Samhain

Quarter past six, standing in the dark, watching the film of cloud drift gently over the morning stars. The last morning of October. My routine blood tests were due this month, so that's where I was.

 And the day has turned into a spectacular one, clear skies, and wind that makes me feel part of everything and a strong need to recite,
'O wild, west wind, thou breath of Autumn's being...' and I did. Whisky was dead impressed, so were the trees and the birds. On the phone, later, Alex listened to my recitation and humoured me. Only seven hours between here and there this week, the veil is thinner than usual.


Brightest blessings for Samhain.

At the Static

A weekend at the Static, yes, a weekend. I had Saturday off to make up for working an extra day earlier in the month. AND...a weekend when miraculously, we have internet. This hasn't happened since spring. Makes a difference. You think you want to step outside of the worldwide web, but only until you can't get back in.



I am reading a book that is very enjoyable apart from the sloppy translation that sends us back to the fifties. 'The Elegance of the Hedgehog' is an amazing read, but the gendered language of French does not need to be translated so literally into the ungendered English language. Yes, I know I could probably read it in the original and be less annoyed, but I didn't want to wait three months to have a copy couriered by tortoise from France.



'Flavorwire' (sic) gives us ten U.S. sitcoms that moved women forward. Of course, they are just that, sitcoms, and there are other shows, such as Cagney and Lacey, that really did the business. There are even other sitcoms that showed women as able to think for themselves, such as 'Cybill' and that leads nus right back to Britcoms such as Ab Fab, Girl on Top and The Vicar of Dibley that did the same. There are still programs that get it almost right, Bones for example, but then when you look at this season's offerings,  sometimes women seem so peripheral to everything, you'd think we lived in a different realm, oh wait.....



And at least in the UK, that isn't going to get much better, since 'Bird's Eye View',  a festival that screens films by women, has had to be cancelled due to funding cuts.



British TV presenter, Eamonn Holmes (Irish, but works on British TV), ended an interview with a rape victim who had the presence of mind to deliberately leave evidence at the scene of the crime, the rapist's car, by saying to her, 'well I hope you take taxis now.' Yes, yet again, blame the victim Eamonn, well done, not. Sometimes you've just got to wonder how the person gets the job.

After Dark

Monday night, Skytrain downtown. Walking to my friend's house, Vancouver after dark. City of tents outside the Art Gallery - Occupy Vancouver, the denizens high on something and righteous indignation.

Firefighters practising climbing a ladder while waiting for something to go wrong. Face it, they get called when something goes wrong, but meanwhile send the lads and lasses up high steps into the dark.

A pair of well-fed skunks amble along the pavement, snuffle in the undergrowth. They go undisturbed, people see the stripe, white against the darkness and skirt around them. Not fierce, this pair, they look fluffy and adorable, but when frightened, oh, no-one wants to go there.

Turning onto my friend's street, a dog approaches, on a lead, but with a bicycle's rear light attached to its collar, blinking red as the dog takes its owner for a walk, it too sniffing the foliage.

An ordinary evening in the city that never snores.

Colonel Who?

Who knew that Gadafi's first name wasn't 'Colonel'? Why didn't Noah Webster try to change the spelling of 'Colonel'?
Was Colonel Gadafi actually Fatima Whitbread?
I think we should be told.

When I took Whisky for his walk after I got home from work, three young men were quite openly smoking the stinkiest weed I'd ever smelt. Of course, even living in BC, my experience isn't extensive, but this did smell very strongly. That in itself doesn't warrant comment, but the fact was that each of them then got into a different car and drove off. Kevin had told me the same thing had happened yesterday. If it happens tomorrow, people will be informed.

Bees, Birthday, Band

Finally the leaves.

On Saturday I went to a fundraising event for work. There was a great talk on native bees. I don't understand the passive-aggressive response of some women.
Just like when I used to play Betty Bee, many of the women whooped and clapped when the speaker described the envisceration of the male bees after mating. Alright, not really that passive. Why, in this society, will women still accept being addressed as though they don't exist, and yet they will revel in such detail? Again, when laid out like that, the two do seem to go together.

