I Have Arisen from My Jet-Lagged Coma

Here I am in my own kitchen again, glad as I always am after a trip, to be home among my own things again.

I was just wondering aloud to myself how I should start this blog entry, my first since returning from Africa and England. "How about...", said Jeffye, placing a steaming mug of tea at my elbow, "...saying how nice it is that your husband is bringing you a cup of tea in the middle of the night?"

It is, indeed, a very nice thing. Other nice things in the past twenty-four hours have been relaxing in a bath-tub for the first time in three weeks, and having my lost cat come home again.

Colby jumped off the balcony over a week ago and ran away. My mother, who was taking care of the cats while we were away, was beside herself and alerted everyone (except for me thank goodness)including the local media that my kitty was on the lam. But as I was drifting off to sleep I heard small mews coming from outside and wandered out in my bare feet to find Colby running toward me to our mutual relief.

So all is well again. And except for one arm that remains bandaged, my trip was also most enjoyable.

Yes, there is always ONE thing that has to happen on each trip that makes me wonder if NOW is the moment to use my coupon good for "ONE credit to go Back in Time and Change One Thing". I thought I'd get the sordid tale out of the way now because when my friends see me they will probably notice that my arm is done up like an Egyptian mummy.

That thing would be a moment on a paradise-like beach in Zanzibar when I sat on the glistening white sand and let a nice lady paint a delicate design in black henna on my right arm.

I had a henna pattern applied on my trip to Morocco a few years back (and at least five belly-dance parties since) so I was not expecting to end up riding in an ambulance from Heathrow Airport in London to the nearest hospital after an allergic reaction on the flight from Nairobi in which my arm mutated and blistered to an alarming degree and I contracted blood-poisoning (again).

I found out later that black "henna" is illegal in Britain for just this reason and it's not henna at all but a cunning mixture of: coffee, black hair dye, lighter fluid, acetone, who knows really. Maybe one in ten people react to it (apparently) and being the delicate flower I am.....

And I thought it would be lions and hippos I'd have to watch out for. :)

To make a long story short (for now, I'm sure I'll expound upon the subject later), after being treated for a chemical burn(because that's what it is) and realizing firsthand that the British medical system is just one of the top-notch ones there is, I got better and went on to tour London and attend musicals and museums and have a great time there despite all the kind blokes who would spy my swaddled arm and say, "So did you fall off your bike, luv?" to which I would laugh and nod.

Stay tuned to my blog in which I will regale you with my tales of all the OTHER days of my vacation in which I didn't even go NEAR a hospital. It really was a wonderful trip. Really. :)

For now, I am going to while away the rest of these early morning hours reading and surfing and enjoying my house (perhaps another hot bath) and then perhaps go to bed around five a.m. and set the alarm clock for eight. My attempt to get my internal clock on Canada time again instead of Greenwich Mean.

Here I Am In Zanzibar

Hi everybody,

I didn't think I'd really get near a computer during this holiday in Africa, but here I am in the heart of Stone Town on the spicy island of Zanzibar, maybe a block away from the Indian Ocean.

I'm just here for a few minutes while some people I'm with are checking their email. And I thought MY computer was slow. It's interesting though: this keyboard is half in English and half in Arabic so it makes the hunt and peck method of typing a bit of a lark.

I am staying in the Shangani Hotel on the main street here in town, but there is about room enough for about a donkey-cart and a motor-bike to carefully pass one another. It's a very laid-back place and its been fun losing myself in the alleyways and bartering with the merchants. I'm always up for a bit of haggling. :)

This morning I went on a tour of some spice plantations, eating ginger root fresh from the ground, nibbling lemon grass, and chewing cinnamon bark. i ate fresh jackfruit, mangosteen, coconut, and pineapple for a snack sitting under an enourmous mango tree and sipping marsala tea and then got to have lunch at this nice Muslim lady's house (her husband was our guide) and she cooked us this most amazing pilaf with peppers and nutmeg...mmmm....

Yes, actually the living's been pretty good this trip. Even camping in the bush was surprisingly agreeable. Apparently I'm made of tougher stuff than I thought.

And I've seen some amazing things. I saw a lioness hunting a gazelle not twenty feet from where I was (safely in a truck, mind you) and hippos mating. Oh yes, a very educational trip.

I'm looking forward to writing about it all soon, but for now I'm off to watch the local dhow boats sailing into an amazing sunset from the rooftop of the Africa House Restaurant.

See you all soon. :)

Back in Three Weeks

I'm sitting at my friend Tai's computer in Vancouver. She had to get up early and go off to work, poor thing, leaving her vacationing friends to have a lazy morning lounging about and drinking tea before we have to get to the airport.


Jeff's brother drove us down island to Nanaimo last night and we took the first ferry after work we could. Tai picked us up (thanks sweetie pie) and we all headed over to Deb and Wayne and baby Angelina's place where they cooked fantastically tasty food for us.

Wayne, who is a talented pastry chef, and has apparently (unbeknownst to us)appeared several times on the Food Channel (at least in re-runs), has been offered an opportunity to travel to Switzerland to participate in a dessert-making competition. But he is reluctant to go because he is enormously busy at the hotel where he works and feels responsible for keeping it all together now that another chef has left.

This is a talented guy. He's already won international competitions before. He won a trip to Paris as a prize once, but never went. It's driving me crazy. Go to Switzerland, Wayne! Please go! You won't regret it. Your hotel kitchen will just have to manage without you. The centre will hold.

Anyway, that's my opinion and his wife's opinion and indeed, everyone around the table last night told him so, so we shall see.

Jeff and I are heading out for breakfast now, and Deb will be arriving to pick us up for the airport soon after.

So ciao everyone, see you all when we get back!

I shall now be reduced to writing with pen and paper while on the Serengeti, but I have a feeling I'll have lots to write here when I get back.

Last Evening at Home for a While

Oh, I'm feeling MUCH more aligned with the universe tonight than I was yesterday evening. Maybe it WAS the Larium after all. I felt downright twitchy and I had those wild dreams again mixed with early morning insomnia. But other than feeling sleepy tonight I feel much better.

I've spent the evening alternately tidying the house and chatting with friends on the telephone.

Pol, I didn't get hold of you in person, but just know I'm taking you with me in spirit to the beaches of Zanzibar because I KNOW you need a vacation.

I also didn't talk to my brother, but you know, it always seems as if one or the other of us is in the midst of planning to leave the country whenever we see one another. I'll just get back from Africa and then he leaves for Laos and Cambodia. He's a lot smarter at planning his trips to be elsewhere at Christmas-time. Sigh, one of these years I'd like to be in Cambodia for the holiday rush. Also, he's very lucky that his job lets him take off for a few months at a time instead of a few weeks.

My German friend, Claudia, informed me that our government's practice of giving Canadians only two or three weeks holiday a year is downright barbaric. Apparently in other places in the world like Europe and Australia, six to eight weeks paid holidays is the norm.

However, I think Americans also have only two weeks, and I've heard that in Japan a single week of holidays (or less) is the encouraged norm. No wonder you see North American/Japanese tourists rushing around in photo-taking, sight-seeing, mad-dash see-it-all frenzies. They have a lot of living to do in only a very little time.

Me,I feel a deep need to see new places and stand on far-away soil. It's frustrating that I have so little time to do it in.

Even if I live to be very old and travel somewhere for a few weeks every year, that's still a lot of travelling left undone. And criminy, if I go somewhere every year I'm going to have to win the lottery or pen something that's best-selling or I'm going to have very empty coffers indeed.

Ah woe! I know, I know...cry me a river. I actually feel very lucky that I've travelled so much already when lots of people I know haven't been able to find a way to do it.

Funeral Flowers

My friend Sherry came over for coffee last night. She needed time away from her house which is full of people from all over the country who have come to attend the funeral. Her mother Katherine passed away a few days ago.

It's funny how you only see relatives for weddings or for deaths. My poor friend is feeling so frustrated. She's trying to manage all the things that go along with noisy houseguests and preparing for a memorial and simply has no time to simply sit down and grieve.

Tempers are flaring.

Her father is dealing with things in his own way. If the obituary is not written,if the funeral doesn't happen, if nobody is allowed to get up and speak at the memorial then maybe this is not really real. The struggle to find a balance between respecting her father's pain and fulfilling the last wishes of her mother are very stressful.

While I am away, she will be watering my garden. I asked her if she'd like me to get my mother to do that job instead. "No!" she insisted. "I need a place to come to where it's quiet and I can be by myself!"

She is going to use some flowers from my garden to decorate at the memorial reception. She is welcome to as many as she likes. I used to bring Katherine bouquets of roses and I know she loved them. Also, lavender was one of her favourite scents and I have armfuls of it.

We sat and talked about Katherine's last days and how they were so cheerful and busy and full of friends, despite the hospital atmosphere. Towards the very end she became very weak and did not talk much, but she had a conversation with a friend one night as she drifted out of sleep and realized her friend was watching at her bedside.

She said to her friend, "I was just dreaming you were here. We two are angels, you and I. But me, I have a tiger inside". Sherry thinks she was referring to the cancer.

Her mother referred to friends of hers who had gone on before her, years before, and believed they were near her.

I think that is likely. If I died and years later I knew a friend was dying I'd try to be there for here too.

Sherry and I both strongly believe that the dead are there for you if you need them to be there.

Sherry also believes that her mother is nearby somewhere, shaking her head at all the hurt and frustration over her funeral. "I can hear her saying, 'Jesus Christ! what the hell's wrong with you people?'", laughed Sherry.

Yes, knowing Katherine, feisty lady that she was, that's probably exactly what she's saying.

Jitters

I've been going along very calmly this past week, feeling quite organized about my upcoming trip. And now, all of a sudden, about two hours ago, I came down with a case of pre-trip jitters. I'm leaving right after work the day after tomorrow: on the ferry to Vancouver first for a barbecue with friends and then catching a flight to London the next day. Then on to Nairobi.

