Spring A-waitening

Spring is springing but it can't even be 5 degrees outside. I went for a run yesterday and the early spring wind made me gasp with its cruelty. Cruel too: chocolatey eggs and sugary candies everywhere and I *CAN"T* eat them because I'm wearing a bigger bra size than ever and I must, I must, I MUST decrease this bust. And tummy. And bum. I try to walk a moderate line but it's too hard, so it's back to low-carb this and lots of water and no desserts and less booze and yeah, running. All the fun stuff. Actually I like to run, but it's hard when you're carrying a few extra pounds. Maybe more than a few.



I think on all those wasted days in Chemainus where I sat around between shows and didn't work out. Yeah, that was smart.

It's the last day of my "break" between a show that's ended and the start of school-and other projects. My brain is filled up with ancient Greek plays and preschool rhymes. It's an interesting contrast. Preschoolers rending their garments and groaning oi-moi, oi-moi, while Electra and Medea grasp brightly-painted hand drums and sing Somebody's Knockin' at my Door.
My hours and days are going to be so, so full, and I've left a lot of my prep until the last minute.

I think on all those wasted days in Chemainus where I sat around between shows and didn't work. Yeah, that was smart.

My email dings and it's Equity, announcing another audition. The part I auditioned for, they mention, has been cast. That means... well, it means that I'll be teaching music this fall, not performing in a musical. But it also means I can start looking for cheap tickets to Toronto, so I can run a 5k race with my friend Theresa. That's awesome! I think of my sweetie, doggedly sending in applications and expressions of interest to public art projects and corporate art projects and galleries and who-knows what else, casting his net far and wide. He simply carries on if he gets a rejection or doesn't hear back. And you know, it works. He's starting to get stuff. So that's what I'll do, just carry on and not let rejection stop me from trying.

I spend my last day of relative freedom flitting from one project to the next: printing out a plan for teaching my preschoolers tomorrow; recording a smattering of ancient-Greek-inspired lament; sketching out the idea for a new song. Feels like a day of waiting: the mail won't come, the emails don't arrive, love is at work, phone don't ring.

Sometimes the hardest part of Spring is waiting for all that promise to burst into bloom.

Appetite For Destruction

I had an ice cream today.

Actual ice cream not exactly as pictured. It was actually a double scoop
of Earnest Ice Cream's Strawberry Swirl and Salted Chocolate, in case you care. 

I really hate that it's even a thing I have to think about, let alone feel guilty over. I mean, God, I just went for over a month without having a single dessert so I could break sugar's hold on me and maybe lose a few pounds and get healthy and all that crap. It started slow, while I was still in Saskatoon. It felt hard, damn hard. But by the time I got home the self-discipline had taken hold and I was rockin' it, you know? It even started to feel good.

Then I levelled up: I started biking everywhere. Taught some music classes on Granville Island: biked. (Easy- not even 30 minutes from my house.) The next week I helped teach a creative drama camp in West Van. Did I want to take the bus every day? I did not. I got on my bike 4 days out of the 5 and I biked through downtown and along the Coal Harbour seawall and through the @#$ Stanley Park Causeway and over the mighty and terrifying Lions Gate Bridge and past Ambleside and then I worked with active little kids for 2.5 hours and then I got back on my bike and did it all again... in reverse. I got addicted to the feeling of getting myself from A to B under my own power. I still didn't eat the sweet stuff. And at the end of those 2 weeks of teaching, I wanted to stay active. Hell, I don't even want to be indoors at all when the sun's out and it's hot. 

My lovely landlords went away for 2 weeks and left me in charge of their house, garden, and cat, so every morning I was also getting up to give the kitty some company and water the plants and spray the veggies down before the full heat of the day made that a bad idea. (It's the one thing I know about gardening: don't water things in the middle of the day. Oh, and that deadheading is always a good thing.) Not only that, but I was allowed to harvest things as they grew, so suddenly it was lettuce with the dirt still on it, and tomatoes and cucumbers right off the vine, and tiny eggplants made into the best Baba Ganoush... 

And you know what? These things work, dammit. I could see a change, see my face thinning out, feel my clothes fitting better. I felt stronger, faster, firmer. Drama camp ended (and with it, the commute across the bridge), but I discovered HIIT workouts. I still bike everywhere, and I'm starting to swim at New Brighton Pool, an outdoor pool which kicks Kits Pool's ass, in my opinion. In short, I am one healthy person right now, and I don't want to screw it up. 

At the end of July, my 30-day sugar challenge was over.

You know what? Cold turkey is easy, really. I mean, making it stick can be a pain in the ass, but once you get going, it snowballs. You feel proud. Empowered. All you have to do is one thing: stay the hell away from whatever it is you need to stay away from. (Okay, I don't have experience with hard drugs; I'm not speaking about quitting heroin here. But cigarettes? Been there, done that. Several times, in fact. Sweets? You know it. Again, many times.)

What really stymies an addict is trying to wrap their heads around moderation. 

I recently worked with someone who had it way worse than me. He had to bring pre-made, portioned meals to work, because if left to his own devices he would have eaten a week's worth of lunches in one sitting. "Food addiction is tough," he said gloomily. "It's not like you can just quit eating." Indeed. 

In the past I've tried:

• Having "dessert days", where I could only indulge on certain days of the week. That went about as well as expected. 
• Counting calories (The biggest pain in the ass ever. Forget it. Seriously.)
• Joining various websites. Spark People. Noom. A Facebook page/support group for a cult way of eating called My Bright Life, where people- almost all women, by the way- regularly posted about how naughty they'd been for eating some bread! Or having a glass or two of wine! 
• Keeping a food diary, to be more accountable. (This worked somewhat. But not for long.)
• Buying a too-large bag of treats and then throwing them away somewhere where I wouldn't be tempted to retrieve them later. When I read Ann Lamott's writing about her addictions and she described running water over food so she couldn't eat it later, I felt a shock of recognition. 
• Started my own Facebook page to support and empower myself and my friends- again, mostly women- who wanted to do something about their health. A good idea, but almost no one ever posted anything, so I gave it up, not long before I gave up on Facebook altogether. (Which is still one of the best things I've ever done, by the way.)