This has been a week of meetings. Just two, but every evening counts.

My sister's birthday today.

Last Friday, Ben's band played at Indig02, and reports were that it was an amazing gig. Still no video up on YouTube. Their next gig is playing for the after show party of Liam Gallagher's new band.
Rock and roll.

All Over the Map

See if you can do this, I readily admit I was pretty poor at Geography at school, but I think this is more politics than Geography, and it still took me a while.

During the course of my researches today, I discovered this little piece of distress. If you remind women that breast cancer is a disease that predominantly affects women, then they are less likely to donate to cancer research, if you make it more gender neutral by, ooh, disassociating it from the colour pink, then they are more inclined to donate. Yes, women hate being reminded that they are women. Either that, or secretly, they really do hate pink. The men who love them are far more forgiving though.

Harvest Thanksgiving

After a cool, wet spring, and then a cool, wet early summer, followed by six weeks of endless sunshine, the trees have been late changing colour, which they finally, now, have done, or I should say, are doing. There are some coral pinks and dark reds out there, even a few golds from the Cottonwoods, but it's a fairly lazy turn this year.  

I came up from the Static on Sunday morning because I was reading in church. There were a couple of typos in mine, and God seemed to be issuing decrees, commands and statues. Now, given that a fair proportion of our congregation probably do still think of God as an elderly gentleman, the random presentation of statues would be in keeping with the ageing process. And it made me wonder - because some of the other readers would simply have read what was written on the page - whether God's mysterious ways may indeed seem more geriatric than mystical. 

The Schloss's own harvest has been sparse this year. (The picture is not representative).
We have a number of late-ripening tomatoes, both red and yellow, a massive amount of parsley, and likewise of lavender. But we live in a place and time where my own lack of success in the garden has not impacted my family's ability to obtain food, and for this I thank my Goddesses.

I know we live in a privileged society where there is no cause for anyone to starve, and yet people still do go hungry because whilst we pay lip service to all people being equal, when push comes to shove, we don't really believe it. We like to blame, somewhere deep inside, we buy into the concept of the 'undeserving poor'.
We mentally point a finger at street people, drug addicts, people with mental health issues and reassure ourselves that we are righteous, we do the right things not to be like them, and thus condemn them through our disregard.

At this time of Harvest Thanksgiving, where is our concern for humanity, where is mine? When I think about the contempt for the Earth, for the Environment, for the health and welfare of the other travellers through space and time, I realise the importance of the long, dark, teatime of the soul. Because whilst we're feeding our faces, are we starving our souls?

Orb

Kevin says it's a raindrop on the lens, I say it's something supernatural or otherworldly. It totes wasn't the moon.

Driving to work is something I haven't had to do for a very long time. Actually, I can't remember ever having to drive to work, but there must have been a time. Mostly, I'm going in the opposite direction from the majority of the traffic, but Tuesday night I was forced to do a long stretch of the road in second because there had been an accident involving 'a police cruiser and a truck carrying cranberries'. So very specific to our area at this time of year.

Kev and Whisky are down at the Static, Kev having taken a couple of extra days off before the long weekend. Even I get this Saturday, in lieu of Monday, which is the Harvest Thanksgiving holiday.  Of course, some of the harvest was spilt on the slip road to the Queensborough bridge.
To whom do Atheists give thanks?
Hmmm....

Waxing Moon

October. Luvvly.

Saturday after work, I drove down to the Static and thence to see Kev's folks. Cousin from Spain was there. Apparently  peanut butter is in short supply there. And why shouldn't it be? Much as I like a bit of beurre d'arachide meself, I'm sure the Spanish have more exotic things to spread on their pan.

Sunday, one glorious day of rest, swimming toute seule, since it's way too cold for anyone else to be doing lengths outdoors. Again, apparently.

Yesterday, Vancouver for a seminar followed by an evening seminar. The evening one was excellent.

