Roaring

Today was my weekend - tomorrow I have to go into work for Slugfest. BUT, as weekends go, it was relaxing. I hung some pictures while Kevin put up some plasterboard in the space where the pretend fireplace used to be, and I contemplated whether we were doing work of equal value. I was contemplating it in a rather tongue-in-cheek fashion but nonetheless, it`s valid. His took more muscle power, mine took a practised eye.

The Equal Pay Act of 1970 in Britain (and dear Lord, how many dates of various Acts of Parliament did we have to memorise in History) not only ended the scurrilous practice of having different rates of pay for men and women, but also introduced the notion of equal pay for `like work`. You cannot begin to imagine how often I think about this.
The Guardian has a great article on the women machinists at the Ford Motor Company who walked out in 1968 in protest at male colleagues, doing EXACTLY the same job as them earning more.

I`m still smouldering over an article that Sleepy`s blog pointed to yesterday. The Vatican has send out a decree that all the world should be taxed. No, that`s not it, no, they sent out a decree that Bishops ordaining women would be excommunicated.
Now this pisses me off no end because it`s based on their own deliberate misinterpretation. Apparently, since Jesus only had male Apostles, only men can be priests. Clearly this was because at the time, women were seen to have different roles in Jewish society. Whereas now, we`re not.
Unless the man Jesus actually said, and it`s reported by more than one source,
'Oh, btw, just in case any of you are thinking of setting up a religion in my name after I`ve been horribly put to death by the Roman administration on the insistence of my own people, remember, NO WOMEN PRIESTS,' then frankly, sod right off.

Secondly, how dare the Vatican think they can excommunicate anyone? That may have worked in more superstitious times, but basically, today, the magic is in the act itself. If some worthy in my church said I could no longer take communion, it would make no difference to me at all. I would take it myself, go to a different church, whatever, but communion, both with God and with the rest of the communicant members of the Faith is not dependant on my receiving the bread and the wine from the hand of a priest.
AND, in Tudor times, when excommunications were flying around like bugs, the idea was to cut off access to the afterlife.
Well, guess what, that's not the prerogative of some bloke.

I agree with Sleepy wholeheartedly on this one. Bring it on bozos, bring it on. The more stupid they make themselves look, the more they pour their hatred and venom out, the more they damage themselves.

Over the years the church has burnt at the stake, broken on the wheel, mutilated, humiliated, violated and tortured women and this in spite of the worship of the Mother of God. But hear us roar, made stronger by the sacrifice of those who have gone before.

The Booze Shop

An amusing snippet in the kitchen at work the other day. I introduced the new person to a co-worker.

CW - Yes, we've met before,
NP - I don't think so...
CW - Yes, definitely, we've met at such and such event,
NP - No, I'm sure we haven't met..
CW - We have, you're on my Facebook.

Loving it.

After work, I went to mooch around the shops. Tracksuit clad fitness freaks were in the shopping centre demonstrating how to keep fit using Wii. Fair enough, I'll let the housebound and seniors have that one, but in general - GET OUT OF YOUR FECKING CARS PEOPLE!!!

Then I went to the Liquor Store. I do love the Liquor Store, oh yes, it annoys the bejabers out of me that the supermarkets don't have lovely big alcohol departments like they do in Britain, but, the Liquor Store is a treat, and ours has Shafiq. Shafiq - who I assume ISN'T Jewish, used to live in Golders Green and Rugby. He worships Tesco. He feels he is due for a refresher, a trip back to Blighty. But he knows his wine and doesn't try to get you to buy expensive ones. He caught me selecting a wine called 'Arrogant Frog', a must have simply for the name. We both chuckled over 'Chat-un-oeuf'. And then he showed me a couple of other good wines.
The lady flogging beers from a brewery in Kelowna tried to engage me in beer banter.
'I don't do beer,' I said. In the case of beer, rather than in a case OF beer, my feminism conflicts with my snobbery.
In the Liquor Store they have those shopping baskets that have a long handle and wheels.
There's a general feeling of Friday and camaraderie.

I'm several weeks behind in my New Scientist reading. But the one I read today had an article about how blood transfusions don't save lives unless the patient would die without one. I know, I know, but it seems they are used routinely and unnecessarily. We know this and in fact we know a lot about the effects of giving other people's blood because of Jehovah's Witnesses refusing to have them.
SO that's useful.
It's just that, their shunning of transfusions is apparently based on the words of Leviticus, 'No soul of you shall eat blood.' Which tends to suggest the practice of Kosher rather than avoiding transfusions to me, but hey, at least there aren't spaceships involved.

Love and Hate in a Cold Climate

A sudden and unexpected drop in temperature gave me a higher energy level today. What ho!

I never thought that I was the only person who hated Jeremy Clarkson, far from it in fact. Generally, anyone who is as unremittingly sexist, homophobic and racist as he is, not to mention anti-environment, is likely to be disliked by a wide range of people. But no-one sums up his loathsomeness quite as well as Kate Smurthwaite on the F-Word blog.

Hmmm...so Sharon Stone isn't allowed to even mention karma in the same sentence as China and Tibet, but the Chinese State News Agency is allowed to describe her as 'The Public enemy of all mankind'. Ho-hum, well, not in my book. I can't think of a single, solitary human-rights violation by Sharon Stone.
She must be gutted however, that they've banned a bunch of her really old films from their cinemas.
Scary that any cinema might still be showing them.
And she has GREAT hair. I love her hair. Oh, and her complexion and jawline. And a close personal friend of the Dalek Llama, I mean, how can you diss that?

Here, as everywhere really, 'tis the end of May and thus...the end of television. We have much to catch up on, so I'm not too upset.

Indie

So we went to see the new Indiana Jones film this evening. That's almost three hours of my life I'll never see again.
Even a cast of not Just stars but real actors, Cate Blanchett, John Hurt, Ray Winstone, Jim Broadbent and of course Han Solo, couldn't save it.
I realised at some point that the what-passed-for-plot was moving towards the end and I felt a sense of relief.

An item that has been in the news this week is about an advert on Craigslist advertising a newborn baby for sale for $10K. The parents were arrested but no charges laid. The father, and for father read fathead, says he put the ad in as a joke. And hilarious it obviously is. The mother of the baby isn't his girlfriend anyway he said, just a friend, no, his girlfriend has a three-month old baby. He has a long rap sheet for petty crime, but hey, at least he's passing his excellent genes on.

Banjos

When I wake up, I go down and make the coffee then come back upstairs and turn the TV on to watch half an hour of the local news and weather. Yesterday morning, the traffic chopper was following a stolen truck, huge great thing, careering up the main road, barely missing oncoming traffic, kept doing U-turns, went up onto the median, slowed then sped up and this went on for over half an hour. Finally the truck stopped and a man got out and ran, at which point one of the eight police cars surrounding him, went after him and ran him over.
It was bizarrely compulsive viewing.
It later transpired that the man had been naked when he stole the truck, seems he stole a pair of overalls at the same time, and was nutty as a fruit cake.