I have never been bulimic, thank god. I've certainly binged, but I've never purged. 

So I'm really nervous that having to be moderate about this whole eating thing is going to screw it up for me. 

Here are a couple of rules I'm putting in place to help cope: 

Every morning, the first thing I do when I get out of bed is put on workout clothes. And usually the next thing I do once I'm dressed is a quick workout, or some yoga- something to start the day right. (The only problem is that on hot, sunny days, I'm often inclined to leave the stinky workout clothes on all day so I can stay active. You have been warned.)

I have the poor man's Samsung version of the FitBit. It's called a  GearFit2, and when I remember to charge it, it's fantastic, at least for nagging me when I've been sedentary too long, and for logging my runs, walks, yoga sessions, and bike rides. It doesn't log swims (not waterproof), or HIIT workouts, although if I just kept it on during those it would probably measure my rocketing heart rate and know that something was going on.

Speaking of getting up, most days I'm getting up early. Now that my garden-tending duties are done, I'm hoping this trend will continue. It just sets the whole tone of the day, for me. 

I'm varying my routine when it comes to staying active. Some days, it's just yoga, to be honest. Other days, it's a quick HIT workout in the morning, and maybe a bike ride to the pool later on. I'm digging Fitness Blender for their workout videos, because although their workouts are torture tough, they're also blessedly short. 

What to eat (and more importantly, what not to) is, of course, the biggest challenge. I'm lucky, in that in the summer  I really want to eat less, and to consume lots of fruits, some veggies, and less carbs. In the winter, that changes. (So does the getting up early. It's just really hard to get out of bed when it's rainy and dark. If you have any suggestions to sweeten the deal, I'd love to hear 'em.) 

This time around, after my 30-day ban on sweets lifted, I hit upon a new idea to help with moderation. Most of my unhealthy behaviour takes place alone- it's harder to indulge in over-the-top portions and choices with an audience. So my new rule is dead simple and, I hope, effective:

Eat the ice cream, on occasion. Have the cake. Don't feel guilty about it, and for god's sake, don't be a bore about it. Just...

Don't do it alone.

Ever. 

I'm betting that this rule should keep my bad habits under better control (except for my boyfriend's unholy love of Chicago Mix, but I can avoid that, I think). 

Because when it comes to food- the good and the bad- the goal isn't to avoid it entirely. For me at least, the goal is just not to over-think it. Or over-eat it.

Bon appetit. 

A Day In The Life: 3/12/16

I sleep long enough, but wake up tired and headache-y. One of those days when my body feels...off. There have been too many of those this fall. My body is getting slammed with one malaise after another; a disadvantage of working with children. 
I've set myself a goal this month: run 30 minutes a day, every day. Even Christmas. It's Day Three, and I want to bury myself in blankets and pretend it's still dark, but my back is too sore to stay in bed anyway, so up I get. At least it's not raining, for a change. 
I decide to run south, which means that the outward-bound part will be hard (all uphill), but the return will be easy. I decide to sweeten the pill by ending the run at my favourite coffee bar/breakfast joint, Matchstick, where the poached-eggs-on-toast are just perfect. 
I simply cannot get up any speed this morning; my legs feel leaden but I keep running anyway, and at least I am warm. Up to 28th, across to Fraser, back down to Kingsway, with a little detour to add time. Finally my timer pings and I gratefully slow to a walk. 
Eggs, toast, black tea. Expensive, and I don't care. 
Walk to work, because I need to use their computers to write the music for a documentary I am scoring for a friend.  A detour to the mall because he needs a bit more time to edit the film. Buy some fuzzy pants at Ardene because they have foxes on them. Buy some slippers because everyone needs more warm slippers this time of year. Get to work- can't get in because the front door is locked. Seethe with frustration because my damn cel phone can't get a signal within a 2-block radius of work, for some reason. Finally manage to contact my angel boss, who is in the neighbourhood and lets me in, bless her. 
Wait some more. Fiddle with the music. Put on the new slippers. Get the new cut. Talk to the filmmaker; suggest changes. Wait for another cut. Make tea, raid the cupboard in the office for the cookies we serve to the ukulele students. 
Edit music, slide around tracks until they time up with the new cut (the actual composing was done last Tuesday). Talk it over with the filmmaker; change some stuff, send it off again. Suggest changes to the grammar in the subtitles, because I am as passionate about good english as I am about good music. 

Still life with fox mug and Garageband. Yes, I scored a film on Garageband. Suck it, music tech snobs. 

Five hours after I arrive at work, I am done. 
Stop in at a local clothing shop and spend more money. Leggings, big sweater. Basically the same clothes I was wearing in 1993. Everything old is new again. Hungry again- the local pizza joint is calling my name so I give in. Cocktail, delicious thin-crust pizza with leftovers for tomorrow. 

Get in my mouth, pizza with arugula & gorgonzola. I ran today- I can eat whatever I want. 

Home to my room. Saturday night, and I'm wearing the fuzzy fox pants and folding laundry. Love is out of town and the Christmas parties don't start until next weekend, that's my excuse. Put off prepping for work tomorrow teaching the preschoolers from hell. Put off prepping. Put off- Dammit. Time to prep. 

And yet, I'm still not prepping. Fox pants, BTW- are you sensing a theme here? 

Body still feels tired and- wrong, somehow. Like it did all day. Anger, frustration, just a little too close to the surface. Some days are just like that. Be thankful that there was no one around to unleash that frustration on. Be grateful that you got to make some art in a quiet room wearing new slippers. Some days, that's the absolute best thing you can do.

The Eye of the Beholder

I ran 10k today. Last time I did that was over 3 years ago, so it's kind of a big deal. 