I feel that Facebook is getting bossy. It e-mailed me to tell me I was missing all sorts of updates from my friends. Rookie mistake. What they should have said was, 'In the time it takes for you to read this fatuous e-mail,you could have checked out your friends' status updates.'

Yeah, well, quod non erat demonstrandum.

Casino Blah

Two mornings ago, a day when I had two classes arriving for a programme first thing, and another in the afternoon, there was a fatal motorcycle crash just outside the entrance to where I work. The police had a long stretch of road leading up to it cordoned off for most of the day, so I got to learn a new back way that I would never have thought existed. Live and learn. Except for the motorcyclist who was pronounced dead at the scene. The thought of that haunted me, someone's child, lover, parent, probably going to work first thing in the morning, and never returning.

Today, I had to go to collect my renewed Permanent Resident card from somewhere in the over-priced bowels of Vancouver. Actually, more like the appendix.
The young man at the counter asked me why I hadn't yet applied for citizenship, since I was illegible. Yep, he said that, he didn't say eligible, he said, illegible.
Remembering I was in Canada, I swallowed back the sharp reply, smiled sweetly, and said I was going to get onto it straight away. And I will, since Kevin keeps reminding me and it will make crossing the border easier still.

I went from there to YVR to update the information on my NEXUS card. The skytrain goes right into the airport, it's well thought out.
A German tourist who was trying to buy a ticket from the machine, asked me if I could split a $50 note. Again I swallowed back my sharp reply and simply told him I didn't have any cash. This was true, and I rarely have as much as $50 on me.

Coming back to Richmond, you have to change at the station that overlooks the Casino. This is the most painless train change I can imagine, you simply step across the platform and an electronic reader board tells you that the next train will arrive in 4 minutes. Done.
The Casino, sorry, Casino Resort, boasts all sorts of facilities, also increases the crime in the area by a factor of something like 500%.
There is some kind of entertainment place there where tired old celebs whose names we've all long since forgotten, come to earn their crust. Forthcoming attractions include Mitzi Gaynor and Matt Goss.
I rest my case.

Rain and Telly

Monday, and madre mia is it wet. Wet and blustery. And my day off. Whisky and I were scheduled for walkies but it was rained off. I have seen some quite astonishing driving today.

We watched the first episode of the US version of Prime Suspect. It has Maria Bello as Helen Mirren's character. Of course, Maria Bello is exceptionally good, but Helen Mirren she ain't. And I guess that Mirren's Jane Tennyson and Bello's Jane Timoney are quite different characters. The premiss of the US version seems to be a woman detective trying to be accepted in amongst a bunch of male detectives. Now, whilst inequality in the workplace due to gender are most certainly alive and kicking, the extent of the hostility in Prime Suspect, really does seem to be more a mark of the 70s. I dunno. Another police drama, but I think it's playing too heavily on the name. We'll see, I'll give it a few more episodes.

We also watched Bridesmaids, which I enjoyed, but I felt that rumours of the inherent feminism were rather over-hyped. Maya Rudolph's character's wedding was still being paid for by daddy, and I do mean daddy, not parents. It was fun, but it wasn't the sensation I'd been led to believe. Melissa McCarthy was undoubtedly the unintended star though.

The Schedule

Haven't taken any pics recently, although I am now getting used to my new routine, so here's a random picture of Mae West,
'I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.'

Ah, the Autumn TV scheduling. It hath commenced. And there are some new goodies. Zooey Deschanel's new comedy 'New Girl' was funny, as was Christina Applegate's and Amy Poehler's bloke's, (my, how many genitives can you get in one sentence?) whatever his name is, but the sitcom's called 'Up All Night'.

There was another thing that started, I forget its name, what it was about or who was in it, but it was shit, don't watch it.

Michael Tuesdays and Thursdays appeared dull at first, but picked up.

Harry's back, in 'Harry's Law', and just as awesome, only I don't like that they've moved to a bigger office. We don't like that, we discussed it.