For the past two days it has been hot. And as such, more nature is happening. Today I saw the first red dragonflies, the Cardinal Meadowhawks and the less pretty, but more robust skimmers.
The frogs were also chorusing, the green frogs sound like broken banjos. On one of the trails the strange, alien slime mold had appeared. It has to be the most artificial-looking colour in nature, and the overall appearance is of a brightly coloured pot of playdough that has been spilt.

Nature is strange, like this experiment with cornflour.

Stairs

Remember when mange-tout and sugar snaps were veggies you could cook? Yeah, me too, BUT I do love crunching 'em too.

I have painted one flight of stairs. The house is spread over three floors, the stairs I've finished are those from the basement level to the ground floor. Stairways are such a tedium to paint, there's always a bit that's too high so you have to have a long pole and a pointy stick or a special ladder. Well finally, after painting numerous stairwells, I HAVE a special ladder. But..it was worth it, it looks fab now and my next venture will be the second set from the ground to first floor.

While I was painting, I had the garage door open so that I could actually see and for the first time, I saw a raccoon climbing a tree. It was a big old beastie as Raccoons go, and it went up a quite slender tree outside a house opposite, rustled around in the leaves for a bit then came back down as though he/she were walking along the ground.
In Britain we feed ducks and pigeons and I'd never thought a thing about it, but here, you can't be feeding anything for fear it;ll draw the raccoons, (on the North Shore)the bears, the rats.

I have a couple of trips planned now, one of which is booked. We will be travelling back to England in June and then to T'ron'a at the end of July. I'm pretty excited about the trip home now that it's booked and I'm hoping that Ellie will be christened when we're there.

Cutting the Mustard

It seems the Dalek Llama is worried about the Chinese settling in Tibet and 'diluting' Tibetan culture.
Hmmmm.
Well, see, I don't see that as much of a worry really. I mean, tis not like we're talking of flooding the area with women-and-gay hating Taliban is it? We have quite a few Chinese living right here in Richmond, in fact you could say that our Anglo culture is diluted by half, and really, although it bugs me that the official language (French) is ignored in favour of Cantonese and Mandarin, in general - meh - and frankly, the longer they live here, the more Canadian they become. Some would say, in any case, for 'dilute' read 'enrich'.

My eye was drawn to the Guardian's Food Blog, mainly because of the photo of a jar of Marmite illustrating it. They had asked chefs what their store-cupboard essentials were and there turned out to be three things they all agreed on, Maldon Sea Salt, De Cecco pasta and mustard, although there wasn't any agreement on which mustard. Not much agreement in our house either. Kevin's essential mustard is Dijon (Maille) mine is good old Coleman's English. Mustard that makes yer eyes water, splendid.

For some reason, I received in the post, a copy of SkyNews, not the satellite company's magazine, but rather the Canadian Stargazer's and Astronomy journal. Not ENTIRELY sure how I've rattled their cage, brought myself to their attention, but I figure it must have something to do with my subscription to New Scientist.

My friend Canadian Karen is not a big fan of Canadian TV. I on the other hand, love it. A series we have been catching up on recently is 'Rent-a-Goalie'. Like much Canadian comedy in my opinion, it has that dry quirkiness that British series have. Sadly, I doubt this one'll ever even make it to the Paramount Comedy Channel in Britain.

Ephemera

I'm breaking in a new laptop. Before, I have only bought a new computer when the previous one had given up the ghost, which is a bad, bad strategy, because it means you end up going out on a Sunday afternoon in desperation and buying the only one on sale in the area that your credit card will stand.
This time, the old one has been limping for some time, every so often playing possum and then, I feel, mostly due to the computer magic of the household electronics wizard, it has been coaxed back to life, so we have been doing a fair bit of looking around, waiting for a good deal.
Yesterday, such a deal came up. Now I have time to computer potter. Shift my bookmarks, settings, addresses and such like. Of course, that's still a chore.

Here in BC, another foot has washed ashore. C'mon people, FOUR dismembered feet? Is ANYONE working on this? This is becoming more mysterious than crop circles, well, not quite but, you know.

At the Nature Park, we have a camera on the nest of an American Robin. It's quite compulsive reality TV. The robin sits and looks almost cross-eyed and then, somewhen in the early afternoon, she lays an egg, then goes off for a snack or feather fluff or whatever. So far, we have two eggs in the nest, they often lay five over a course of as many days, so we wait...and watch.

There is also a mystery rash of beautiful, miniature, delicate powder blue butterflies, 'Spring Azures'. They had apparently disappeared from the Park, now they're back.

The dragonflies have hatched over the past week. We had seen a few damselflies, but now their bigger rellies are zapping around. I will still never manage to get a good picture of one, but I will also still keep trying.
Today, a few mayflies bouncing on the surface tension of the water, blue, ephemeral fairies.

Thunder

Not much, just a single flash of lightning and one long roll of thunder. Then another this morning. We heard that four planes had been hit at YVR and flights were delayed.

Common sense and reason prevail on one issue in Britain, where MPs have voted NOT to lower the limit on abortions and NOT to change the definition of who can qualify for IVF by inserting a line about having to have a male influence in the life of the child, thus making IVF unavailable to lesbian couples.

Life imitates art in India. Canadian Karen sent me a link about a story concerning two women in a relationship who ended their lives by setting fire to themselves. This was the storyline of Deepa Mehta's film 'Fire'.

Idiocy in the US democratic nomination shenanigans. It seems that Hillary has approximately 60% in numbers of the vote of the people, but Osama has more super-dooper votes. So although more democrats want Hillary as their candidate, it may not happen.
Hmmm....democracy in action - not so much.

Victoria Day

The pictures are from my sister who was at Wembley witnessing Pompey's triumph.

Today was a Bank Holiday for Queen Vic's birthday, although on the radio (Jack FM) an ad has been asking why call it Victoria Day when it's also Tommy Chong's birthday?
Yep, I can see how that would be fairly appropriate for BC.



The weather, however, has not played well, after a stonking few days, it's all gone a bit 'approaching Mordor'. The thing about having an extended weekend is that I can't quite believe we'll be back to work and dressed up as a Dominatrix Bee again tomorrow. At least I will, Kevin doesn't have to wear a special costume to R&D electronics.
As far as I know.

Anyway, the transforming power of the paintbrush has continued and with each wall the house becomes more our home, the more so because every wall I paint gets another of our pictures. The original canvas 'Flowers in a Field' by Holly and Teddy is the most recent masterpiece to be placed. It's a lovely picture and hasn't really had a wall to do it justice, now it does.

Quiet Power

My vicar has a soft, peaceful voice. But her sermons, her words are strong. She rails no less than any Bible thumping preacher, but a damn sight more effectively.

On Trinity Sunday, her message was one of inclusiveness.
'Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.' How did this message become twisted, how can some use this to condemn or judge others?

