. (Although most of my male Japanese friends did not think highly of the foxes—they are associated with sneaky devious female wiles—which might conversely be why I liked them so much).
Anyway—back to the sobbing in the socks part. I was lonely. I didn’t know what I was doing, and yet I look back, and I can see that I WAS doing. Doing something. Teaching. Working. Exploring. I think what happened was once the newness and freshness of my adventure wore off, I was once again struck with a crisis of meaning. I knew all the dirty words in Japanese, and a good smattering of clean ones. I had been to an onsen, eaten fugu, dressed up like a geisha. I wanted (and still do want) to have my work, my time on this earth, be of some value and significance—and not just to myself. I want work that engages me fully AND presents opportunities for adventure AND does good things for others. I will find this work! It is my solemn promise to myself. Additionally, a friend of mine reminded me that I had given myself until this coming September to figure out what my next move would be, and she’s going to hold me to it—so if I can’t do it for me, I can always do it for someone else! (^_~)
I’m working on this, I really am. There is nothing I want more than to bring the wholeness of myself—my creativity, empathy, my ability to create beauty, my own particular ‘light’—to the world, and share it as a gift, as I was meant to. Remember this, everyone: in the history of the universe, there will never be another person exactly like you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Endrene wholeheartedly recommends “I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was” by Barbara Sher… the best first step she has ever come across for finding your true calling!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I got clipped by a truck when I was riding my bike today-- he knocked me right off my bike, and I tumbled to the shoulder of the road. I was unhurt-- but geez! I sat up quickly enough to see him drive away... luckily I got his license plate number. Who DOES that? Who hits a person and drives away? Ha! The cops are after you now, buddy! I might not have called them if you'd actually stopped to see if I was OK! Wienerhead!
Karma gets you every time, and sometimes Karma comes in a police cruiser. Speaking of which, I guess I have to earn up a little more good karma if I'm the one getting smacked by pickup trucks...
Wear your helmet, folks!
Karma gets you every time, and sometimes Karma comes in a police cruiser. Speaking of which, I guess I have to earn up a little more good karma if I'm the one getting smacked by pickup trucks...
Wear your helmet, folks!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Mom and Dad’s party is over and done! Thanks so much to all of those who helped out!
Sarah acted as our photographer, as the one I had booked had a family emergency. We (Sandy, Nathan, Katie, Mom and Dad and I) all met up at the Japanese Garden in Penticton, next to the art gallery… a good location for some arty shots! We went to Earl’s following that to have lunch. We finished eating a little sooner than I expected to, and Mom was pushing to go home for a nap. Luckily the Penticton Pipe Band was there as well, having lunch after the Peach Fest parade… a good temporary distraction for Mom and Dad, which bought us some time. (They both used to be movers and shakers in the Pipe Band back when Sandy was their bass drummer).
We took East Side Road along Skaha Lake to stretch the time out just a little more. When we arrived at mom and dad’s house in Kaleden, I was surprised that there were no cars parked in front of the house, no decorations on the deck… where was everyone? Did they forget to come? When we opened the front door, I saw the “Happy 40th Anniversary” banner strung up on the banister, balloons… but still silence. This was going well! Mom and Dad cautiously moved into the foyer as we hung back. I had butterflies in my stomach for them! As they started up the stairs, I could see that everyone was gathered around the top landing, looking down… and they all shouted SURPRISE! I think the best thing for me was my parent’s reactions when they saw some of the folks I had managed to gather up… Sandy’s and my babysitter from Port Moody, old family friends and co-workers from ‘way back, church friends and family members. Some people couldn’t make it, but as the house was full it all worked out as it was meant to. Sandy and his friends looked after the meat and the alcohol, me and my friends (and Sandy’s girlfriend’s mom, Judy) managed the salads and snacks.