Am I bragging? Hell yeah. Two months ago I wrote this on my other blog. I was overweight. I was eating any old thing I wanted. I was unhappy with how I looked and felt. Every day I started off with good intentions and every night I craved and caved and loathed myself for my lack of willpower. 

But I had a job coming up that I knew would be highly physical, so one day after I kind of hit bottom in terms of self-loathing, I got up just enough willpower to stop eating bread, pasta and desserts. I went on a few runs with my boyfriend, who likes to jog 2 to 3k to clear his head after working inside all day. 

A friend of mine was doing this and losing pounds, so I started doing it too. (Although I must say that my Bright Lines are a bit fuzzy 'round the edges at times, and I eat a few things that aren't approved in this plan.) I joined their Facebook page and I appreciate the support we all give each other. 

I moved to the prairies for 6 weeks and started bike-commuting every day. And running. And doing this very physical outdoor show. We built our set every night, did the show, took down the set again. I revelled in the heat of a Saskatchewan summer; kept biking, kept running. Kept eating well. 

I feel great. Dammit, I look great. I am so proud of myself. I can't wait to see where I'm at in another couple of months. 

And yet...

I shot a music video recently; or rather, I was in a music video for one of my songs. When I watch the rough cut I see my big eyes, my smile, my strong, sexy legs... And I see my flaws, over and over. Thin lips, short grey hair that never rippled or flowed down my back the way I wanted it to and when I cut it off this summer it felt like freedom but it also felt a little bit like failure. I see the weight I haven't yet lost, may never lose, because I am built to be short and curvy and I will not, will not starve myself, work out for hours, deny myself every last treat or cocktail just to attain that magical number on the scale. 

I know that my female friends will tell me how beautiful I am- and I will believe them- but when my male friends tell me I look good, I will feel more validated, because I am a hetero woman and I want to look good in men's eyes. Tell me you haven't felt that way; go on, tell me. 

I know that there are as many types of "beauty" as there are people on this planet, and yet I will always feel too short, too brunette, too plump, even though I know that even models are eaten up with self-loathing. 

I read, nightly, about rape, about abuse, about the ridiculous ways that female athletes at the olympics are treated in the media. I know people who can't run, can't exercise because of health issues, or abuse, or depression. Are their bodies any less lovely than mine because they don't have my good genes, or good fortune? 

I want to say that my decision to eat better and exercise more is an experiment in willpower- and it is- but it is also firmly rooted in a desire to look good, and not just for myself.

I can't tie this post up tidily at the end here; I have a few disjointed things to say and that's it:

When I work out, when I eat better, when I do yoga, I feel fierce and strong and self-confident. I am proud of what I can make my body do. As a musician and a writer, I see it as a strong example of what happens when you cultivate a daily practice. (Funnily enough, I have always been far more successful when it comes to exercising regularly than when it comes to playing music or writing on the daily.) I will not apologize for either my good genes or my good luck, but I will try to honour them by treating my body with love. In all its stages and levels of health.

I want to tell everyone- and especially anyone who's just feeling as if it's all totally beyond them- that it IS possible. You can make small changes in what you choose to eat. And then make bigger changes. If you are able to, you should do something physical. Because there are so many people who would kill to be able to do what you take for granted. (But if you can only handle one thing, change what you eat.) 

If you are a big, healthy, confident woman who revels in her sexy curves, then I salute you. I want to believe that I am as beautiful as you. And I know how hard you've worked to love yourself. If you're thin, tall, blond model-material who hates herself, I wish you peace and self-acceptance. 

For me, I just want more years of good health, more days of smart choices, more moments of happiness and confidence. I want to carve out some time for myself, even when things get hectic again this Fall, as they surely will. And I want that for you too, whoever and however and wherever you are. 

I don't know about you, but I'm feeling...41.

Last year, I celebrated my 40th birthday with some of my best friends. Campfire, cake, wine, and some wicked hash brownies to finish off the night. I literally felt surrounded by love. This year will be quieter. The friends I shared a fire with mostly live in other cities. But I am no less loved, for all that. Some of the people I only met last year are now some of my best friends. Distance makes it hard for us to stay in touch, but we do. I am slightly less thin, and my hair is greyer. But today, as I played accordion for a room full of seniors, one of them proposed to me, and another told someone she thought I was nineteen. Sometimes I’m amazed that I’m not. 

It's been an exciting year. Literally a week after I got back home to Vancouver last fall, a month an a half after my birthday,  I met somebody through an online dating website. My 3rd date. And we fell in love. How does that even happen? The other day, I marvelled to him, “I didn’t even know you existed this time last year!” We don’t always agree, as I wrote in a song about him, but he makes me laugh, he makes me think, he makes me feel precious and sexy and loved. With him, I am slowly learning that the occasional spat doesn’t signal the end of the world, that my “It’s all over!” is his “Did we even have an argument?” I may have him for five more months or five more years or fifty, but I’ll be the luckiest girl any way, just to know this kind of love.  

This was the year I started teaching piano at the Sarah McLachlan school of music, started teaching private accordion lessons, and realized that after all these years of saying I wouldn't like it, that I love teaching. I worked on a hit musical about a video game. I spent most of my summer in Saskatchewan, playing piano and double bass in a musical about poultry. As always, there were many times when I stepped outside my comfort zone, but I also felt my confidence growing every time I tackled something that scared me. I dislike this expression intensely, but I can think of no other way to say it: I feel blessed. I am blessed.