It's not that I've left everything to the last minute. More or less everything is packed (or in one spot waiting to be packed). The laundry is done. The passports are photocopied. The flight is confirmed (dum-de-dum....half an hour on the phone with Air Canada's light mood music).

It's just that I am in traveller's limbo right now. I feel discombobulated. My mind is already aboard an airplane but I actually have two more shifts of work to get through. It's always this way right before a trip so why does this feeling always take me unawares?

And why must I triple-check everything? It's annoying, even to myself, let alone poor Jeff who has to go over check-lists with me.

I'm trying not to let my little OCD-prone self get all worked up about it. I'm making myself a cup of tea, having a hot bath, and going to bed. I'm hoping that the Larium dreams won't keep me up tonight because I think I really need a good sleep.

Send calming thoughts my way, people! :)

The Evil Safety Lady is Coming

Oh, I am SO glad I'm going to miss the safety inspection this Thursday at the preschool where I work. I'll be safely out of the country, thank goodness. Because I might say rude things to the safety inspection lady in front of the children despite my usually mild-mannered self.

It's not just me and my co-workers. Everybody in the child-care business is starting to grumble around here. The new safety laws are getting a little freaky, and I'm getting very choked at each new thing that they say we're going to lose.

We haven't even had the evil inspection lady come yet (just some nasty form letters), but we've already had to close our swings, our slide, and any piece of equipment that is "elevated" off the ground. Our little darlins' aren't going to have any sort of climber for much longer I fear.

ANYTHING by Little Tykes or Fisher-Price, blanket-rule: gone. It doesn't matter if it's brand-new and safety-approved for the rest of Canada. It doesn't matter if it was perfectly safe when they inspected six months ago when we bought it for eight hundred dollars--now its not approved for "commercial" use and so, no more.

The new VIHA laws are going to make it very hard for any daycare or place with a playground to have nice equipment....The climber we are probably going to lose once cost our centre almost ten thousand dollars. I've been very priveleged to work in a place where the playground is the envy of toddlers everywhere.

It's VERY frustrating when the children ask us why we won't let them play on anything. We're blaming it on the Safety Lady. They probably think she's got horns by now. Maybe she does.

My boss is grinding her teeth. She believes in keeping children safe, of course,probably more than the next person, but even she is shaking her head. "Maybe we should just wrap the children in bubble-wrap before we send them out to play!"

Grrr! Whatever happened to the concept of "healthy risks" that they taught us in the early childhood education courses? What about the value of climbing and swinging for large motor development?

Makes us all wonder how we managed to survive our own childhoods, what with all the biking without helmets and climbing about in tree forts!

Bah! Bah, I say!

A Blog Can be a Dream Diary, Sure, Why Not?

I wasn't really planning on including dreams in this blog, but now that I've done it a few times it seems like the thing to do.

I used to keep a written dream journal, but I haven't lately.

In the first dream last night, Jeff was riding a big black bull around the house my grandmother used to live in. He soon got bucked off and we watched the bull rampage around, goring furniture and tossing the Christmas tree into the air. Jeff was impressed and said, grinning, "And just IMAGINE what he'd do in a china shop!"

In the second dream somebody had a pet giraffe and asked me if I'd like to pet it. Oh, I was so happy petting this giraffe! It was so smooth and warm, and smelled nice in a horsy way. I rubbed my cheek against its side. (Hmmm, in retrospect, a giraffe is probably too tall to actually do this.)It was very friendly and kept bending its neck down to bump me gently with its head. It ended up bumping me right underneath its body, between its front legs. There I was, standing under a giraffe, feeling both happiness at the uniqueness of my position and a little nervous that I was so close to a creature so large.

I have to say that of all the animals I'd like to see in Africa, the giraffe is the one I look forward to most of all. I think in part it is because they seem such improbable creatures, like a made-up animal.They have something of the unicorn about them. They also have very expressive faces and gorgeous eyelashes. I remember seeing one a long time ago at the Calgary Zoo and just staring and staring.

How Much Can One Bag Hold?

It's only a few more days till we leave on our trip so we did a test-pack tonight. We laid everything out that we wanted to take and then did our best to subtract items. It's a science, really, seeing how much you can creatively stuff in a back-pack of medium size.

We actually seem to be quite well-organized. I found an old notebook with lists from a previous trip and it looks very similar. It seems we've found a formula. :)

The secret, my friends, (as some of you already know) is Ziploc bags, lots of them with the air squeezed out. It helps your clothes squish down into compact little blobs. Put a dryer sheet like Bounce in with them and they stay fresh as a daisy. I swear by them. Hmmmm...it seems I've just plugged two products. Any representatives from Bounce or Ziploc reading? I'd be happy to rave about your products on television for a nice round sum of money! Anybody?

I also must thank my friend Pol, Queen of Khaki and Countess of Camping Clothes for lending me practical and correctly coloured clothing for this trip. I am VERY glad for her help. :)

The tricky part of packing for this trip is that we have three separate parts to it.

Firstly, we will be mucking about in tents and on dusty roads in the Serengeti. We need to bring our own sleeping bags and mats. The overland company said it may be very hot during the day, but cold at night. It may rain with equatorial zeal, turning the landscape into sucking red mud. Bring water-bottles and hiking boots for a day on Kilimanjaro.

Secondly, we will be on the tropical island of Zanzibar where I need both bathing suit for snorkelling and modest garb for walking around a place which is mostly Muslim.

Thirdly, back to London where I need at least one outfit suitable for going out to a nice dinner or to a theatre.

Sigh, it tasks the most dedicated philosopher of packing light.

But Jeff's mom called tonight to tell us excitedly that she had finished packing and EVERYTHING she is taking ,including her sleeping bag ,fits in a single pack. She has obviously conquered a mighty demon for I have watched this lady pack before and most everything but the kitchen sink usually goes with her. I am very proud of her.

In the last two years my mother-in-law has spent months in Nepal, India, and Tibet, back-packed in Australia, toured around the British Isles, and driven all the way across Canada to the Maritimes. She is a travelling wonder! I could not ask for a better mother-in-law. Some of you out there might think it odd that I'd like to bring my mother-in-law (and sister-in-law)on a trip, but I really think this is going to work. It's going to be fun. Our little family group will make up a fifth of the whole group on safari.

We have the names of all the other people in our Exodus group: fifteen out of twenty of us are women! Two of them are doctors.

Ever looked at a list of names and tried to imagine their personalities? For instance, one lady is named Davina. I've never met a Davina before.

Birthday Bashes

It's a pic of ME at age 33!




I had my second birthday dinner tonight with Jeff at Toscano's, a little Italian restaurant down by the harbour. It was delightful. Excellent food. I went with the curried fettucini on a friend's recommendation. Thanks Justiney! Also, another fine glass of Montepulciano D'Abruzzo and tiramisu for dessert. (Now usually I consider sugar to be the devil's hand-maiden, but I go over to the dark side on my birthday).

I also finally got my dinner with just the two of us.

On my birthday proper last night, I secretly groaned when I found out Jeff's mom had planned a secret birthday-dinner for me and so I had to postpone the dinner I had envisioned. It was actually a very sweet idea,(and Jeff's mom is known for her sweet ideas) but I had just been looking forward to a quiet romantic evening with just Jeff.

Jeff asked me if he was in the doghouse for keeping it hush-hush and I told him only a little. It turned out to be nice actually. It was family mostly, and also Joan, and all the dogs of course.

I always feel like I'm in the middle of a wolf pack with Joel's three dogs loping around. One is a St. Bernard and another is a Great Dane so they don't fade into the background very easily. Luckily I am a vicarious dog person.

Among my presents was a gift from my mother that I just love. It is a tear-drop shaped Swarovski crystal, tinted blue and on a delicate silver chain. There are several tiny crystal beads clustered above it. There was a time when I didn't much care for jewellery but I have come into an appreciation of ethereal bracelets and vintage brooches in the last few years. My inner magpie, lover of sparkly things, is evolving.

With my new camera I took a little video of mom and Joan. Joan is leaving for Australia tomorrow and I'll mail it to her. My mother has kept this friendship for forty years and watching them chat with their heads close together, laughing and leaning on one another, just makes my heart feel warm.

Shiny Happy Dream

Last night I dreamed that my friend Pol was the architect of an amazing shimmering building the likes of which had never been seen before. It was elegant and tall and was crowned by a magnificent statue of a golden bird. From this statue, waterfalls streamed all the way down the building to land in a shimmering pool with underwater lights that glimmered and danced.

My friends Tai and Nish and myself were SO proud of our friend! Through her the glory of this creation was ours too. We climbed up to the top of the building and dove all the way down to the pool below, shrieking with adrenalin and happiness. We swam and laughed and complimented our friend's talent.

In waking life, Pol is a talented graphic artist and designer. For as long as I've known her, she has sketched houses and rooms. But only now is my subconscious realizing her full potential apparently.

An Early Birthday Present

I have a new toy! And I'm so pleased with it!

Yesterday Jeff bought me a new digital camera to take on our trip, but decided I should get it before my actual birthday so that I'd have time to practice with it. It's a Fujifilm FinePix A345, with 4.1 megapixels.

There are three reasons I like it better: it's about half the bulk of my other camera and now slips easily into my little purse, it has more megapixels (which is nice when you want to enlarge photos), and it has a "sports" option so that you can take pictures of objects in motion without the blur factor. (This last feature actually is what endeared me to it. I've taken way too many shots in the past of children running or belly-dancers shimmying that have turned out hopelessly blurred.)

Actually, I like it for another reason too. It's very similar indeed in all other ways to my other camera. The buttons and settings are so similar that within five minutes I felt quite comfortable with it. If it wasn't so familiar I don't think I'd be comfortable taking it travelling so soon.

Lovely present, my love! :)

Well, tomorrow is my birthday.....eeeeeeeek! I shall be thirty-three upon tomorrow's morn. Heh, I USED to think that was old.

Queen of the Spice Island

Here's one for you, Tai (a trivia nugget for you to ponder as you slave away reading my blog at work...)

