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.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Another weekend past—another week closer to September! This is the time of year that we all start to wonder what the heck happened to summer. Particularly if a) you are going back to school (which I am not) or b) you live in a climate which is rapidly cooling (which I do). I am especially annoyed by the waning days, as summer took far too long to get here in the first place. The cool beginnings made for a fantastic and extended blossom season, but the hot-hot days were far too few and far between.
My friend and former student Taichi Nakamura is coming to Vancouver in a couple of weeks. I am his designated tour guide, and I am feeling a little bit panicked as he wants to do the following in the space of three days: Go to Queen Elizabeth Park. See Canada Place. Go hiking. Ride a ferry to Victoria. See Butchart Gardens. Eat smoked salmon and oysters… OK, so it isn’t so bad. I’m just feeling a huge wave of overpowering obligation because I always have this sort of NEED to show Japanese people (any Japanese people, this includes strangers on the Skytrain too) how great BC is. And how nice and polite Canadians are (even if my own experience with my people might illustrate otherwise at times).
Anyway. He also wants me to book his hotel, and pick him up at the airport, and I am anxious because I’m not sure I’ll pick the right hotel. And I’m embarrassed by my junky little red go-cart car with the enormous crack in the windshield and the pervasive smell of wet dog—even though I don’t own a dog.
Why am I panicked? Why does this matter so much?
As long as he has fun, I’ll have fun too. And he’s never been here before, so he can’t have too many expectations—I hope.
My friend and former student Taichi Nakamura is coming to Vancouver in a couple of weeks. I am his designated tour guide, and I am feeling a little bit panicked as he wants to do the following in the space of three days: Go to Queen Elizabeth Park. See Canada Place. Go hiking. Ride a ferry to Victoria. See Butchart Gardens. Eat smoked salmon and oysters… OK, so it isn’t so bad. I’m just feeling a huge wave of overpowering obligation because I always have this sort of NEED to show Japanese people (any Japanese people, this includes strangers on the Skytrain too) how great BC is. And how nice and polite Canadians are (even if my own experience with my people might illustrate otherwise at times).
Anyway. He also wants me to book his hotel, and pick him up at the airport, and I am anxious because I’m not sure I’ll pick the right hotel. And I’m embarrassed by my junky little red go-cart car with the enormous crack in the windshield and the pervasive smell of wet dog—even though I don’t own a dog.
Why am I panicked? Why does this matter so much?
As long as he has fun, I’ll have fun too. And he’s never been here before, so he can’t have too many expectations—I hope.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I broke through.
I’ve been stuck, frustrated and deeply annoyed with myself, until 6:47pm on Tuesday evening.
I have been reading “I COULD DO ANYTHING, If I Only Knew What it Was” by Barbara Sher. At first, I was elated, because the exercises at the beginning of the book really led me to plow through the junk piles of “what if” and “I should” and “maybe I ought to”. I began to peel away my scabby guilt-gobs, to see what was plugging up the portal of my potential. A whole lot of stuff, it turns out!
I’ve been so afraid. Afraid to commit. Afraid to plunge into the depths of my abilities. Afraid to go for what I really wanted, because it’s always been easier to stay in roles where I knew how to please, how to be the ‘good employee’, the ‘good girl’. Not surprisingly, bringing these things into my complete consciousness unleashed a torrent of anger. I was furious at myself for wasting my own time, for not figuring this out sooner. Thankfully, Barbara Sher continually reminded me to be gentle with myself, to be forgiving—you can’t get angry at a car that doesn’t go, if the problem is that it’s out of gas. And you can’t get angry at yourself for utilizing the coping mechanisms you learned as a kid. All you can do is realize that you’re a grown-up now, and it’s time to find a better way to do things. A more fruitful way.
Regardless, I was still mad. I couldn’t find myself in the second part of the book, the part of the book that breaks down the various types of blockages and tells you what to do about them. I was getting frantic, reading three chapters at once, flipping between them, hoping the next page would be the one with the mirror.