There were shadows this past year. I wasn't always well. For the first time since my surgery four years ago, I worried about my health. Something is making my lower back and hips sore. Something is making me tired and headachy. There were days this past year when I would get out of my bed after a nine hour sleep and have almost no energy. I would go to work in a fog. Probably very few of you knew this, because my work, especially when it involves teaching or performing, energizes me. But some days it was a struggle. It still is, sometimes. I have totally normal bloodwork; I’ve been screened for a number of things, including diseases I will forbear to mention in polite company. I have a great doctor, and we'll figure this out. But the fatigue and low energy took its toll when it came to my fitness regime, and I gained back some of the weight I lost. It’s an ongoing struggle. There are days, especially when I try on clothes, when I curse my curves, and the love of good food that makes them grow. But I am routinely mistaken for someone who is 10-15 years younger than she is; I can walk for hours (my friend Ari and I have invented Extreme Walking, where we ‘hike’ up to 30km in the city); I can bike 30-40 kilometres at a stretch. I know exactly what to do if I want to lose weight and I know I’ll do it again. Although I just started a food blog, so it may be a challenge. One of the awesome things that came out of my health issue was that a friend urged me to try a daily yoga challenge to help my sore back, and I totally fell in love with it. I can only say, with the fervour of someone who’s been practicing yoga for a whole 21 days, that it’s the best way to start the day EVER, and it is now the first thing I do when I roll out of bed. 

Writing- blogging in particular- has become steadily more important to me again, and I love it. I’m still figuring out how to make it pay, but for now it feeds my soul and that’s a great start. From someone who routinely wished she could think of things to create, I’ve become someone who hasn’t got enough time to fit it all in. I’ve recently started crocheting again. I have a food blog. My guy and I are working on some children’s stories. I take photographs. Sometimes- not as much as I’d like- I even write songs. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m a Jill-of-all-trades rather than a specialist. I may lack the dedication to focus and work really hard on one or two things, but trying lots of things has made my life much more rich and interesting.

This year, the year I become 41, there is already hope and excitement on the horizon. I'll be teaching again at the Sarah McLachlan school, hopefully learning how to become a better piano teacher as I assist four group piano classes and teach one. I get to music direct a musical parody of Jurassic Park. I'll be returning to Saskatchewan in the spring to compose some music for a show at the Globe Theatre in Regina. Not only is my work exciting and fun, but for the first time in such a long time, I should be making enough money to actually get by. 

Someone today commented that I’d paid my dues, but it never feels like that to me. To me, it always feels like I’m getting away with something. I think it always will. The difference is that these days, I can enjoy myself instead of guiltily looking over my shoulder. Happy birthday. 

Easing Back Into Things With Yoga & Bourbon

It's a hot Vancouver day. The New Vancouver, which means it's dry and breezy and there's not a cloud to be seen. Beautiful, but spooky in an I-want-to-love-you-but-it-feels-like-the apocalypse-is-nigh kind of way. Lawns are parched. Sweat blossoms as soon as you leave the comfort of your shady back deck. So why leave? Look, it's a sleepy, stretchy cat:

Full disclosure: these shots were taken yesterday but guess what? She's doing the exact same thing right now, and so am I. Sitting on the back deck, figuring out what comes next now I'm home and trying not to feel guilty about taking some time to rest and stretch, just like Molly the cat here.

Another disclosure: this post contains yoga. About a week ago, I kind of reached critical frustration point when it came to my poor, sore lower back. Years of not stretching have made me as tight as a rubber band that's just about to snap. And it's making itself known in my hip muscles, my back, my hamstrings... it's just not something I can ignore any more. So one of my cast mates heard my complaints and recommended Yoga With Adriene. Today was Day 6 of her 30 Days of Yoga program, and guess what? I'm hooked. So much so that I'm even considering getting up at 4:30am tomorrow so I can do my daily practice before my one-off promotions job handing out free coffee and debit card advice to commuters. I just took my laundry downstairs and many, many muscles were feeling very... alive, shall we say. I hope that by Day 30 I will feel some relief from the back pain, and also more in touch with my breathing and my body. As a singer, these things are very important and I ignore them way too much. Plus I have a bit of a girl crush on Adriene because she's kind of goofy, makes yoga easy to learn, and doesn't take herself too seriously. If you're dipping your toe into the shallow end of yoga, like me, you should give her site a try. But hey, let's not get all transcendental and shit. Yes, yoga is helping me to feel more grounded and relaxed, but you know what else does that?

Yup.


I've never developed a taste for whisky, and I think that's partly because you're mostly supposed to drink it straight-up, and I do like my cocktails. But eventually I ended up trying bourbon, and I like it just fine. I'll even sip it straight, but I find it mixes really well with ginger ale (Canada Dry has a dark variety that's perfect), lime- or lemonade... even sour cherry juice. Its woody flavour stands up to a strong, citrusy mixer. Jay just returned from a business trip to California. He got home the same day I did, and after we'd flown into each others' arms and all that good stuff, he presented me with a big-ass bottle of Bulleit he'd bought at the duty-free. And last night, out on the back deck (can I just do all my business/ play music/ relax/ spend the rest of my life out here on the deck? Because it's amazing), we barbecued steaks, talked about our latest schemes to collaborate on a kids book, and toasted each other with a couple of strong cocktails.

If the last few weeks have taught me anything, it's that you never know what's going to come around the bend and smack you. Could be joy, could be the best news of your life, could be crushing tragedy that knocks you off your feet. And, not to sound too glib or anything, but you have to rely on yourself, because everything else is transitory. So make the time to stretch your body, do your daily practice, whether it's yoga or music or art or writing or whatever makes you tick.

And when you're done, grab a giant, relaxing cocktail and observe a cat, because they are the laziest, stretchiest yogis of all.

"I can sleep all day AND still touch my nose to my butthole. If that's not enlightenment, what is?"

