Brought this to work in my pocket today. It is from my “Dalai Lama Quote per Day” Calendar, and it was just so good, I couldn’t leave it sitting on top my dishwasher:
“Merely thinking that compassion and reason and patience are good will not be enough to develop them. We must wait for difficulties to arise and then attempt to practice them.”
That Dalai Lama… you gotta love him and his big smiling heart.

Hard to believe the weekend has already rolled around again! Nathan and I went to an Outlaw race in Britannia Beach (near Squamish, on Hwy 99) last weekend. It was fun; there was enough safety and control involved so that I wasn’t entirely freaked out. I volunteered on one of the corners, and waved the speedboarders through if it was safe to proceed (it always was). Nate’s Switchback team member, Jeremy Banting, came in third in the race. I found this highly amusing, because the name “Banting” has the ring of authority in the Speedboarding circles (at least as far as I know… which isn’t very far)… and Jeremy… well. Jeremy just doesn’t strike me as a figure of authority. More a figure of comedy; the straight-man to Kelsey’s wild card. I didn’t put “Jeremy” and “Banting” together until last weekend. (go to http://www.switchbacklongboards.com/ and click on ‘Team’ to see the guys I am talking about. I don’t think they have many groupies yet, so they’ll gladly accept a few more).

I like it when the events are good clean fun, like last weekend’s race. The longboarders are mostly respectful and informative to curious passerby and interlopers. But then you get the occasional assholic personality, and they ruin it for the other guys (and girls). The big championships in Maryhill WA saw some of those badass people, and now the nearby town no longer wants to have anything to do with speedboaring events. I mean—these smalltown people opened up their hearts, volunteered, let these guys (and girls) camp, provided facilities for them, even fed them all breakfast… and then a few narrow-minded individuals went and spray painted graffiti and broke mirrors and tipped sculptures, and generally caused thousands of dollars of damage, and irreparably damaged the relationship between the townsfolk and the speedboarders. I mean, who wants to open their doors to hoodlums?

I’ll continue to support the speedboarders, but only the nice ones who don’t say the F-word in front of children, and take the time to educate the skeptics. No point in hating the haters… they only hate what they fear. So erase the fear with knowledge, and you erase the hate. Hey speedboarders: listen to the Dalai Lama, yo.

This weekend Nate and I are heading up to see mom in Kaleden. I’m hoping that I’ll have some free time to say—go for breakfast at White Spot with some of my home-town homies. 10 am Saturday morning? See you there!

It's overcast today, cool. Spotlets of rain are starting to pounce into the dust of the yard here and there. It smells like the fibreglass guys next door are busy-- it's a poisonous stench. I won't miss that when I'm gone from here.

I feel a little overwhelmed lately, with emotions that shift like an undertow, invisible to the people around me.

Autumn is like this. Always changing, often unpredictably.

I went for a walk as soon as the lunch bell went. I need more alone time than I have been getting, especially as I am about to launch back into the nonstop social melee of school again. I thought about a few things; about how Nathan is determined to move to Nanaimo, and how I support him on this decision, not really knowing what it means for ‘us’. About the job in Tokushima that Bubu has emailed me about. About the fact that I have been criticized quite a lot in the past few years for ‘being in my head’ too much… when actually, it’s quite a nice place to be. My head is the place that produces my artwork, my dreams and my plans. I like going there, being there.

But I guess I have to come back from it, too. It’s not a place to stay. It’s not a place of actuality and accomplishment. What was that quote I read recently… “We tend to judge ourselves by our intentions, while the world judges us by our actions”. In fact, I think I put that quote in this blog already last month.

I guess it’s pertinent right now.

We're already gearing up for the Christmas party (though I might not be part of it, if I've got a new job by then). Regardless, Sarah got us to fill out 'Wish Lists' of things that we all might like to have at the Christmas Auction. We do an auction every month, with things like gift certificates for the Spaghetti Factory and the movies. But the Christmas auction will be BIG! I wished for a Nintendo Wii and a basket full of wine and cheese and chocolate. But you've got to see this list -(this is from Justin, one of the production workers):

Bottle of Gin
30 Case of Molson
Strippers
Ounce of Kush
Canuck Tickets
HD TV
Hot-tub full of Playboy Bunnies
No Dish Days for a Year

This guy cracks me up. He's not all there, but he's got a wicked sense of humor. He's once asked me, upon hearing hearing that I lived in Japan, whether I had ever "encountered Godzilla".

Excitement of the day: we got a new fax machine in the office (exactly like the old one, in fact) and we played with the plastic bags, putting them on our heads like stupid white flat chef hats. Don’t worry, mom. We were careful. No one suffocated... this time.

Here is a list of several things that I want to do. That I’m going to do. No point in feeling divided about what I should do, what I shouldn’t. No point in shoulds at all. There aren’t even any priorities, not really… I figure everything will happen within the time period that is meant to happen within. Maybe these are those “Autumn New Year’s Resolutions I was talking about...

* Learn more about celebrating Japanese holidays (loved the sense of consistent ongoing and upcoming rituals when I was living there, don’t feel so connected to the Catholic rituals that used to have a lot of meaning for me)

* Find a church/spiritual group that jives with my own whacked sense of values and goodness and compassion…I want to look further into Buddhism. Too many Christians (not all, mind you) don’t walk the talk, and I’m not willing to rejoin that flock.

* Buy a laptop computer with wireless internet.

* Start working on my CELTA pre-task. Ok, this one really is a priority.

* Own a dog! Or—we’ll start with living somewhere that I can own a dog…yeah. Maybe… it’s prissy, but I really like Papillions. And wiener dogs. Big dogs typically have better attitudes, but they eat a lot. And poop a lot… But if I get a little one, I promise I won’t dress it in ridiculous outfits. Except maybe for Halloween.

* Get a new (non-dead) camera. Go on photo-walks. I got this idea from Maggie Ann (http://mostsincerely.squarespace.com) but I realize that I used to do it all the time as a hobby when I lived in Tokushima. It was a way to really get intimate with the shapes and colours of my surroundings, instead of just taking them for granted.

* Move to a place that has an ocean nearby. And a bathtub. I’m sooooo tired of only showering all the time… it feels incomplete.

