It’s been a while since I wrote last and that’s mostly due to the fact that a new Technology Usage mandate has been circulated through work and thus I am very limited in how far I connect to the outside world, while inside my office. And, being the good girl I am, I obey. So then, when I get home from work on one of those spectacular, after-work days, I forget I even own a computer and the cycle of work starts the next morning. 

I would have written on the weekend but I was camping in the Okanagan for what has now become one of the best camping trips I’ve ever been on. Number one reason being the landscape, number two being the amazing weather. After that, everything just fell into place. 

Summer’s rolling in nicely so far. I’ve been adventuring around, taking it all in as I approach my 2nd year in Vancouver already; which still baffles me, by the way. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been here for eight months. Then I look back at the shitty time I had in the employment department when I first got here; my first apartment that a Garbage Pail Kid must have lived in before me; one grandfather’s death, another’s 100th birthday; the death of two of my pets back home; my friends’ babies are hitting their 2nd birthdays now; etc. Then there are the changes I’ve gone through on my own as a person. How I’ve grown, and how differently I look at the world. I thought around my late twenties I had really matured and evolved as compared to my early to mid twenties and now here I am, 32 years old, and experiencing even more instances that will add to this. Emotional things, physical things, friendships, relationships, growth in my career, and the list can go on. I suppose it has a lot to do with where I find myself now. I wonder often that if I were in a relationship if these changes would have slowed, or at least occurred on different levels. But, being single in your thirties seems to allow for more variations in severity. Had I been in a relationship maybe I would feel more protected when things go wrong, or at least less alone. Which is not to say that I have issues being alone because I’m extremely happy where I am right now. I’d be a terrible girlfriend in the sense that my sense of independence would become a real crutch. By the time I figure out if I even want to be in a relationship, the guy’d be long gone. I think half of that has to do with the fact that I refuse to settle. Even though in my future I still see the potential for someone to grow old with and start a family with, it’s just that I would die inside if I was with someone I am just settling for. Poor other person too, who would want their partner to just settle for them?

So ya, that’s it I guess. Just a little thought dump on Canada Day coming to you from Vancouver, British Columbia.

I’ll leave you with some camping photos from my most amazing weekend as well as a Sunday Jammin’ song mid-week. It’s my little tribute to Michael Jackson. Poor guy. In my opinion here was just a little boy caught up in a grown man’s body who had amazing charisma and talent. A lot of him makes sense to me. As bizarre as it was sometimes, I think I got it.

In my lifetime so far he is the first musical icon I remember listening to as far back as I can remember. I bought my first Michael album - Off The Wall - at a used record store, then my parents had Thriller and I eventually bought Bad on cassette. I learned the moonwalk - sort of. I learned all the words to Man in the Mirror and Human Nature because they moved me. I remember that. I was 10-years old. This makes Michael Jackson the first artist who I remember from being a child to now, to have died. That means something to me. 

Human Nature

I’m jammin’ to Otis Redding today. He was a humanitarian who carried the opinion that music was intended as a universal force. Something that could bring races and cultures together. In my opinion, this was a real soul man. I can listen to his voice for hours and hours and never get tired. I mean, he was twenty-six when he was killed in a plane crash on December 10th, 1967. Twenty-six … imagine what he was capable of if he had just stayed on this earth longer. 

On another note, today is my cat Otis’ birthday. He’s nine years old making it eight years and eight months that he’s been my fur-son. I named him after Otis Redding, it’s true. Their personalities are similar. Both love singing, are shy, and sensitive. I think cat-Otis feels a special connection to person-Otis. At least I hope he does. I can tell he enjoys his music on a warm summer day. Just like I do.

It’s too bad this recording doesn’t come with video. It does have the best quality sound for this song I could find though.

These Arms of Mine

I meant to write this on the day … but needed some time to confirm and verify the story that I only knew from conversations throughout my life. So here it is, finally, a little tribute to my Dido (my paternal grandfather in the Czech Republic) for his 100th birthday.

He was born on June 17th, 1909 in Mukachevo, Ukraine. At that time, Mukachevo was part of the Austro-Hungarian empire so technically he was born in the Hungarian part of the empire. He became a coppersmith by trade, specialising in the repair of large boilers for steam trains.

When WWII started in 1939, he escaped to the USSR but was caught at the border and sent to Siberia, spending the next two years in the GULAG  prison camps.