Rats in the Basement

     My love and I are sitting on the sand at Wreck Beach. There are maybe fifteen other people down here and only one of them is naked at this clothing-optional site, so I mischievously suggest that we remove our clothes. The day is surprisingly warm for March and we've just biked here so we're sweaty: seconds later we are naked in the sand, comfortably propped up against a log, gazing out to sea.
     From Wreck Beach you can see water spreading out before your eyes; you can also see planes taking off from the airport. I wave saucily at one. The planes and the beach are uncomfortable reminders on this happy day with my guy: reminders of planes that didn't make it, and of starving sea lions not so far from here.
     "I just want to die happy," I say. "I want to die 20, 30, 40 years from now not trying to remember how life was before some kind of cataclysm." I nuzzle my nose against his cheek, where I go to imprint his smell in my brain. "And I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
     "I just want to live happy," he answers, my guy who is practical and funny and kind and loving and tough and infuriating and stubborn and gentle and smart.
     Are we hurtling towards the end? Guess what: we all are, whether the ice melts or not, whether our water runs out or not. I try to keep a balance between burying my head in the sand and knowing what's going on in the world because too much news is bad news and too much bad news is like opening your basement door and seeing thousands of rat eyes staring back at you. When 9/11 happened I remember literally wanting to stop the world and get off, because nowhere felt safe.
     This is it, this is the world we're stuck with. I scrunch my toes in the sand and send up a silent prayer of thanks that I have the luck to spend a lazy Saturday with someone I love. We brush off the sand and don our clothes again and I challenge him to see how many stairs we can run up on our way back to the bikes. We are alive, we are in love, we are healthy. For now that's plenty, that's enough.

Two Days.

Two days. Two days away from work. The only 2-day 'weekend' we have until September.
We could not have been luckier with the weather...

At Bowron Lake

...And I could not be luckier to have friends who are willing to drive me around to various adventures. My goal was to spend as much time as possible on, near or in some water. I got my wish. I asked a certain someone to take me paddleboarding. He complied. I swallowed any thoughts of what if, or I want, or if only, and I had a great time. Paddling. Swimming. Hangin' out.

Then I spent the rest of the day with my 2 best girlfriends up here, doing much of the same at a different lake. There were even more paddleboards to rent! I could get addicted. 

Today's schedule included a 5k run with another girlfriend, a massage, and an afternoon ATV-ing and swimming in the Cottonwood River. This water-baby got her fix at last! I did everything I wanted to do this weekend and more. Lucky girl. 

The weekend is over far too quickly. We're back to work tomorrow, and now that the wind has died down the smoke from not-too-distant forest fires is hazing the skies. It's supposed to get hotter. But my skin is browner, my muscles are pleasantly sore, and my batteries are recharged. Sweet summer. 

Quinoa Salad and the Fountain of Youth

Marcella: You know, when you started getting invited to your ten year high school reunion, time is catching up.

Martin Q. Blank: Are you talking about a sense of my own mortality or a fear of death?

Marcella: Well, I never really thought about it quite like that.

Martin Q. Blank: Did you go to yours?

Marcella: Yes, I did. It was just as if everyone had swelled.

-From Grosse Pointe Blank

When I first saw Grosse Pointe Blank, I still had 5 years to go until my own 10-year reunion. Now I'm well past twenty years out of high school! How did that happen? How am I nearly forty years old? How? 

I've had some sobering reminders of aging and mortality recently: a friend's mom is in the hospital; I'm working with a college student I've known since she was six years old(!); I went to a play last night and saw an actor I hadn't seen in about 20 years and dammit, he looked OLD! Which he was, compared to the last time I saw him. And it reminded me that I'm not getting any younger either. 

I think I look pretty good for almost-forty, especially since this year began and I've been losing some weight and getting healthier. On the one hand it's hard: I go into a wonderful bakery and I realize that there is NOTHING that I can eat. Not a sandwich, not a wrap, and certainly not a cake or cookie (I don't eat bread basically ever. And obviously no desserts either. Or pasta. I DO eat rice, even white rice, and rice noodles and sometimes tortilla chips because everybody needs a few vices. It seems to be working.) I order a cappuccino and get the hell out of the bakery fast. Mostly I don't go into 'em in the first place. On the other hand it's getting easier: eating well just feels better, and I can wear cute clothes I would have avoided only months ago. When I DO overeat, it's likely that I gorged myself on something like Kombucha and Quinoa salad instead of chocolate and potato chips. 

Ah, Quinoa salad. I started eating it this summer, as an alternate form of Tabouleh. Now that I live with my brother and sister-in-law I am shamelessly copying their salad ideas. Since they are both hardworking nurses they pack a lot of lunches, and quinoa salad is often a big part of those lunches. I started by filching a quinoa/cucumber/chickpea salad that pretty much accompanied me to every first aid class. And now I'm onto this one, which I like even more. Start by roasting jalapenos for about 20 minutes in some olive oil. I add grape tomatoes too, which makes the salad a bit more moist, but so yummy. 

 At the same time, cook a cup of quinoa then let it cool down. If you have the patience to wait that long.

Once the roasted peppers and the quinoa are at least room temperature, add halved grapes, feta, roasted salted pumpkin seeds, and parsley. (Or cilantro, which is what the recipe calls for.) Oh, I always cook the quinoa in Vegetable broth, which makes it taste wayyy better. Voila!

Then, if you can keep the kitten's head out of your bowl, you can enjoy your healthy lunch. 

Tappity-Tap

I'm a little bit sweaty right now. But it's cold(ish), and I'm at home alone so at least I'm not offending anyone with it. Why am I sweaty? I just had my first tap class tonight and it was so fun I called a friend right away just to coo about how great it made me feel. (She's also my boss at my summer job, and a life-long tapper herself, so I knew she'd be delighted for several reasons that I finally took my first dance class.)

Did I mention that the government approved all my course choices? Remember how I said I'd be fucking gobsmacked delighted if they said yes to my request to take tap classes and a Victorian combat class called "Fight Like Sherlock Holmes"? Well, they did. Thank you, Targeted Skills Shortage Program. I bet I can safely say that I am the ONLY person in the province who got money from this program to learn to fight someone with an umbrella. Or shuffle off to Buffalo. I am beyond astonished.

It's so lucky I got to do this class today, because The Tonsils From Hell have deflated (almost) back to normal size so I was back in fighting form. Well actually I was feeling really tired and sad most of the day, probably due to last of the illness and also because I had to deal with some stuff this morning that was a bit depressing. So after I came home from the morning stuff and did my grocery shopping I made a nest on the couch and crocheted and listened to music and continued writing a song that I started last night. It wasn't a super-productive day but I kind of needed to nest a little bit. Then I dragged myself to the tap class and darn it if I didn't feel 100% perkier after it, even though it was nine o'clock by then.

