Impromptu Road Trip

Sometimes you decide to take a last-ditch, last-minute trip to celebrate the end of summer. Neither of you has much money to spare, but you jump on the ferry and borrow someone's car on the other side and drive to the capital. There is eating and walking and lots of laughing. You might all decide to walk the one whole block(!) to the beach to catch the last of the sunset. 

Then there is bedtime in a small apartment, with three of you bedded down in the living room. One of you snores. Loudly. Not coincidentally, only one of you gets a single wink of sleep all night. 

The next morning, you and your love will stumble to the beach again and search for sea glass, clutching your coffees like a lifeline.

Why is Victoria such a great place to find
beach glass? I have no idea. 

You will find the best and cheapest breakfast place, right on the water, and the rest of your party will stumble in, and plans will shift and change, and soon you are heading to the river in two cars in the intense heat. 

Of course, you are not the only ones who thought that tubing on the river during a heat wave on a holiday weekend would be a fine idea.

The first place is sold out of tube rentals(!), but there is a second place. Fast forward through the yucky stuff: lineups, waitingwaitingwaiting on the asphalt in the heat, figuring out how much time we have left before someone needs NEEDS TO BE HOME, packing hot bodies in a smelly van to drive to the river. Nothing matters but hauling your tube to the water and AHHHHH! you're in. 

Even then, nothing's quite how you imagined: the water is still high but the current is sluggish so the breeze blows you backwards and it takes forever to float downstream to the rapids. But who cares? There is beer, and swimming, and lazy conversations. It's hard to capture this spectacular place, seeing as only one of you brought a phone. And- whoops!- guess what? Ziplock bags aren't waterproof! Someone's phone takes an impromptu bath!  

You finish later than you thought, of course. So two of your party race away, and you and your love linger at the ice cream store that sells homemade cookies, cupcakes, and other treats. You eat ice cream for dinner #1.

Dinner #2 is at the crazy little Mexican restaurant in Nanaimo. There's a lineup, and it's only open 'til 8, but the wait is short and the food is great, although it's so hot you might as well actually be in Mexico. And guess what? Even though you couldn't make ferry reservations and you're sure you won't get on... You drive to the ferry anyway and bliss! There's no lineup at all! You will get home earlier than you hoped, and a good thing too, because by the time you hit the sack you will have been up for over 36 hours. 

Sleep deprivation catches up to someone. 

And you learn- again- that nothing ever goes quite according to plan, but that the way it went was actually better than you had planned, and you need to let go of always wanting to be in control of things. And he learns- again- that maybe making a few flexible plans isn't always a bad idea. You learn and you grow and you squabble and you laugh, and you have happy, imperfect holiday time together as the summer draws to an end. 

Nesting

So, how are you all doing? 

I think a lot of us are feeling a bit fragile these days. It's hard to know when to engage, and when to switch off and spend some time with people you love. I've seen friends get absolutely lambasted recently on social media for daring to have an opinion on women's rights (Imagine that! Women having opinions on women's rights!), or for writing about the wrongs being done to Muslims. One thing I've noticed is that people get very, very nervous when they're confronted by steely logic and righteous anger. And then, unfortunately, they often get angry, and the whole thing degenerates into name-calling and insults. But keep on, brave men and women out there. Keep fighting, and using logic, and making bigots and racists and chauvinists as nervous as possible. I have never seen so many "normal" people galvanized into taking action as I have in the last month. It's the one heartening thing I can take from this; that it's jolting us out of our complacency. 

We're already a month into 2017, guys! That's what happens when we're busy and angry and working hard- time gets away from us. 
So, what's been happening so far this year?

Like a lot of people, I marched:

I am at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. It is a pathetic excuse to say I'm busy, because who isn't? I don't have much money to donate to causes, and I don't always have make time to go to vigils, so... Can I promise to try and do better? To try and lend support to minorities who need allies? To give some of my time to being political? I really don't want to ignore what's happening- how could I?- so if any of you have suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them. 

In the meantime, I've been nesting. This is probably a sound and predictable  instinct when things in the outside world get scary. I have two other very good reasons for increased nesting recently: first of all my roommates are away for 3 weeks, so I have the whole house (and four kitties) to myself! I've been extra busy lately, so today it feels amazing to curl up on the couch and watch the snow (yup, it's baaaaaaack) coming down outside. 

And the other good reason for nesting? 

I found a place to live!