When the Czech Army formed in Russia to fight the Germans, he enlisted in 1941 and fought in many battles including the Battle of Kiev. After WWII ended in 1945, he moved to Prague where he met and married my Babka (grandmother). Shortly after that, the army relocated them to Hodonín, Czech Republic where my dad was born in 1946. Three months later he was relocated to Olomouc, Czech Republic. My titka (aunt) was born not too long after and they have lived in Olomouc as a family ever since. Throughout his years with the army, my grandfather raised through the ranks of the Czech Army becoming a captain and just before being released in 1952, was appointed the rank of Major.

The 1950s were a dark age for the Czech Republic, many who fought against the Germans were let go from the army where others were imprisoned. Many vets suffered great injustices during this time in history. In the 1990s, the government attempted to reconcile these injustices and my grandfather was promoted to Colonel. He was also granted weekly visits from various nurses and or estheticians receiving a wide range of services that included manicures and pedicures for the rest of his life. 

In the midst of all this, he was diagnosed with melanoma on his face in the late 1940s. Since then, he had been undergoing radiation treatment every year or two up until early 2000s when the physicians accidentally left him in radiation for 15 minutes too long resulting in burns to his skin and destroying many of the muscles and nerves to the right side of his face. By this time, however, the cancer was gone and no more treatments were needed.

Despite all this he has lived to see his 100th birthday. This milestone officially made him the oldest person ever on record to live in Olomouc. My dad is there right now and mentioned that four newspapers came to their place to interview and take photos of him. As soon as the photos are up on the Internet, I’ll post them.

At 100 years old, my dido does struggle with his health. He is now nearly completely blind and deaf and is not entirely coherent. Some days he’s up and about, conversing in any one of the six languages he knows, telling stories from his life. Other days he barely recognises my dad as his own son. So it’s hard on everyone. I imagine it’s hard on my dad because he was the only one from the family to emigrate to Canada and I think he finds it hard being so far away with my grandfather’s current state of health. My titka alternatively, has spent her entire life caring for my grandfather and this has taken a toll on her in her own way. As well, much of my babka’s senior life has been devoted to helping my titka take care of him too. 

Despite this incredible history that was often very trying and tumultuous, there is some kind of inner strength that my grandfather obviously possesses. Genetics might have something to do with it, but at the same time I believe a lot of it is will. Taking control of your life and picking the battles you are willing to let overcome you and which you’re going to fight. 

I saw him last in 2004 on his 95th birthday and hope to make it there again within the next two years. If all goes well, we’ll be sitting around the kitchen table, drinking tea, a sip of red wine with breakfast and celebrating his 102nd birthday.

Like, what would happen if you’re a vegetarian and your boyfriend spritzes this on between his pecs. Or, what if you’re a ravenous meat eater so much so that you grill your steaks for breakfast and quiver the minute someone says short loin or foreshank? What if all of the sudden your dog asks you out on a date? 

I hate to sound like the most gullible person in the entire world but what the mother?

That’s me and I hope you understand. Trust me, readers, I think about you every day. I think about those who send me emails and Facebook messages about how you enjoy reading my musings and all about my bizarre life. But then, the pressure overcomes me and I develop this aversion to logging in. It’s the stress that gets to me. I’m so weird.

When I first started this blog nearly a year and a half ago it had migrated from a silly ole blogspot blog that I’d been writing in for a couple years previous and had maybe enough posts count on my two hands and half a foot. It also had a terrible template, tons of wannabe writings that weren’t me, and contrived thoughts typed in an attempt to arouse interest. The problem is I didn’t realise I wasn’t entirely interested in blogging as a lifestyle and thus produced rather uninteresting posts. Then again, perhaps I could have had more banal of a life compared to now. There were, however, a select few posts that I transferred to this one, but other than those everything else is lost in cyberspace. 

So as the summer rolls in and the beaches warm up and fill with flocks of bodies hungry for the ocean and the sunshine, and opportunities to explore the province I’ve come to call my 2nd home, my blogging probably won’t pick up. I’m warning you ahead of time. I just have such a craving for outdoors in all shapes and forms; even the stormy kinds. I’m sure I’ll check in with a photo or two here and there, maybe even a solid week will go by when I’ll write more, I just don’t knowwww.