On 6:47pm on Tuesday evening I found it, I found the mirror. I was trying to gulp down the last of the three chapters before my counseling session, so if nothing else, I could at least say to Gerry “I tried to use the book, but it didn’t work for me”. But it did!
I am a ‘Frustrated Diver’. To everyone on the outside, I appear to be a ‘Scanner’ (someone who needs to do and taste and try a little bit of everything). But what I really am is someone who desperately wants to dive, to get really deep into something—but I have allowed my fears to keep me floating on the surface. My fears have turned me into “Odd Job Joe” (as my brother once so kindly put it).
I think I instinctively knew that it was my high-speed scanning that sent me into my high-speed wobble, so I forced myself to try and ‘settle down’—because from the outside, that seemed like the good, normal, sane thing to do. I don’t think I thought very much about whether or not it was what I really wanted for myself. I got the job, the basement suite, the fish tank, the fiancé. Then I sat back and waited for the happiness to come. And it didn’t.
I pushed too hard. I tried to follow rules that were never really there. I tried to be the “good girl”.
Now everything is starting to open up again. I’m starting to feel passion and hope come flooding back in. I’m making plans. I’m dreaming dreams. I realize the next bits of my life might be scary and difficult— I'll have to make some big changes. But I realize that I’ll learn so much more than I ever could sitting still. I also realize that I can make these big changes by taking small steps.
I’ll be doing a lot more for the world by being wholly myself than I ever will by trying to ‘behave’ for the make-believe ‘someone else’.
I’ve been stuck, frustrated and deeply annoyed with myself, until 6:47pm on Tuesday evening.
I have been reading “I COULD DO ANYTHING, If I Only Knew What it Was” by Barbara Sher. At first, I was elated, because the exercises at the beginning of the book really led me to plow through the junk piles of “what if” and “I should” and “maybe I ought to”. I began to peel away my scabby guilt-gobs, to see what was plugging up the portal of my potential. A whole lot of stuff, it turns out!
I’ve been so afraid. Afraid to commit. Afraid to plunge into the depths of my abilities. Afraid to go for what I really wanted, because it’s always been easier to stay in roles where I knew how to please, how to be the ‘good employee’, the ‘good girl’. Not surprisingly, bringing these things into my complete consciousness unleashed a torrent of anger. I was furious at myself for wasting my own time, for not figuring this out sooner. Thankfully, Barbara Sher continually reminded me to be gentle with myself, to be forgiving—you can’t get angry at a car that doesn’t go, if the problem is that it’s out of gas. And you can’t get angry at yourself for utilizing the coping mechanisms you learned as a kid. All you can do is realize that you’re a grown-up now, and it’s time to find a better way to do things. A more fruitful way.
Regardless, I was still mad. I couldn’t find myself in the second part of the book, the part of the book that breaks down the various types of blockages and tells you what to do about them. I was getting frantic, reading three chapters at once, flipping between them, hoping the next page would be the one with the mirror.
On 6:47pm on Tuesday evening I found it, I found the mirror. I was trying to gulp down the last of the three chapters before my counseling session, so if nothing else, I could at least say to Gerry “I tried to use the book, but it didn’t work for me”. But it did!
I am a ‘Frustrated Diver’. To everyone on the outside, I appear to be a ‘Scanner’ (someone who needs to do and taste and try a little bit of everything). But what I really am is someone who desperately wants to dive, to get really deep into something—but I have allowed my fears to keep me floating on the surface. My fears have turned me into “Odd Job Joe” (as my brother once so kindly put it).
I think I instinctively knew that it was my high-speed scanning that sent me into my high-speed wobble, so I forced myself to try and ‘settle down’—because from the outside, that seemed like the good, normal, sane thing to do. I don’t think I thought very much about whether or not it was what I really wanted for myself. I got the job, the basement suite, the fish tank, the fiancé. Then I sat back and waited for the happiness to come. And it didn’t.