* Build a Japanese style house and garden, of my own design, from scratch. (With help, of course).

* Go to the Burning Man Festival.

* Put a bid in for painting that huge Centennial mural in my home town. That would be so much fun!

* Actually thoroughly follow all of the advice that my Naturopath has given to me.

* Laugh more. And more! AND MORE! I can do this by hanging out with more funny people. You know who you are, and you know you want to hang out sometime. Call me. (^-~)

* Pay for a haircut the next time instead of doing it myself. Knowing what I want and being able to perform the actions to get what I want – in this case, the two do not jive!

* Live abroad again.

* Buy some new socks and underwear. Get rid of some old socks and underwear, and shoes and books and knick-knacks that clutter up my life as opposed to filling it with happy memories. As much as I like having new things, I like having few things even better.

This… is a good beginning.

I noticed I said 'crunchy' more than once in my previous post. Must have been my buzzword that day.

Tachi has been and gone. What a whirlwind weekend! He arrived Friday, 11am. We checked him in, went for lunch at a Greek restaurant (the FIRST TIME he ate Greek food!), walked along the Beach across from Vanier Park, and then took one of the mini-ferries to Granville Island.

Taichi was amazed by the following: The fact that all the cars drive with their lights on during the day ("for safety," I said). The flashing 'stop' hand signal at the crosswalk (he thought it looked like someone waving and beckoning. In Japan, the 'don't walk' signal is a picture of a figure standing still). Fruit and veggies in the market, loosely and freely piled up (in Japan, everything is wrapped in singles and pairs and threes).

Everything was amazing to him. I was so glad to be a part of someone seeing Vancouver with freah eyes-- enthralled with funny things that I take for granted, like streets with names and gay pride on Davie Street and souvlaki.

It made me miss Japan a bit, too. OK, a LOT. I felt the old inner conflict as to whether or not I had made the right desicion when I came back to Canada. The feeling didn't last, though. Mostly because I am moving forward right now, rather than standing stock-still out of fear of moving in the wrong direction. I'll be in school in less than a month, and following that I'll be teaching English again. That makes me feel SO great.

Additionally, things are finally starting to move with my website. I dropped my camera last month and killed it quite dead, so I decided that instead of waiting until I can afford a new one to take pictures of my artwork with... what can I do? I gave my sketchbooks over to Amy at Fresh Marketing, and she is scanning them in. I am also in touch with Ann at myartspace.com (did I get that right? dunno) and I am going to an info session with them this Saturday. They have capabilities for scanning my larger artworks in. I'm stoked!

I have to look for alternative means of income at this time. Nathan wants to support me while I go to school, but his income doesn't really pack the punch we need. I appreciate his thoughtfullness, but it's clear that I will incur debt. So-- instead of standing still, what can I do? Sell artwork. Find out what the government is doing with my GST cheques. Etc. There's money out there. I just have to attract it. It'll be easy... I feel magnetic!

Back to Taichi. We had fun. Lots of it. Kat joined us on Saturday and we went to the Blodel Conservatory and Queen Elizabeth park, and then out to Aldergrove for Bekka's birthday party. Sunday he and I took the ferry to Victoria and saw the Snowbirds, a bicycle race, the Government buildings, the Empress hotel, and the Butchart Gardens. We utterly exhausted ourselves.

Now, I rest, and gear up for the next big thing. Love to you all, wonderful readers!

Namaste

September, as far as I’m concerned, is the time to make New Year’s Resolutions. Because this IS the REAL New Year. Crayons, crunchy leaves, cool breezes, bright sun. Crunchy apples. I don’t even LIKE apples all the rest of the year, but in September… yummmmmm.

I wan to adhere to a higher quality of interaction with people on a daily basis. I understand that our society frowns upon open displays of enthusiasm (unless you are an actor in a Joe FRESH commercial) but I am not going to allow my enthusiasm to be stymied. I also understand that we are judged by our actions, while we tend to judge ourselves by our intentions. These are New Year’s RESOLUTIONS, not INTENTIONS, so I guarantee ACTION.

I resolve to make the world brighter whenever I can. I resolve to kick pessimism to the curb. I resolve to be open to the shift and growth within, and not crush it out of fear of the unknown.

And now I resolve to get back to work, so that when I leave A-1 Pallet in October, I leave it better for having been here.

It’s HOT in this A-1 Pallet office. Eightch-Oh-Tee, Hawt. It’s been one of those days; everyone’s head has been down. We’ve all been working. There are no blinds on the window behind me; my back is cooking, my shoes are off, my forearms are slipping around in the sweat they have made on the desk.

Then I remember: my brother’s a firefighter. I don’t KNOW what hot IS.

* * * * * * * * * * *

My spot in the CELTA program has been verified, and I started fishing immediately for a couch/corner/closet to crash on/in for a month. I think I may have found a place to stay in downtown Vancouver… I just have to sort out some details. But it looks as though I may be able to pay my rent in drawings and stories with animals as the main characters. Cake-walk!

I’m so stoked… This next chapter of my life is unfolding as perfectly as a giant pink peony.

I did it. I think I'm in. Exhale...

I grossly miscalculated the amount of time it would take to get from Aldergrove to downtown Vancouver for the CELTA interview, and I was a horrifying half-hour late. I was only just embarking upon the Port Mann bridge at the moment the interview was about to begin-- upon hearing the time on the radio (no clock in the car, no watch, no cell phone) I came unhinged and bawled -- and I mean loud hiccupping sobs with snot and tears streaming-- for the entire span of the bridge. I decided to go in anyway. The worst that could happen would be that I would get kicked out before I began. In the grand scheme of things, that's not so bad. Snuffling and strangely cleansed, I drove calmly into Vancouver, parked, found the school, and was accepted as a belated participant into the group interview. And ultimately, accepted into the program (I'm pretty sure).

Nathan is pleased for me, proud, even. I am too. Just a little drained after yesterday. I still have to get ahold of mom and dad to share the news... I wish they'd hook up their answering machine! I think I'll need to find somewhere in Vancouver to stay for the month-long course so that the commute doesn't destroy me (financially and physically/emotionally)!

Interview for the CELTA program today. Wish me luck.