Also, I’m still in recovery from my surgery. Hard to believe it’s almost been three weeks. Some days can still be rather uncomfortable and sleeping can take on a whole new meaning which can be pretty sucky sometimes. A shitty sleep means an uncomfortable rising, means a cranky and uncomfortable day. I truck on though, as best I can, wincing, whining and sometimes suffering in silence, then other days are fantastic so it’s a fine balance. I’ve really learned to listen to my body though so it’s like meeting an old, familiar friend. I take good care of me lately.

I visited parts of beautiful Vancouver Island this past weekend with Keira and met up with a friend as well. I met some dog friends, touched the noses of some dairy cows, and spent some time with the amazing spirit of some horses. The last time I was on the Island was in 1994 so in many ways it felt new all over again. It’s nice to leave the energy of the city to escape to a place that lives and breathes tranquility. A place where people you pass on the sidewalk will say good morning and a smile comes easy. Ottawa offered that in a lot of ways with a quick 45 minute drive outside of the city. It’s been a while since I felt that kind of quiet calmness so it was rejuvenating. 

So I guess that’s about it for now. I’ll leave you with some photos from the last month or so just for fun. Should be good enough for a while at least.

Yea… life’s been good to me so far.

ps. Do you remember Say Anything? I bought it over the weekend and forgot how much I love it. The car make out scene … sigh … 80’s movies are so rad.

I’m pretty sure Jordy actually does smile…

Pretty Charley girl…

Beaufort Vineyard & Estate Winery…

Les vaches

So loverly they were…

I called this one Cindy Crawford…

Coombs…

This is Mitch. He liked our crackers…

I’m still on vacation so this is acceptable to me. Otis must think it’s breakfast already because he’s tugging on the cuffs of my jeans. Marshall, on the other hand, is completely passed out in the usual spot snoring like an old man. I like that about him. 

So Kenny’s come and gone. Just like that. Four quick days. We packed a lot in though and he thanked me for being such a good tour guide. 

Half of June is almost over already, summer’s close. This means the beach. This means me beached. This means the smell of crunchy bits of sand under me, tracked into my car, then into my apt on my flip flops. This means me not caring at all. There’s something about summer. Or, the awakening of summer. It makes me so excited in a restoring kind of way. It’s not as intense as when Ottawa would emerge from its winter hubbub but the energy is still there. A city emerging into the atmosphere again. Have you sat at Kits Beach at sunset lately? Or anywhere at sunset? It’s ideal if there is a backdrop of mountains. However, watching a deep orange-pink sunset, wherever you are, with warm wind around you feels amazing. 

I don’t really have much to write. Lately that seems to be the way. When I can leave my house in a skirt or shorts, or t-shirts and tank tops, it makes me resent sitting at my laptop. Maybe 1:13AM is more tolerable because the rest of the world is asleep and I won’t be distracted by the sun pouring into my living room grabbing at me to bring me outside.

Maybe I’m writing so you know I’m still here. Maybe I should just go to bed now.

Oh, I finished Such a Long Journey, Rohinton Mistry’s first novel. It was good - really good, definitely what I expect from his writing however, A Fine Balance still stands as one of the most powerful novels I’ve read. Not only by him, but of them all. Two weeks ago, I was sitting on the steps outside my work that are along Broadway completely submerged in S.a.L.J and in front of me was a gentleman handing out free Caffè Artigiano coupons. I was aware of him but lost in my book. When he saw me turn off my mp3 player and bookmark my page he said to me “I didn’t want to disturb you while you were reading Mistry of all writers, but here’s a coupon.” I asked, “Have you read this one? It’s his first.” He remarked no, but did say something along the lines that Mistry, to this day is one of the only novelists who has written something that made this gentleman shed actual tears while reading. “It was A Fine Balance, wasn’t it?” I ascertained. “Oh definitely.”

So there you go. You can check out the links to see what they’re all about, but sometimes the backs are better. Short and sweet, more left unknown. Better that way I find. Now I’m onto Alex Haley’s Roots. Me = Excited.

So ya … Kenny’s arriving tomorrow morning to hang with me for five days. Kenny is a) going to hate that the first sentence in this post involves his name and b) is my ex-fiance.

The moment I tell people I was engaged once, their immediate reaction is usually “Oh I’m sorry.” To which I respond, “No, don’t be, you’re happy.”