I pushed too hard. I tried to follow rules that were never really there. I tried to be the “good girl”.
Now everything is starting to open up again. I’m starting to feel passion and hope come flooding back in. I’m making plans. I’m dreaming dreams. I realize the next bits of my life might be scary and difficult— I'll have to make some big changes. But I realize that I’ll learn so much more than I ever could sitting still. I also realize that I can make these big changes by taking small steps.
I’ll be doing a lot more for the world by being wholly myself than I ever will by trying to ‘behave’ for the make-believe ‘someone else’.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I hate it when nuts get caught in my teeth. I just mauled one of those Sweet and Salty Mixed Nut bars and a chunk has lodged itself in the small black hole that appeared behind my meat shredding teeth, following the loss of a filling. I don’t like nuts in my teeth, but I don’t like the dentist more. It’s a good thing that I am a habitual flosser.
Why are we all so sad? When did apathy become cool? Long before Emo, long before goth cool, before grunge… I remember how I savoured and coveted my little store of private enthusiasm in high-school. I couldn’t wait until University! Where everyone would be happy! Pep rallies! Football games and sunny days and ponytails and shiny white teeth!
Wow. Was I ever disappointed. My 1950’s Pop-Dream was dashed to pieces on the cold ubiquitous cement walls of SFU, circa 1997.
I have been drifting, searching for enthusiasm. Only recently have I discovered that my pervasive habit of stuffing desire down whenever it peeks up has been responsible for suffocating enthusiasm before it can shriek its announcement of life. It’s time to let desire and passion and gusto breathe freely. Hey, everybody! I’ve decided that I DON’T CARE if you think I’m odd when I blow bubbles on the beach, when I sing out loud in my car, when I start wiggling with joy over good gelato (or these days, over a good rice cracker with antipasto)!
Here’s the thing—being happy in and of yourself is MAGNETIC. It attracts good things to you; good people, prime situations, awesome opportunities. You know this if you’ve read the Secret, if you’ve read A New Earth—hell, you know it if you’ve taken the time to read the back of a box of Froot Loops. We get happiness and satisfaction out of deciding to be happy.
Making the decision, and following through on it isn’t easy, though. Maybe that’s why we all stay stuck and sad. Because there is no purple pill that can infuse us with this understanding. Being happy is work, even HARD work. But I think it’s worth it.
Why are we all so sad? When did apathy become cool? Long before Emo, long before goth cool, before grunge… I remember how I savoured and coveted my little store of private enthusiasm in high-school. I couldn’t wait until University! Where everyone would be happy! Pep rallies! Football games and sunny days and ponytails and shiny white teeth!
Wow. Was I ever disappointed. My 1950’s Pop-Dream was dashed to pieces on the cold ubiquitous cement walls of SFU, circa 1997.
I have been drifting, searching for enthusiasm. Only recently have I discovered that my pervasive habit of stuffing desire down whenever it peeks up has been responsible for suffocating enthusiasm before it can shriek its announcement of life. It’s time to let desire and passion and gusto breathe freely. Hey, everybody! I’ve decided that I DON’T CARE if you think I’m odd when I blow bubbles on the beach, when I sing out loud in my car, when I start wiggling with joy over good gelato (or these days, over a good rice cracker with antipasto)!
Here’s the thing—being happy in and of yourself is MAGNETIC. It attracts good things to you; good people, prime situations, awesome opportunities. You know this if you’ve read the Secret, if you’ve read A New Earth—hell, you know it if you’ve taken the time to read the back of a box of Froot Loops. We get happiness and satisfaction out of deciding to be happy.
Making the decision, and following through on it isn’t easy, though. Maybe that’s why we all stay stuck and sad. Because there is no purple pill that can infuse us with this understanding. Being happy is work, even HARD work. But I think it’s worth it.
