It’s Sunday and I just finished eating this steak-like dinner. It refer to it as steak-like because its original composition was a juicy, t-bone cut, however, after forgetting about it in the oven it came out like something closer to what a Birkenstock marinated in Lea & Perrins would taste like – Chewy but flavourful. Plus, it’s red meat and a good lady needs red meat at certain times.

This day has gone by quite lackadaisically. Had brunch at T.Mo’s place this mornternoon (thank-you T.Mo) and was sprightly with her on the backyard trampoline while we talked about various meandering thoughts out loud.

When finished, I head home with big plans for nothing to do in my head. It was the most fantastic thing. First thing I did upon arrival was sit in the middle of my sofa, feet on coffee table and just stare at my black television. I sat there for a while waiting to see if perhaps an idea would come to mind. Which it didn’t – not at that time. So I made my way into my bedroom; a place where I catch my deepest breaths. It’s quite a charming place. I stripped down and lay down; my sheets had this kind of cool, creamy feeling that put me to sleep almost instantly. An afternoon nap had commenced on account of not having anything to do.

I awoke at precisely 4:20 and didn’t get high, but I did lay still for a while. I could hear Marshall & Otis stirring outside the door and someone outside was ringing clothes in from a squeaky line. I began to visualize my living room for some reason and eventually narrowed it down to an image of my dining-room table (which in actual fact is a computer table, that I use for neither dining, nor computing) and my collection of unfinished canvas ideas. One in particular came to light as clear as if I were right in front of my easel and it looked complete. I took this to mean I needed to paint this afternoon and wandered into my living room to do just that.

As a tangential side-note – I find a lot of my impediments to completing these paintings stem from a dislike of the actual set-up, then tear-down of my art space. I would love to be good and focused enough to complete a painting in say, four sessions; but it’s never the way with me. I have a HUGE fear of screwing up that I think I’ve actually convinced myself that if I stop the painting the moment I fall in love with it then I leave no opportunity to bungle it up. I leave it where I love it and omit the chance of hating it. Then, this business of complaining about the set-up and tear-down is really just complementary to the hardship I cause myself by fearing artistic failure. It’s so funny that I do this because I don’t fixate on such things in any other aspect of my life. I very much just do.

People see my paintings and say, “Forget about failing, just finish them.” My reply is usually non-verbal and I just stare at whichever one we’re discussing until the silence explains everything and we move on to something else. The truth is just that… I really don’t know how to answer why.

Today I began painting books into a bookshelf. I cleared my head and just painted them. I let go of the pressure of perfection I put on myself and just painted. I’m going to take a photo and post it now – so I have a bit of accountability to the painting. I appoint my readers to hold me accountable to just finishing this. Okay? We work together.

Before today this painting was sitting this very way, sans books, for approx eight months. Eight months! Today I’ve accomplished nine roughed-in books. Maybe tomorrow I’ll finish the first shelf with rough books. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.

Painting brought me pretty well up to the moment I decided I wanted to eat my steak. Yes, if you do the math it took me about three hours to paint nine books. That’s three books an hour, twenty minutes a book. I suppose that’s okay for me as I only have my own progress to compare to. I may finish the rest of the shelf more efficiently now that I got the pages going the right way. The perspective was really off at first – thankfully oil paints are so forgiving. My steak cooked while I scrubbed my brushes, then I noticed a smell and realised I had been scrubbing for far too long and opened the oven only to be cloaked in over-cooked steak smoke. I nearly sprained a jaw eating much of my dinner but the fatty edging tasted so crispy and delectable. I completed the evening doing 60 sit-ups on my living room floor and here I am about to finish the sentence my post title started with.

… is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.

Think about it.

It’s a lyric from k.d. lang’s version of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. The original misses out on some brilliance that k.d.’s touched this song with. I’ve posted the link on my Facebook but will share it, with another song right now.

Some triv pour vous: This version is from the 2005 Junos in Winnipeg. This particular performance garnered her a two-minute standing o. As well, Leonard Cohen and his partner Anjani Thomas once heard k.d. sing Hallelujah and collectively decided that Hallelujah could actually be put to rest as it had reached perfection. That’s quite the accolade but she deserves it. I think this song was written for her to sing. Hallelujah | k.d. lang

Secondly, please enjoy Jeff Buckley singing Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. Lovely, beautiful Jeff Buckley – another in the collection of musical souls lost much, much too soon – accidentally drowned one night swimming in Wolf River Harbour while singing the chorus to Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love.