Freddy Mercury of "Queen" fame was born on the spice island of Zanzibar and his childhood home is now a little bar there among the palm trees.

I can't exactly call it a pilgrimage, but I'll have to pay my respects. :)

Larium Dreams

I took my first dose of Larium (Mefloquine) at breakfast yesterday. It's an anti-malarial drug that you take just once a week. Good news was I had none of the side effects like nausea or headache. I felt completely fine all day long.

But last night, my oh my, how I dreamed! I would dream. And then wake up. Then I'd dream. Wake up. Dream. Lestat, my cat, yowling and another wake-up. More dreams.

I honestly couldn't tell you what I dreamed about except to say that they had a vivid, larger-than-life, ROILING quality to them. They seemed to bubble out of sleep with me and into waking-life for just a moment or two. They weren't nightmares, not especially. But those dreams felt very trippy, and I mean that in the colloquial "oh-man-I-think-I'm trippin'" sort of way. "Vivid dreams" is supposedly a common side effect.

To be honest, I WAS kind of hoping I would find out what a "larium dream" was like. You see, I've never even TRIED pot (and I live in British Columbia where's it's practically our economy), not to mention anything stronger. So all my drug-induced states up to this time have largely been the result of too much flu medication.

Jeff, however, slept like a baby last night, and couldn't recall dreaming at all.

African Garage Sale Consultant

I spent this evening at Christina's house in my new role as garage sale pricing consultant. Apparently I am getting a reputation for having some knowledge of fund-raising and so spent three hours sipping chai tea and trying to put a sticker price on some wonderful African art and knickknacks.

Christina is an amazing and mystical person. I really feel drawn to her--she is an artist, a photographer, a geologist, an "energy worker", a whirlwind of energy herself...and yet she always radiates a lovely calmness. Also, I enjoy listening to her South African accent. There is a strong possibility that we could become good friends.

Anyway, she is fund-raising for another trip to Africa (we have that in common). I quote from her brochure advertising both her garage sale and her slide show lectures: "...She will be joining a group of Energy Workers from Canada and the United States touring South Africa to explore the wisdom of the Sangomas (traditional healers),exchange information and healing skills with other healers, and do energy work in Kliptown Township, Soweto."

My main challenge tonight was deciding on prices for objects I had no real idea what their true value was.

What price do you put on a fifty-year-old Zulu smoking pipe that also has a barbed spear-tip on the end? (It's handy and multi-functional for the Zulu warrior in your life.)

What about a beaded palm frond whisk for stirring up home-made beer? Or a stone coffee-pot from Oman? An antique wooden potion bottle? Um, or a round sort of bowl made of camel skin with a pointy metal implement attached that not even Christina knows the function of?

There were wooden scultures, seed necklaces,Omani fish-gutting knives, batik shirts, beautiful books, a cast-iron cauldron, and even some modern packaged witch-doctor fortune-telling bones. Some of these things would be murder to get through customs nowadays, not to mention the trouble of shipping or carrying them all the way to Canada.

Was Christina SURE she wanted to sell all these things, even for a fund-raiser?

Yes. She is paring down. Simplifying. She has had the pleasure and energy of owning these things (and living in places like Jordan, Oman, and Africa) and now it is time to move on. She wants freedom from things. She has even recently done some journal-burning(!)...that is something that would be very hard for me to do.

I like the philosophy of paring down. It clashes wildly with my collecting-junk-to-sell soul, but I do admire it. I was happy to help her get things ready for the big sale which I will miss because I'll be in Africa myself that weekend.

I did get a preview though and I did buy a small rosewood carving of a bird. I also took away as a gift for my time and er, um "expertise", a wooden comb from Oman, an impossibly lovely- to-touch wooden spoon made by an African artist that she knows, and a small chunk of amethyst from her amazing mineral collection.

Right now her husband works as a geologist in Africa: six weeks there and then back to Canada for three weeks, and then he flies back again. That is one brutal commute. All you city-dwellers take note---your commute is not as bad as it seems.

Gardening Like a Demon

Last night I came in from the garden and said to Jeff, "I'm done weeding. It's starting to get dark."

He glanced at the window. "STARTING to get dark?", he said skeptically.

I looked and it was true. I had been gardening by streetlamp; it was close to ten o'clock. I guess the weeds were big enough that I could still see them.

I am working to get my garden in order before I leave it behind to fend for itself for almost a month. My friend Sherry will water it but I don't expect her to weed. Somebody once said: "Last year my garden was lush. This year I need a flame-thrower."
I feel a little bit like that right now.

Although the grass is starting to go crispy and a few of the more delicate things look heat-stressed, a lot of my plants are taking this hot weather as a cue to explode with jungle-like ferocity, leaping out into the pathways and strangling their neighbours with winding vines. Gone are the days when I beg friends and relatives for any plant they can spare. Now I must pick and choose carefully.

Nay, now must I hack away and pull up with both hands several types of overenthusiastic perennials which have been loosed in my garden! Wild geranium, pink mallow, lady's mantle, and foxglove must now be tamed somehow. I need to go medieval on them or they'll take over completely.

I think next spring I am going to have a big plant sale and with the proceeds I'm going to buy some colourful annuals or some late-summer perennials so that the garden has a little more zing to it. I have too many shades of green right now and not enough colour. And the colours there now are white and pale blues and pinks.(Not to mention all the brown gone-to-seed stalks of the foxgloves). I need some more yellows and oranges and reds.

I'm not planning any big trips next year(at least that's what I'm telling myself) so I'll have more time and money to devote to my garden.

Oh, and I've decided to give a name to the shady path down the side of the house where my honeysuckle and windflowers grow: it will be the Haunted Garden. It may not be strictly accurate anymore, but it earned the name June before last well enough and I think it might be nice to name parts of my yard and think of them as "garden rooms" as some say you should.

Any ideas for naming my property as a whole? I'd love to have a name for my house. Heh, you know, like "Tara" in 'Gone With the Wind' or the "Villa Villekulla" in the Pippi Longstocking books.

Back from the Lake

Kim and Shawn are visiting the Valley this weekend from Vancouver and Jeff and I are so glad we get a chance to see them before we leave on our trip.

Kim has a meeting with a local reporter on Sunday morning who is interviewing her about her first novel "The Tattooed Wolf". She's originally a local girl, you see. If you like great werewolf stories( and I know there are plenty of werewolf fans out there), go check out her book at www.kbannerman.com

Also on her website (on the links page) you will see the great soulful eyes of her faithful hound Loki, who accompanied us to the lake this afternoon, and who is as much enamoured of swimming as I, which is to say we both do it with reluctance. :)

On the other hand, the day is hot and how can I say that I have spent my entire summer without swimming when I live in a place like this? It really is beautiful out here on the coast of British Columbia.

So we drove down the dusty back roads of Cumberland, past the scrubby half-logged forestland filled with purple fireweed until we got to the quiet side of Comox Lake out by the dam. Almost nobody comes to this side because the beaches are rocky and too narrow to lay a towel on(and the path down steep and difficult if you are wearing open-back sandals) but the quiet and the shady forest are all around and the water is cool and inviting.

(Okay, actually the lake is glacier-fed and bloody freezing, but once you are in it feels lovely.)

One step into the water the beach drops away precipitously so there is really no way to wade in slowly. It takes a few minutes for me to feel comfortable in deep water like this because I am not a strong swimmer, but there was a little shallow spot (like an underwater island) that you could stand up on less than a minute from shore so I felt okay as long as I could head back to this safe spot when I got tired. I really should make an effort to learn to swim properly.

While we were there we saw a little brown frog, a garter snake, little fish that nibbled our toes, and blue dragonflies and damselflies that continuously alighted on our shoulders.

This part of the lake used to be land before the dam was built so the eerie dark remains of trees and stumps poked out of the water in little groves. I was glad the water was so clear because as it was I still kept almost bumping into the wood underwater.

Loki kept swimming in circles around us, looking vaguely worried that he might have to rescue us. He dotes on Kim and Shawn. Actually, they dote on him too.

After about 45 minutes or so, we were all feeling waterlogged so we headed back to shore. So reluctant to get in the water at first, I actually quite enjoyed paddling around in my careful way and was sad to come out. You feel so heavy and clumsy after the weightlessness of being in the water.

We had perfect timing though.The whole time we were swimming there was only two other people several hundred feet down the shore from us. Just as we'd made our way back up the steep path to the road above, the idyllic noises of nature were overwhelmed by the sounds of country rock as two motor-boats of beer-swilling shirtless cowboys barrelled into our little cove, stirring up the water and making waves crash onto the little log where our towels and clothes had been perched not five minutes before.

So much for paradise. Ah well.

We headed back into Cumberland to the Bannerman's house to pick up the painting Kim is loaning us (of the Tarot card, the Tower)and had a little chat in the garden with Kim's father.

He's the local historian around Cumberland (which is a historic little mining village)and he's busily getting ready to do a lecture for three groups of Japanese students at a local school. You should see the little wooden model he made of the No. 6 Mine--complete with coal-cart tracks and tiny little mules. I was impressed.

There's Been a Hatching

As I write this, there is a tiny wee baby spider dangling in front of the computer monitor.

There are lots of baby spiders in my house all of a sudden. Four of them were scurrying up the door jamb of my bathroom this morning. They are too small to chase and throw outdoors so they have the run of the house I guess.

My cat Colby is intrigued.

Bleah, don't eat them Colby! :p

My Hands are Sore from Clapping

Oh, back to the Showcase Festival tonight to see "The Dream on Royal Street", opening night and I believe it's the first time performed in North America. WHY?!

Why oh why? This musical is SO funny! I was laughing so hard I was crying.

Basically this is the modern madcap version of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. It's set in the Royal Street Hotel in New Orleans in 1969 during Mardi Gras. Titania and Oberon are a visiting Las Vegas night club act, Bottom is the doorman, and Hermia is a switchboard operator. Classic Shakespearean verse mixed with modern one-liners.