You know how sometimes I try to wrap up my posts with a bit of a summary, a way of tying it all up? Well here's what I've learned this week, through my tap lesson and other events:

• Exercise is good. I already knew this, and have been exploring new ways to get fit, since I can't run these days. Those endorphins kick in and you feel terrific, even if you crash later. Swimming, for example, makes me feel incredible. It also makes me want to nap in the afternoons like a toddler. 
• Even if you are taking an Absolute Beginner tap class, you will sweat. And your face will get red and you will really wish you'd brought water. And your legs will hurt the next day. (I don't know this for sure yet, but I'm betting. Ask me in a few hours.) 
• My absolute favourite kind of day involves some kind of exercise, followed by great food, music, and the company of at least one excellent friend. Which means that tomorrow should be just about perfect, because all of those things are lined up.
• Being sick for a week allowed me to indulge in a lot of laziness but hey, at least I ate really healthily (when I ate at all, because swallowing was hell), read some great books, watched waaaay too much "Felicity" (judge me who dares!)  and my crocheting is coming along nicely I'm getting better at crafts  I worked hard to improve myself in certain areas. 
• I know some of my crafty friends would disapprove, but every time I say or write something about crocheting I just feel like a crazy single cat lady. Although I saw this cool hipster chick doing it on the bus yesterday and felt strangely validated. Which is shallow. 
• Sometimes trying to sum up blog entries is pointless: I had a tap class. It was fun. It made me feel better about my life again. As you were, ladies and gents. 

The Sore Tonsil Chronicles

Lovely Holly from Victoria has been staying with me on and off this week while she attends a life coaching seminar thingy over here in Vancouver. (The course is called Landmark; some people love it, some people consider it a money grab. I'm on the fence, but Holly's enthusiasm is contagious when she comes home late at night and tells me about her day.) 

We met while I was over doing a show in Victoria last month- I can't believe that was only a month ago!- and although we didn't have much time to talk, we bonded quickly over a love of Origami jokes (sample joke: what do you call it when you fold a Graham Cracker, some chocolate chips and a marshmallow into interesting shapes? Answer: S'more-igami! I know, weird.) 

By Tuesday night I can feel something coming on. I've been tired all day and decide not to attend the final Landmark meeting, which friends are invited to. Partly because I know they will do their damndest to get me to sign up and spend money, but also because I'm exhausted... Soon it's hurting when I swallow, and by Wednesday morning my tonsils are swollen and sore. 

But the sun is shining! It's been a perfect January week: fog creeping in by night to be replaced by dazzling sunshine during the days. I decide not to give in to this illness. Aside from my throat the rest of my body is functioning pretty well- Holly and I throw on our coats and walk and walk and walk. One of the nicest things about being a lady of leisure these days is that I can do what I want, as long as it's free, or close to it. I've been so focused on Getting To The Pool 3 times a week and Working Out once a week (not to mention Staying Out Of The Rain) that I've forgotten to just get outside and explore this wonderful city. Vancouver is seducing both of us with sunshine and sea air, and we walk along False Creek and end up at Granville Island for lunch, then meander back along the seawall to Main Street. 

By the time I get home I'm crashing hard, but Holly and I have a mutual friend who's in a play, so it's back out the door and off to the suburbs, with another longish (and uphill) walk thrown in. After the show our friend wants to go for drinks, so it's back into the cold night, down the steep hill, onto several buses, and off to a bar for a late night snack and some cocktails. Our friend's been having a tough week; he vents about it to us on the bus ride but once it's off his chest we start kidding around and the three of us are a goofy little trio swilling Dark-'n-Stormys and munching wild boar macaroni cheese. (What do you call folding a pig into interesting shapes? Boar-igami!) I fancy our mutual friend a wee bit but I have no idea where I fit into his scheme of things, so having Holly there diffuses any weirdness and we all have a great time together 'til the we hours of the morning. 

Thursday morning I start cancelling my plans, because it's clear this sore throat isn't going to be ignored anymore. I say goodbye to Holly (hoping fervently that I haven't given her this bug), and head to the doctor, who assures me it isn't Strep Throat. Which means there are no drugs I can take; I'm gonna have to tough this one out. By the afternoon I'm staring dully at my computer screen watching season two of Felicity and wishing I could hack out my tonsils with a kitchen knife.  By nightfall I start to cry, the pain is so great when I swallow. I've been trying to stay off Facebook more (and being fairly successful), but pain makes me needy, so I fire off a request for hugs, dirty jokes and love. Even though it's late, some of my friends come through in fine style, so by midnight I'm laughing through my tears. 

Today is more of the same. The weather is still amazing, but I didn't have a great sleep last night, so I cancelled more plans and made do with a short walk up Main Street for Kombucha and yarn. (Kombucha because it's supposed to be good for you, and yarn to crochet with.) I'm sad that I can't hike as planned today, but glad that I have no pressing work to do, because having to work sick is the worst. At least I can rest, get better, enjoy some alone time. It's been amazing getting to know a new friend better, and I'm so glad I pushed aside my sickness long enough to enjoy some of the sunshine over the last few days. Now where's that kitchen knife...?

Waves

2014 began with a night of playing clarinet with some friends at a local bar, followed by a day of snowshoeing in a ridiculously tiny amount of snow- thanks, Climate Change!- along with hiking and a movie. I couldn't have asked for a better, more healthy and low-key way to start the Year of the Horse. Honestly, every New Year's Day that I don't wake up
a) feeling cheated, as if everyone else in the world had a far,far better time last night than I did, or
b) face-down in my own vomit*
is a good one. But this was one of the best. No hangover, no disappointment, only music and fun.

"Where's the snow?" You might well ask.