Friday, August 15, 2008
I was looking at some of my posts from when I lived in Japan, and decided to scroll thought them randomly. I ended up selecting December 5th, 2006… which began with my tale of woe about “chronic (something) of the patellae” – knee trouble—and ended with me sobbing into my clean socks in the laundry room of Dia Palace Sakosanbancho, Tokushima. Habit of Happiness? I was slipping there.
The entry previous to that one was a slap-dash list of the events I experienced in Kyoto when I travelled there with Ume and her mom—it brought back glimmers of memories that I had almost forgotten about. Like wandering around the labyrinth of the geisha district, hoping to see one; eating tiny perfectly shaped creamy Kyoto tofu in a restaurant the size of a small bedroom; sitting among the little red-dressed buddhas and slabs of indecipherable carved rocks on Inariyama, watching the yellow leaves drift down. We even experienced a “Fox’s Wedding” on Inariyama—when the sun shines and the rain falls at the same time. It was gorgeous, and perfect, because we were near an Inari shrine at that moment, and Inari is a shape-shifting goddess whose primary messengers are white foxes. Additionally, I sort of took the foxes on as my patron spirits while I lived in Japan, and never passed up an opportunity to stop at a fox shrine if I came across one. (Although most of my male Japanese friends did not think highly of the foxes—they are associated with sneaky devious female wiles—which might conversely be why I liked them so much).
Anyway—back to the sobbing in the socks part. I was lonely. I didn’t know what I was doing, and yet I look back, and I can see that I WAS doing. Doing something. Teaching. Working. Exploring. I think what happened was once the newness and freshness of my adventure wore off, I was once again struck with a crisis of meaning. I knew all the dirty words in Japanese, and a good smattering of clean ones. I had been to an onsen, eaten fugu, dressed up like a geisha. I wanted (and still do want) to have my work, my time on this earth, be of some value and significance—and not just to myself. I want work that engages me fully AND presents opportunities for adventure AND does good things for others. I will find this work! It is my solemn promise to myself. Additionally, a friend of mine reminded me that I had given myself until this coming September to figure out what my next move would be, and she’s going to hold me to it—so if I can’t do it for me, I can always do it for someone else! (^_~)
I’m working on this, I really am. There is nothing I want more than to bring the wholeness of myself—my creativity, empathy, my ability to create beauty, my own particular ‘light’—to the world, and share it as a gift, as I was meant to. Remember this, everyone: in the history of the universe, there will never be another person exactly like you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Endrene wholeheartedly recommends “I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was” by Barbara Sher… the best first step she has ever come across for finding your true calling!
The entry previous to that one was a slap-dash list of the events I experienced in Kyoto when I travelled there with Ume and her mom—it brought back glimmers of memories that I had almost forgotten about. Like wandering around the labyrinth of the geisha district, hoping to see one; eating tiny perfectly shaped creamy Kyoto tofu in a restaurant the size of a small bedroom; sitting among the little red-dressed buddhas and slabs of indecipherable carved rocks on Inariyama, watching the yellow leaves drift down. We even experienced a “Fox’s Wedding” on Inariyama—when the sun shines and the rain falls at the same time. It was gorgeous, and perfect, because we were near an Inari shrine at that moment, and Inari is a shape-shifting goddess whose primary messengers are white foxes. Additionally, I sort of took the foxes on as my patron spirits while I lived in Japan, and never passed up an opportunity to stop at a fox shrine if I came across one. (Although most of my male Japanese friends did not think highly of the foxes—they are associated with sneaky devious female wiles—which might conversely be why I liked them so much).