Puck? Well, he is Puck, only this time he's in a dapper pin-striped suit and you can't quite see his horns but you are SURE they are there.

Oh, the musical score was brilliant! This was funny stuff. The composer was Alan Menken (Little Shop of Horrors fame) and these people could really belt out a tune with style.

It had the same cast as last night but everybody was in a different role. Last night Peter Hall played the regal and majestic Oberon. Hey, he did just as well as in the silly role of Bottom. Great versatility!

Actors in Mardi Gras costumes greeted theater-goers at the door this evening by decking us out in bead necklaces and with every ticket bought at the theatre this month you get a chance in their draw for a trip to New Orleans. (So far I've got six chances because Mom says she'd never go and Joan is from Australia so I got their draw tickets too.)

Oh, I'm so glad Jeff Hyslop (director of this Festival)had this idea for putting together these productions. And I'm not just saying that because he's related to you Kim. :)

A Midsummer Night's Dream

I'm just back from the theatre. My mom treated Joan and I to tickets to the Showcase Festival's production of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. It was opening night and it was delightful.

I think this might be my favourite of Shakespeare's plays, a comedy-drama of course. (I just can't get into his more chaotic works like Hamlet).

The set was a magical pillared forest hung with fairy lanterns and I think director Jeff Hyslop could not have found better people to play Titania, Oberon, and Puck.

Especially Puck. The actor fairly radiated impish energy. And some people are obviously just born to have pointy ears and little horns.

And Bottom the ass-headed weaver and his hapless theatrical troupe were a riot. Their play within a play made me laugh so hard.

The acting was great, the Shakespearean words understandable after only twenty seconds or so (must be my recent exposure to Bard on the Beach), the costumes lovely, and the little dog who unexpectedly appeared in the play several times was brilliant.

We had excellent seats too, four rows back from the front and not a single soul in front of us. That probably means ticket sales weren't the greatest which is unfortunate, but it was a boon to us.

Ahh, I just love it when you go out and are marvellously entertained!

Revenge of the No-Brainers

I was fooled by the trip to Spain prize on the contest box and so found myself at a sales pitch for vacation time shares a few months back. Although the Pacific Shores resort itself is actually quite beautiful( peaceful gardens and right on the water), the whole Aviawest sales pitch was high pressure and annoying. I don't recommend it to anyone.

Our salesman( I'll call him "Skip" because I forget his real name, but he seemed like a Skip, or maybe a Brad)was all tan and white teeth and obviously thought he was a very smooth fellow with the clients. But he lost his nice smile, stopped complimenting our obvious intelligence, and got all pissy at the end when we tried to leave without signing away thousands of dollars on the spot.

"Look, it's a no-brainer, people!", he insisted. "If you don't take this deal now, it's gone in four hours, and then you'll be kicking yourselves!"

Yes, Skip, it's a "no-brainer", which is why we left as quickly as we could. Beware the Aviawest prize trap, people, beware! Don't be fooled by the pretty box on the counter-top at your local grocery store!

But for our pain, we DID receive one hundred dollars worth of coupons good for the restaurant and spa there. They were only good for a couple of months, so Jeff and I came to the realization that we better use them up quick so that we get something for our two hours of resisting the charms of Aviawest's sales goons. (Note: I'd be nicer to them if they HAD given me a trip to Spain in all fairness.)

We called our friend Pol up and invited her to lunch at the restaurant there, the West Coast Landing Grill. It was good food I have to say, and we had some nice wine, a red from Italy called Montepulciano D'Abruzzo. Montepulciano is a little town in Italy where I was ever so briefly under the Tuscan sun and so it seemed like a nice wine to discuss our trip to Italy which Pol and I are planning for 2007.

There are two floor-to ceiling fish tanks in the restaurant that are filled with salmon and rockfish and gigantic sunflower-starfish. It must be a huge job maintaining them because they were gorgeous tanks. At one point a resort employee leaned a ladder against the fish tank and began to feed the fish great clouds of squid parts and chopped herring and krill. The fish went nuts gobbling up their lunch. It gathered quite a crowd.

Then the three of us headed down to the spa to blow the other fifty dollars. It doesn't take long in a shop like that. (HOW much for nail polish?! I don't think so!) I think the best item of all were our new faux-diamond toe-rings. Well, Pol and I got one. Poor Jeff didn't get much of anything there. Although the little octopus in the fish tank there was fascinating to watch. I got the impression its buggy eyes were watching us too as it squished around inflating and deflating its head at us.

You can't get money for change from the coupons so we made sure we squeezed all but thirty-six cents out of them. :)

So take that Aviawest! We have toe rings and a good lunch on you, and we KEPT our thousands of dollars! MOOOOWAAAHAHA!

Clad in the Sky

I received an invitation from Mary the other day, inviting me to one of her pagan spirituality circles. It is a group which consists of about twenty or so women (and one or two men who occasionally show up and look vaguely uncomfortable)who are mostly Wiccan of some variety or other, some with shades of Native American spirit-leanings.

I don't know most of the group very well, but I've enjoyed a few intense drumming circles and some excellent "toning" sessions. "Toning" is a form of sound meditation where you just open up your throat and let all sorts of wild music come out with a group. I felt self-conscious the first few times I did it, but it really is quite beautiful and very grounding.

Also, Mary usually does a guided Goddess meditation and they are fabulous and magical. She writes them herself and is busy compiling them for a book of pagan meditations. The one exploring Baba Yaga still gives me shivers when I think about it.

Anyway, I am on this group's mailing list and the invitation I got was for a goddess celebration that would be celebrated "sky clad".

"For those who don't know", added Mary's message unhelpfully, "that means 'clad in the sky'." In the nude, in other words.

She went on to say that some may not feel comfortable with this, and for those people it would be a perfect opportunity to come and try it anyway. It would be females only invited.

Well, life's an adventure and I guess one should cavort nude with witches at least once in a while, but alas I got the email message two days too late. So the matter of naked cavorting was decided for me.

On the other hand, I already have fairly firm opinions about outdoor nudity. Now skinny dipping's okay in a shady cool lake, but this event was planned for an open field (private property belonging to a nice pagan lady named Chris) late in the afternoon on a summer's day which turned out to be a blistering thirty celsius or so.

Two words: Sun. Bugs.

There ain't enough sunscreen in the world to cover me under those conditions. I don't tan. I burn to a crisp, then revert back to white. There is no tropical glow in between. I am of Irish ancestry and my skin suffers from the Celtic Curse. I don't actually burst into flame when exposed to sunshine but I've considered it.

Next, bugs. Chris's field is lovely for Maypole dances at Beltane, and has a labyrinth made from oyster shells that glow in the moonlight when you walk it on a crisp winter's night....but it is right near a river where bazillions of bugs hover in clouds waiting for just such a tasty sky-clad bunch.

Sorry, Mary. Maybe I'll see you next full moon. It'll be dark out and I'll have my clothes on. :)

Rescuing Spiders

Last night I rescued a spider from my bathtub. The water was already filling the bottom of the tub and I spotted the little darlin' just in the nick of time. He was like a little beachcomber trying to outrace the tide. I turned off the water.

He tried to elude my rescuing hand, scurrying around and trying to run vainly up the slippery sides of the tub. Giant hands swooping down from above don't exactly spell comfort to creatures only half an inch wide. I managed to get it crawling on my fingers and then went to my balcony door in my birthday suit and released him into the wilds.

I'm going through a "spider time" right now, as I have off and on over the years. Spiders appear in my hair, tickling my legs, suspended from my eyelashes (enough to make you go cross-eyed trying to look at them), and are regularly appearing in my house. I even had a lttle spider living right by my front door which my mother dubbed "The Guardian at the Gate" until one of Jeff's well-meaning friends poked its web down. (Sadly, it hasn't returned yet.)

My favourite spider time memory is from years ago. I was working at a cashier at a gas station and the boss's shrewish wife was talking to me when all of a sudden her eyes got big and round and she stopped talking and just pointed at me with a dreadful look on her face. I looked down and saw that a little brown house spider had found its way into my shirt pocket and was now poking its two front legs and face over the pockets edge like a puppy begging on its hind legs. I just laughed and said that spiders like me.

Yes, spiders like me and I like them. It wasn't always so though.

I used to HATE them. I was terrified. It really wasn't the creature themselves, it was their UNEXPECTEDNESS. The way they would suddenly scuttle out of a dark corner or drop down from the top of their web. And besides, they were ugly. Or so I thought at the time.

But Grandma Marty thought I was being a foolish little girl. Spiders were lucky, she asserted, and good for the garden too. They ate the bad bugs. Surely I wasn't afraid of something so small.

"Look", she said, taking me into the guest bathroom in her house, "See that spider in the bathtub? I'm giving it to you. It can be your pet". (I was always asking to have a pet because we didn't have any in my household.)

"But Grandma!" I wailed, "I can't have a spider for a pet!"
"Why not?", she said. "Give it a name!"

And so I contemplated that spider in Grandma's tub, and acknowledging my petless state, I gave it a name. Charlotte, of course.

And it's funny, because although I can't remember much else about that particular spider, I went on to have a series of spider pets.

I fondly remember Dorothy, a golden and white-speckled orb weaver who wove her web nightly on the outside of my bedroom window. I would thoughtfully provide a steady stream of crane flies for her, and I got quite a bloodthirsty rush watching her jump down on them and spin them into a little struggling coccoon to eat later. (There was Dorothy II and III too.)

And Albert, the little black wolf spider who got so tame that he'd rush out of my bedroom corner and take wriggling treats from my fingertips.

And the hairy, possibly poisonous spider that met its end on the bottom of my mother's bedroom slipper as I screamed aghast, "Angela!"

I even kept a little spider in a jar on my desk at school for a while, ostensibly for a science project, but really it was a pet. Note to others: this really doesn't score you "cool" points with the popular kids. But I didn't really mind. Spiders are lucky, you see.

And now that I am a grownup, I continue to like them.