Hear this song and think of a winter night. It has to be a cold, winter night – you’re not in the tropics – you light the fireplace but keep the room dark otherwise then get into the most comfortable position you can think of – it’s probably best if there is another body beside you – then close your eyes and be silent for a while.

I have been a really poor blogger as of late. So poor, in fact, that I wouldn’t even call myself a blogger. I am a sometimes, a fair-weather, a lazy, a sidetracked. I’ve accumulated too many drafts again. Some of them actually contain just one word; the start of what might have been a very profound and provocative thought but sadly was never seen through to the end; or, really much of the beginning for that matter.

I blame summer which sounds hardly excusable because who blames summer? I’ve been out! I’ve been at the beach! I’ve been on a boat. I’ve been on the road! I’ve been practicing the lost art of s.f.a. I’ve been eating at the Richmond Night Market. I watched Back to the Future outside on a big screen at David Lam Park with Keira and Jordypants!

Cool!

… I’ve been gallivanting in Seattle! I’ve been napping like a European.

(the rock biter has nothing to do with anything, I just have affection for him)

I find during the hot season my mind takes this kind of psychological vacation. I become very immersed in my physical life and what’s going on around me which in turn causes my brain to go into this kind of out of office mode. It’s like a continuous sensory stimulation that I get distracted by, or maybe too enveloped by. I get distracted by things like the way a pure blue sky looks first thing in the morning. Or the way the hot sun feels on my face. The smell of beach on my skin. The way the air feels around me and the way the sand crunches under my bare feet. How hot my apartment is and the way my curtains blow in the evening. The colours of summer clothes. It’s the food, oh the food: The juiciest peaches, the reddest strawberries, the sumptuous raspberries, the deepest blue blueberries that pop, the blissful watermelon. The BBQs. The grilled zucchini. The summer salads. The mojitos.

I don’t like the idea of this though. It’s criminal and very mean to trap the berries and insult them with gelatin of all things.

By the way, do you ever listen to the way you pronounce the word “continue?” Do you pronounce it like “kin-tin-u?” You shouldn’t.

So I saw Eat Pray Love on Monday. It resonated with me at a very deep level that I won’t get into because at this point it will probably need its own spiral-bound, four-section notebook once I’m through with explaining all the profound ways it affected me and how similarly this part of her (her meaning Liz, not Julia) life made sense with mine in many ways (run on).

I can say, though, that I’ve known I’m not finished with where I am right now which has always been exciting for me to know and this movie kicked my ass a little further toward that.  Kind of like the One Week effect. There is a world of inner and outer places I need to visit and explore.

As a side note, I’ve noticed that it’s in your 30s when the real divide occurs between the single life vs the committed/family life. I think it’s in your 30s when you can really be defined as a grown-up (in terms of chronology) so you get a taste of what the world looks like from a grown-up perspective. In hindsight, my 20s was still quite young, by definition. I didn’t have any real sense of time, I was just going about my life and I realise that now that I’m 33. I was all over the place about what I wanted, the expectations I had of my life, the sacrifices I almost made to make these expectations a reality. At the same time, my awareness of myself and the way I look at the world, especially in my mid- to late-20s, was the same as it is now… I just listen to, and honour myself, more.

Basically, I’m single. Life is short, the night is young. I pack tomorrow.

What else…

I’ve connected with some people from home who have made their way over to Vancouver as well. It’s curious because with the exception of a few of us (many of us go back to childhood) we were never friends as a group back then. We were aware of each other in passing and from living in a small town but some of us were in different grades, went to different high schools, or had different circles of friends. But here we all are and familiarity and our pasts have become the building blocks for a friendship that’s ready to be made. It’s great! We all went on a 3-hour boat cruise around the Burrard Inlet a few weeks ago that I invited Gee to as well. Initial conversation was spent catching up over things we remember from growing up. Who we knew… what we did… where we hung out… who we dated… how we ended up in Vancouver, etc. It’s like a reunion of strangers. We all ended up at my friend Matt’s place for the final night of the Celebration of Lights fireworks show which we watched from his rooftop patio while doing that party thing that people do.