Sarah’s mom Donna is reading Eckhardt Tolle’s book, “The Power of Now”. I read it a few years ago, but I think it might be a good time to revisit it. It’s sticky reading, but it produces excellent personal results. Namely as sense of calm and acceptance for “WHAT IS.” Whatever it is.

We were talking about the book over lunch yesterday. Sarah didn’t come home for lunch yesterday, and I went on my own (usually we go for lunch at Sarah’s mom and dad’s house together—isn’t that cool? Spoiled is what I am). Something she got out of the book had to do with why we are so creative and ‘free’ in school, but find ourselves stymied once we enter the so-called ‘real world’. You know—the world of jobs and bills and relationships and responsibilities and… so on.

In school, the tasks are defined. What we do and don’t do is clear, distinct, simple. Between those spaces, our minds are free to enjoy the creative activities that we are engaged in. We grow easily, unabashedly. Outside of school, we suddenly have a lot more undefined responsibilities. How do you bake a potato and raise a family and pay taxes and balance chequebooks and find satisfaction in your career? There is no teacher telling us how or grading us on these things. We think hard about these things. The harder you think about something, the less likely you are actually be engaged in doing it.

Which is why I don’t talk about my artwork anymore. I don’t like to talk about it. If I’m talking and thinking and puzzling and planning… then I’m definitely not creating. And our egos… they love to plan. And plan, plannity-plan-plan plan. This amounts to the tenant of “Ready, Aim, aaaaiim… aaaaaaaaaaaaim…”

Me, I want the “Fire”.

BANG!

These are exciting times! I called the school I am interested in attending on Friday to see if they had any room left in the October session. A few spots remained; if I got my application in by Monday, there was a chance I could get in to an upcoming interview session. I put my application in yesterday (Monday)—and lo and behold, I have an interview this week!

Money will be tight, close to nonexistent, in fact. Surprisingly, I’m OK with this. It feels good to be going back to school on my own steam (or really, on my own debt). Besides, I can almost double my income with the jobs I can get with the certification I am going for. So debt doesn’t scare me. Much.

I feel like I’ve already got it, like I’m already in.

The weekend was jam-packed and fun. Nate and I travelled down to Everett, WA on Friday evening and spent the evening in a cheap-ass motel that had fleas and a mattress that sagged. We watched ‘Titanic’ on the tiny TV and ate American junk food (spicy Cheetos and Cherry Coke). The next day we went south to Bothell for the Koi show that Nate has been obsessing about for the past two months. He was a little disappointed that we didn’t enter any of our fish. (He had been prepping them for the show, making sure they were nice and shiny and happy and all of that, when one after another of them came down with carp colds and bloody lips and split fins and all of the myriad of koi maladies that I didn’t even know existed.) Anyway, he barely budged from the show tanks for the whole day, and even bought two more fish. Surprise, surprise. I explored the cute little ‘Country Village’ where the koi show was taking place – kind of like a themed outdoor mall/park. A mini steam train would chug through the parking lot, packed full of passive-looking kids and grandmas. I looked at hats and miniature porcelain mice and old-fashioned candy and antique furniture. I ate a gyro and a giant shortbread cookie covered in orange cream icing. I watched a glass blower teaching a little girl how to blow glass. I went back to the car, put the seat back and read my book. It was a nice day. The weather was great, and the drive home was smooth and easy.

Sunday we went to Wreck Beach. Everyone knows what happens at Wreck Beach! Body surfing in the ice-cold Pacific waters, body-watching (hee hee hee), and the covert purchase of a blue freezie with rum in it from a topless redhead. Fun for all!

Ummmm. Rummy freezie. What I want to know is—how did she get the rum inside?

Good weekend. Happy days.

I have been seriously examining my private journal from the time I spent in Japan. What surprises me in retrospect is how rosy I have painted the entire 'Japan' picture since returning to Canada last year.

The truth was/is that I was lonely, conflicted, unbalanced and uncertain for much of the time. I felt like I was living in a patriarchal alien zoo. I drank too much, neglected my health, ignored my creative impulses. Which isn't to say that I'm sorry I did it-- I'm just feeling less yearning to go back to that time now. And that's awesome.

I am so glad that I will be leaving my twenties in a matter of months! I already feel the certainty and empowerment that getting another decade under the belt brings.

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

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.

"Pain is the price you pay for resisting life. "

-Dr. Phil McGraw

Whatever any of us think about good ol' Dr. Pee McGee, this quote makes sense. So stop resisting, already!

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.

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’.

"Do not wait for leaders. Do it alone, person to person."

- Mother Theresa

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.

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!

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!

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… (^_~)

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.

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!

The long weekend is fast approaching, and I still haven’t decided what to do with it. Tamara and Brad have put together a cruise on Okanagan lake on a party barge, Nathan is going to Nanaimo to skate with his buddies, and I’ve been invited to an art show in Vancouver… choices, choices! I actually think that the party barge isn’t really an option for me at this point, as I’ll be up in the Okanagan for the following two weekends—and gas is killer these days, as we are all well aware.

Here are the things I probably ought to do: I’m still woefully behind in the completion of my webpage. I have a weird tax form thing that I got back in February that I don’t understand and haven’t really tried to. I haven’t given my bank information to the institution that has set up an RRSP plan for me—the money won’t start being saved until I do. I still need to get tax information to the Canadian government for the period that I lived in Japan. I haven’t been spending enough time painting or drawing or creating for months now… I still need to clear up some last minute things for my parent’s party—phone a few more people, arrange a few more surprises and reservations et al.

Bleah.

The beach was sweet on monday evening; high tide though, so we plopped on the grass to the side of the pedestrian walkway, next to the sculpture that looks like a giant piece of female anatomy. (I can't resist crawling through it everytime I see it, shouting "I'M BEING BORN! I'M BEING BORN!"... weird, yes. But oddly fun.)

We ate smoked oysters and smoked salmon and a kind of spinach-tofu pate that I dreamed up; Okanagan cherries and peanut butter and banana sandwiches. It was seriously the best dinner I've had in a while. Eating outdoors does that-- makes everything taste better.

White Rock has just enough people to make me feel as though I am SOMEWHERE, and just enough tacky-touristyness to make me wish that I was somewhere else, somewhere a little more cosmopolitan. I know Nate is still pushing hard to move to the island. He'd love to be closer to his Speedboarding team and the good hills that Nanaimo has to offer. Paranoid though I may be, the rising cost of fuel makes a move to any island a little suspect to me. What if we get stuck? What if the mainland decides to stop bringing supplies? Besides-- what's in Nanaimo for me?