When I see one in the bathtub, I rescue it. Next time you see one in yours, please try to liberate it. Give it a name first if it helps.

Just think of me, and DON'T SQUISH 'EM! :)

Gifts of the Nile

Tonight my friend Sherry( and her husband Ray) and I went to the museum for an Egyptology lecture titled "Private Tombs of the New Kingdom".

I've been meaning to go to the museum since the beginning of June because there's a special travelling exhibition of Egyptian artifacts from the Royal Ontario Museum called "The Gifts of the Nile". But with one thing and another I waited until Sherry told me there was an Egyptologist named Dr. Thomas Hikade who was coming to speak on tomb development and wall decoration.

So we went and listened to tales of the necropolis at Thebes, tomb robbers,and the seven hundred gods of the Egyptian underworld.We admired slides ofbeautiful ancient art from the period of 1550-1070 B.C. and learned of some of the restoration work going on. Dr. Hikade was quite knowledeable and entertaining. He was keen on promoting the newly-formed Canadian Society for the Study of Egypt also, which discusses modern Egyptian issues as well as ancient ones. Yes, it was an informative lecture but the slide projector unfortunately suffered from The Curse of the Mummy and had to be manually manipulated.

We roamed around the display upstairs where there were some nice beaded necklaces, amulets, and pottery from ancient Egypt. There were some larger exhibits of coffins and such but these were reproductions and so not as intriguing. I'm spoiled from the British Museum's Egyptian rooms I suspect.

Too bad it was so hot there and no air-conditioning! Thank goodness the kind museum folk handed out free bottled ice water. I guess they didn't want anyone passing out.

Hey, did you know that hieroglyphics have no vowels, only consonants? As nobody speaks ancient Egytian nowadays, Egyptologists basically make some very educated guesses about how to pronounce some names and words. Dr. Hikade pointed out it is difficult to work with a word spelled, for instance, R-M-T. Do they stick an "E" in there, or perhaps an "I"? Fortunately, they've had some help from the Coptic Church in Egypt which has been around a VERY long time and translated the Bible in old Egyptian and so has preserved the sound of what is probably very simialr to what was spoken in the days of the pharaohs.

I also learned that if you are a tourist visiting the Valley of Kings, be sure to know beforehand what tombs you want to see. It costs around twenty dollars to visit three or four, they vary wildly in quality, and there are usually 15 to 20 tombs open to the public at any one time. Also, the ticket desk is about ten kilometres away through burning desert, so do be thorough in your research before getting on the bus.

I learned many things tonight although to be honest I was sometimes distracted by the hair of the girl sitting in front of me which was the most delicate pretty shade of pale green.

Thanks Kim!

We've reserved a spot at the LunaSimone Hotel in London for the four nights we're in London after flying back from Nairobi.

We were having trouble deciding on a place. Everything is freakin' expensive in London, apparently even if it's cramped and bedbug-ridden. We'd settle for a reasonable rate in a reasonable location as long as its fairly decent and clean.

The last two times I was in London I stayed at the very non-picturesque hostel called Ashlee House which is conveniently located within spitting distance of King's Cross but they don't have any available private rooms for that week and we're simply not too keen on the sixteen-bunk dorms that are still open. I think I want to try out a new neighbourhood anyway.

My friend Kim (who was obviously a Londoner in a past life) gave me a few names of places she's looked at or stayed at or been recommended in London and I went down the list and checked them out as well as I could over the internet. (Oh God bless the Internet! What would we do without ye?)

The LunaSimone is not dirt cheap by any means but it looks nice enough and is also recommended in a few guide books I have which mention the words "friendly" and "immaculate". It's also on Belgrave Road near Victoria Station which is an area Jeff's mom is familiar and happy with too. Sold!

So thank you Kim for narrowing the frightening amount of accomodation choices in London down to a bitty list.

Vicarious Pregnancy

(Click on the cartoon to see it better). :)

My friend Kim is having a baby! I'm very excited for her!

I want to hear all about what it feels like to be pregnant and how she feels about it. As her belly grows, I want to feel the baby kick and make a plaster cast of her growing tummy. I will mull over baby names. I will probably plan a baby shower, but a cool one where you gives gifts to the new mother like spa treatments and massage oil and the like. (Because she deserves it, as she's willing to go through all the chaos of giving birth and raising a child!) She has said to me she's worried I will grow tired of her tales of morning sickness but I won't. Because I'm happy for her.

And happy it's NOT me having the baby. I belong to the ranks of the cheerfully child-free.

I'm living vicariously through my friends who are reproducing and raising families. As I move further into my thirties, they are starting to outnumber my friends who do NOT have children. I am not tempted to join them though. I have seen a lot of joy and happiness but also a lot of hard work and frustration and even depression. It's a full-time job raising children and it's for life.

For ten years I've worked with children in day-cares and preschools and I've met a lot of wonderful little people. (Also a lot of children who are a lot LESS than wonderful). But no matter how delightful they are, I am always glad they go home to their own families at the end of a busy afternoon. It's so nice and QUIET at home. Sigh. Bliss.

In my household we can make dinner without worrying about the square-mealedness of it or whether we're spending too much money on deli food. We can watch movies and turn on the evening news without having to prescreen it for things that may warp young minds.We can go on long trips across the world and only need to find a baby-sitter for the cats.

I'm glad you are pregnant, Kim. I know you have wanted this for a long time. But whew, those Baby-Away pills I take are worth their weight in gold to me. :)

List of Things To Do

I've suddenly realized that I'm leaving on my trip to Africa in about three weeks and I've not even made any lists of things to do and take yet. Well, not in any official capacity anyway.

You should have seen me about six years ago, when I first started travelling. I knew what I'd be wearing on that trip six months before I left. I researched travel web sites obsessively and hung out in travel chat rooms trying to glean information. I had notebooks of jotted notes about this or that historical site and probably drove all those around me barmy talking about where I was going.

But just the other day someone asked me at work, "So where are you going this year?" AND I haven't yet gotten around to renting "Out of Africa". So I must be improving. Or regressing. Depending on how list-makey and relaxed about it I truly want to be.

Let's see....batteries for my camera, more sunscreen, fill the prescription for Larium, get a duffle bag to hold our sleeping bags, pick up foreign currency at the bank...hmmm it seems there should be more. Ah! Bug Spray! Don't forget the bug spray, whatever you do! :)

I was gardening over at Sharon's (an odd job to earn money for this trip) and as I was crawling around under the shrubbery tearing viciously at the evil choking morning-glory vines there, I felt something nip me. I slapped the small of my back and killed the little blighter. First mosquito bite of the season: I have been blessed so far otherwise.

And my thoughts went like this: this little Canadian bug bites me and gives me say, West Nile virus, but, as I'm off to Africa and will probably be bitten by all manner of plague-bugs it will be ironic if I come back with some virus and blame it on some poor blameless African bug.

You know, that makes me sound a little bit paranoid, but I'm not actually worried much about bugs and marauding hippos and such on this trip. It's more things like flight schedule screw-ups and lost luggage that get me antsy.

When I got my prescription for Larium (which is supposed to lessen your chances of getting malaria) I asked my doctor about the possible scary side effects that I'd heard about. Delirium, nightmares, rash, and er.... suicidal depression.

Well, he hemmed, it was true that this drug has been associated with such things, but the serious side effects were not that common. And much better than actually getting malaria. " Besides", he added thoughtfully, " I already know you are a risk-taker. Otherwise you wouldn't be going on a camping trip in the Serengeti".

Me? A risk taker? I actually felt quite pleased with myself for a moment.

Crick in My Neck

Ever wake up and you've just slept in a position that's just plain WRONG, and you wake up and your back or elbow or miscellaneous other body part just curses you for sleeping on it in that PARTICULAR way?

That's my neck today. Bitter and resentful at me for doing this to it.

Luckily I have a co-worker with magic fingers who practiced some of her lovely accupressure on me. She pressed my wrist gently, my forhead, and my neck too of course, and mmmmm, I could feel it feeling much...better...(picture me melting like butter).

But alas it was only a temporary reprieve. Durn it all! Well, maybe a hot bath will do the trick. I'm off to try.

In fact,when you're in a crisis a hot bath can do wonders for many kinds of situations, not just physical ones. Other emergency procedures in my repertoire include drinking multiple cups of hot tea and petting cats.

I do my best and calmest thinking if I have access to these three essentials.

Goodbye to the Headhunter's Woolies of Spirit

WARNING: This blog entry is really only for those who have found themselves caught up in the enjoyment of a good online computer game. I know there are friends of mine who will never understand how fun these things can be. But that's okay because I know my dear Mokomarana and Bhuthina will understand. :)

I play World of Warcraft and although I'm quite a casual gamer I have recently attained the sought-after goal of attaining level 40. Now why is level 40 so nice you may ask? Well, that's the level you can buy a mount. A horse. Or in the case of my troll character, Zalli, a blue raptor. What troll girl woudn't love to have a little dinosaur pony to jaunt around on, eh?

They're very, very expensive though, are ponies. As any wishful twelve-year-old girl can tell you. And so Zalli worked very hard killing monsters and looting treasure and generally avoiding getting herself killed by those nefarious night elves who like to lurk behind trees and rocks and jump out at you most inconveniently.

So Zalli and I are just so happy to be able to zoom around now and leave those noob peons behind in the dust.

But now that I'm level forty I have to make some new and serious armour choices. Now I can wear mail instead of just leather, but where does that leave my lucky purple pants, my glorious Headhunter's Woolies of Spirit (isn't that a great name for a pair of trollish pants?). Well, sadly, I has to leave them behind and buy something newer and better in the Auction House of Orgrimmar. New mace. New belt. New cloak.

It's a new look for my troll chickie. Even her pink mohawk is efficiently tucked away under a better helmet. Let's just see those Alliance weenies mess with this Horde shammy now!

So...was that all incomprehensible to most of you? Sorry, but I'm having a lot of fun. And it's better than whatever's on television I'm sure. :)

Soaked to the Skin

I went to the flea market today but it was literally a wash-out.