For the animal lovers and those who understand my love for my cats: Marshall’s doing really well. He had one more follow-up appt where his creatinine level had dropped even more. His BUN level was slightly raised and because of that he’s got to stay on his subQ therapy for now. We did determine that he had acute renal failure where acute means toxicity vs chronic, which develops over time on its own. It was due to him biting the lily leaves in the garden. I didn’t realise Sylvia had any until the stalks started to bud and then bloom. Lily plants are so toxic to cats they only need to ingest a small amount from the leaves to poison their kidneys and such was the case with my Marscapone. It was very hard for me to realise this at first, because I felt guilty, but at the same time the outcome for acute renal failure is usually a bit more encouraging than chronic because if you nip the acute in the bud right away they can resume life as it were for years before the kidneys eventually start to degenerate. I’m hoping by the time that happens he’ll be a sweet, old man.

I went to Ladner a couple week-ends ago with my friend Nicholas who has a friend named Brent who lives in a silo on a farm. Brent is an artist and it’s how he makes his living. He is one of the most creatively interesting people I’ve ever met and what he’s done with his silo-turned-home is like nothing I have ever seen before. I swear I took photos of every inch of the inside, as you will see. The land itself is just as incredible. It’s sprawling and forested, AND it has its very own Cowboy Town which was built by the property owners and is often used in movies and TV shows. It’s like a fantasy. Of course, as with many farms, there are horses and on this farm the horses are affectionate, inquisitive, and like to nibble clothes. They were so beautiful.

Gee and I made it to Seattle this past weekend for a girls’ night out. We hit this bar called Trinity and although it’s a really cool bar on the inside, with several rooms each with different DJs, and lovely decor, the clientele is … well it’s … it’s just that they’re … they … they’re very … they really like the physical contact. I attribute it to some sort of rainforest mating dance. You don’t really get that here in Vancouver. There’s more of an appreciation for one’s space. Don’t get me wrong though, had many of these men been ones that I’d want to get jiggy with I would have been in pure hormonal heaven, but sadly, this was not the case.

By the end of the night I had lost all patience which is unique for me because I’m usually guilty of talking to just about anyone about anything but instead got to the point where I would have none of anyone. I still had fun though. Believe it? I’d go back, probably. I should mention that while standing behind the velvet rope at the very start of the night, I managed to get Gee and I past both the VIP and the regular line as well as bypassing the $15 cover charge, just by asking the nice man in a suit how much cover was. And, it’s not like I was dressed like a little school girl either – actually maybe that was exactly why. Such chivalry at the door.

Note to the men of the rainforest. Personal space is the best compliment you can give a girl in a dark bar.

Also, I offer the following five tips:

- Do not surf the web for popular pick up lines any more
- Do not resort to pulling if your request to dance was rejected
- Do not touch
- Do take the hint
- Do not follow

To everyone I offer a warning of Copacabana Cafe in Pike Place Market, even if you’ve got that morning after, breakfast craving, don’t do it. Eggs only come scrambled. Bacon only comes microwaved over and over again. Remember the scene from Three Amigos when they’re sitting around the bonfire? “Batwings, Dusty?” That’s their bacon.

My Civic is dying. The mechanic today tells me he’s not sure how much time it has left. The clutch is nearing the end. I simply can’t quickly come up with the approx $800 it will cost to replace it so I will have to retire it when the time comes. This makes me a little sad. Did I mention I have a motorcycle? No, I don’t think I ever did. Well I do, so I’m mobile at least until the Fall. Winter, well, let’s hope white lightening makes it and if not, then I will go car-less like I’m obviously meant to.

Which reminds me, I hear you need a mechanic as one of your “must have” friends … does anyone know of a mechanic in Vancouver who’s looking for a new friend?

I think I will stop here because Nicole’s been patiently waiting for something … anything and I don’t have the heart to make her wait any longer.

First, it’s Master Blaster (Jammin’) – Stevie Wonder.
So jammin’…

Second, your supplemental photos:

Boat Cruise around Burrard Inlet:

Pretty city

The rooftop after party:

Brent’s Place:

From the back:

Front door:

Detail:

The inside:

Lights out, slow shutter.
Sexy.

Disco ball spins.

A three-hour border wait results in moments like…

Gum wrapper air plane.

Trinity:

Sundays | Summertime

This Sunday Jam’s right on schedule for once and perfect because it’s the Sundays singing Summertime.

O. o. Oooh. Mmmm. It is summertime. Like, full-swing summer times. I remember lamenting rain not too long go. What was that all about? I have so much to write about I’m not sure where to begin. In addition I am up past my bedtime but made the mistake of drinking a Coke about two hours ago and now it might as well be 10:AM. My mind’s telling me no, but my body.. my body’s telling me yes …

(that’s from Bump n’ Grind; I can’t make stuff like that up)

Shall I recap?

Gee and I boat trip to Sechelt for some RnR in June as seen here:

We were lying on the grass under the sun under blankets because the wind was brisk.