Why don't I feel AT HOME anywhere?

If you're a person who talks to my mom, don't tell her what you've read here. PROMISE. I'm still madly planning for her and dad's big surprise 40th anniversary party... it's going all right. Luckily my brother is pretty helpful. Amazing how well we get along, now that we don't have He-Man dolls and Transformer toys to fight over. Or Barbies... did I mention that Sandy had his very own Barbie? Her name was Cindy.

Anyway, if I've forgotten to invite you, don't be sad, just call or email and tell me you'd like to come, and I'll fill you in on the details. As long as you promise to bring some booze, I'm sure I can get you an invite, exclusive though this shindig is. ;) If my mom asks, tell her you don't know what she's talking about. Tell her she's crazy.

Nate and I are going to go have a picnic in White Rock, so I better shake a tail and get outta here. What am I still doing at work anyway?

Namaste

Kid at work shot a nail through his finger about ½ an hour ago, securing his hand to a pallet… Randy had to get the circular saw to cut him free, and off he went in the ambulance, chunk of pallet still attached. Yikes.

Needless to say everything here kind of ground to a halt; I was in the middle of orientation with the new girl when they brought him through the office. Not surprisingly, we had just covered the part of the training that involved safety, and I rattled through the bit about not pulling a nail out of yourself if you got shot. I can be laissez-faire enough when I describe the safety rules, but to actually witness it is another story. Again, Yikes I say.

Yeah, I still work at a pallet factory, in the office. I finally signed my position contracts yesterday, and I am now more clearly defined. Now I am no longer just an ‘Office Worker’—I am an ‘Executive Assistant’/’Research and Development Associate’. Today is my one-year anniversary of working here. It is also my dish-day.

I’ve written manuals, found obscure phone numbers on the magical internet, composed training checklists, developed systems for increased employee retention and better recruitment, and listened to a lot of raunchy stories from Sarah. I have made databases and newspaper ads and technical drawings of pallets. I have fielded calls and drawn up quotes. I have not built a single pallet, and luckily have never shot myself with a nail gun. It has been an interesting year.

I wonder where I’ll be, and what I’ll be learning this time next year?

Last week I went to a counseling session so that I can start figuring out a clear career path.

It was so unbelievably good. I have another one tonight, and I’m stoked! Gerry’s a pretty enthusiastic character, and he pinpointed me immediately as someone who already has the skill-set for anything— but my interests don’t necessarily match up to my skills (or to my job). That’s probably the result of school—I learned how school is designed to make everyone a little bit good at EVERYTHING rather than focusing on the talents and the passions of the students. And I was a great student—great at everything. Which equals success for the schools—they produced a nice, well-rounded, average citizen who can fit in any niche. But for me... I don’t WANT to be average. So what if I can fit in anywhere? Just because I am capable of flipping burgers at McD's doesn't mean it's going to turn my crank.

I just need to be pointed in the direction that will fully utilize my interests, skills, passions, et al. Gerry said, “You’re someone that just needs some winding up, and then you’ll just GO!” Yep.

Another good little example that Gerry gave me about how the school system fails us—say you have a kid. He brings home his report card. He has an A in English, another A in Social Studies, a C in Biology and an F in Algebra… what do you, as a parent, focus on? I said the C in Biology, because at least I can help with that (I’m hopeless at Math)—but I guess that most people would focus on the F, right? That’s the school-system answer. The truth is you want to focus on the A’s, because wherever someone excels is where their interests lie. You look a little bit at the F to get it up to a C, but you leave the C alone—a C is good enough, the kid is getting by, but he’s not showing any desire to be a biologist… no big deal.

I wish I knew this before, years ago. I could have been so much more forgiving towards myself for not getting an A in everything. The nice thing is that I can now take my own interests and values a little more seriously; I can put a little less emphasis on ‘making it work’ and ‘getting by’ and a little more energy into living passionately and truthfully. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

Is it summer yet?

I think so. I've had some good adventures; Corrin and I went back up to Kaleden/Penticton a couple of weekends ago and pretty much just relaxed. That meant: shopping at a fruit stand, lazing on the beach, sitting on the lawn drinking a bottle of wine watching the stars come out and the deer go by... (and the rowdy gang of boys go by too-- gotta do something with that teenage energy!) It was good to reconnect with her and for both of us to remind ourselves why our friendship is so enduring. It's good to have someone you can just say anything to, with the risk of judgement or misunderstanding.

I'm actually quite blessed, in the friend department!

I always want more days like that-- more dreamy dusks and sweetly scented mornings; I love the sound of the lake and the smell of the dry air and wild baby's breath-- hell, I even love the familiar grating sound of those horrible grebes singing their squawking love song (why can't Skaha lake have loons?).

I don't know what this weekend will bring. Nate and I celebrated his 22nd birthday yesterday by going to Midori Sushi in Abbotsford and getting food poisoning, so maybe we can make up for it by going camping or something. I just kind of want to get off of the map for a while...

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.

I’ve been taking a lot of paperclips home in my hair. And pens. I could probably furnish an office pretty nicely with what I have inadvertently been stealing from work. I think I need a haircut. Also, I need to return some pens.

I decided to go see a naturopath, not because I felt particularly crappy, but because I wanted to bolster and support the good health I have now, before I don’t have it anymore; you know, be PROactive with my healthcare as opposed to REactive. The decision was made easy, as my Chiropractor operates out of a Health Arts clinic—so, should I want to try acupuncture or iridology, or have a hot river stone massage (and you can bet that I have)… it’s all right in one place. Dr. F is a new addition, the first naturopath on staff. He is hilarious—he shares my gently whacked sense of humor. We found some problems that I hadn’t previously considered problems, mostly because I’ve lived with them for so long—things like regular headaches, gas, bloating (and I’m putting this info out there because…?) Initially we decided to cut back my coffee intake, and reconsider the simple carbs I’ve been putting away. Now, after the second visit, wheat and dairy are off of my ‘edibles’ list for a month, and I have three concoctions to consume daily, the worst of which is Dr. F’s ‘tincture’ to support the processing of hormones and liver function, etc, etc. Oh, this is a foul concoction of nasty burning evil plant extracts, in a harsh base of pure fiery alcohol- there’s no chance of dripping it in the back of my throat and swallowing without noticing. Oh, gag, gag, gag. Nasty smoldering sickening grossness.