This collage doesn't really do it justice, but here's my new suite. I found it on Craigslist, and it was only the second place I physically went and looked at. I know, hate me. I would too. It has a gas stove, a big bedroom, gorgeous bathroom, tons of light even though it's a basement suite... and a gigantic alcove that seems to be expressly designed to be used as a giant window seat for reading, working, playing music, and dreaming. I think it was this eccentric detail that sealed the deal for me. I was as charming and polite as I could possibly be to the landlords, a nice couple who live upstairs. That, and the fact that my boss gave me a glowing reference, sealed the deal for them, and they called me back the very next day to offer me the place. The best/worst part is that the suite's not available until March 1st, because they're actually going to expand some of the windows to make the place even lighter. That's great because a) Bigger windows! More light! and b) Time to pack! Time to put aside money! but of course I also want to move in right now because IT'S MY OWN PLACE FINALLY, COME ON! AND ALSO I WANT TO LIVE THERE FOR AT LEAST A FEW MONTHS BEFORE DONALD TRUMP DESTROYS THE WORLD!

While I wait, I am starting to pack. I took a trip to Ikea with my angel mom, who bought me many kitchen and home-related items as a moving present to me. One side effect of being older is that I am not content with a couple of mismatched plates and some grotty used particle-board furniture. I want my place to look... pretty. Put-together. Warm and inviting and funky, but not student-chic, ya know? 

So it's going to be a mixture of things, but pretty ones.

The functional: Stuff from Ikea: dishes and cutlery and bookshelves and cubbies and utensils.

The antique: my Mongolian sideboard, which is dark and knobbly and has doors which slide up and into it, which makes it quite hard to use effectively, but is still my favorite piece of furniture I've ever bought. 

I can't adequately capture your unique beauty, sideboard, but you're still my fave. 

A really cool desk I just found at Sellution, which is the best place to buy used furniture with a personality. A little rocking chair that was actually outside of Sellution with a "free" sign on it (it's a fixer-upper). 

The ridiculously hipster and self-indulgent but not actually that expensive: My knives:

I bought these very inexpensive but well-reviewed knives at Atelier St. George, which is probably the only time in history that the words "inexpensive" and "Atelier St. George" will EVER be used in the same sentence (I mean, they have a wool jumpsuit that costs $1700.00, for fuck's sake). 

And now I sit, and I wait to move house. Well, mostly I go out and work and have band practices and clean litter trays, it's just today that I've superglued myself to the couch watching reprehensible YouTube videos and avoiding any sort of work at all costs. 

Hey, work. Remember my ambivalence about teaching, last year? Well, sometimes there are things you do where you walk into a situation or a job and think Hell No and walk right out again, and you just know that you were right to leave. And there are other times where you immediately think: This is what I was meant to do, and the more you do it, the more it confirms that initial thought. (Performing is like that for me.) But there are other things that feel like a no at first, and may end up feeling like a no for a long time before revealing themselves to be, in fact, a big yes. Teaching was like that. I'm glad I stayed. I'm glad when I get to teach kids how to write songs, and when I get to play games where I teach them music theory games and pretend to die horribly if they get the answer wrong. I'm glad when I make a bunch of sullen teenagers sit in a circle on the floor and sing the harmonies to "Jolene" and they do, and it sounds beautiful. Even more when the tallest, sleepiest, sullenest kid voluntarily picks up a ukulele to play along. I'm glad when I get to sing my soprano heart out in choir class, and when I get to yell at kids to stop running in the halls. Glad to the point of transcendence when the evil/cute little 11 year-old who slouched in a corner in my junior class glaring at me and growling that she was "bored" every week suddenly decides to drop the attitude and lights up with glee as she and her classmates hammer out a very creditable version of "Bittersweet Symphony". Teaching is like oxygen; it takes all my energy and yet  gives it back to me, a hundredfold. (And suddenly I get a glimpse of what parenting must be like. But...nope. Still don't want 'em. Phew.)

So that's what I'm doing. Plus mentoring/music directing a youth theatre company in Saskatoon, plus getting ready to do another show in Saskatchewan in the summer, plus teaching preschool music, plus session work at my favourite recording studio, plus... You get the idea. Most days I'm really happy, which feels kind of wrong with all that's going on in the world, but 
(I accidentally hit "publish" without finishing that last sentence, but I can't think of any good way to finish it anyway, so it stays like that.)

Oh, and I coloured my hair. Fuck grey hair. Actually, it wasn't the greys that were killing me, it was the boring brown. 

I'm going to blame my phone's camera for the fact that my face looks strangely puffy, not the fact that I'm still not in shape post-Christmas gluttony.

New place, new work, new world (dis)order: 2017 promises to be...interesting, in the Chinese-Curse sense of the word. So batten down the hatches, get mad, get smart, get safe. And look after yourselves. I know some people disdain self-care (and I certainly hate the phrase), but I don't think it's wise to burn out, either. 

See you soon. 