Oh, I should have listened to the little voice in my head this morning that said "Stay in bed, you fool! You need your sleep and it's going to rain!" I even checked the weather forecast and it said a 40% chance of showers by afternoon.

But I'd gone to the trouble of loading up the car the night before and so I weighed those 4 in 10 chances of a "shower" and decided to go ahead. And the first two hours were excellent. I made forty-six dollars before the heavens opened up and DUMPED their load of rain on us all. I've never seen flea market merchants (usually a leisurely sort of folk) move so fast! I've never seen shoppers make their decisions to purchase so fast! "Rainy day bargain sale!" I wailed as people threw money at me before running for shelter.

The rain was coming down so hard the gravel in the parking lot was jumping. It was a deluge. Everything got soaked. It was futile trying to wring the water out of the Mexican blankets I'd laid on the ground; they were so heavy I had trouble heaving them into the car. Usually it takes me an hour to pack up--I did it in maybe fifteen minutes. Not elegantly, but everything was in the car.

Then home...to strip down to my skin and put on dry things and then the enormous project of drying all my goods (and their sodden cardboard boxes) out.

Bah! And then the rain went away for most of the rest of the day. Bah, I say!

The Boyfriend, A Musical

My mother took me and Joan to the Sid William Theatre the other day to see Rainbow Youth Theatre's production of "The Boyfriend", which is a very light and frothy romp set on the french Riviera during the roaring Twenties.

Last time my mother saw it on stage it was in 1957, but it was much as she remembered it. What can I say? "Aida" or "Les Miserables" it's not.

It was very amusing in parts (note to self: if you are ever cast in a musical be in the comic relief role like Lord Brockhurst because that is everybody's favourite) and I loved all the flapper costumes with their fringed dresses and black stockings. I enjoyed the energetic Charleston dance numbers. My mom's friend Amanda played the female lead Polly and she has a nice voice (she also sings with Cantiamo) and Laurel's daughter Anya nicely played Hortense, the French maid.

But the male lead Tony had a mediocre voice: it just wasn't very strong. And the whole relationship between Polly and Tony was just SO shallow! I just couldn't root for them. I know, I know, the whole point was that she had to have a boyfriend, ANY boyfriend. But still...

Rainbow Youth Theatre is fabulous though, and I highly recommend going to see any production of theirs. This one wasn't my favourite though, so Tai, I agree with you that SOME musicals aren't the greatest,don't let your experience with "Miss Saigon" sour you entirely.

If you want to hear clips from songs in this musical you can follow this link to the Amazon.com page:



http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B000000KB7/104-8883909-0049568?v=glance

But thank-you Mom for taking me out to the theatre! I DID have a fun evening despite this not-so-stellar review. And I've been really happy this summer to take in so many shows...dance shows (bellydance and flamenco), "Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead" and "As You Like It" at Bard on the Beach, the Ecclestons concert at the Filberg Festival (the Ecclestons are FABULOUS!) and coming up soon I will be seeing "A Midsummer Night's Dream" at the Sid too.

Really I can't think of a more satisfying way to spend an evening than taking in a really good show. :)

I Met Emily Carr

"We artists need moral support, whether we are doing it in the old way or in the new way, it does not matter, so long as it is...with the feel and spirit of Canada".

--Emily Carr



So yesterday I talked to someone who I THOUGHT was dead, and I also talked with someone who I KNOW is dead. But Canadian artist and writer Emily Carr apparently lives on in the form of an actress names Molly Raher Newman who has become a "living history exhibit" dedicated to spreading the spirit of Emily's work by BEING Emily.

Her artist's caravan/shed and awning were set up underneath some trees at the Filberg Festival and Emily/Molly painted busily away, breaking off every once and a while to entertain passersby with readings from the work of Emily Carr.

Molly bears a fair resemblance to the middle-aged Emily Carr, paints in a style uncannily like Carr's, and certainly has a wonderfully theatric way of reading. She shared a little story from "The House of All Sorts" concerning Carr's time as a boarding lady when she was forced to put up with boarders hanging their "peach scanties" (undies) out the front window. Molly railed and fumed and bristled and I don't know if that's what the real Emily Carr would have sounded like but it was very entertaining in any case.

Molly (now out of character) told me about a trip across Canada planned for 2007 which will reenact Emily's trip to meet the artists known as the Group of Seven.

She also autographed a little card for me that proclaims that "I MET EMILY CARR". She said she's won bets from her perfect imitation of Emily's signature.

Mostly what she wanted people to know was that Emily Carr was an author as well as an artist. I adore Emily Carr's writing at least as much as her art so it was nice to be able to tell this lady so.

Very Glad to See this Ghost

I think it was Mark Twain who said that the rumours of his death had been greatly exaggerated. I guess that sometimes happens because today I saw somebody who I believed to be dead. Because somebody told me so, and I wish I could remember who. I'm so pleased that this was a rumour greatly exaggerated.

It was Mr. Claydon, my wonderful teacher from fourth and fifth grade! (And Tai, I'm sure you'll also be glad to know this because I think I passed on the "news" of his passing to you..that's how it goes).

I was at the Filberg Festival today inside the Lodge where a cloth and fibre art show was being held. There were some beautiful things there. I was just admiring some truly detailed and imaginative dolls when I looked up and there beside me was Mr. Claydon. It gave me quire a start. "Mr. Claydon?..." He is slimmer and greyer now, but considering it has been over twenty years since I was his student he still looks the same as ever.

"It must have been about '82 or '83 he reckoned, since I was in his class. "But there's always something in a face that makes you remember", he said. He remembered me!

Tai and I used to pester him with all sorts of science and mysteries-of-the-universe type questions and he always took the time to give us a thoughtful answer. (Does everybody taste things the same? Do we all see the colour blue the same way?...I remember particularly the day we posed these questions to him.)

I told him how much I appreciated him as a teacher, and that Tai and I still remembered him fondly. We chatted a little bit about old times and art and I introduced him to my mom and her friend Joan. It was just so wonderful to see him.

It is so rarely you get a chance to tell someone how much you appreciate them after they're dead, you know. Although I didn't tell him just how surprised I was to see him.

Thirsty for Culture

This is a story concerning an art piece "valued" at 42,500 British pounds. Trouble is, it looked mighty refreshin' on a hot day...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/devon/4718573.stm

Poor thirsty guy was just appreciating the art!

Back to the Flea Market

This weekend was my first time back at the flea market since I got my appendix out. My absence was one part not being able to lift heavy boxes and one part being too busy on weekends having fun doing other things.

But now it's only a month until I leave for Africa and so I figured I should at least try a few more times to sell some things before the trip. Pin money for bug spray and Immodium perhaps?

For those who don't already know this, my flea market earnings are all put aside for travelling money. I started selling things in 1998 for my trip with Tai to Ireland, and whole basements and garages worth of junk have gone towards trips to Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Italy and France.

"Where are you going now?" is a familiar question from regular flea market customers. Now of course some folks don't really care whether their fifty cents is going towards a safaria in Kenya or car payments and soda pop....but there are a number of people who DO seem to care.

One little old lady is so sweet. She tells me she is so glad I'm doing this, that I'll never regret it. Every time she comes to my table she buys something and usually leaves an extra dollar or two.

Another lady told my mother (who always drops by when I'm running a table) that she must be so proud. She said to me, "You're living your dreams!...I saw a show on that the other day, and now I've met a person who's actually doing it!" She seemed very excited for me and she was a total stranger. I am so glad there are people like that! :)

I'm also very glad there are people who pass on their cast-off things to me. I can sell my items without any sentimentality because they were never mine. Thanks Tracy, Emily, Karen, Bonnie and all you others who have made my basement full of ever-so-profitable junk!

Under a sunny sky on Sunday I sold such varied items as :

* eleven romance novels * a brass shark *napkins with a "tennis theme * three dollhouse chairs * a bag of rawhide bones * a microwave cookbook * a slightly deflated basketball * a chipped salt shaker in the shape of a blue bird * an A&W pin * assorted costume jewellry and oh! so much more.....

I made about ninety dollars which is less than I've sometimes made but considering that most of my items go for under two dollars it's not bad at all. As I say to many who ask how the day's going: "I'm nickel and diming my way to fortune!"

Mark, the guy at the next table, whose junk is of a much finer calibre than mine, was in a tizzy. He had just watched someone else scoop up an authentic chastity belt for only five dollars. oh, the pathos!

I'll probably never have a find like that on my table (naw, that's what Ebay is for!) but it's much more relaxing knowing I'm an honest junk merchant. Recycling you know!

Gin and Tea on a Summer Afternoon

These are my friends Sherry and Emily decked out in their Outrageous Ladies finery at Susan's birthday/tea party. All the ingredients for fun were there: gin, tea, food, friends, and music.

We also formed teams for a most amusing scavenger hunt: Ie. Find someone on your team who is not wearing underwear. At first I couldn't figure out why team captains Claudia and Emily ( today christened Dubya for her zest in battle)fought so fiercely for the privilege of having me on their respective teams.

"She's my best friend!" "No, she's MY best friend!" Until I saw the scavenger hunt list and realized they both loved me only cuz I was not wearing a stitch under my black evening dress. Well, it was THAT kind of dress, you see.

There was also a talent contest wherein Donna got full marks for singing the Canadian anthem in French. Someone spontaneously joined in on kazoo and soon we all had our hands over our hearts humming along drunkenly. It brought a tear to my eye I can tell you.

There was a contest for the weirdest job ever had (it was a toss-up between the woman who sexed beetles by listening to their different whirs, and the person who wanked dogs for a breeding program. "It got me through college", they both sighed.

The contest for grossest stories involved a lot of nudity, ant hills, and urinating sleepwalkers..but you probably had to be there.

This is the third annual party of this sort that Susan has thrown and people are definitely getting into the spirit of it. Only one lady copped out and went for the floral garden party look this year. We had ballerinas, exotic bag ladies, princesses, cabaret stars, and even one drag queen (and Bruce, the name Fiona even suited you!)