Other than that, I can’t complain. Two days, and I’ve survived thus far; hopefully the bounding good health, high energy, bright eyes and glossy coat will come within the next couple of weeks. Aren’t I lucky to live in a time and a place where I have the option of supporting health rather than battling illness? I will always be grateful for these bountiful and colourful good years of my life.

Namaste.

It has actually been a profundly busy few weeks, a busy month. Love it!

This past Saturday, Sarah and I went on the Skytrain into Vancouver and did a walking tour; we met a variety of characters, and I got to practice my Japanese with some students of The Good English on the train. Sarah noticed how my gestures reverted to 'Japanese style'-- unecessary awkward giggling, and clasping my hand over my mouth when I was feeling uncertain. We walked into Stanley Park, across to Kits Beach, down Davies, up Robson, and into the Greek Taverna that I sometimes go to with my Dad-- but to our great good luck, it was Bellydancing night, and we caught a bit of the show as we slowly downed out pitcher of sangria. I should say I slowly downed the pitcher of Sangria-- Sarah is allergic to alcohol and only drank about a glass-and-a-half! Highlights:

1) Japanese practice with Natsui
2) Meeting Wendy in the Artist's circle in Stanley Park (see http://www.wendysmillionaires.com)
2.5) Meeting lovely vacationing Mexican ladies in the line-up for the girls' potty... I knew Vancouverites vacationed in Mexico, but I wasn't aware that it happened the other way around!
3) Getting stung by angry somethings near the swings (actually, not such a highlight)
4) Having a 'moment' with a gorgeous seal at the Vancouver Aquarium- she looked me in the eye!
5) A ride on the minuature train and smelling the good smalls of the warming summery park
6) Finding secret passageways busting with blooming rhododendrons to Kits Beach
7) Finding Kits Beach busting with warming summery people
8) Beautiful boys on Davies Street (for looking at only, dontcha know!)
9) The Japanese Combini on Robson... mmm! Mochi-mochi!
10) Sangria! Bellydancers! Calimari! Laughing our asses off!
11) Eating the previously purchased Mochi on the steps of the art gallery, people watching, and getting offered ecstasy and acid...
"I'm happy enough as it is," I said.
"Wouldn't you like to be even happier?" asked the dealer.
"I don't know if that would be safe!" I answered. This beautiful life is drug enough for me, methinks.
12) Back on the Skytrain heading home, a good-looking home-boy told Sarah she was gorgeous. Her elation lifted me, too. She is gorgeous after all, and every girl loves to hear it.

A dozen shiny pieces of Saturday! Live it up, folks... the summer is short, but it's yours if you grab it!

One of the huge reasons I want to walk/bike to work is because of the connection I get to the rotation of the seasons-- it's not something that you can really absorb from the seat of a car. I went outside during my lunch break today, and happened to notice that we have gone from the 'season of the profusion of dandelions' to the 'season of the blossoming of buttercups'. The apple blossoms and magnolias have fallen; the dogwood is bursting in pink and white. I see these things, but I don't soak them up and metabolize them the way I might if I worked or travelled outdoors more often.

I remember Bubu saying something about there being—what—28 or 32 or 36 (or more?) seasons in Japan, dependant upon what there was blossoming (and no doubt based upon what was good to eat—what a foodie culture!). I know it has got to be the same here, and I keep on having the feeling that I’m missing them somehow. It’s the same feeling I get when I see a trailer for a movie that I want to see, over and over—and somehow I magically manage to completely miss the movie in the theatre (and to be honest, half the time I miss them in the rental store ten years down the line. Does anyone know where I can rent ‘Almost Famous’? I really want to see it...).
So, the question is—am I missing out because I’m procrastinating? Or because I’m not focusing? Or is it simply because I am ‘home’ and I am subconsciously taking the magic of Western Canadian seasonal shift for granted?

I really want to move to another country again, and teach more English. I do. I’m not sure if it’s in the cards, though. I read today (on my Dalai Lama’s ‘Quote of the Day’ calendar) that you are only successful insofar as the sacrifices you had to make to get your success. So if I selfishly ditch a fabulous relationship to traipse around the world in a singularly absorbent fashion, I have made a sacrifice for my so-called ‘success’ which does not exactly validate said ‘success’. But if my purpose in life is to absorb the juices of the world, up close and in-person—then is the greater sacrifice in staying put?

I need to talk with Nate about all of this—in fact, I’m sure I have. I stress him out, being so wishy-washy. I think he’s more of a homebody. He wants his garden, workshop, koi pond, friends, and hills to skateboard on. He’s very clear about his likes and dislikes and desires. I wish I could be more like him.

Today is Kurosuke's last day on the roads of the Lower Mainland. Kurosuke is my delicious beast of a car, a 1981 Oldsmobile County Cruiser Station Wagon. She's jet black, with a propensity to drink gasoline like a rugby player with a beer-bong. The ominous beginning of her end came a couple of months ago when some idiot-- pardon me-- some careless citizen gave her a huge dent, via hit-and-run. Ahhh, but it's just cosmetic. She still runs like a dream, but the GRVD won't have her; thirsty, fume-emitting animal that she is. So-- Happy Birthday Dad! Now that you are 60, you need a cool black car to cruise the strip in. Kurosuke is going to live the wild life in Kaleden, soaking up the Okanagan sun.

As for me-- tonight I finalize a purchase. I am getting a little red four-door '94 Chevy Cavalier. I was bent on buying Japanese, but it's just not in the budget (or on the market).

What I really think would be best (for the environment, mental clarity, and my expanding booty) would be if I kept up walking and riding my bike...

Coffee breaks aren't really coffee breaks anymore; not for me. They are little slits of time that I can jam my own dreams and plans and doings into. Jam, jam, jam! The more I do, the more I'll get, right? I read that in my horoscope for this year: "The harder you work, the luckier you'll be." Makes sense. I was kind of rocking back on my heels before, waiting for the universe to hand me my gold stars. Now it's clear that I have to go out and earn those gold stars-- being a nice person, and having high hopes-- that's only two-thirds of the equation. Now I have to decide:

What kind of "lucky" do I want to get?