Anyway—back to the sobbing in the socks part. I was lonely. I didn’t know what I was doing, and yet I look back, and I can see that I WAS doing. Doing something. Teaching. Working. Exploring. I think what happened was once the newness and freshness of my adventure wore off, I was once again struck with a crisis of meaning. I knew all the dirty words in Japanese, and a good smattering of clean ones. I had been to an onsen, eaten fugu, dressed up like a geisha. I wanted (and still do want) to have my work, my time on this earth, be of some value and significance—and not just to myself. I want work that engages me fully AND presents opportunities for adventure AND does good things for others. I will find this work! It is my solemn promise to myself. Additionally, a friend of mine reminded me that I had given myself until this coming September to figure out what my next move would be, and she’s going to hold me to it—so if I can’t do it for me, I can always do it for someone else! (^_~)
I’m working on this, I really am. There is nothing I want more than to bring the wholeness of myself—my creativity, empathy, my ability to create beauty, my own particular ‘light’—to the world, and share it as a gift, as I was meant to. Remember this, everyone: in the history of the universe, there will never be another person exactly like you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Endrene wholeheartedly recommends “I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was” by Barbara Sher… the best first step she has ever come across for finding your true calling!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I got clipped by a truck when I was riding my bike today-- he knocked me right off my bike, and I tumbled to the shoulder of the road. I was unhurt-- but geez! I sat up quickly enough to see him drive away... luckily I got his license plate number. Who DOES that? Who hits a person and drives away? Ha! The cops are after you now, buddy! I might not have called them if you'd actually stopped to see if I was OK! Wienerhead!
Karma gets you every time, and sometimes Karma comes in a police cruiser. Speaking of which, I guess I have to earn up a little more good karma if I'm the one getting smacked by pickup trucks...
Wear your helmet, folks!
Karma gets you every time, and sometimes Karma comes in a police cruiser. Speaking of which, I guess I have to earn up a little more good karma if I'm the one getting smacked by pickup trucks...
Wear your helmet, folks!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Mom and Dad’s party is over and done! Thanks so much to all of those who helped out!
Sarah acted as our photographer, as the one I had booked had a family emergency. We (Sandy, Nathan, Katie, Mom and Dad and I) all met up at the Japanese Garden in Penticton, next to the art gallery… a good location for some arty shots! We went to Earl’s following that to have lunch. We finished eating a little sooner than I expected to, and Mom was pushing to go home for a nap. Luckily the Penticton Pipe Band was there as well, having lunch after the Peach Fest parade… a good temporary distraction for Mom and Dad, which bought us some time. (They both used to be movers and shakers in the Pipe Band back when Sandy was their bass drummer).
We took East Side Road along Skaha Lake to stretch the time out just a little more. When we arrived at mom and dad’s house in Kaleden, I was surprised that there were no cars parked in front of the house, no decorations on the deck… where was everyone? Did they forget to come? When we opened the front door, I saw the “Happy 40th Anniversary” banner strung up on the banister, balloons… but still silence. This was going well! Mom and Dad cautiously moved into the foyer as we hung back. I had butterflies in my stomach for them! As they started up the stairs, I could see that everyone was gathered around the top landing, looking down… and they all shouted SURPRISE! I think the best thing for me was my parent’s reactions when they saw some of the folks I had managed to gather up… Sandy’s and my babysitter from Port Moody, old family friends and co-workers from ‘way back, church friends and family members. Some people couldn’t make it, but as the house was full it all worked out as it was meant to. Sandy and his friends looked after the meat and the alcohol, me and my friends (and Sandy’s girlfriend’s mom, Judy) managed the salads and snacks.
My first surprise party! The first one I have ever been a part of anyway… success! But for the 50th, they had better plan their own party! After this, I’m through with social planning… (^_~)
Sarah acted as our photographer, as the one I had booked had a family emergency. We (Sandy, Nathan, Katie, Mom and Dad and I) all met up at the Japanese Garden in Penticton, next to the art gallery… a good location for some arty shots! We went to Earl’s following that to have lunch. We finished eating a little sooner than I expected to, and Mom was pushing to go home for a nap. Luckily the Penticton Pipe Band was there as well, having lunch after the Peach Fest parade… a good temporary distraction for Mom and Dad, which bought us some time. (They both used to be movers and shakers in the Pipe Band back when Sandy was their bass drummer).