The others she was talking about were the gay and lesbian section of the Anglican Communion.

The church today seemed full of the grey army. I make no fun of them. To me the seniors, elders, are those who may be less distracted from their contemplation of matters spiritual. Their prayers are stronger, more focussed. I feel as though they are the big guns, that's what we need, extra strength.

'Doubt,' said the vicar, ' is a component of faith.' We all sat up. What? Aren't we certain? If we were, how would it be faith, if there were no doubt, if there were certainty, then we would have no faith, she went on to say that in this life, everything is provisional. The Jesus of the Gospels didn't set everything down in black and white, we were just given a basic set of practices by which to live, such as love and integrity. So how did we get from there to condemning other Christians?

I have just finished reading 'Disobedience' by Naomi Alderman. A Jewish woman from an orthodox background returns to the community of her childhood and teenage years.
I loved this book, there are different voices, it is thoughtful, quiet and yet powerful, like my vicar's sermons. And like the theme for Trinity, there is an exploration of rules. The orthodox community is bound, no, hamstrung by strict rules. And yet people are comforted by them, never having to expand their thinking.
But the book itself prods those limits, pushes the covers back. Exposes what the teachings of Judaism really say, not the ridiculous ties of people.
The protagonist feels the comfort of her upbringing but kicks against the limitations of it.
Spectacular read.

Bubbly

It is, I must admit, quite pleasant as the sun goes down on an incredibly hot day, to sit outside on the balcony and consume a bottle of not-quite-bubbly between the two of us.
'Tis also a bloody miracle. In recent times I have been only able to have one glass of anything before overheating and then feeling quite bothered.

Lunch again on the Drive - although not at Havana this time.
I know, I know, it looks as though I'm looking for Lady Love, but honest guv, that isn't so, 'tis just co-incidence that two days in a row I have had reason to strut my stuff on Commercial.

The heat and humidity have been at a level today that makes me want to sit in a cold bath somewhere.
Instead, I wrecked the internal workings of the wardrobe, abandoned Kevin at Home Depot to have to walk home bearing new fitments in the blazing sun; sat in the traffic jam around East 49th, that I had somehow forgotten about since yesterday, but with the new and divine in-car air conditioning that Honda assures me has no adverse impact on fuel consumption, it didn't leave me wilted and weak.
They wouldn't lie to me would they?
Not Honda, surely.

When I returned, Kevin and I went to nosy around at the Open House of a neighbour. It is on the market at 30 grand more than we paid and is significantly smaller than ours. This made me feel smug until Kevin pointed out that it had better not sell at that price or property tax would go up.
d'oh!
Then I painted walls until I almost dissolved in my own sweat.

Sitting on the balcony, drinking fizzy wine, we watched a little brown, as yet unidentified bird, bathe in dirt.

Oh and Pompey won the FA cup. First time since 1939.
I hope this doesn't mean another war with Germany. I've grown quite fond really.

Margueritas

Even from the wrong side of the tracks the mountains looked beautiful today.

Lunch on the drive. Brunch really, in Havana.

In a week when Denny Crane was asked to run for President, my TV viewing highlight was nonetheless Temperance Brennan belting out 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.'

It has been Marguerita weather today. And so as the sun was going down, we had some.

Tomorrow is cup final day in Britain. Pompey are in it. My sister has tickets. I can't imagine being able to sit through a football match.

Iron

What I love about this photo is that I wanted to take a picture of the Warbler on the top of the pine tree, and have accidentally captured a spec, an eagle flying overhead.

For the first time in Canada I had a prescription filled today.
My doctor was shocked last week, to find that my haemoglobin was very low. I was shocked to find that my cholesterol was normal. I have been anaemic my whole adult life, so it seemed normal to me. But she gave me a prescription for iron.

In Britain, there is a set prescription charge, so that if you get a prescription for something you can buy over the counter at the chemist's, the pharmacist or your doctor may advise you to just buy it if it is cheaper than the prescription charge.
This kinda happens here. But not quite. Instead of a prescription charge, there is a cost of the drug, plus a dispensing fee. But many people have medical plans through their employers that means they don't have to pay for most drugs. So....I could have paid $11 PLUS TAX for the iron over the counter, or $17 to have the prescription filled and Kevin's company's medical plan will pay for it. There is, of course, no option to pay the $11 PLUS TAX and have the medical plan pay that. So somewhere, someone is being fleeced and ultimately, that's going to be the consumer. Hrmph.

Following seamlessly on from drugs... how is it that Britney Spears can be so fecking awful in 'How I Met Your Mother' and George Michael so good in 'Eli Stone'?
I think we should be told.

Today, Alex Y and I set out to catch a frog. We had a big net and a pond literally popping with frogs. Did we catch a single one? Did we 'eck as like. Every time we even put a hand on that net, the little froggies plopped back into the pond and disappeared. And they seemed to know. Oh we learnt, just not how to catch frogs, more .... that we were rubbish at it.

Here in BC, a Kenyan student went out to post a letter and a helicopter fell out of the sky and killed him. That's for real. Sounds like a sketch on a black comedy show, but it actually happened.

And the Province is rightly scandalised. A serial killer of children, has a 'MySpace' page. It shows pictures taken inside the prison, inside his cell.
Sick.

Rainforest

Part of coastal BC, further north, is temperate rainforest.
Today, and according to the forecast, tomorrow, feels like rainforest right here. This morning was warm and rainy. Brilliant. Loving it. But as the day wore on, the rain became heavier and the temperature seemed to drop somewhat, either that, or I was so wet from repeatedly dragging groups of kids outside in it that it just felt that way.

'What meat do you like to eat?' I always ask the groups while explaining their own food chain.
'Pigs,' said one this morning.
'Ham,' said one this afternoon.
'What animal does ham come from?' I asked,
'Mostly from pigs,' he said,
'Er....always from pigs,' said I,
'And wolves,' said another kid,
'They're messing with me,' I thought,
'Well, only if the pigs try to blow the wolves' houses down, then they might get eaten and the wolf might taste a bit porky,' I played along, but this wasn't where he was going,
'Just wolves,' he said.
Hmmmm.....moving on.....

Having mentioned Seinfeld on Sunday, I was astonished to read in the Guardian that it had never caught on in the UK. I mean, what?
It seemed to be on TV continually for about five years. Everyone I knew watched it, or had watched it, or at least knew what it was.
Curious.

In the just-outside-the-window rainforest, activity was frenetic. Warblers, hummingbirds, and squirrels in perpetual motion.
Towards the end of the afternoon, a black squirrel slipped off the roof above our office, it fell past our window and ended up clinging to a woefully skinny white flowering currant. The squirrel's fur was wet and bedraggled, it looked surprised and we all laughed at its predicament, well, we smiled at any rate.

Enthusiasm

I never really got into the TV programme 'Curb Your Enthusiasm', in spite of being by the creator of Seinfeld - which I loved at the time, but tired of after the endless, endless repeats.
CYE just didn't hit the spot for me.