The first ten days of 2014 have been a bit like bodysurfing: act unaware, and a wave might slam you into the beach; but with a bit of practice you can turn around and punch through the wave to calmer waters, or get really cheeky and surf on top of the water until you glide all the way to shore.

Employers tell you they'd really like it if you got back to the weight you were at two years ago? Ouch, slam. Using that as the final push to really start changing fundamental things about your diet and fitness: surf! Revenue Canada wants all the money you don't have, plus the money you DO have, plus oh, maybe... your soul? Slam. Meeting with people who can help you get through this and learn to manage your finances better? Treading water. Work is harder to find than hens' teeth? Slam. The government- the same one that wants All The Money- wants to give you money so you can take courses which will supposedly make you better at your summer job? Whoosh!

The government in their wisdom has granted me a nice lump sum of money to take courses with over the next few months. So far I'm signed up for Occupational First Aid (mainly because I thought it would be empowering and useful, and because it was far too expensive for me to even think of signing up for without funding) and Playwriting (because the Government nixed Dance or Music- both of which are far more applicable to what I actually do at my summer job- but apparently thought writing was peachy.) The ways of the government are mysterious and somewhat foolish, but I am certainly not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and I am still figuring out how to use the last bit of funding. I'm pushing for German (useful, because of all the German and Swiss tourists we get at my summer job) and-why not?- a course called "Fight Like Sherlock Holmes", which is a four-day Victorian-era combat class. If the government okays that one I will eat my hat, but I will also be fucking delighted.

Here's to starting this year off with the strength to beat those rogue waves and the curiosity to see where the current will carry you.

* This actually happened once. To be fair, I was in my twenties at the time, which is when these things are supposed to happen. 

Wow. Back in the big city again. Sunshine and perfect autumn days easing my transition back into urban life, And friends, always my lovely friends, and family too. 
The night I got back, I was staying at Mom's place and her roommate found two dusty but serviceable-looking bikes leaning against their condo's dumpster. Tires flat as pancakes and the amount of dirt on them suggesting that they hadn't been used in a very long time. I took the more modern-looking one, and with a few minor repairs (plus a new lock and helmet- nothing's really free in this life) I now have a great bike! Which I rode for miles today, zipping up to south Main for lunch with a friend, and then cruising home along sunny backstreets. 
Which goes a long way to make up for the uncertainties of this month: having to unpack from being away all summer and yet start packing again in preparation for my upcoming move to a new (yet still temporary) home at the month's end. A new theatre job starting this weekend- excitement and fear always mixed to a certain extent for a new job. Seeing rat (rat! Ugh!) droppings scattered liberally around my apartment when I got home. (Actually there's no uncertainty there. They are rat droppings, and they make me all the more certain, as if I already wasn't, that I'm doing the right thing in getting the hell outta here.)
Yesterday I felt a bit down about everything, as city life threatened to become overwhelming. Today I feel much better, grateful for a sunny bike ride, for my excellent friend Allan, who has been a huge blessing in my life for the last couple of years, for my sweet mom who does so much for me, and for new possibilities and adventures on the horizon. I know that the instability of my life here makes me worried and afraid sometimes, and that will probably continue, but there are many wonders too, and I feel glad to be able to see them today.*

*However if I actually see a rat in my apartment before I am lucky enough to leave, my worldview will become a great deal more pessimistic again, I know it.

Let the (Beet) Chips Fall Where They May

Oh, hi there. Do you want to know where I am?

That's probably a good hint. Yeah, I didn't go back south for school. The person who was going to replace me couldn't make it, for various reasons. I didn't really want to go to school and the one course I'd signed up for put me on a waitlist I couldn't seem to get off of. The theatre company couldn't be happier that I was able to stay. I couldn't be happier to still be here. Win-win. This is one of the reasons why I'm happy to be here:

Meet Jack the Cat.

I am house-sitting again. House Number 4 this summer. Suddenly everyone's decided that I'm reliable (hah!) and I get to drift from one beautiful, funky pad to the next. It gets me out of the somewhat, erm, shabby rental accommodation that I'd otherwise be in, and although I love my roomies there, it's bliss to be on my own for a bit. Hey, I went from a 14-year relationship to living with 2 (very messy) room mates in Vancouver, to constantly sharing a house with 3 or 4 other people up here. It's high time for some alone time, if you ask me.

"Who sez you're alone?!"

We also ended our main season at work, which means that I get 2 days of this week (!!!), and only have to do one show a day except for Saturdays. I did the Shoulder Season (as they call it) 2 years ago and it was wonderful. Gorgeous weather, light schedule, less staff which means that those who stay get very close. I love it. Plenty of time to go on excursions, hang out with friends. And oh yeah, cook.

It's Zucchini Season around here, which means that everyone is in a flat panic. Even folks who love 'em get overwhelmed. Me? I hate them, always have. Memories of grilled zucchini with parmesan cheese can still make me want to gag. So why do I have not one, but three Sugar-Free Zucchini-Banana Loaves baking as I type this, filling the ground floor with their heady scent? Well, because the lady I'm house-sitting for gets a veggie box, as many do around here. And in the veggie box are beets (yum!), cabbage (yum!), corn (double yum!) and... you guessed it. Hence the loaves, the only way I can stomach squash. And the sugar-free part? Well...

Last week I had a birthday. I can't believe it was only a week ago, because it feels as if so many things have happened since then, but it was. I celebrated in a very low-key style this year, involving some close friends, The Dark Knight Rises, and Caramel Bacon Popcorn. (I wasn't sugar-free way back then in August.) I'm working on a list of 40 things to do before I turn forty next summer, and one of the things was to try and go dessert-and-alcohol-free for September. Sugar-Free September has kind of a nice ring to it, don't ya think? So the zucchini had to be used up, but the loaves had to be sugar-free. I found this recipe online, a great way to use up old bananas and the ever-present zucchini.  I made one loaf yesterday, and found that while I didn't really miss the sweetness, there was something... lacking. Today I put in the allspice, which I'd been missing yesterday, and added more applesauce, more banana, and an egg. Much better. Now the oven's heating up to 400 for Beet Chips.