We took East Side Road along Skaha Lake to stretch the time out just a little more. When we arrived at mom and dad’s house in Kaleden, I was surprised that there were no cars parked in front of the house, no decorations on the deck… where was everyone? Did they forget to come? When we opened the front door, I saw the “Happy 40th Anniversary” banner strung up on the banister, balloons… but still silence. This was going well! Mom and Dad cautiously moved into the foyer as we hung back. I had butterflies in my stomach for them! As they started up the stairs, I could see that everyone was gathered around the top landing, looking down… and they all shouted SURPRISE! I think the best thing for me was my parent’s reactions when they saw some of the folks I had managed to gather up… Sandy’s and my babysitter from Port Moody, old family friends and co-workers from ‘way back, church friends and family members. Some people couldn’t make it, but as the house was full it all worked out as it was meant to. Sandy and his friends looked after the meat and the alcohol, me and my friends (and Sandy’s girlfriend’s mom, Judy) managed the salads and snacks.
My first surprise party! The first one I have ever been a part of anyway… success! But for the 50th, they had better plan their own party! After this, I’m through with social planning… (^_~)
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Here's what everybody needs to know: I don't know what I want. I don't know where I want to live, what I want to do, when, how, I don't KNOW anything. Maybe I want to live in Penticton. Maybe I want to live in Nanaimo. Maybe I want to live in India and become a Buddhist nun. Maybe not.
Please don't hold me accountable to making decisions that suit your vision of who you think I am. Give me space, time, and a forum for expressing what I have learned and what I realize I have NOT learned.
I'll figure it out eventually. In the meantime, don't judge, yo.
Please don't hold me accountable to making decisions that suit your vision of who you think I am. Give me space, time, and a forum for expressing what I have learned and what I realize I have NOT learned.
I'll figure it out eventually. In the meantime, don't judge, yo.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
I decided at the last minute to go to the island with Nathan. So much for all of the “should haves”. Besides, how am I supposed to know ‘what’s in it for me’ unless I make an effort to find out?
I really liked Nanaimo—at least the part of it where we were, in Harewood or ‘University Town’. Harewood isn’t too far from Nanaimo proper, the notorious downtown with the ancient bastion, cute little harbour and myriads of crackheads. Harewood is low-end, with huge potential. Lots of 40’s era quirky abodes housing students, Hell’s Angels, and stray cats; all sporting yards with dried-out grass lawns. And in the case of Nathan’s friend Aaron’s place, pots full of colourful fake flowers (he and his girl Jennie readily admit to an absence of green thumbs in their household). I think the rent they are paying for their 2-bedroom house-and-yard is roughly equivalent to what Nate and I are dishing out for the one-bedroom basement suite in Aldergrove. I think Aldergrove should pay ME to live here.
Anyway, Nanaimo stuck me as dirty and sweet—ripe for a little cultural revolution. There are some arty-funky shops downtown which always bolsters my spirit. It seemed like the more icky-type shops (Pawn Shops, XXX Video Stores and the Hydroponic Supply) were shut down. That’s since the last time I was there, about a year ago. I found my imagination scrambling to imagine what business I would run if the storefront was mine… a futurizing activity I haven’t partaken of in a while. I guess Nanaimo inspired me a little. I’ve always been a sucker for potential!