My first surprise party! The first one I have ever been a part of anyway… success! But for the 50th, they had better plan their own party! After this, I’m through with social planning… (^_~)
Sarah acted as our photographer, as the one I had booked had a family emergency. We (Sandy, Nathan, Katie, Mom and Dad and I) all met up at the Japanese Garden in Penticton, next to the art gallery… a good location for some arty shots! We went to Earl’s following that to have lunch. We finished eating a little sooner than I expected to, and Mom was pushing to go home for a nap. Luckily the Penticton Pipe Band was there as well, having lunch after the Peach Fest parade… a good temporary distraction for Mom and Dad, which bought us some time. (They both used to be movers and shakers in the Pipe Band back when Sandy was their bass drummer).
We took East Side Road along Skaha Lake to stretch the time out just a little more. When we arrived at mom and dad’s house in Kaleden, I was surprised that there were no cars parked in front of the house, no decorations on the deck… where was everyone? Did they forget to come? When we opened the front door, I saw the “Happy 40th Anniversary” banner strung up on the banister, balloons… but still silence. This was going well! Mom and Dad cautiously moved into the foyer as we hung back. I had butterflies in my stomach for them! As they started up the stairs, I could see that everyone was gathered around the top landing, looking down… and they all shouted SURPRISE! I think the best thing for me was my parent’s reactions when they saw some of the folks I had managed to gather up… Sandy’s and my babysitter from Port Moody, old family friends and co-workers from ‘way back, church friends and family members. Some people couldn’t make it, but as the house was full it all worked out as it was meant to. Sandy and his friends looked after the meat and the alcohol, me and my friends (and Sandy’s girlfriend’s mom, Judy) managed the salads and snacks.
My first surprise party! The first one I have ever been a part of anyway… success! But for the 50th, they had better plan their own party! After this, I’m through with social planning… (^_~)
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Here's what everybody needs to know: I don't know what I want. I don't know where I want to live, what I want to do, when, how, I don't KNOW anything. Maybe I want to live in Penticton. Maybe I want to live in Nanaimo. Maybe I want to live in India and become a Buddhist nun. Maybe not.
Please don't hold me accountable to making decisions that suit your vision of who you think I am. Give me space, time, and a forum for expressing what I have learned and what I realize I have NOT learned.
I'll figure it out eventually. In the meantime, don't judge, yo.
Please don't hold me accountable to making decisions that suit your vision of who you think I am. Give me space, time, and a forum for expressing what I have learned and what I realize I have NOT learned.
I'll figure it out eventually. In the meantime, don't judge, yo.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
I decided at the last minute to go to the island with Nathan. So much for all of the “should haves”. Besides, how am I supposed to know ‘what’s in it for me’ unless I make an effort to find out?
I really liked Nanaimo—at least the part of it where we were, in Harewood or ‘University Town’. Harewood isn’t too far from Nanaimo proper, the notorious downtown with the ancient bastion, cute little harbour and myriads of crackheads. Harewood is low-end, with huge potential. Lots of 40’s era quirky abodes housing students, Hell’s Angels, and stray cats; all sporting yards with dried-out grass lawns. And in the case of Nathan’s friend Aaron’s place, pots full of colourful fake flowers (he and his girl Jennie readily admit to an absence of green thumbs in their household). I think the rent they are paying for their 2-bedroom house-and-yard is roughly equivalent to what Nate and I are dishing out for the one-bedroom basement suite in Aldergrove. I think Aldergrove should pay ME to live here.
Anyway, Nanaimo stuck me as dirty and sweet—ripe for a little cultural revolution. There are some arty-funky shops downtown which always bolsters my spirit. It seemed like the more icky-type shops (Pawn Shops, XXX Video Stores and the Hydroponic Supply) were shut down. That’s since the last time I was there, about a year ago. I found my imagination scrambling to imagine what business I would run if the storefront was mine… a futurizing activity I haven’t partaken of in a while. I guess Nanaimo inspired me a little. I’ve always been a sucker for potential!