I think the winner for party spirit had to be Theresa though. Prim little Theresa who runs a posh kitchen store downtown. She showed up in nothing but flesh-coloured skimpies and a BBQ-Naked apron and chef hat. Both were products from her store with the tags still on. Good advertising I guess. :)

She insisted that she didn't usually drink gin and you could tell.

By the end of the evening (we DID start at three in the afternoon) she was plastered and decided to walk home with her friend who was wearing the most flesh-revealing bridesmaid dress I have ever seen (mostly because she wore it backwards and it didn't have much of a back). We called their husbands to come pick them up because we figured they'd cause a traffic accident walking along the side of the road. Theresa DID look pretty naked from a distance. Sherry and I drove by later and passed their cars by the sides of the road. BBQ-Naked and the Bridesmaid From Hell were both necking with their respective husbands in the backs of their cars. Seems romance was in the air.

Oh, it was a FUN party. And I should know because I was completely SOBER being still on antibiotics. Way to go Susan! Looking forward to next year!

Why I Can't Go on Fear Factor

Besides the fact that I would never climb out on a plane's wing, bungee jump off a sky-scraper, or ride in any car that goes purposefully airborne (except for that one time in Tai's old Charger), I could never win at a show like Fear Factor because they would probably ask you to eat something disgusting.

Now, I used to enjoy that show because I figured I could at least do the gross stuff like eating tentacles and bugs. I'm not Eval Kneivel perhaps, but I'd always prided myself on not being grossed out by...things.

I mean, come on, I tried worm pancakes in Grade 4 science class, and once I tried eating a mouse as a child. WHAT was I thinking, you may ask. Well, thank you very much Mr. Farley Mowat (mmmm, remember the souris a la creme in "Never Cry Wolf"?)

Also, I seem to recall some really disgusting "corn" bread made from gerbil food when my dear pre-adolescent friends and I liked to play "We're Lost in the Woods and It's a Survival Situation".

So I hypothetically had a shot at winning if I should ever find myself in front of cameras on that sort of reality show eating or wallowing in something gross.

But now I know I've been fooling myself. Somewhere along the way, my olfactory sense has honed and turned against me. NOW what would I do In a Survival Situation?

The SMELL factor would really be my downfall. Two recent incidents have led me to this conclusion.

Once, several months ago, I opened a small Tupperware container from the back of the fridege. "Hmmm, I wonder what this could be?", I said all unknowing. By the gods! How could vegetables in salad dressing become a thing of Satan? The thought of eating this runny lettuce suddenly sent chills down my spine! I would probably die if I had this smell in my mouth. Suddenly the rat-milkshake people from television had more of my respect (if that's the word).

And today at daycare, just at the end of a sunny pleasant day, my intestinal mettle was tested anew. I heard my co-worker calling out for someone to help her. I went in to the children's bathroom and was met with the sight of one of our kids projectile vomiting. My co-worker was splashed to the knees. The four other children in the washroom were similarly decorated. There was a tide of chunky pink puke everywhere.

On the mirrors, the baseboards, the art cupboard. Everywhere.

And the smell was a creature all its own. The other kids and Justine started to heave in sympathy. Oh my God! If there were going to be six people throwing up, I don't get paid enough! :)

I helped Justine herd them all out before disaster could strike. She took care of the poor little sick girl. And me, I was on cleanup duty. I waded in with rubber gloves and towels and bleach.

When I came out of there,my eyes were watering from the smell. Bazooka barfing in Technicolor Smell-A-Vision. That'll do it to ya.

And that's why I will never be seen on Fear Factor. I just know the smell would do me in. And by the way, childcare workers do not get paid enough. :)

Hurray for Pol!

This is just a quick post tonight...but I just wanted to say how very glad I am that my friend Pol has started a blog. Peer pressure IS a good thing! :)

It is so easy to lose track of what is going on in friends' lives. We are all so busy. And so different. I want to know what makes y'all tick. I love to read your ideas and thoughts. You can rant. You can whine. You can write poetry. I'll be happy you wrote. :)

Although technically anyone on the internet could stumble upon our journals and comments here, it is far more likely that we have a very select readership. Really, it's mostly us reading I think. What's that, a readership of five or six?

If you are a random stranger tuning in, bless ya, for you are responsible for expanding an ever so select audience by one. Ahem, I COULD be famous one day so remember these quiet times. :)

One of my friends has what she cheerfully calls a "blog stalker", a regular someone who leaves comments. Sigh, that would be nice (if they were nice comments) but I guess my life and writing needs to get more controversial before I attract such acclaim.

Anyway, congrats Pol! I will happily visit your blog.

P.S. Jeff says he'll be my blog stalker, but *sigh* it's just not the same....

Tea Leaves

Oh, I had a fantastic weekend, full of good conversation, Shakespeare, flamenco and friendship. But I'm so sleepy I'll have to write about it tomorrow I think.

But I had a conversation with Trace this weekend which got me thinking about the Calico Cat Teahouse and my last visit there with friends to have our tea leaves read (and to savour that fabulous mushroom soup they serve too).

What makes a good tea leaf reading? (Or tarot card, palm reading, what have you)..Is it accuracy? Comfort? Comfirmation?
Tell me what you think.

And here's a link to have a virtual tea reading. It's not as fun without the actual tea, but still a nice meditation.

Tea Leaf Reading

Harry Potter Hysteria

We were down on West Broadway last night. Calhoun's is a cavernous all-night coffeehouse and just a few steps from Kim's house so it seemed the logical choice as poor Kim was feeling a bit delicate and green around the gills. It's a great place but beware the strawberry smoothies. If sugar is white death, then these things are going to kill you outright.

It was also filled with pre-pubescent witches and warlocks, desperately quaffing hot chocolates in order to stay awake for the midnight arrival of the latest installment in the Potter books: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Yes, KidsBooks on West Broadway was a mob scene last night as hundreds of Rowling fans milled and quequed for a chance to be one of the first to carry away the newest tome in the series. There were stilt-walkers and phoenixes, sorcerors and babies. The sidewalk and part of the street was blocked off, the lights on cop cars and tow trucks flashed.

When we first cruised by, all-unknowing, Tai saw what was happening and muttered in a tone of dread, "Oh no....." I thought it must be the scene of a dreadful accident. "Worse", said Tai. She shuddered. "Harry Potter".

Okay, not everybody's a fan but I like the books myself well enough. I don't need to be first in line to read them, but I'll definitely read my mom's copy when she's done. As a librarian's daughter, I can't help but feel that it's a good thing for kids (and grownups) to be excited about literature. Really excited!

Shortly before midnight, shrieks and howls rose into the clear evening air. A brass band uniformed in shimmery cloaks and fanciful hats heralded the arrival of a caravan of three white trucks bearing the insignia of the Owl Post. The books were arriving with pomp and ceremony. The excitement was palpable.

We turned tail and fled back to Kim's house. But not before Kim had a ticket for a pre-paid copy of the Half-Blood Prince. :)

Handy Shakespearean Insults...

I'm off to the Bard on the Beach Festival in Vanier Park tomorrow afternoon, and in honour of the occasion I thought I'd share a little of the vitriol that comes out in the form of great and classical literature. Could be useful!

You know those times when you wish you could think of something really insulting to say? Those times when "You jerk!" feels hollow and deeply unsatisfying?
Or perhaps you're trying to give someone the brush-off and you feel in a literary mood.

Well, perhaps you should look to the Bard for inspiration. He was great at sassing people and making them feel like dirt.

"Let's meet as little as we can." --As You Like It (the brush-off)

"I will smite his noddles!" --Merry Wives of Windsor (a threat that gives one pause for thought)

"O illiterate loiterer!" --The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Great for telling off those people who riffle through magazines without purchasing them in convenience stores)

And in rush-hour traffic:

You bug! Thou misshapen Dick! Away, you cutpurse rascal, you filthy bung, away! You whoreson upright rabbit! You peevish baggage! You viperous worm that gnaws the bowels!

Yes, Shakespeare could really dish it out well....

My mother followed the Bard's philosophy that it is better to insult creatively than to lower oneself using common cusses. It is a treasured childhood memory: my mother bellowing out the passenger side window after a Mack truck cut us off on a California highway----"Peasant!....Hamster brain!"

Look, it's my cute little friends!

Ah! There you guys are!

And for those of you reading who are NOT one of the three pictured, let me just tell you that it's hard to find friends as good as these!

So, Kim, Tai, and Trace, you are now immortalized on me blog. Happy early Unbirthday you beautiful,talented creatures :)

Virtual Hedgehogs?

What won't they think of next!

Here is my little cyber hedgehog. And like the real James, it seems like my cute but curmudgeon-like virtual hedgehog has to be nudged a little (clicked on)before he will come out of his corner where he is all curled up and refusing to show his face.

Yes, I used to have a wee prickly pet named James.

We met James on the prairies somewhere near Rocky Mountain House, Alberta at a distant relatives house. We were passing through on our way to Saskatoon. They didn't want their hedehog anymore. It was destiny.

James made strange huffing sounds when he was annoyed, which was often. But he seemed to adapt to living in our car, our pockets, and various hotel rooms on our way back to British Columbia. And our cats eventually got used to him stealing from their dish. :)

James: grumpy, cactus-like, but oh so cute.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Three Dreams

I've noticed lately that if I don't immediately tell someone my dreams aloud right after I wake up they disappear like smoke.

It never used to be that way when I kept a regular dream diary. When I was thirteen I could go on for pages about them, and sometimes I'd be mulling images from my sleep months after a particular dream.

Here are three dreams from this week:

One night I dreamed that I secretly joined the military. And then I surreptitiously joined a religious choir. But I still kept my day job and everything else in my life was the same. I ran around in a totally exhausted state. I found out that I really sucked at all military training exercises and, oh yeah, I couldn't sing hymns worth beans either.