Gee disturbs my peace.

Then visits me under my blanket.

It’s like crabs in the bucket, but not really.

I found this to be one of the proudest wolf bust lamps I’ve ever seen.

Gee demonstrates “engrossed.”

If there was ever a Cutest Cemetery I’ve Ever Seen contest, this one would be my entry.

William’s in the photo holding their catch of the day, standing beside who he would have likely referred to as “a great catch.”

I’m kind of like, “Let me try engrossed now.”

My sweater won the Sweater of the Weekend award.

Once upon at time this was a floating Grocery Store, Pizza, Coffee Shop-type thing.

Grade 5 Chris came for Canada Day times. He lives in Arizona now but spent both Canada and Independence Day in Canada. I mean, obviously.

It was sometimes like we were in grade 5 again. But, that could have been my fault.

It’s hard to make a photo of this nature look genuine.

These guys were so easy-going.

Some pretty art along the sidewalk.

To Cathy, Chris is grade 3 Chris.

A really small W. Erskine Johnston Elementary School reunion.

I then went Jericho-ing with T.Mo and Keira.

© Keira

© Keira

© Keira

© Keira

So a week later, Hannes is in town from Mexico where he is studying Spanish while on an extended vacation from his home country of Switzerland.

Which now brings me to this past weekend. I had Kate’s puppy, Penny with me all weekend. The most precious Penny.

This morning I hauled Penny and all my purge-ables over to Cathy & Kyle’s in the hopes of making some cash at their multi-family yard sale. I sold nary a dollar, not even a quarter. But, I had fun and so did the dogs and the kids… and I was in the sun eating cookies, Cheezies, watermelon, and pink lemonade. Who needs money?

In Coquitlam dogs can actually float. It’s the neatest thing.

“The doggy licked my hand.”

Muffin loves how a half-off nightie makes her look like a flower.

Penny and Buddy demonstrate how to properly share a tennis ball.

My niece and my nephew whom I babysit.

Perfect Penny.

Claws on the inner arm feel so good.

So I’m kind of in the middle of these two dogs…

And after a hard morning of yard-sale’ing, Gee and I make for the beach. Kits this time.

While Gee read Barbara Wawa’s autobiography, I entertained myself with the latest GQ using a little treasure I found.

Baby crab-leg Imperial.

Baby crab-leg Pancho Villa.

Baby crab-leg Mono Brau.

Baby crab-leg Barrette.

Baby crab-leg Slip on Thumb Party Trick.

Please stop.

The heat wave has finally broken enough for me to stop contemplating sneaking into a meat fridge at night to get a good sleep. I look back on it now and think … was it so bad? Now that it’s over and there is a coolness in the air at night … was it? After considering this for several minutes I always come to the same conclusion that yes, it was bad – but in a good way. Bad in the sense that it was inescapable, the nights didn’t cool, Marshall & Otis couldn’t move, I would need to rest after changing channels on my remote. Good in the sense that it’s summer. I appreciate the summer heat. There is a kind of comfortable heaviness to it. I say as long as you can breathe comfortably, the temperature is at the very least acceptable. I remember in Ottawa, August months could find heat in the early-30s Celsius and with the humidity you could really struggle to breathe. Your lungs would just crave  a solid stream of cool, crisp air, but all you’d get is a channel of hot vapor. Much like our winters are recognised in Canada as a force to be reckoned with, so are our summers. 

So it’s Monday today, this has officially taken me three days to compose. That’s what happens to me, I’ll finish a sentence and my ADD will kick in and I’ll leave my computer for a reason I always forget by the time I’m up. Then, to compensate for this I’ll find something to do to give myself a reason to have gotten up in the first place. Sometimes this will find me out the door and I won’t return for hours. Such was the case on this glorious weekend…

Friday after work was a planned soiree at Boulevard Casino with Gee and a couple other peoples, the night ended up with us at Gee’s house struggling to stay awake like the elderly people we are come 11PM. We managed to push the envelope until around 12:30AM somehow and the night concluded on a high note.

Saturday started off with all the promises of a somewhat lazy day. I found myself on Kits Beach with MG, as scheduled, and for 4.5 hours. After this, MG invited me to a BBQ/Fireworks party that one of his clients had invited him to. A little whim-ish but what the hell, right? It’s an extra long weekend for me. So we went, it was an intimate affair with about 9 of us and I had the chance to watch the fireworks from a rooftop. Come midnight, grandma was ready for bed, pooped from the day in the sun and the beer that sent me into Slumberville.