Nathan is taking a test, and I am probing the accessibility of my future (it's looking good, this is supposed to be Capricorn's Big Year-- hooray!). I am back in the Kwantlen Library Computer Room, scoping out the CELTA courses, locations, and the related Expedia costs to fly to said locations. I am planning my future career as a 'REAL' English Teacher. I am going to do this! An aside-- there is a woman who has been here since well before I arrived. She is sitting opposite me, to my left. Her age is indeterminate, she wears a coral flower-patterned Cotton Ginny Plus shirt with a kelly-green windbreaker. She is watching Coronation Street (I caught a glimpse as I went by to the washroom) and she occasionally utters comments on what she is watching... LOUDLY. Most recently, she said "I DON'T TRUST HIM. HE'S A PSYCHOPATH." and before that, 'THEY JUST HAD SEX TOGETHER." Funny, yes. But I am the only other person in this big room, and there is no-one I can make eye-contact with and share the giggle with. Consider the giggle shared, dear reader!

For the record, Lady K (why can I no longer post comments on your blog? Too many stalkers?) I have nothing against people who put slashes through their sevens. I just don't like the sevens themselves. I love graphology... it's fascinating. I would love to have my hand-writing analyzed. I wonder what they would find out about me? "Hmmm, you appear to be a bossy grammar-queen, with a tendency towards..." Tendency towards what, I can't decide. I'll leave to my future graphologist's discretion.

Another funny thing about this library computer room. I have twice tucked my leg under my chair, forgetting about the hydraulic switch-- which my leg triggers, sending me sinking swiftly and shockingly until my chin is on the keyboard... Coronation Street Lady is probably writing in HER blog about it.

We stopped by OPUS before coming here and bought a big jar of titanium white acrylic, and a block of soapstone, and a cheapie carving kit. I saw my old coworkers Ayesha and Colin and was surprised to learn that they both read my blog when I was in Japan... how cool is that? Very cool. I've quit facebook-- it's just too socially weird. It's like letting everyone in your high school yearbook look in your underwear drawer. Of course, when I told my mom this, she was trying to figure out why the blogging is OK, but the facebooking isn't... I suppose it's because I have more of a hand in crafting this blog. It's cleaner, more controlled. What I want you to see, I show you. What I don't want you to see-- well, it's not like someone here can tag me in photo in this blog. Anyway, it's one less thing to waste my time with. I might use it as a marketing tool later, we'll see. Speaking of which... SOON I will have a website! I'm quite tickled about this, and have been working with Amy and Christie of FRESH MARKETING in Fort Langley-- brilliant girls. I love their work, and their enthusiasm. Finally I'll be able to show my artwork and sell it online. It's been a long time coming.

Anyway, I'm done in here. I'm going to go sit in the car and try to release Buddha out of that bit of soapstone.

A small strange observation about graphology (or my preferences): I do not like sevens with the slash through their middles. I like a nice clean 7, with a straight long leaning back, and a little down-turned cap on the left-hand side. What does it say about the personality of the people who do that, make the little slash through the seven's middle? What does it say about me for being bothered by the innocuous line?

Last night, Nate and I checked out a painfully lovely condo in Cloverdale. I wasn't sure why we were looking at it; we haven't expressly said to each other that we were looking to move from our basement suite in Aldergrove, although we have both voiced our displeasure at the lack of space in the kitchen and the absence of a bathtub. The condo was a top-floor beauty with a killer deck and surprisingly great view; skylights, crown molding, open floor plan-- utilities included for only $650 a month. Startlingly cheap for these parts. Scott, the fellow showing it to us, liked us immediately, and wanted us to move in. Right. Now. He was tired of going through the hassle of showing it to person after person, having it empty and costing him cash. I liked him too; liked the paint, the layout, the details; liked the deck and all the bright light that we don't get in the Aldergrove dungeon; liked the $100 less than we're paying now for rent. But driving home, I thought about the reality of the huge commute, the pain we would cause our current landlord by our surprise departure, the hassle and stress of picking up and packing up... all of these things reverberated and I had to say 'No'.

After Nate called Scott back with our (my) disappointing decision, I found myself pensive and sullen. I could see us enjoying that Cloverdale condo-- Nate finally having a sundeck to put his crazy indoor pond out on, a workable kitchen, lots of light and happy houseplants. But what does that make our life about? As it is, I live not 10 minutes drive away from where I'm working, and I can walk or ride my bike on the nice days (if I wake up at 5:30 AM). I don't spend that much time at home, because I'm usually at work, or grocery shopping, and I'm not much for laying about watching TV. My life seems to be mostly revolving around my job these days anyway, with brief interludes of inspiration that send me reaching out for something more-- e.g. school/education, artistic website, future business plans, etc. What does my life become about when all I am doing is travelling to and from work? Paying bills and saving money so that I can buy something and pay more bills? Is this it? Make and spend and make and spend, and sleep and eat and make and spend? It grosses me out, infuriates me. How many people do you know who are actually HAPPY caught up in this self defeating cycle of perceived need and acquired debts? This surface life of skimming the periphery of the deep end, staying in the shallows of consciousness and satisfaction?

Nate took me for breakfast this morning at DeDutch, and I ordered the Hawaiian Toast. That being the French Toast with pineapples and coconut and ham. It was OK. After three cups of coffee and my weird tropical Dutch/French/Canadian cuisine (do French people actually eat French toast?) I felt bolstered enough to launch myself into the tangly mess of the above questions... "seriously, Nate-- what do you want your life to be about?" I admire Nathan for his calm approach, his gentle desire for simplicity and his innate patience. He is natural in the very best sense of the word-- a man of the earth, of slow growth, of greenery and the due course of things. Of course, as much as I admire his qualities, they sometimes clash with mine. I find myself to be a more and more evenly divided between the personalities of my parents, dependant on the situation. I can be the social butter(fly) that my mom is, spreading things smoothly and infecting those around me with a sense of fun and joy and spontaneous-ness. Or I can be the scientist that my dad is, exacting and precise in my research and development, be it technical or creative. Or I can be both at once, spontaneously exacting, joyfully technical and precisely creative. So when Nate calmly answered that he was looking to keep things simple, to stay with his job, to grow, and to one day have his own landscaping company, I had to rephrase, to find out What Do You Want It To Be About? What Is The Big Picture?