I realised today that I had never actually known the original meaning of enthusiasm; inspired by or full of god.
At the same time, the vicar told us that in two of the biblical languages, the Holy Spirit is feminine - our vicar in any case refers to the Holy Spirit as she.

Today was not just Sleepy's birthday, but it was also Pentecost, the time when the Holy Spirit inspired and enthused the disciples, possessed them if you like. The divine coming down to the earthly.

The Yang balancing with the Yin.

"The principle of Yin and Yang is the foundation of the entire universe. It underlies everything in creation..... Heaven was created by the concentration of Yang, the force of light, earth was created by the concentration of Yin, the forces of darkness. Yang stands for peace and serenity; Yin stands for confusion and turmoil. Yang stands for destruction; Yin stands for conservation. Yang brings about disintegration; Yin gives shape to things.....Water is an embodiment of Yin as fire is an embodiment of Yang"

And this interests me further because I am reading a book recommended by Sleepy, 'Disobedience' by Naomi Alderman.
One voice tells us that Torah brings life to the world, Torah is compared to water. Torah comes only and forever from the Almighty.
As water is purifying so Torah cleanses those it touches.

She inspires, she gives life, she cleanses, she is spirit and she is light, but she is also earth and deep, womb-like darkness.
She is spirit and she is form.
She is and she is not.

Bonding

Happy Birthday Sleepy! Tis not yet your birthday here, but what with Europe being ahead of us I'm sure you're well into your birthday cups :)

I'm bonding with my desk. There is a corner in our bedroom which was just perfect for such an item, even has a window from which I can see the mountains while I write/work/pontificate and so Kevin and Ikea have constructed my perfect desk between them.
I have a feeling that Kevin and Ikea are going to shortly be making my perfect dins between them too.

This week we wished our Swiss volunteers at the Nature Park well and saw them on their way. They have rented a Motorhome and are touring some of our fair Province. We did have a few European moments however over the three weeks they were with us. Nothing new, the same things I always mention and have had difficulty adapting to.
'I don't understand the duvet,' they said, 'there is a sheet on top of us and then the duvet, but it doesn't really look like a duvet .... cheques? ..... we don't understand the etiquette here, the people we are staying with eat very quickly then take their plates away from the table before we have finished...and they don't wait for us to start eating.... why can't we hire a car with gears?... what does it mean a 'twin' bed?...'

The weather teases us. We will have a warm afternoon and then it gets cold again. The tomato plants which I brought back from their temporary accommodation on my desk at work, have gone from looking bold and green to looking pale and frightened. They seem, like the proverbial violet, to have shrunk.

One of our news items this week - one that doesn't seem to involve hockey in any way, was that following new guidelines for the use of tasers, police are no longer going to be using them on pregnant women or each other. Thank goodness. They have been suffering too many shoulder injuries as they fall down.
But in order to continue protecting and serving the public, they will still be tasering unco-operative 82 year-old heart patients in their hospital beds.
Phew.

In any case, it is clearly impossible to die of being tasered. Well, at least in Ohio, where a taser manufacturer, imaginatively called 'Taser International', has been successful in suing a medical examiner who put the cause of death of three people, to be partly due to tasering. Naughty lady, she won't do that again.

Superlatives

The Nature Park, well, and the outside in general, has greened up over the past week. One warm afternoon and it passed the point of no-return.

This week has been insane so far. Even the evenings have been taken up with meetings, appointments, ridiculous schedules.
I thought our Bank Holiday was coming up, but alas, it is still over a week away.

I was cheered to see that in a 'landmark ruling' a Malaysian convert to Islam has been allowed to leave the faith.

This must seem annoyingly pointless to American-born Mayor of London Boris Johnson, who once told the Daily Torygraph that a ban on incitement to religious hatred 'makes no sense unless it involves a ban on the Koran itself'.
Hopefully none of his new constituents are Muslim.
Alright, I hope that SOME of his new constituents aren't Muslim.

I myself am seen as someone with god-like qualities. I realised this when I received an evaluation form from one of the schools that had recently been on one of our school programmes. I did a double-take because the teacher gave us merely a 'good' rather than an 'excellent', so I turned the page to see what we had done wrong.
The spring has been too cold.
I guess I'd better fix that before next year.

Speaking of excellence, the superb, SUPERB British series 'Gavin and Stacey' has finally made it to our TV. Although I have already seen the first series, I was transfixed by the brilliantly portrayed characters and the first class dialogue. I impatiently await the second series.

Mad Cow

My god, how quickly the light can change and all the trivia of life that delight or annoy can seem shadowy and irrelevant.

One of the people who works with the Nature Park Society, the one that could always be relied upon to turn out and keep me company at the annoying 'special events', a woman whose presence can literally brighten a room, some while ago wondered if, like Denny Crane, she was in the early stages of Alzheimers.
There was precedent in her family.
She consulted the doctor and, again like Denny Crane, she underwent a battery of cognitive tests. It was felt that she probably was indeed paddling in the shallow waters of the disease.

In March she suffered a stroke, and when things didn't seem to be getting any better, was admitted to a recovery facility where therapists would work with her, therapists who have a high level of success in rehabilitating stroke victims.

Except....it wasn't a stroke and it wasn't Denny's 'Mad Cow'. She has an inoperable brain tumour.
How...the...feck...can such an appalling thing happen to someone so wonderful?
My god.

Prayers

When I came out of church this morning, I was sure I could smell the sea. I wondered if there were some illness you could have whose onset was presaged by that salt tang in the air, like the smell of burning toast indicating that you are suffering a stroke.
Perhaps it was a momentary haunting.

I usually phone home on a Sunday, I think I should have a radio programme along the lines of Alistair Cook's 'Letter from America'. Mine would be called 'Phone Call from Canada', or maybe I'd go posher and call it 'From 49 West'.

Today I managed to speak to all of my children. Austen's school is being inspected this week. Deep joy.
The format has changed and now, with only a week's notice, the streamlined team will descend like the Flying Squad, and judge your school in two days. The old week-long ordeal inflicted by a mighty team of specialists was just that, an ordeal. They still couldn't manage an actual linguist last time my department was inspected.

Alex asked me why I hadn't mentioned the Austrian case. Truth is, I can't deal with the horror of it. As it unfolds further and further I can't believe it really happened to human beings in a western country. There are aspects of it which certainly remind me of the way the women were treated in Khaled Hoseini's 'Thousand Splendid Suns'.
Which is worse, that such abuse can happen in a society where it is tolerated, encouraged even, or in one that considers itself above such evil? How can people survive something like that? How can they recover from it? And most of all, how can someone perpetrate it? There is nothing, simply NOTHING that could be imposed on that man that could be adequate punishment.
'Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord,'
But times have changed.

In church the psalm started 'Arise O God, and let your enemies be scattered,' but that's not how it is now. We cannot scatter enemies in God's name, that's not how our God is anymore. Now we must wrestle with ourselves and find a way to overcome our horror from within. Somehow we are all guilty. In a society we share responsibility.
And we condemn our social workers for interfering and then we condemn them for not discovering abuse.