New series of Modern Family - fab as ever. As for the rest, I feel it's my duty to watch and report.

As well as Justin Bieber forever lurking, as mentioned yesterday, every bus stop seems to have a rather creepy picture of Simon Cowell signalling the start of X-Factor over here. Quite unnecessary in my opinion. No-one needs that. 

And, out in the real world, rampant misogyny continues unabated. In India, girls are being denied heart surgery by their parents because they would rather spend the money on their boys. Also, scars from heart surgery might be detrimental to the girls' marriage prospects.
Oh, shucks. Perhaps those girls should go and become heart surgeons. 

Good freaking grief.

Herewith, a trailer for the film about the life of Women's Rights activist and author Alice Walker 'Beauty in Truth'.

At ease.

Lurking and Crawling

Here comes the rain again. It has that heaviness normally associated with November.
And as in November, the light from the shops draws you in from the gloom. In Shoppers' Drug Mart, life-sized cardboard Justin Bieber lurks and watches you.
Creepy.

The dumpster in the car park has a huge sign declaring that banned items are not allowed. Gaagh.

On the way home, two stretches along Route 91 westbound are crawled in second gear, still, not parked, like the eastbound stream. Made worse though by Bryan Adams on the radio, really, there's no call for that.

At home, Kevin is making the adjustments easier, sharing the work without my having to even say anything, like moving wordlessly into a different dance.

The mornings when I do the tours at the Nature Reserve, I'm finding out about hockey habits. We meet in the car park of Planet Ice. We use their loos.
Before the kids were back at school, small boys would arrive, lugging sports bags bigger than themselves. On Saturday, 'Coach Kim' teaches little girls to skate. Today, two teams of men, all ages, turned up. Yes, men play hockey on a Wednesday morning, I wonder if their other halves think they're at work.

Genie, Bottle, Go

Still trying to get that genie back into the bottle. She'll go eventually. Although it seems a bit harsh really, putting sentient other-dimensional beings into bottles.

So, we're on puppy poop watch again. Whisky ate 8 earplugs last week, all in one go. They are re-appearing gradually. Good thing they're bright orange.

Today is my day off, so I've spent it trying to do everything around the house and un-garden, oh and car, that I didn't do last week. I'm still not there yet, but I think I've broken the beast's back.

At the weekend, we had rain, glorious, thumping, pouring, rain. The ground no longer looks parched and at least at night and first thing in the morning, the temperatures have been lower. By this afternoon though, I could have done with wearing my cozzie.

And finally, finally, on Friday, I received a letter from the PR card people telling me I have an appointment on 29th September. Canadian border services seemed pretty pleased about that. The US border services seemed less happy. Not to do with me, but they seemed to be having problems. The computer system chose Friday at around 19.00 to reboot. This caused way more problems than can possibly be imagined. For example, this was the 'every three month' visit to secondary inspection to get my visa waiver re-done. And the big problem came when anyone went to pay. The credit card machine was down, the machine that gave you change wouldn't work, and in the middle of it all, the Cascades train arrived.

An absolutely brilliant commentary on some kind of North American food(ish) product called 'Slim Jims' (only for men).
Read it and weep :)

Freedom is in Peril

Isn't it always?

Today I had the disconcerting experience of a very, very angry teacher calling me at the office and wondering why I wasn't standing beside her waiting to do the nature talk-and-walk. I can understand why she was angry, but there was nothing to tell me there had been a booking.  The offices are also about a quarter of an hour's drive from the Nature Reserve, but I got in the car and drove, hoping to goodness that the insane traffic jam that I'd witnessed on the opposite side of the road coming in, had cleared. It had. By the end the teacher was smiling, singing and generally in a much better mood. I never got to the bottom of the booking mystery however.

I'm also fairly astonished that people think there are still bears there (there were, but they were removed some years ago, because the encroaching road was stressing their habitat and thus behaviour), and yet they are still prepared to allow their students to wander round. Too much Yogi Bear I think. I'm not sure whether they think I'm the Park Ranger, and should there be any trouble I'll just whip out a picker-nic basket from my rucksack or simply that I have some secret knowledge that will keep the bears away. If I meet any, I'd have to rely on confusing them with Existential arguments the same as anyone else.