I do appreciate that it’s not normal for ex-fiances to continue any kind of correspondence let alone one that involves travel across the country to hang out, but that’s where I’m thankful we’re different.  We had a pretty solid relationship, Kenny and I. We never fought, had so much fun together, traveled, adventured, and loved. As a married couple, however, it just wasn’t meant to be. Not then, and most likely not even now, but the strength of our friendship allows us to look past that specific phase of our lives and continue to work with the bond we still have and enjoy it. I know we’re okay when I can take photos of myself in what was supposed to be my wedding dress, email them to him, and he can call me laughing and tell me how much of a nerd I am.

We were heading in completely different directions at a time when we should really have been meeting in the middle somewhere. All the while I was desperately trying to pull him to where I thought he should be, while he was fighting to pull me to where he was. It took a lot to be able to recognise this, finally address it, then put an end to the upcoming wedding just four months shy of it - but we did it and we’re better off for it.

This part of my life, to this day, still holds one of the top places for emotional growth, sadness, confusion, and redemption. There are not too many people I know who can identify with this, let alone ones who can actually find normalcy in the relationship we have now.

I get that though, I know that some people will initially see ulterior motives, mind games, avoidance, or just want nothing to do with it altogether - and that’s fine with me. Like I said, I know we’re weird in that sense. To me though, he’s my friend who I still care about deeply, husband or not.

Plus, the guy’s never been west of Ontario. Imagine?

I’m relatively back. Not 100%, though. I’ve had the craziest week since my surgery on Friday. Today is my 2nd day back at work. In the meantime I’ve been eating flavourless things, I’ve had no appetite, I’ve been sleeping, tossing and turning, swearing, whining, and making the best of what’s around. Oh, I also completed six crossword puzzles, and nearly finished Mistry’s Such A Long Journey.

I became very familiar with the little insect colony that’s moved onto one of my succulents. It’s as exciting as watching Sea Monkeys being born. But, things like this happen when you’re confined to your confines. I made it out of my house for little field trips like to the end of my street and back. Sometimes this was such a feat I needed to march right back to my house to go to sleep again.

Isn’t it funny how when you’re recuperating, or if you’re in some sort of recovery that your body has the conch when it comes to determining exactly what you’re going to be capable of at any given moment of the day? Part of this recovery has been a battle with convincing my body to let me out of the house. I know I abused my privileges maybe two days too early when I attempted to drive my manual transmission car to meet up with a friend for ice cream. My body was really not in a state to be scratching my own head let alone shifting the gears of my car and I arrived at my friends place sweaty, nauseous, and ready for my bed again.

Dear Body,

I’m sorry.

Love, Andrea

Work’s been okay though. My colleagues have become used to me screaming out in pain of I turn weird, or use a part of my body that didn’t want to be used. I don’t think they were expecting me to be laughing through my tears but it’s just what I seem to do when I’m in pain. This never did work in my favour when my brother and I would be fighting as kids because my laughter (even though I was in agony) would make him so mad he’d wrestle me harder, which would make me laugh louder.  I’ll admit, it was weird of me and was especially confusing for all of us because as a parent, do you go running to your children to break up a fight when all you hear is laughing? And when you’re a sibling, furious and unrelenting, how much more angry are you if your sister’s laughing in your face while you have her in a headlock?

I’ve completely lost my trail of thought and gone off on a tangent. I blame the agony that I’m in. I should have never started this post after 3:PM because it seems to be around the time that my body’s like ‘Listen sister, I’m going to turn up the pain now because I want to be in bed like yesterday.’

How rude.

More intelligence must be forthcoming my friends. My vacation starts and I need to be in top form.

Where was I?

It’s Sunday, jammin’ time. I’m jammin’ low-key styles today. I’m recovering from surgery, laying low. Spending a lot of time on my sofa under blankets surrounded by pillows and my two favourite boys in the whole world - Marshall & Otis. It’s warm outside, the sun’s pouring into my living room, the air is dry. Life feels perfect today. I like slow days… visits from friends over the weekend, kind words, support, and some cute jokes about my predicament. 

I picked this jammin’ song because it’s got a great rhythm as well as the feeling of escape it temporarily brings. Like almost all Tracy Chapman’s songs do for me. This one makes you appreciate that life rarely has a clear and obvious road through it. So, it kind of brings clarity to the chaos.

This song is like a drive to somewhere you’re not sure of yet. Could just end up being the grocery store, maybe to some remote area under a tree, maybe to the beach, maybe you just drive until it’s time to come back home. 

Whatever the reason, wherever you go…

Crossroad

Is it weird that the only reason why I bought this soup mix is because of the packaging?