The sermon was about prayer. Marnie prompted us to think about what we pray about and she was right, my own prayer is too often a litany. I want, I need, give me strength to.... save this person, comfort that one...
Does our prayer ever serve to bring us closer to God ?
I can't seem to reach that deeper level. I can't seem to look deeply at my own soul. I strive for self-knowledge through prayer but when I look I see a barrier. I can see a frightened child staring out into darkness. Is that maybe what we all are? All God's children, scared and alone. Never really growing up spiritually.

Back in the physical world, I have had a weekend of painting and sorting. Bringing the old house into the new one. It was satisfying.
Kevin went on the frat camping weekend. I'm sure it'll be out on DVD at some point. In different ways it was a full-on weekend for both of us.
May the Fourth was with us.

The Four Horsemen

I can virtually hear them pawing the ground and snorting. Which is odd, since they have hooves rather than paws, but hooves don't seem to have their own verb.

Austen had warned me that there was a real possibility of this. I have more or less resigned myself to seeing Conservative Britain once more, Gordon's had a rough ride and people are fickle. Fickle and rather stupid really.
But this.
Holy Carp.
This is like having Ronald Macdonald in charge. This is the lunatics taking over the asylum.

The man is a joke. He is a moron. He is the end of days.
Someone should go and check the Tower. Are the ravens still there?

Boris Johnson. BJ.
Oh feck.

Lap of the Gods

Kris and I have been interviewing candidates for summer camp leaders. It has been an interesting process for me, and has somehow reminded me of days gone by.

The school I worked at before Mayhem was challenging. More challenging than Mayhem itself in my opinion. We were the registered school for travellers coming into the area - not in itself a problem, but we also had a number of settled travellers. Let's just say they seemed to have their own rules and sometimes it behove them to thrash these rules out physically in the car park.

But I digress.

It was a much smaller school than Mayhem, around one third of the size. My department had three classrooms on a landing with one RE classroom. This meant that some language classes had to be taught elsewhere, but I think the reasoning for not dedicating the RE room to us was that the Head of Department (ie me) was there to look after them as well.
In that Godless place, RE was even more unpopular than languages.

I can remember trying to get a kid to go into the RE lesson.
'No,' he said, 'I ain't going in there, 'e keeps talking about God,'
'It's RE,'
'Well I ain't going in unless 'e swears 'e won't talk about God,'
'It's difficult not to mention God in Religious Education.'
'I ain't goin' in then.'
'Unfortunately, the only way you can avoid RE is to show that you are a practising member of another Faith,'
'Like wha'?'
'Muslim?'
'They go in there,'
'Clearly the parents of the Muslim children don't choose to have their children opt out,'
'Wha'?'
'Never mind, Jewish?'
Then followed some unsavoury comments about loss of certain male parts.

But I digress again.

During one of the many shortages of language teachers - and seriously, during a shortage, it's even more difficult to get them to stay and teach in schools like Badlands, I was obliged to travel to London and interview French people. My shopping list was a bit specific. Must be a superbeing able to survive Badlands. In spite of this, I found one. He seemed to be made of sterner stuff than most, so I went back and was allowed to open negotiations.

But two days later, my esteemed Headteacher, and he really was esteemed, just a bit erratic sometimes, had 'found' me a new potential employee. He felt able to interview her himself, along with the Deputy Head who taught in my department, especially since she was French, therefore it seemed unnecessary to conduct part of the interview in French.
I went down to participate during my free period.
She could barely speak English, had a pronounced speech impediment and couldn't answer any of my questions about the National Curriculum, assessment, or any of the standard fare.

'Well, she seems alright,' said the DH. And no, she wasn't attractive in any way that would appeal to the male blind spot.
'Alright in what way?' I asked.
'Well, I think she'd do. '
I wondered whether we'd actually been in the same room and pointed out her deficiencies, plus my feeling that she would last less than half a lesson before bursting into tears.
I had to fight hard, but I got my way. I shouldn't, however, have had to fight at all and it was lucky I was able to crash the party.

I was able, in the end, to appoint the French guy and it worked out well. Lap of the gods.

We're in a shortage situation here now. We have few applications, and yet we have interviewed two really good candidates.
The rest is yet again in the lap of the gods.

Glottal Stop

I wonder how it'll all work out. I mean, we ARE a global village now. A global village that some of us are trashing. And it looks as though there is no way back. Some of our efforts are making things worse. When push comes to shove, will we share, or will it be everyone for themselves? How much do we ACTUALLY care that the staple food of India and China is becoming too expensive for the ordinary citizens of those countries? If it's them or us will we suddenly lose all our empathy?
It bothers me, it honestly bothers me.

On a more mundane note, Tracy Ullman's State of the Union is really growing on me. But there is a problem. Tracy's David Beckham is entertaining. Yes, that IS the problem, Tracy Ullman's Beckham has character, he has personality, Ullman is misleading me into thinking that the REAL DB does too.

On Friday, Canadian Karen goes to Cuba. I'm understandably worried that CK will succeed where Michael Moore failed, and be invited into Gitmo. At the very least, consult Cuban doctors CK, they are clearly more competent than any anywhere else in the world.

In the Guardian, Zoe Williams tries to awake the sleeping citizens of London from their enchanted dream. Boris Johnson, or as we like to call him, BJ, and his candidacy for Mayor has been an amusing little game, but seriously, it has to stop now before someone or some capital city gets hurt.
Le''s keep i' real, ai? ( What punctuation mark should be used to denote a glottal stop?)

Boats, Bees, Baker

A few crazy days.
Friday night, drove down to Birch Bay, Homeland Security in good spirits and working efficiently. But Birch Bay was cold, teeth chatteringly cold.

Saturday was clear and sunny. We could see Mount Baker in all its gloriousness. It was warm...until it wasn't. I read a book, a brilliant, fascinating book by Canadian author Jane Urquhart whose prose was rich and seductive.

Monday. Off to a good start. Habitat programme in the rain. Said programme involves children pond dipping in the ditch, ditch which has started to resemble the great, grey, green, greasy Limpopo river, all set about by fever trees. Fun, nonetheless.
Then writers' group. East Vancouver, looking down over the city. Late return.

This morning, the return of Betty Bee. Somewhere in the last minute panic, I lost my stinger and the pollen wouldn't stick to the back of my knees. But overall a good first night - well, morning really. Worryingly, after the afternoon performance, a little boy came and said to me,
'Girls are better than boys,'
'Well, not better,' I said, 'in the play, Betty discovered that Darwin the Drone is important too,'
'No, not just bees,' he said, 'humans too, girls are better than boys...' I fear I can hear a whole family background in his utterances.

This evening, we said goodbye to our old house. Tomorrow it will belong to someone else. And this evening also, we said goodbye to my friend's boat. Tomorrow she too (the boat, not the friend), will belong to someone else. My friend sailed round the world on that boat, it was an honour to share her last evening aboard with her.