When I lived in Japan, my live was about enjoyment and astounding, unprecedented growth. I mean-- I had to grow, to survive. I met new people, learned new rituals, new words, new ways of thinking and being. Thank goodness! I stretched and grew stronger. There was MORE than work, more than bill-paying and grocery-shopping. There was something bigger going on.

I don't want to believe that something bigger can't happen here, in Canada, but I can't help but think that if I want to keep growing at the rate I was in Japan, I'm going to have to keep throwing myself into the deep end of things. I don't want to simply settle for the next nice condo or a new car. What great boon am I to society if I become just another cog in the economic wheel? Luckily Nathan understands-- or claims to. I think my impatience and quivering desire to burst out in all directions unsettles him at times. Fair enough.

We reached a decision though, and shook on it over the crumbs of Hawaiian Toast and DeBacon. No moving. No misplacing the energy destined for great changes on small, futile ones. If I can be secure that I don't have to pack up my art supplies in two weeks and move to Cloverdale, maybe I'll actually use them. If we can be sure that we can be steady where we are standing, it makes it a lot easier to see clearly into the future, and take the steps that will lead us there.

How did I go from focusing on the abundance of the universe to focusing on the 2008 Consumer Report for cars? Maybe the abundance of the universe will deliver to me a car: a reliable, happy car, one that is safe, sound, reliable, and not too thirsty. Or maybe the universe will say,"Screw you, chiquita. Get off of your bum and get walking!"

There are two fundamental rules of nature. Well, actually, there are hundreds, but instead of poking our heads into the mating rituals of dung beetles, let's focus.

One rule is abundance.

The other rule is scarcity.

And whichever one you believe in the most-- that is the one that you will attract.

The idea is that abundance attracts abundance, so I must immediatley drop my fear-based attitude of "I don't have enough," and instead give and receive freely, sound in the comfort that I will always have enough of the things I need to live bountifully.

A beautiful idea, and one that I have come to (and retreated from) repeatedly over the past few years. I guess the question that always sends me retreating is along the lines of: "When Mastercard calls looking for a payment, how do I explain that I am waiting for the abundance of the universe to deliver?"

Just kidding. Kind of.

OK. Here’s the manifesto. No more negative, rude, asinine or drippingly sexual t-shirt slogans. I’m so tired of them. I don’t want to read “Your BOYFRIEND wants ME” or “I’m a Sexy Sexy Sexy Thang” or “Spread Those Legs”, or anything like that. Let’s make T-shirts that say things like: “The Way to a Better World is Through Compassion” or “Blissful, Balanced and Aware” or howabout “Spread Some Kindness”.

Not as catchy, I guess.

So, keeping with this theme of self-actualization, I’ve been furtively checking out CELTA websites, checking prices and student reviews and locations. I’m finally seriously considering going back to school because I need a goal, and I want something to look forward to when this financial drought has come to an end. I’ve known for a while that improving my education will help prevent further financial droughts—however, I balked because my educational history is already quite impressive, if not cumulatively useful. Out of 29 years on the planet, I have been in school for nineteen of them. And I don’t have a doctorate to show for it; instead, a mish-mash of diplomas, certificates, and the ever-useful Fine Arts Degree. Time to solidify this jelly.

It has been nearly a year since I returned to Canada from Japan, and there are times that my longing for my home on the other side of the world feels like a fresh wound.

I received an email the other day from a good friend, from Ryo who managed the tiny coolness-laden bar (think dark rich wood, shining brass in the dim light, and tired, single, beautiful Japanese women coming in to smoke peach-flavoured cigarettes and flirt with Ryo). Ryo had a thing for me, though. Ryo was sweet and smooth and a little bit dorky to boot, so I never could quite take him as seriously as he expected to be taken. We once had an argument over the word ‘Retriever’—as in the dog—Ryo had grown up with an exceptionally intelligent ‘Golden Retliever’. He was SO sure that it was spelled with an ‘L’ that we made a bet. If he was correct, I would cook him a Canadian meal. If I won, he would take me for sushi. Thank god I knew what I was talking about (and it should be general knowledge that Canadians should be taken as your best bet for a correct answer when in contention with Japanese over the placement of “L’s” and “R’s”), because what the heck is a ‘Canadian meal’? Poutine? Pancakes and maple syrup? Maybe some salt cod with a side of Screech? Anyway, the dingy little sushi place he took me to was one that I’d biked past many times before without noticing. It ended up being one of those places with a tank full of terrified critters, all waiting to be scooped out and deftly murdered and splayed over rice for human consumption. It was awesome.

Have I told that story before?

Anyway, Ryo’s bar is closed now; he quit last Tuesday, and no-one was hired to replace him. I guess I kind of expected Tokushima to remain in suspended animation, awaiting my return—which is ridiculous, if I consider how seldom Tokushima stood still the entire time I was there. Since I’ve left, Miho has moved away, Kayo has obtained a boyfriend, Bubu and Haruko are now the proud grandparents of little Youtaro, almost 7 months old. Little earthquakes have come and gone, hundreds of restaurants and bars have opened and closed throughout the entertainment district (like so many anemones), and I’m sure that construction has continued at its normal alarming rate; tear down, build up, and do it all again.

I shouldn’t feel as though I’ll never return. And I shouldn’t force myself to choose a permanent home either; cities are not jealous lovers. I need to allow myself the freedom of considering myself a world citizen, no matter where I end up. Who is to say that I won’t develop a career that takes me bounding across the planet on a regular basis? A delicious prospect.

Anyway, I’ve been feeling really good lately, much better than the last time I wrote—I’m healthier, more empowered. Mostly that comes from the decision I have made very recently. To live my life to the fullest, no matter what. Because the only thing that ever stands in my way is me, and I’ve had enough. I deserve better, and there’s a good chance that I can have it all. If I put in the work, I can get the results. The tough thing, as it always is, is sticking to that decision. I think women in particular find it easy to let ideals slide, in the name of a variety of other causes—“oh, I’ll just stick this crappy-ass job out a little longer, they NEED me here…” or “I’ll just stay with him until he’s got his shit together, I can’t leave him NOW.” I can do myself (and those around me) a favour by being accountable to myself, thereby forcing others to step up to their own responsibilities. Remember this, remember this, remember this!