When we first arrived, Nate quickly involved us in a hike to some waterfalls with his buddies Jeremy and Griffin, and two other guys. These are the type of guys who are made out of elastic bands. They eat McDonalds. They skateboard and do backflips off of sandpiles. They can climb like monkies and fly like squirrels and recover from a hangover in the space of a couple of hours. In short, they were young, healthy, and fully capable of kicking my ass. I didn’t realize that I had something to prove, until I couldn’t prove anything…
Yeah. So the waterfalls? Lovely. One after another tumbling into each other in a deep, ferny, mossy, cool forest. Getting to them required navigating some goat paths and then rappelling down some steepish dirt paths, and THEN (to get to the bottom two waterfalls) rappelling down a rock face. I use the term “rappelling” in the loosest sense. What I mean is that there was some nasty old plastic rope with knots in it, tied around a tree at the top of the rock face, and I squealed and grunted all the way down, hoping to hell that if I fell that Nate would catch me (or that I wouldn’t kill him if I fell on him). I made it down. I was pumped full of adrenaline! I was awesome! I rewarded myself with a panty-and-bra dip in the frigid second-waterfall pool. The monkey boys scaled a rock face to the bottom pool. I took some pictures, waited and wandered a bit. Admired ferns. Then, slap, bang, time to go! One monkey up the rock face, two monkeys, three… and this little piggy stayed home.
I couldn’t do it. Could not. I tried with shoes and without. I tried to find another path. I tried with Nathan below, trying to hoist my bountiful booty up, up, up… Couldn’t do it. The monkeys were gone, long gone. Just me and Nathan, stuck at Waterfall Two. What if we were stuck there forever? What if a bear could smell my fear and decided to come and eat me?
Thank goodness Nate stayed with me to find a solution. We ended up traversing up the mossy ferny pitch to our immediate right, pulling ourselves nearly on our stomachs through the brambles and snails. I had dirt in my panties. I had spiders in my bra. But I wanted to live, I wanted to escape!
The monkeys came back, hooting “HALOOOoooo” through the woods until the located us from a vantage point above, and directed us the last bit of the way up to the path. They had all gone all the way back to the cars before they realized that we weren’t ahead of them. Or behind them.
Getting back to the cars was satisfying, a victory. I didn’t prove anything to anybody but myself—and that is, that I can survive. Ha! Take that, imaginary bears! You didn’t eat me, after all!
The rest of the weekend was fun, if less death-defying (by my standards). We saw “Dark Knight” and slept on a futon. I visited Jess and Ryan in Courtenay, and built sandcastles (or one big sand mound, really) with Colin and Anna-Maria’s kids. I found a starfish and hermit crabs and a very interesting baby sea-slug. (fluorescent orange boobily-tendril body with neon-blue antennae—like a crawling anemone). I smiled into the sun. I took pictures of the ocean.
It’s weird to me how our ‘long weekends’ are just big party weekends, with no common purpose. You can go camping or hiking, boozing, cruising or snoozing. There’s no real guideline for how a Canadian holiday MUST be celebrated. (Other than Canada Day, which means wearing red and white and having flags painted on your cheeks and watching fireworks). I think it’s nice, the autonomy to choose. I also think it’s sad, as we’re missing that “piece of a bigger pie” feeling that I got at hana-mi or hana-bi festivals in Japan.
Regardless. I had fun. And I survived!
I really liked Nanaimo—at least the part of it where we were, in Harewood or ‘University Town’. Harewood isn’t too far from Nanaimo proper, the notorious downtown with the ancient bastion, cute little harbour and myriads of crackheads. Harewood is low-end, with huge potential. Lots of 40’s era quirky abodes housing students, Hell’s Angels, and stray cats; all sporting yards with dried-out grass lawns. And in the case of Nathan’s friend Aaron’s place, pots full of colourful fake flowers (he and his girl Jennie readily admit to an absence of green thumbs in their household). I think the rent they are paying for their 2-bedroom house-and-yard is roughly equivalent to what Nate and I are dishing out for the one-bedroom basement suite in Aldergrove. I think Aldergrove should pay ME to live here.