Crossing...

...the Border, be back Sunday.

Shoes

Whilst Kevin was collecting his new pot rack from Sears, (yeah, no, not THAT kind of pot rack) I snuck into Sportchek to check out their sale. And lo. Was this not a sign from the demi-god of shoe shopping? The boots I have been stopping myself from buying all winter were not only reduced, but there was only one pair left, and they were my size.
Who could not buy them on that basis I ask you?

As I was gloating over my acquisition, I chortled to read that Gwyneth Paltrow was being ridiculed for wearing seven inch heels. It seems she had to lean on someone to be able to teeter in them. I can't help wondering how tall she must be to start off with. If I wore seven inch heels I would be six foot one. So if I were to have a tall hair day at the same time, I would tower above the populace.

This comes after a post on the Urban Feminist website, about how women's attractiveness has frequently been linked with and judged on how uncomfortable their clothes are.
The F-Word site also talks about an event in New Jersey in which men wore high-heel shoes to better understand some women's issues.

I'm no Imelda Marcos, and I'm certainly no Carrie Bradshaw, but I do probably own more pairs of shoes than I need to.
But in the whole lot, I don't have a pair I can't walk in.

St George's Day

On this St. George's Day - too early for roses to actually be in bloom - the following cheesed or pleased me...

Pleasers

• Hillary winning the Pennsylvania primary.
• Hearing the song of the white-crowned sparrow and seeing it after Kris had just described the bird to me.
• A Canadian company investing in recycling nappies in the UK into plastic cladding and roof tiles.
• Irish playwright Frank McGuiness finishing translating the whole of Ibsen. God bless him, it took him 20 years.
• An article sent by one of my fellow 'Dashers, about how trees are to be valued in London.
  

Cheesers

• Mayhem not supporting its teachers by closing when one of the unions has called its first national strike since 1987.
• A UK judge handing a two-year gaol sentence to a man convicted of raping a ten year-old girl. The same judge has a horrific roll-call of misogynistic sentencing.
• Canadian Brenda Martin being wrongfully sentenced to five years imprisonment in Mexico.
• Doesn't have too much of an impact on me, but since hockey affects everyone in Canada, ergo it must affect me, the unpopular appointment of the new Canucks' manager.
  

And then...

...Earth Day.
Earth Day for Earthlings. A beautiful, sunny day, the sky the absolutely perfect blue, unless that is you prefer more of an Oxford blue.

There was a frost last night. On the edge of the park this morning, the grass was glazed with it, or rimed if you will, rimed with frost, hoar frost. The ditches were covered with jagged, fractured ice. I have discovered a way across the ditches, planks and trunks laid by someone. I am benefiting from someone else's toil.

At my writers' group last night, someone commented that they had read an article in one of the rags about Starbuck's pastries. I think the implication was that this was too trivial a subject to write about. But I don't think so. Much good comedy and writing is about seeming trivia. I can't see that there are dull topics - obviously apart from sport, that goes without saying - simply the way the topics are approached.
I have never found Starbuck's pastries to be inspiring, but it could be that very lack of inspiration that can provoke.

I loved the Guardian's way of presenting the findings that pregnancies that produce boys are more likely to occur after a period of high-calorie intake. What are little boys made of? Bananas, they answer.

I was also pleased to see that St. George's Day is rising in popularity. I suspect this has as much to do with Harry Potter as anything else, but it doesn't bode well for that other GB, no, not George Bush, Gordon Brown. Poor Mr. Brown. He seems like a very decent fellow, but he simply doesn't know when to hold the line.
Ah, Tony, I miss him.

Earth Weekend

On Friday evening, the weather became even more bizarre. It snowed, blizzard-like and lay on the ground. This picture is the blossom tree outside my front door.
We thought it would all have disappeared by morning, but not so.

And then the beginning - in Richmond at any rate - of the celebrations for Earth Day. I had to represent the Nature Park at King George Park, and I had planned to take the 'travelling pond'. Of course I was slightly put off Saturday morning, having to get water out of an icy pond to take with me. I scaled down my operation and took a smaller container.

Dear God it was cold. It felt Arctic. And the park was waterlogged. It was also very blowy and my canopy-tent thingie blew away. Add to that there were very few people there, either exhibitors or public. Further, there was a man dressed in...well, earthy clothes...strumming a guitar and making up the words to some lame song as he went along. It was like something out of a comedy series.
Mother Nature made her feelings VERY clear.

I was amazed to learn in church this morning however, that Earth Day has been celebrated on 22nd of April since 1970. I was horrified too. Why has it taken us until 2008 to go mainstream? If we had taken this guy, Gaylord Nelson, seriously back then - oh well, ok, I give you that it's almost impossible to take someone called Gaylord seriously - maybe we wouldn't be facing annihilation.

We had a version of the Creed that had been specifically written for Earth Day by Church leaders in Ottawa. It was a good feeling to know that the church is taking this seriously, seeing it as a problem for Christians and giving leadership.

In her sermon, Margaret pointed us at Revelations and suggested that maybe we should start to look at the Bible there, with St. John's vision of the possible future if we break faith with God. Then we should work backwards towards Genesis, to see the world as it once was, new and full of hope.

One oft used quote from the New Testament is that we are to be 'wise stewards of our own inheritance.'
Well right now, we're not.

Stormy Weather

Cooper's hawk, creator of the nest.

Birds can have a sardonic sense of humour. I delivered my poo sample to the lab this morning before work. When I drove off, a bird dropped a triple load of ploppy on the windscreen. D'oh!

The weather has a strong sense of irony. This morning, despite the arctic feel outdoors, Alex Y and I presented our puppet show, 'Signs of Spring' and then talked about same. Then my eye was caught by the snow flying past the window.
D'oh.
Now we have hail. And thunder.

Our friends to the south have experienced earthquake tremors. Well, not quite correct, one good friend and the son of another to the south have felt them today.

I notice that in the Olympic spirit of friendship and co-operation, the Chinese, bless them, are sending a big old shipload of weapons to that nice Mr. Mugabe in Zimbabwe. How kind of them. The shadow foreign secretary in Britain is concerned that China may be seen in a poor light internationally because of this.
Yes, because it had such a spotless reputation beforehand.

It's Friday night. I've had my Indian food.
Chilling.

Rogues

I have a laisser-faire attitude towards Facebook. Over the past few days however, I have received two 'Friend Requests' from women I have never heard of. Young women, young women seeking either women or men. I smell ...well, let's not worry about what I smell, but something isn't quite kosher in the State of...well, not so much Denmark as Arizona and Illinois.

Alan Shore was on tip-top form on last night's Boston Legal, well, night before last to be honest. I felt exhausted after his closing argument, emotionally drained and yet completely satisfied. Hmmm, sounds a bit like, oh well, never mind. I also liked his referring to the President of Iran as 'I'm mad in a dinner jacket,' much better than my 'mad, bad jihad,' which is of course, good too.