You ever get the feeling that everybody is having fun but you? Of course you do… I hope you do. I can’t be alone here…

It’s snowing today, snowing and snowing and snowing to the extent that my boss has called for a snow day, hurrah—it doesn’t take much in the lower mainland for everything to come to a standstill. What is there out there, maybe a foot? Schools are closed, traffic is freaky, and I am SO GLAD to get a snow day. For the freedom of it. Not for the financial ramifications of missing a half day of pay.

So, like I was saying, I’m not having much fun. Not because I don’t intend on going sledding as soon as I get off work (I am SO going sledding) but because of money. Money, money, evil, evil money. Astronomical rent, out-of-work student fiancée, gas-guzzling car… maybe it’s not the money that hurts me. It’s the things I find myself spending it on. I have no savings, no financial intelligence. How did I get to be 29 years old and not learn how to take care of cash? I feel ashamed, angry, disappointed. I feel like I’m better than this. I’m better than ‘broke’.

The artist dream seems a wicked thing at this point. We all know we’re not supposed to believe the naysayers when they talk about “starving artists,” and “maybe your paintings will be worth something when you die,” but how often can you listen to that shit without absorbing some of the content? Sometimes I don’t even want to draw or paint anymore—I don’t want to hear about the millions people will rake in when the hock my sketches on E-bay after my demise. Creativity seems to come to me when I’m feeling confident anyway, and let’s face it—when you’re in overdraft to keep the gas tank ¼ full, there isn’t a whole lot of room left for confidence, not a lot of room left for fantasy. Or if there is, it’s a fantasy about having a full gas tank.

I think I just expected more from myself by now, by age 29. I remember having this same crisis of expectations at 23, and at 25 too—where is the house, the kids, the husband, the car, the traveling, the everything? And for that matter, are those dreams valid anymore? Are those the things I really want, or just the things I have convinced myself that I should want? The kicker is that I’ve finally realized that responsibility for oneself is one of life’s greatest lessons; if I’m here, and I don’t like it, I only have myself to thank. If my ass is fat, it is because I had one too many of those lovely silky chocolate balls. If my teeth hurt, it’s because I haven’t been a diligent flosser. Anything I have done, or haven’t done, has got me to where I am now. I suppose there is a part of me that has been waiting for destiny to reveal itself with the attendant flash of light, ardor of jasmine, and song of seraphim. But no-- if my life sucks, it’s because of me, me, me.

It’s a sour cocktail, baby. I gotta procure me a little sugar.

It isn’t easy. To see humanity, in everyone, all of the time. I mean, to see that everyone is possessed of their own brand and flavour of intelligence, to forgive them what you might perceive as flaws, when in fact they are not flaws. They are the warp and weft of humanity, I suppose. The colours of the strings we are woven from. Nubbly, crusty grey wool, or fine red silk, or whatever. I’m probably blue-and-white bed sheet cotton. Fresh, dreamy, insubstantial, childish. Nothing to keep you warm on a cold winters’ eve.



Today is grey and gold, sunlight weak and chilly and shining wet on black-grey pavement. I want to skip and kick a gritty soccer ball across the melting earth, I want to shout to my distant friends, speak in schoolyard squeals of bright winter afternoon joy.



Tongue is different from hand. Tongue speaks and sets boundaries and sculpts. Sculpts emotion. The hand can reach, reach. Out, out to give, to take, to give. To quantify, to establish and make real. I can say I will give this to you, but only actions will prevail, or they won’t. Only hand can act.



In Japanese, there is one word for heart, mind and soul: kokoro. Stop dividing your spirit. Live whole. Feel, think, know, and do them all at once.

Oh, lengthy absence. Oh, unwritten words welling up and swirling around the troubled mind...

Christmas was well-contained, ever on the brink of gong-show... you put my brother, my brother's girlfriend and I, my not entirely accepted fiancee, my father, grandmother, and the ever-at-odds combo of my mother and grandfather all in one house for a week, and stir...

Well, sir. Most times I think it'd be a recipe for disaster. But we did alright, we did ok.

Ah, a short blurb, and then gone again am I.

Back to work.

I quit the waitressing job about a month ago, and am I ever glad I did. There was no lack of characters (truckers, cowboys, strippers) to entertain me, but there are limits to the number of times I can shoulder complaints about hair in the food and undercooked chicken. Seriously. If you can’t honestly recommend the product you sling, can you really feel good about slinging it?

Nope. Something that the tobacco companies probably ought to think about.

My current job is offering me an abundance of learning opportunities, but it’s a major struggle to throttle my gypsy tendencies. I was whining to my Mom about not knowing where my home is, not really liking any one place enough to live there, and she snappishly noted that I don’t really seem to like anywhere much. Duly noted. It’s not that I don’t like places, but it’s the commitment to a place that freaks me out. Oooh, psychology time… I was thinking that a phobia of commitment might be a problem of mine when some smart-ass (the bride’s brother, I think) noted at a wedding I went to this summer that about 50% of the guys in the room were my ex-boyfriends. (It wasn’t true! In that case, anyway.) I mean—hey, you’re only young once, and dating copiously was one of those things I wanted to do while I could. I did it. I’ve done it, I’ve finished it, and it was fun—no regrets, right?

If I have any regrets, it’s that I got so used to tasting all the flavours at the ice-cream-store, that I almost didn’t realize how unhealthy it was. Anyway, I think I’ve found my favorite flavour now, and I’ll stick with him, thank you very much.

Yummmmmm.

Even funnier is how I can call my blog "the habit of happiness", and then look back to my last post... not the most optomistic at that point, I'm afraid.

Things are good now, great, fantastic. I'm riding a wave of employment-induced euphoria; one job at a retaurant dishing out souvlaki and spagetti in equal proportions in a Korean-owned restaurant, and another job learning about the clockwork of a successful small business while I write procedure and systems manuals.

And I'm in love.

What, really, could be better?

Namaste

~e