With all this cooking, it's a good thing I'm getting out for some exercise! I ran 10k last Friday, and while it was great, the running I've been doing this summer has done a number on my poor feet. Plantar Faciitis, in both feet, especially the left one. So it's back to biking, at least for a while. Yesterday I biked 30k along a gorgeous, remote road that would have had my Ursa-phobic mother in fits. Luckily for me, no bears were spotted; the biggest wildlife I saw was a bevy of beautiful butterflies.

Today is for cooking. And sloth, something that a cat can always teach you about. Happy Fall!

running.

Today I will leave this room where I rehearsed the play we are now performing twice a day, and I will run.
 I will run out of town, past the remnants of the Island Mountain Mine, which I have climbed up to and explored, photographing twisted rails and tailings and spooky, boarded-up entrances. Cariboo Gold Quartz Mine is on my left. I have climbed those tailings piles too, every year. Once, as I sat and looked out over the lake, a young fox joined me for a while, curling up just feet from where I was sitting. It felt like a gift, and I was awed and grateful. I have explored overgrown roads and cement ruins up here. My brother and sister-in-law came with me once, and we shouted "NO BEARS!" every few feet to discourage unwelcome encounters of the furry kind. We found core samples, an old pop bottle, a leaning metal building housing an elevator shaft. We walked up to an old mine shaft and felt its icy breath as we moved closer.
Past the old mines, with Jack o'Clubs Lake to my left. Three years ago I canoed its circumference with my friend Venessa. Two years ago, once here due date had come and gone, we took icy dips in it to encourage her baby to be born, although I joked that once he'd felt how cold the lake was, he'd never want to come out! Last year we jogged where I am jogging now, with baby Alexander in a stroller bouncing along in front of us. This year she and her RCMP husband have moved, and my run is quicker, but lonelier without her.
I keep a sharp eye out for bears. It's Spring, and the mother black bears are feeding, often with roly-poly cubs in tow. My muscles are slowly warming up, my legs aching. Past the Information Centre and the taco stand. Two summers ago, feeling equal parts lonely and liberated after a breakup, I would bike to the taco stand once a week to talk to Mark. Although he must have wondered why I appeared so regularly and stayed so late, he never made me feel unwelcome. These days we see each other on the street in the town where we both work and smile, although we don't talk as much.
I reach my third kilometre, near the far end of the lake and stop briefly before turning around, heading back towards home.Seven kilometres past the town where I live is the town where I work.  The theatre where I have known fatigue and frustration, but also so much love and laughter and applause. I have taken countless bows here, sometimes in front of two people, sometimes two hundred. I cried two years ago when I had to leave suddenly, and while I was away they had a fundraiser for me here and raised hundreds of dollars to help me with expenses. When I came back and took my bow on the night of our opening gala  they cheered and I blew the audience kisses because without even knowing when or why, I had started to feel as if I belonged here.
I look up at the mountain peaks that surround me as I run: Cow Mountain, Mount Murray, Island Mountain, Slide Mountain.  I am still learning to match the right name to the right mountain but I am slowly catching on. Last summer I climbed to the top of Mount Agnes with a friend, glowing with pride that I'd made it to the top of a mountain. Even knowing only a fraction of this area's history, my friend and I could appreciate that we were retracing the footsteps of settlers and gold-diggers a century and a half ago.
These towns are my second home, and the places where I test and find myself every year.
These summers I spend up here are summers of hard work and joy, of new friends and mad crushes and falling in love; crying myself to sleep and waking up with a smile on my face. Of backyard bonfires and 'family dinners' and music festivals and rehearsals and shows, endless amounts of shows. Of wearing old-fashioned dresses and fake curls and real corsets and speaking with Irish and English accents. Of clowning and singing and playing and sleeping and biking and running, always running.

Baby Steps

It's been a banner week for health: On Sunday I ran ten kilometres with my brother and sister-in-law in the Vancouver Sun Run! I managed to do it in an hour and four minutes- not bad for someone who literally hasn't run in months (I can't actually even remember the last time I ran before the Sun Run, so I was amazed that I not only ran it, but didn't have to walk once.)
Here's a picture of me running the race.

I'm on the left in the grey. I look fierce.

I actually beat my family, although to be fair, I only beat my brother because he is chivalrous, and ran the whole way with his wife. They crossed the finish line holding hands. Me, I'm pretty competitive when I run. So I steamed away as we crossed the start line, and met up with them after the race. I know, I'm klassy that way.

I also did my weekly workout with Leslie and walked part of the seawall with a girlfriend. But today.

Today was a new exercise in crazy personal best. 

My buddy Ari convinced me to walk from his house in Kits all the way to New Westminster. I knew it would be a long walk, but even I quailed a bit when he told me "it'll take about 8 hours." That's a full day's commitment. But it's my habit this time of year to enjoy my city as much as possible before I leave it for the summer. Plus I wanted to see if I was capable of an 8-hour walk. So I agreed, and at just after 9am this morning, we set off. There were train tracks:

Flowers:

Hi-jinks:

River vistas...

...and at the end, there was Barbeque:

Nothing has ever tasted so good. Sitting down has never felt so incredible. MapMyRun clocks our trek at about 28 kilometres. I am very proud. And sore.

All this has been great because there have been some difficult things in my life lately and I haven't been handling them as well as I could have. But getting outside or working out has made a huge difference not only in how I feel about myself but also in how I react to negative situations or people. Just like performing, exercise throws you a whole bunch of endorphins, so the this winter's blues and bad moods haven't made a comeback because I am active. The sunshine helps a lot too. I find self-help books and trite daily 'meditations' incredibly patronizing and annoying, but a daily "sweat meditation" can bring new clarity and peace of mind to even the most fraught situation. Every mile run, every sunny-day walk, every weight I lift brings me a little bit closer to inner peace.

Not to mention that they can help you squeeze into a tight costume.