Sunday I met up with T.Mo and Luis for breakfast on Commercial. I got home from this and circled my living room for about three minutes trying to figure out what I was going to do with my day. I eventually decided to make my way down to the Shaw tower at Waterfront Station to pick up a new two-way splitter after mine decided to stop carrying the current for both my cable and Internet. It was one or the other and this would not suffice. 

(it’s now midnight Tuesday)

Lucky for me, Shaw decided to change their hours this week while neglecting to update it on their website so my trip was futile, however not wasteful because I decided to take a walk up to Burrard and Robson where the Vancouver Pride Parade was in full swing. Speaking of swinging, I saw many a private part adorned in rainbow colours and pretty sparkles. Which reminds me, can someone tell me why some gay men have the most incredibly smooth, hairless, firm, and immaculate bodies imaginable? I stood there under the protection of the parasol of a towering transvestite trying not to make my grin obvious as my eyes locked on the sweaty washboard stomach of Venus while he had Eros bent over his knee. I mean I was being that girl, almost as bad as construction workers at lunch time.

Jodie then called me to advise that she and her Chicken were heading to Davie to the gay bars. I decided I hadn’t seen enough raunch and marched over to drink some beers while mingling among some more lasciviousness. We found ourselves in two bars, the first of which was more of a beer and wings joint; where the last was just bananas. This is where YMCA, Chippendales, Clay Aiken, the Indigo Girls party and it was awesome. I was accidentally kicked in the shin, then told I looked fabulous, all at the same time! After we sweat our asses off with some sweaty asses, in the truest sense of the word, we cabbed over to a Brazilian BBQ where we mowed down on pork tenderloin, steak cooked to perfection, some seasoned chicken, chips, potato salad, cupcakes, wine, caesars, and water then eventually rolled ourselves out the door toward the conclusion of Sunday night. 

Funny how a quick zip over to Shaw Cable turns into a 9-hour affair where I saw enough of a saturation of hedonism to write my very own documentary. It was such a wonderful day, one of the best I’ve had in a while.

Monday I had breakfast with Gee then met up with MG where we found ourselves back at Kits Beach. Another perfect beach day … an amazing long weekend. This place is too much fun. When do I have to be serious again? 

Here’s your Sunday Jammin’ tune at one hour into Tuesday. Clearly way past Sunday and also my bedtime. I need to allow my cells to regenerate. 

U2′s Running To Stand Still. 

It’s what I feel like I’m doing a lot of the time. It’s also one of my favourite songs on one of my favourite albums they’ve ever made, and that’s Joshua Tree.

If it’s any consolation I have two posts sitting in my drafts. Oftentimes my most thoughtful moments happen at work. This might largely be due to the nature of my job but sometimes I have days when I don’t know if I should be fighting back tears or hugging one of my clients and telling them everything’s going to be okay. Sometimes I secretly allow myself the first – usually when I’m walking back from the hospital actually. Anyway, work has become so busy, I’ve morphed into tri-mode Andrea. It’s not as cool as it sounds. It means I’m working in three different areas. My boss thinks this is the coolest thing ever and often looks like she’s trying to deduce whether or not my relaxed demeanor, joke cracking, compassionate attitude are early signs of someone who’s about to go postal. Truth is I saved the world today. Or, at least it felt that way. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is most of my urges to write come while I’m at work. Usually when I’m holed up in my office, blinds drawn, fan oscillating, 30 watt lamp casting curious shadows on the wall. You can picture a P.I.’s office in the 1920s and it’s pretty close. It’s in silence and work autonomy when my brain starts to churn. But, now since I’m the protagonist in three different mini-series’ I lose the lunch-break drive I need to dance my fingertips across a keyboard turning thoughts to little sans-serif words. Then, like I said earlier, if I leave work and the late afternoon offers me the warmth of summer with a groggy sun, I emerge with a sense of reluctant vigor. Sometimes it lasts for my journey home on transit then by the time I walk through my door my sofa beckons my body like a grandmother holding a warm blanket after a day of tobogganing. 

I’ll get those drafts out yet. In the meantime, I share with you a belated Sunday Jammin’ session that comes to you on hump day instead.

Here we have ‘Holding On To You’ by Sananda Maitreya aka Terence Trent D’Arby. This song makes me weak in the knees and, to me, is one of the most eloquent and raw love stories I’ve heard lyrically. I’ve blasted this song and cried alone in my car like a big baby. That’s how much I love it.