When we first arrived, Nate quickly involved us in a hike to some waterfalls with his buddies Jeremy and Griffin, and two other guys. These are the type of guys who are made out of elastic bands. They eat McDonalds. They skateboard and do backflips off of sandpiles. They can climb like monkies and fly like squirrels and recover from a hangover in the space of a couple of hours. In short, they were young, healthy, and fully capable of kicking my ass. I didn’t realize that I had something to prove, until I couldn’t prove anything…
Yeah. So the waterfalls? Lovely. One after another tumbling into each other in a deep, ferny, mossy, cool forest. Getting to them required navigating some goat paths and then rappelling down some steepish dirt paths, and THEN (to get to the bottom two waterfalls) rappelling down a rock face. I use the term “rappelling” in the loosest sense. What I mean is that there was some nasty old plastic rope with knots in it, tied around a tree at the top of the rock face, and I squealed and grunted all the way down, hoping to hell that if I fell that Nate would catch me (or that I wouldn’t kill him if I fell on him). I made it down. I was pumped full of adrenaline! I was awesome! I rewarded myself with a panty-and-bra dip in the frigid second-waterfall pool. The monkey boys scaled a rock face to the bottom pool. I took some pictures, waited and wandered a bit. Admired ferns. Then, slap, bang, time to go! One monkey up the rock face, two monkeys, three… and this little piggy stayed home.
I couldn’t do it. Could not. I tried with shoes and without. I tried to find another path. I tried with Nathan below, trying to hoist my bountiful booty up, up, up… Couldn’t do it. The monkeys were gone, long gone. Just me and Nathan, stuck at Waterfall Two. What if we were stuck there forever? What if a bear could smell my fear and decided to come and eat me?
Thank goodness Nate stayed with me to find a solution. We ended up traversing up the mossy ferny pitch to our immediate right, pulling ourselves nearly on our stomachs through the brambles and snails. I had dirt in my panties. I had spiders in my bra. But I wanted to live, I wanted to escape!
The monkeys came back, hooting “HALOOOoooo” through the woods until the located us from a vantage point above, and directed us the last bit of the way up to the path. They had all gone all the way back to the cars before they realized that we weren’t ahead of them. Or behind them.
Getting back to the cars was satisfying, a victory. I didn’t prove anything to anybody but myself—and that is, that I can survive. Ha! Take that, imaginary bears! You didn’t eat me, after all!
The rest of the weekend was fun, if less death-defying (by my standards). We saw “Dark Knight” and slept on a futon. I visited Jess and Ryan in Courtenay, and built sandcastles (or one big sand mound, really) with Colin and Anna-Maria’s kids. I found a starfish and hermit crabs and a very interesting baby sea-slug. (fluorescent orange boobily-tendril body with neon-blue antennae—like a crawling anemone). I smiled into the sun. I took pictures of the ocean.
It’s weird to me how our ‘long weekends’ are just big party weekends, with no common purpose. You can go camping or hiking, boozing, cruising or snoozing. There’s no real guideline for how a Canadian holiday MUST be celebrated. (Other than Canada Day, which means wearing red and white and having flags painted on your cheeks and watching fireworks). I think it’s nice, the autonomy to choose. I also think it’s sad, as we’re missing that “piece of a bigger pie” feeling that I got at hana-mi or hana-bi festivals in Japan.
Regardless. I had fun. And I survived!
I really liked Nanaimo—at least the part of it where we were, in Harewood or ‘University Town’. Harewood isn’t too far from Nanaimo proper, the notorious downtown with the ancient bastion, cute little harbour and myriads of crackheads. Harewood is low-end, with huge potential. Lots of 40’s era quirky abodes housing students, Hell’s Angels, and stray cats; all sporting yards with dried-out grass lawns. And in the case of Nathan’s friend Aaron’s place, pots full of colourful fake flowers (he and his girl Jennie readily admit to an absence of green thumbs in their household). I think the rent they are paying for their 2-bedroom house-and-yard is roughly equivalent to what Nate and I are dishing out for the one-bedroom basement suite in Aldergrove. I think Aldergrove should pay ME to live here.