The Nature Park was literally popping with birdlife today. Or pooping maybe, which was great because my friends Beth and Dave visited with their brand new daughter. Dave used to work for the RSPB, so knows a bit about the feathered friends, as does Beth, great for me on my quest to expand my own knowledge. I guess you could argue that it's a bit disappointing therefore that all I can manage is a not very good picture of an American Robin, but heh, robins count.

Which remind me, the rogue apostrophe has arrived here. Oh, let's be honest, it has probably been here for years, but I just looked up yesterday and there was a sign on a shop near Ikea, that announced that it sold 'Beds and Sofa's'. Sofa's what? I wanted to know. Sofa's dumb cousin the chaise lounge? What? What could a sofa possibly own and why is it not stated clearly?
Eesh.

Kevin read out to me yesterday that George Bush foresees greenhouse gas emissions from the US levelling off by 2025. It will be fecking irrelevant by then you complete and utter plonker. If it doesn't drop dramatically NOW, it'll be all over by then. There are amoebae that can understand that. There are muppets made out of cloth and foam that can understand that. Why is Vicky Pollard's less intelligent cousin running a bath let alone a country?

Good bloody grief.

Little Yellow Birds

We have weird weather forecasts for the weekend, maybe snow flurries, maybe just very cold rain and temperatures hovering around zero.
A couple of ads are annoying me. One is a parody of that film where Robert Redford or some old geezer wants to sleep with Demi Moore for a million dollars.
In the ad, some guy admires another's car and asks if he can borrow it for one night for a million dollars. No, says the car owner. Then the price of the car is revealed and it costs $20K. Ho-hum. I'm sure that's part of the humour, but to me it just makes the whole thing lame and not work. Can't remember what the other ad was.

Back at the OK Corral, or Nature Park, the business of the day has been informing the public about Snow Geese. Not me, I don't have to do that, but Kris and Rich have had to have a public meeting. Snow Geese have been all descending on school playing fields and having a nice poo before flying off. The public are distraught. Not so distraught that they'd consider not walking their dogs on school grounds and letting them crap there, but you know.
The snow geese come here from Russia to overwinter, but their habits have changed in recent years. Instead of some of them going down to California, they have been staying in BC, and since two of their three local habitats have been all but destroyed, they are all coming to Richmond and frightening the horses, or whatever.
It seems like we humans have caused the problems for the birds, but far be it from us to actually put it right, no, we must shoot the creatures or harass them in some way.

Today, a dad at one of the programmes asked me how I had spotted a hummingbird up high in a tree that I'd pointed out to the children.
'I...just knew where it would be,' I said. On my way home I thought about that. Less than three years ago I'd never seen a hummingbird or a bald eagle, or a red-tailed hawk or even a towhee. Now I know where to look for them, what sort of sky I'm likely to find them in and what they sound like.
So, a handful down, several hundred to go. I'm going to move on to the yellow birds now, the yellow birds just keep on coming in waves, and they can't all be bloody finches.
LYBs.
Little yellow birds. Ho-hum.

Bloodwork

I decided that today was a good day for fitting in the blood tests that the doctor had decreed were long overdue, cholesterol, iron etc.
The cholesterol test requires that I fast for ten hours. Piece of piss, I thought.

Wrong! Missing my two cups of fully leaded first thing meant that the whole day went pear-shaped.
By eleven I was feeling quite woozy, by midday, like crawling back into bed, I rallied a tad after stuffing my face, but I was never able to get that caffeine hit, because if I drink coffee too late, I compromise the night's sleep. I spent the rest of the day with a drilling headache and no energy.

I wonder how the people who take the blood do it. I mean, people do manage it, and I can see how they find the vein, but how do they hit it so that the needle doesn't go right through? Yet somehow even junkies manage it.
At least I assume they do.

I have another test that I have to hand in on Friday. Until then I'm not allowed to eat raw broccoli, cauliflower, parsnips or turnips.
What a test of stamina and willpower.

Schloß Schneewittchen

I had something to pontificate about, but the day has slipped away in a haze of paint and soil and Ikea. In fact the whole weekend has pretty much gone thus, but we get ever nearer to having a home instead of a house with junk in it.

Still warm today. We sat on the balcony and had our coffee, whence this picture of the mountains through the tree.

Tomorrow we get the phone turned on. It's not that we use it much, but it feels odd not to have it - disconnected somehow.
Well, literally I suppose.

High WIndows

From our bedroom window.

Today was supposed to be an anomalous 21º and it was certainly warm. I think I nearly fried my eyeballs painting into the sun at midday, but when vision had returned, I was rewarded by the sight of four bald eagles flying low in the sky over our complex. They were just wheeling and enjoying the air currents. Probably keeping an eye out for a birdie snack too, there were plenty of starlings around.

A pressing question, I would say of global importance, is when the hell are Snow Patrol going to release a new album? Well, soon apparently. They are back in the studio this month, although I have no idea how long it takes to record a new album and get it to me. Most likely longer than a week.

The new series of Earl, whilst less annoying than last in that he's no longer in gaol, is nonetheless going to wear me down if they are going to stick with the 'visions in a coma' theme. I mean, not that it isn't good, and amusing it's just that - well, you know, Life on Mars and the last series of the Sopranos and all that.

Back in Blighty, the Pompey branch of the Schneewittchen tree are having their Easter holiday. A strange and yet understandable concept. The French have been known to do this, time their Easter holidays outside of Easter, the British, well, probably never before.

Our House

Hummingbird. In a tree.

Well, despite my crowing about my walk to work, I narrowly missed death today or some causal connection with someone else's. I do have a road to cross - but...there is a crossing light. The light changes to a white person and I cross. But again...as Gail rightly pointed out, I am one of only three people in Richmond who walk to work, and one of the other two is Kevin, so the denizens and mad drivers of same, have difficulty recognising that a red traffic light, coupled with a crossing light, means you have to stop.
Light went white, I started to cross, but only three cars had gone through after the traffic light had changed, so plenty more were expecting to. Fortunately, she saw me and stopped, which caused mass road rage and screaming horns at the intersection.
Oh Sleepy, where are thou when I need you?

The house is about seven years old and neither of the previous occupants have attempted to change the original builders' paint colour, which was a sort of mushroom throughout. Oh yes, taupe is the new magnolia.
I'm sure it had a kind of drab elegance in its day.
With furniture removed we can see that previous owners have had several attempts to match the colour to cover up some botch up or another. And the paint is cheap though not cheerful, so it drinks up anything that goes on top of it. But it's fun to watch it change. I am loving what we have done already.