Anyway, Nanaimo stuck me as dirty and sweet—ripe for a little cultural revolution. There are some arty-funky shops downtown which always bolsters my spirit. It seemed like the more icky-type shops (Pawn Shops, XXX Video Stores and the Hydroponic Supply) were shut down. That’s since the last time I was there, about a year ago. I found my imagination scrambling to imagine what business I would run if the storefront was mine… a futurizing activity I haven’t partaken of in a while. I guess Nanaimo inspired me a little. I’ve always been a sucker for potential!
When we first arrived, Nate quickly involved us in a hike to some waterfalls with his buddies Jeremy and Griffin, and two other guys. These are the type of guys who are made out of elastic bands. They eat McDonalds. They skateboard and do backflips off of sandpiles. They can climb like monkies and fly like squirrels and recover from a hangover in the space of a couple of hours. In short, they were young, healthy, and fully capable of kicking my ass. I didn’t realize that I had something to prove, until I couldn’t prove anything…
Yeah. So the waterfalls? Lovely. One after another tumbling into each other in a deep, ferny, mossy, cool forest. Getting to them required navigating some goat paths and then rappelling down some steepish dirt paths, and THEN (to get to the bottom two waterfalls) rappelling down a rock face. I use the term “rappelling” in the loosest sense. What I mean is that there was some nasty old plastic rope with knots in it, tied around a tree at the top of the rock face, and I squealed and grunted all the way down, hoping to hell that if I fell that Nate would catch me (or that I wouldn’t kill him if I fell on him). I made it down. I was pumped full of adrenaline! I was awesome! I rewarded myself with a panty-and-bra dip in the frigid second-waterfall pool. The monkey boys scaled a rock face to the bottom pool. I took some pictures, waited and wandered a bit. Admired ferns. Then, slap, bang, time to go! One monkey up the rock face, two monkeys, three… and this little piggy stayed home.
I couldn’t do it. Could not. I tried with shoes and without. I tried to find another path. I tried with Nathan below, trying to hoist my bountiful booty up, up, up… Couldn’t do it. The monkeys were gone, long gone. Just me and Nathan, stuck at Waterfall Two. What if we were stuck there forever? What if a bear could smell my fear and decided to come and eat me?
Thank goodness Nate stayed with me to find a solution. We ended up traversing up the mossy ferny pitch to our immediate right, pulling ourselves nearly on our stomachs through the brambles and snails. I had dirt in my panties. I had spiders in my bra. But I wanted to live, I wanted to escape!
The monkeys came back, hooting “HALOOOoooo” through the woods until the located us from a vantage point above, and directed us the last bit of the way up to the path. They had all gone all the way back to the cars before they realized that we weren’t ahead of them. Or behind them.
Getting back to the cars was satisfying, a victory. I didn’t prove anything to anybody but myself—and that is, that I can survive. Ha! Take that, imaginary bears! You didn’t eat me, after all!
The rest of the weekend was fun, if less death-defying (by my standards). We saw “Dark Knight” and slept on a futon. I visited Jess and Ryan in Courtenay, and built sandcastles (or one big sand mound, really) with Colin and Anna-Maria’s kids. I found a starfish and hermit crabs and a very interesting baby sea-slug. (fluorescent orange boobily-tendril body with neon-blue antennae—like a crawling anemone). I smiled into the sun. I took pictures of the ocean.
It’s weird to me how our ‘long weekends’ are just big party weekends, with no common purpose. You can go camping or hiking, boozing, cruising or snoozing. There’s no real guideline for how a Canadian holiday MUST be celebrated. (Other than Canada Day, which means wearing red and white and having flags painted on your cheeks and watching fireworks). I think it’s nice, the autonomy to choose. I also think it’s sad, as we’re missing that “piece of a bigger pie” feeling that I got at hana-mi or hana-bi festivals in Japan.
Regardless. I had fun. And I survived!
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