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?