Anyway, Nanaimo stuck me as dirty and sweet—ripe for a little cultural revolution. There are some arty-funky shops downtown which always bolsters my spirit. It seemed like the more icky-type shops (Pawn Shops, XXX Video Stores and the Hydroponic Supply) were shut down. That’s since the last time I was there, about a year ago. I found my imagination scrambling to imagine what business I would run if the storefront was mine… a futurizing activity I haven’t partaken of in a while. I guess Nanaimo inspired me a little. I’ve always been a sucker for potential!
When we first arrived, Nate quickly involved us in a hike to some waterfalls with his buddies Jeremy and Griffin, and two other guys. These are the type of guys who are made out of elastic bands. They eat McDonalds. They skateboard and do backflips off of sandpiles. They can climb like monkies and fly like squirrels and recover from a hangover in the space of a couple of hours. In short, they were young, healthy, and fully capable of kicking my ass. I didn’t realize that I had something to prove, until I couldn’t prove anything…
Yeah. So the waterfalls? Lovely. One after another tumbling into each other in a deep, ferny, mossy, cool forest. Getting to them required navigating some goat paths and then rappelling down some steepish dirt paths, and THEN (to get to the bottom two waterfalls) rappelling down a rock face. I use the term “rappelling” in the loosest sense. What I mean is that there was some nasty old plastic rope with knots in it, tied around a tree at the top of the rock face, and I squealed and grunted all the way down, hoping to hell that if I fell that Nate would catch me (or that I wouldn’t kill him if I fell on him). I made it down. I was pumped full of adrenaline! I was awesome! I rewarded myself with a panty-and-bra dip in the frigid second-waterfall pool. The monkey boys scaled a rock face to the bottom pool. I took some pictures, waited and wandered a bit. Admired ferns. Then, slap, bang, time to go! One monkey up the rock face, two monkeys, three… and this little piggy stayed home.
I couldn’t do it. Could not. I tried with shoes and without. I tried to find another path. I tried with Nathan below, trying to hoist my bountiful booty up, up, up… Couldn’t do it. The monkeys were gone, long gone. Just me and Nathan, stuck at Waterfall Two. What if we were stuck there forever? What if a bear could smell my fear and decided to come and eat me?
Thank goodness Nate stayed with me to find a solution. We ended up traversing up the mossy ferny pitch to our immediate right, pulling ourselves nearly on our stomachs through the brambles and snails. I had dirt in my panties. I had spiders in my bra. But I wanted to live, I wanted to escape!
The monkeys came back, hooting “HALOOOoooo” through the woods until the located us from a vantage point above, and directed us the last bit of the way up to the path. They had all gone all the way back to the cars before they realized that we weren’t ahead of them. Or behind them.
Getting back to the cars was satisfying, a victory. I didn’t prove anything to anybody but myself—and that is, that I can survive. Ha! Take that, imaginary bears! You didn’t eat me, after all!
The rest of the weekend was fun, if less death-defying (by my standards). We saw “Dark Knight” and slept on a futon. I visited Jess and Ryan in Courtenay, and built sandcastles (or one big sand mound, really) with Colin and Anna-Maria’s kids. I found a starfish and hermit crabs and a very interesting baby sea-slug. (fluorescent orange boobily-tendril body with neon-blue antennae—like a crawling anemone). I smiled into the sun. I took pictures of the ocean.
It’s weird to me how our ‘long weekends’ are just big party weekends, with no common purpose. You can go camping or hiking, boozing, cruising or snoozing. There’s no real guideline for how a Canadian holiday MUST be celebrated. (Other than Canada Day, which means wearing red and white and having flags painted on your cheeks and watching fireworks). I think it’s nice, the autonomy to choose. I also think it’s sad, as we’re missing that “piece of a bigger pie” feeling that I got at hana-mi or hana-bi festivals in Japan.
Regardless. I had fun. And I survived!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, July 28, 2008
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
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
Thursday, July 24, 2008
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?
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?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
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?
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?
Friday, July 11, 2008
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...
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...
Monday, June 23, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, June 20, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
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.
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.
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