Still, I enjoyed my walk, enjoyed the class, who seemed none the worse for having waited over an hour, and enjoyed the rest of my day.

Keep Calm and Carry On

Adjusting to my new schedule. Still adjusting I suppose. I had to go to the hairdresser's in the evening, instead of a Tuesday afternoon, but it was relaxing, nice, no-one else in.

And getting used to the changes on Blogger, which seems to have undergone the sort of overhaul that small creatures in chrysalises go through.

Anyroad, I received a Keep Calm and Carry On birthday card, which I loved. 

Autumn Air

The clouds have come in and the temperature has dropped, not much, but enough to make a difference. With the nights drawing in, there is a definite autumnal feeling in the air. This evening we took Whisky for a long walk in and beyond the off-leash park and at dusk we saw this single cricket clinging to a blade of grass.

11th September 2011

Full moon.
Hottest day of the year.
My 54th birthday.
We're sitting out on the balcony and there's a turkey in the oven.

This morning, I sat in bed with my coffee and waffles and read my greetings on Facebook and thought about how I enjoyed that tecnological progress has led us to this. Pleasant memories of opening paper envelopes on my birthday, but happy to be in a different world now.

A bumper sticker on a car in Blaine, Washington last week, proclaimed that Hatred is NOT a Family Value. And how true. How much the parties that call for a return to family values, in fact preach hatred. I'm not pretending I don't hate, because I do, everyone knows the things and kinds of people I hate, but I don't keep harping on about Family Values, nor do I believe there is any such thing.

Today, this time, this place, this headspace, good to be in. 

On the Boardwalk

A long weekend down at The Static, which was very pleasant indeed, then back on the boardwalk today. Not literally you understand, today I've been finding my way around and writing stuff, but I'll be presenting programmes soon enough, Monday in fact.

In the meantime..... a superb and concise post at The F-Word, about the same old arguments we get given for why Feminists are wrong. Lovely, I recognise them all.

And from 'Good Health', a post on how marriage affects women and men differently, women tend to put on weight and (some) men use this as an excuse for leaving their partners, and after the divorce, they put on the weight, but do not suffer the social stigma that women do. What-ho Jeeves, didn't see that one coming. Much.

The air has a pleasantly 'autumn is just around the corner' feel to it, although the days remain hot, and at present, getting hotter.

Whisky is coming to terms with being on his own during the day. Today, Kevin took pity on him and cycled home at lunchtime. This sounds easier than it is, since lunchtime doesn't always have much meaning at his job.

Ah well, it's nice to be back at work, and even though I now have to drive there, at least I'm going in the opposite direction to most of the traffic.

A Presumption

No way! Seriously?! I haven't posted since Saturday? What the hell's wrong with me?
Well, actually, I have been interviewing for a job, which I have now been offered and accepted, start Tuesday. There is a weird irony to this, my friend Canadian Karen finishes work next week and long have we plotted world domination - or Ikea at least. But the universe has kept us from our megalomania. MY megalomania.

I was trying to think of a collective noun for writers. I like gang. Mostly because I fancy talking about 'my writing gang', but also because it makes us seem like some kind of bonded bunch of people who might come round your house and aggressively write.

In the same vein, posse. A posse of writers, who saddle up, sling their pens and notebooks over their shoulders and venture forth to root out poor writing in one-horse towns.

I'm also taken by a murder of writers. My writing group, sorry, gang, are like crows in that they are very intelligent and community-minded. We'll also eat almost anything and we squawk a lot.

From somewhere in the ether, the word 'presumption' came to me. I have no explanation or basis for this, simply that I like the sound, 'a presumption of writers'.

But maybe I'll settle for a platter. A platter of writers, we are after all, a veritable salad of writing styles, but we all fit perfectly together and complement each other.