The next night I dreamed that I was an environmental activist who was really steamed because some company was going to log EVERY SINGLE TREE around Cumberland. Boy, was I mad. I was talking to a politician who endorsed this policy and I whipped out a ball-point pen and stabbed him through the hand with it. Naturally I am charged with assault, but my lawyer advises me to plead to something lesser. The only catch is, with the lesser charge, I have to spend every single holiday like Christmas and Valentine's Day in a jail in Alberta. It's the thought of having to drive myself back and forth from Alberta which really has me shivering with dread.

The third night I am a journalist interviewing the people who have "inspired" celebrities. I meet the mild-mannered if slightly morbid Binks family, the REAL people behind the fascinating Morticia and Gomez Addams. the Binks are nice but sort of boring. And then I interview the REAL MacGyver. Trouble is, I'm an awfully awkward reporter who stammers out questions like: "So, er....what does it feel like to be the "real" MacGyver?" And the guy replies. "It's okay I guess". Gosh, I can really feel my journalistic career taking off....

Ya know, I think it's about time I dream I win the lottery or a prize or something. :)

Tra-la-la

Sometimes when you've had a hard day and you're deservedly surfing the internet, it's nice to just relax and play mindlessly, giggling softly to yourself. You don't need drugs, you just need to spend some time in the Boobah Zone. You might actually feel your brains sliding out your ears, but only in a very gentle manner.


http://www.boohbah.com/zone.html

Yes, I am still drinking absinthe.

By the way Kim, I love those films summaries RE-ENACTED BY BUNNIES. :) Thanks for linking to it.

I'm not seeing any little green fairies...

Absinthe is a very pale green and smells like licorice. It burns pleasantly going down, and I recommend sipping carefully. It's probably not as delicious now that it's legal but I found my first taste of it quite nice.

I was under the impression that they don't make it with wormwood (or some other potent ingredient) the way they used to, but Chris says they do.

Chris happened to have some handy in his kitchen cupboard while we were all watching the silly but amusing movie Eurotrip. In the movie the characters sample absinthe and mention to the pudgy green fairy at the next barstool that it is very disappointing that they aren't hallucinating or going the least bit mad after all.

Hmmm....nope, no hallucinations to speak of and I don't even think my typing's that mangled.

Jeff and I popped down to Victoria today and had a very multi-cultural day.

We took in the Folk Fest down by the waterfront and watched Middle Eastern dancing, we ate a Hungarian lagos as a prelude to lunch, migrated to a tasty little Vietnamese restaurant, roamed Chinatown, and ended up having dinner at a very British fish and chip place. All this to the soundtrack of the rowdy Dropkick Murphy's playing in Chris's car.

We considered taking in a movie downtown, most likely The Fantastic Four, but really, as Chris is already the king of home media, we decided we really didn't need to go out to a theatre to see something. Chris has stacks of films we haven't seen yet.

Aside from the aforementioned Eurotrip, we decided on Kill Bill, which really satisfied any urge I had for funky samurai girl fights. I kept thinking 'Wow, that floor must be really slippery with blood by now' but Uma is one sure-footed kind of gal. Maybe Tarantino's style is growing on me because I really enjoyed it.

Our friend Chris can usually be relied on to recommend worthy movies, but I always take his reviews with a grain of salt if they happen to feature Tom Cruise, Leonardo DiCaprio, or Keanu "Chris spits upon him" Reeves.

He has a five star movie rating system ranging from "Amazing" through "meh" and spiralling down to "Crapfest".

Thinking of London..

My mother called me this morning to tell me about the bombings in the London Underground. I was still drifting in a blanket of sleep when she called.

I always think of the area around King's Cross Station as my neighbourhood in London. On both visits there I stayed in a hostel only a few doors away from King's Cross. It was a pleasant afternoon walk to Russell Square and the British Museum.

This morning I thought about the picnic lunch with Mom in Russell Square (she was so upset to see it on the news) and my first time in the London Underground with Tai, asking directions and muddling through.

I also thought about riding on the double-decker bus with Tai. We were the lone passengers up top and we giggled to ourselves because it looked like the bus was driving itself. I thought of this when I saw the mangled wreck of one of those red buses on television this morning.

I'm feeling sad for the people of London today. I know that London has seen a lot of trouble over the years, but this was senseless and random and cruel. I hope nothing else happens.

I'm going to be in London the second week of September for my 13th wedding anniversary. Jeff's never been there and I was thinking we might stay in the same neighbourhood once again. I wonder if it would feel the same to me?

Drat these technical difficulties!

Hello there,
I was going to try to post a picture here on my blog (now that I can theoretically upload images from my computer to this site), but alas nothing happened when I followed the instructions. Worse, nothing happened when JEFF followed the instructions.

It was going to be a picture of my beautiful friends Tai, Kim, and Tracy taken at the Crow & Gate Pub on one of our UnChristmas nights. They all look very lovely, but until I figure out this thing you'll just have to trust me.

It's bedtime and I don't have the mental stamina to wrestle with my computer. Goodnight all!

I was kissing little Johnny a lot this evening...

Yes, every three years I find myself (usually on a sultry summer evening) hunched over a plastic half-torso in the St. John's Ambulance building and getting really personal with it. And the dummies always seem to be named Johnny or Annie.

I used to actually lock lips with Johnny in first aid courses of yesteryear, but now we always do the rescue breathing with one of those little rubber masks that cover the mouth and nose. Which is much nicer, and you're less likely to get vomit on you if you are resucitating a real person. But what are the odds I'll have a mask in my pocket when I happen upon an accident scene? The odds are low.

I really enjoyed the teacher's style tonight though, which is good because I have to go back tomorrow for another four hours. His name is Larry, and he's an ex-paramedic. He had all sorts of interesting (and surprisingly amusing) anecdotes about kids getting slurpie straws impaled near their brain stems and guys wth hypothermia suddenly stripping naked for a nap in a snowbank.

He pointed out that most doctors and paramedics need to develop a black sense of humour as a coping mechanism. We, as daycare workers, will probably never have to deal with sucking chest gunshot wounds. Lordy, I hope not.

It's usually road rash, bee stings, nose bleeds and blood glucose tests for kids with diabetes. I think the worst thing in nine years has been a fractured wrist.

Wearing Pink to Bellydance Parties is Dangerous

I meant to earn money at tonight's hafla at the Abbey in Cumberland. As well as dancing there was a bazaar table provided, and I thought I would sell some of my seldom-used bellydance items. And I did. I sold a yellow veil, two tops that weren't quite right for me and a sword that just wouldn't balance on my head.

But tonight I wore pink to the dance party. And Kathy Stoyko (enormously talented seamstress and Abbey owner Kathy) had a beautiful outfit for sale. It was pink, pink, glorious pink. A dancer named Laura (who bought my sword) thought it might be a beautiful costume to invoke the goddess Flora. Did we think so too? Bronwyn and I nodded yes.

Then again, Laura reconsidered, Flora liked most of all to be invoked by dancing in the nude.

I picked up the chiffony floral top and tried it on over my summer dress. Oh, too cute! But did I know there was a flowing chiffon skirt and silky harem pants that matched with it? Sigh, my sword and veil money flew mostly out the window and left me with a profit of five dollars. Oh well.

Bronwyn said I look great in pink and that it really suits my skin tone. I have to say that I used to abhor pink...but for some reason it is a colour that seems so fun and pretty to me right now. As Tai would put it, I'm exploring my inner Barbie.

So much for pale skin, black clothes, and mournful poetry. Darn it, I'm just a Perky-goth who wears pink and likes spiders.

I am feeling reinspired to dance after tonight. So many beautiful dancers! Everyone wanted a turn! And the atmosphere was so relaxed and warm and friendly. Women lounged on cushions drinking wine and zagareeting their appreciation. Sherry observed that sometimes when the whole audience is composed of performers, dancers feel more intimidated than dancing for a roomful of strangers. But tonight it felt like a roomful of friends. And looking around, I realized that many, many dancers ARE my friends.

I was so proud of the Yalla Gypsies tonight. That's the name of my own little troupe. I ached to be up on the stage with them doing Santiago. It's a great little gypsy fusion dance and our very own choreography. I am going to dance it with them on July 23 at Cafe Cairo. At least, that's the plan.

I didn't perform myself tonight because of my still-healing belly but my heart was with them. But I couldn't resist dancing to the gypsy music at the end of the evening. It just draws you in. Kathy and Edith, in their peasant blouses and swirling skirts, led us ...and nobody was in their seats.

Edith ( who is also my French and drumming teacher as well as bellydancer extrordinaire) also introduced me to her mother who is from Quebec and doesn't speak any English. Edith said it was good she was here because I could speak French to her. Heh, most of the French I know flew out a window in my head but I managed to stumble through a few polite sentences. I was glad when Chris from my dance troupe showed up and started speaking in French to her. I could follow along a little bit and did my best to nod intelligently and say "oui,oui" every once in a while.

It was a great evening! Yalla habibi!

Did You Know Taping Spiders Down is a Job?

I was flipping channels the other day when I paused in mid-flip at the sight of a young man taping an overturned spider's legs to a piece of glass on the Knowledge Network. The spider was a large yellow and black orb weaver from Florida and seemed almost resigned to its fate, which was to have its silk harvested every few days by a young scientist from UBC who was studying organic polymers in general and the incredible strength of spider silk in particular for his thesis.

Big Bertha (this particular spider) was only one of many who were taking turns donating their drag lines. Apparently, once the drag line is started you can just keep reeling and the spider will keep spinning involuntarily. The scientist, Carl Michal, and his partner Ellis have collected something like three kilometres of the stuff. They had to have a lot of sample apparently. That's a lot of spider-taping and silk-winding.

The reporter asked them if they had known when they started where their ideas would lead them. Did they ever think they'd be so good at catching honking big spiders with tweezers and coaxing them with sugar water so they would start spinning. They had not forseen it at all.

"They really are rather beautiful", said the reporter, smiling nervously, "...from over here."

She, too, got to help with the delicate job of spider-taping in the end. You just never know what each day will bring.