Holding On To You

I share while you listen:

I left the east side for a west coast beauty
A girl who burned my thoughts like kisses
She was down by street decree
She swore she’d pull my best years out of me
Fat painted lips on a live wire beauty
A tangerine girl with tambourine eyes
Her face was my favourite magazine
Her body was my favourite book to read

They say that all poets must have an unrequited love
As all lovers must have thought provoking fears

But holding on to you means letting go of pain
Means letting go of tears
Means letting go of rain
Means letting go of what’s not real
Holding on to you

I left the rough side for a seaside baby
A chamomile smile the pouts on cue
For every moment I breathe her sigh
Her bosom contains my sweet alibi
In an emotional mist she breathes in fog
And breathes it out as garden flowers
Why me of all the tough talking boys
I guess she heard my heart beat through the noise

They say that all poets must have an unrequited love
As all lovers must have thought provoking fears

But holding on to you
Means letting go of pain
Means letting go of tears
Means letting go of rain
Holding on to you
Means letting sorrows heal
Means letting go of what’s not real
Holding on to you

They say that all poets must have an unrequited love
As all lovers I’m sure must have thought provoking fears

But holding on to you
means letting sorrows heal
Means letting go of what’s not real
Holding on to you

I left the east coast for a west coast beauty
a woman who wet my thoughts like kisses
she was down down by street decree
she swore she’d pull my best years out of me
fat wet lips on a sea salt canvas
Goodbye Picasso hello Dali
The soil is fertile where her footsteps trod
She’s my new religion she’s all I got

They say that all poets must have an unrequited love
as all lovers I’m sure must have thought provoking fears

But holding on to you
means letting go of tears
means letting go of rain
means letting sorrows heal
It means letting go of pain

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

 

 

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.

Have you ever walked into a ma and pa coffee shop, at 8:AM on a crisp, sunny morning and heard Lionel Ritchie’s All Night Long blasting throughout the shop? No? That’s strange.

I highly recommend starting your work-day off in such a way. I just felt so happy. 

Let me be honest for a second here. I spent the majority of my formative years in the 80s. This means that my parents did often listen to Adult Contemporary music (i.e. Glory of Love) on the record player and would frequently have the volume up high.  As a child entertained by curious things, I would often pull out all my parents’ albums and tell stories to myself or my brother using the album art as my inspiration. So, because of this fascination with such items I do specifically recall Lionel Ritchie’s Can’t Slow Down album that strangely resembles some vacant Miami beach house where Lionel is sitting on this ratty, old Legion-chair against the backdrop of this most-likely coconut-smelling, breezy sun room.

So that’s how my day started off. It’s strange how the most benign or seemingly irrelevant moment can actually set  the mood for the day. I think it was also that I appreciated that the shop is run by three siblings whose parents must own it. They’re all around my age and would have been just as little as me when this song came out. Maybe their parents had the same album and they were exposed to it in the same way as I was.

It just made me smile in the corniest way possible. I mean, Lionel Ritchie making me smile? I think it’s a generational thing. I actually had to comment on their choice of music on this particular morning.

This music reminds me of lemonade stands, family drives in the back seat with a Popsicle melting in my little hands, family picnics, running through sprinklers. Summer. I think that’s what it is. It makes me think of being a kid in summer. There can’t be anything wrong with that, even if it is ol’ Lionel.

I share (spelling mistake and all): All Night Long

It’s gorging on a bag of white cheddar baked potato chips and experiencing heaven because they’re your only meal of the day thus far, and they just happen to taste so darn good. But then, as you begin to crunch the last few chips you’ve governed as your final ones for disiplinary reasons, you suddenly taste rotten potato on your tongue. Pungent, rotten potato impacting into your molars, forcing a scrunched nose and look of disgust onto your face as disappointment runs from your taste buds down to your toes. Ew.

God if my parents were to read my blog more often and see how terrible my work-diet can be sometimes they’d probably be mortified enough to embrace each other and they’ve been divorced for 20 years now, not to mention the 6 year separation before that.

I speak so highly of this magnificient summer body I hope to accomplish and yet when I visualise it it’s usually while my hand is feeding my mouth something counter-productive. Somehow though, I still manage to fit into my clothes and not have to unbutton my jeans while digesting. Is it possible that my metabolism has sped up in my old age? No wait, I think I know what it is, it’s that when I eat dinner at home it consists of things like salad and canned sardines for protein. There are moments, believe it or not, when I really do eat to live.

Except for Skor Blizzards.