There is an evil toy however, yes, I did say evil toy. Long have I pined for a bathtub in which I can actually take a bath. The standard basic fitting here is a shallow trough. A relaxing soak is not a possibility.
And yet I have adapted, and come to realise that my previous bath habit, whilst allowing me to avoid therapy, is a bad one from an environmental point if view. So I stopped pining and resigned myself to showers and a distant promise that one day, when we had another house, we'd fit a new bath.
But the new house has a bath. It has a sloping back that you can lie against, it is not shallow, you can fill it so that it covers your body. In short, it is a real bath.
But there is more.
The bath has a powerful jacuzzi function, so you can lie in it and use even more electricity. Muahahahahaha.
Naturally I will use my toy wisely. And sparingly. It's almost, almost enough to just know it's there.

Buns

My new walk to work still sports only a few metres of pavement, but instead of walking along the side of a main road, I get to walk a trail, then a railway track, then another trail, all of which separates me from the mad motorists.

On Sunday, which seems so far behind us now, the body of Christ tasted a bit sweet, made me think perhaps they used a bun instead of bread. No reason why not I suppose, except that I thought that at the time which made me think of Eddie Izzard doing his bun sketch on one of the teaching videos we used to have for French.
'Bun,' he'd say, 'bun! You can't go into a shop and just ask for bun. I might think you mean all the buns in the shop, iced buns, hot-cross buns, all the buns and then I'd have to sell you all the buns and I'd have no buns left,' his voice rising in crescendo.
You had to hear Eddie Izzard doing it really.

Earlier in the week, Alex and I were checking the trails and a hawk swooped down quite near us. Then we realised there were two, and then, that one of them was taking twigs to a tree - then we saw the nest. It was a startling day, we had seen loads of hummingbirds, one hovering quite near us, its iridescent red throat startlingly beautiful.

This morning we found out that Laurence has passed his next belt test in Karate. Not because he told us, but because we read Facebook.
I guess that's just how it is these days.

Birds and Blossom

Cool. This tree is right outside my window. Expect more.

So...much has happened in my absence from the web. Pompey (the football team) are through to the finals of the FA cup. This is startling news. And Pompey (the city) had snow. And in April. And Boris Johnson, the most inept and startlingly stupid man on the planet may actually win the election to become mayor of London, against Red Ken, the only politician on the planet with integrity and who has done a brilliant job and made some bloody tough calls.
It's all quite insane.

Here in BC, more insane stuff. A Japanese student who had been snowboarding on Blackcomb, and missing for days, has been found. A woman came home to find that her three children's father had murdered them. How do you even comprehend that?

A friend from writers' group who is ill has been told he is iller. All I can think of to say are things that have become clichés, but that guy IS an inspiration. He just lives and deals and carries on, and he will talk about it, he neither ignores it nor wallows in it. One of those rare people that you realise enrich your life.

We moved into the new house on Sunday, now we live here. We have to go and do a final clean of the other house before completion, but our main focus is now on here. We have to start to create order out of chaos.
There are walls to be painted, light fixtures to change, our lives in boxes to sort and put away.
BUT....we have beds, we have sofas, we have food in the fridge and we have cable. And we have birds and blossom.

Normal Service

...will be resumed Monday - and since normal Monday service is no post due to writers' group, that could mean Tuesday. We'll see. I'll be without internet for a day. Please stay tuned.

Comfort Zone

The move continues. The old house is almost bare now, but the beds are still here and the TV and internet, the essentials of life.
Slowly, but surely our lives change venue. The comfortable things have gone, dismantled, displaced. The new creation begins.

One of my all-time favourite - and comforting - comedies, was the Aussie series, 'Kath and Kim'. There was something about the Australianess of it all, Kath saying, 'Look and me, look at me, look at muyyyy.'
And now it seems there is to be a US version of it. When they make their crappy versions of good shows, why the frell can't they call them something else?
This week we recorded and watched the new Tracy Ullman show, 'State of the Union'. It was billed as the same format as Little Britain. Was it heck as like. I love Ullman's work, and there was something hypnotically watchable about it, about her, but it didn't deliver the belly laugh that Little Britain does, nor the toe curling realisation that you're seeing your own worst habits writ large.

The Canucks are out of the playoffs. Shucks. Global warming I expect.

French Toast

Sleepy sent me an article about the French being determined to save the semi-colon, and more power to them, it seems that only the Académie Française cares about language any more. Something else on the page caught my eye however, France has apparently been taken by storm by 'le scrapbooking'. Holy Carp I say. Why France, why? As far as I can tell, Britain hasn't succumbed, so why are you letting the side down?
Well, perhaps it's out of spite. I have been reading recently how the new Mrs. Sarko has been seducing the British. Well, good for her, perhaps there will be a bit of entente cordiale afoot.

In a gruesome mirroring of the feet that keep washing up on our coastal shorelines, Scottish police have been finding other body parts, a second hand has now been washed ashore. There's a pun in there somewhere, I know. They have a head in custody too, so their job may well be easier in the long run than that of the BC police, but I can't help thinking of mysterious porpoise deaths.
I'm not sure why.

My son and his family have recently bought a whole lamb. We discussed this, the lamb was ethically raised and slaughtered for them - sounds a bit Biblical so far - and within a couple of days of its demise, was on their table. I think there is a tremendous honesty to this, we go out and buy chunks of meat from the supermarket and often those animals have neither lived nor died in a particularly nice way. But I think I may have to work my way up through the fishes and birds first. Superstore have live seafood you can select and have dispatched for your table, and I can imagine, and have even eaten - in France - chickens that were killed in the same kitchen they were subsequently eaten in.

April for Fools

Forgive me for I have sinned. It is two days since my last post.

Things are hectic, things are frantic, shuffling between the two houses. The sale is now definite, so we can move in fully whenever we want. I want it to be when we have internet access there. Can't manage without now.

At work, the spring programmes have begun and someone at the City has issued a works order for a septic field to be dug in the middle of all this.
In Britain, everything would have come to a full stop. No child would be allowed within a 100 metres of the ongoing work, it would be cordoned off and notices would be posted.
Here, we just weave the children in and out of the city trucks, concrete mixers, move orange cones out of the way, get them to leap across newly tamped tarmac, walk past heavy duty electrical cables and over freshly planted grass.
All in a day's work.

It's strange, this transition. Not knowing where things are, where things are going to be, the comfort zone disturbed. Time itself is disturbed. Where can I curl up and unwind?

On the news this morning, the presenters amused themselves by making up stories. Why do we need this? I have never understood the amusement value of the practical joke either. Putting someone out, inconveniencing them. How side-splitting.

And then the news that Stanley Park's 'Hollow Tree' is to be pulled down. It is a dead tree. Fascinating that it is so huge, local people have fond memories of being photographed inside it, cars, truck, all being pictured inside the hollow tree. But time and weather have taken their toll and now it leans over impossibly, threatening to brain or squash the public, drinking up hundreds of thousands of dollars in attempts to preserve it, mad old ladies making fervent cases for its preservation. Why do they feel the need to do this? To preserve the dead in the same form forever, like having a community that speaks Latin instead of allowing it to rule the Classics.
I get that it is history. But like history, it must move on, make way for the new.