Sea Glass

This weekend I have no special plans so I decide to get on the ferry and see a friend from Wells perform his one-man show at Emily Carr's house. 
Which is an excellent plan in and of itself, but really, the whole short trip becomes about being outdoors as much as possible, the wind and the sun punctuated briefly by the show (which is great, and makes me miss Wells a lot). I sit gulping ice water before the play begins, having just walked as fast as possible to make it there in time. Emily Carr's house is very tidy and sweet in that overstuffed Victorian way, and I feel like a sloppy little bull surrounded by flowered china; long hair messy, bare-legged, overheated. But I enjoy the show, and I enjoy saying hi afterwards, although I am happy to forego the post-show drinks at a pub with people I don't know, and instead I stroll home through downtown, savouring the sounds, the tourists, the shops. Happy to be alone. 

Holly and I spend both days on the beach at Beacon Hill, combing the sand for sea glass. It becomes a mild addiction. When I got there on Friday she'd been talking about us going on a hike with some friends of hers, but when we wake up on Saturday and begin talking about our day she says "I really just want to go back to the beach," and I am delighted. 
We weave our way to the beach, stopping off at the Moss Street Market along the way. I try and puzzle out why Victoria contains so much more magic than Vancouver. Is it just because I'm a visitor, usually there when the sun is out, or is it something deeper? Holly agrees with me, and she lives there, so I may be on to something. 
We walk past old houses with stunning gardens, until Moss Street spits us out by the sea. And then we hunker down in the sand and dig through it with sticks, with our hands, and find smooth bits of sea glass: common brown and amber; white glass that looks plain but will reveal many subtle shades when we take it home; green, which ranges from olive to delicate sea-green. There are happy cries when we discover Holly's favorite, which is cobalt blue glass. It's one of the rarer colours, and it is usually tiny. Our eyes grow eagle-sharp. 


Dogs race by. Sometimes they shake the water out of their coats too close to us, but they are so delighted with life that it's hard to stay mad. 
An older woman stops to see what we are searching for. We start chatting, and I mention that I'm just visiting for the weekend. "Are you at university?" she asks me, and I laugh and say no. With my hair in two braids and my messy clothes, I must look about 20 to her. She says that she has some stress in her life right now, but walking down here near the water has been relaxing. She doesn't say what the stress is, but tells us passionately not to rush into marriage, children, and all that. "Do what you want," she exclaims, and I don't have the heart to tell her that my child-bearing years are mostly behind me, and I can't have kids anyway. 

I leave the island with a yoghurt container filled with glassy gems, and a beautiful little jar I found in an antique store that cost two dollars. Back at home I sort the glass: green ones in the little jar and clear ones in a glass bottle. 
Today I wake up and long to be at the beach, even though it is cold and I have chores and taxes to do. 
Soon I will find more little glass jars and I will escape to the beach again to search the sand for buried treasure. 

In Search of the Perfect Banh Mi

I was grouchy before I even got to the birthday party last night. There were some reasons: too much exercise made me overtired; my friend forgot to tell me the location of the party had changed restaurants, meaning I turned up at the wrong one; I was in a position where I had to be polite to someone I wasn't in the mood for. None of these life-threatening events, but added up they made me feel prickly with bad-humour. 
The party (when I got to it) was fun and my bad mood faded, but it was with relief that I hit the sack, feeling the toxic mood and tiredness still in my body. I'll sleep it off, I reasoned, and wake up feeling fine. 
Cue this morning, and the feeling that all was still not fine. Sometimes you're just going to feel tired and groggy- could be a cold, could be fatigue. Who knows? I figured if I was stuck with a less-than-fine feeling I might as well try to distract it, and I knew the perfect distraction: head up Kingsway to find the perfect Banh Mi. 

Kingsway is Pho restaurants and beauty parlours, coffee shops and dusty little businesses that look as if no one's touched the window displays in years. Generations, even.

Nifty old appliances in the window of Y. Franks

Kingsway is also Little Saigon. Some local merchants were angry when city council re-branded part of Cedar Cottage, but it really is pretty fitting. Vietnamese restaurants, nail parlours, delis and groceries are very prevalent between Fraser and Victoria, which is as far as I walked today. 

As I walked, the weather reflected my mood: sun lurked hopefully, but black clouds kept rolling by. I was alternately glad of my thick jacket and overheated by it, sometimes in the space of a few minutes. 

I love Vietnamese food, and heartily miss living across the street from Le Petit Saigon, where I ate a Number 49 (beef on skewers, grated carrot, daikon and cucumber, vermicelli) pretty much once a week. But in all my life, I've never eaten a Banh Mi, or Vietnamese sub sandwich. Now that I live so near to Little Saigon, how could I not investigate this intriguing combination of French-influenced baking and Asian meats? 

My first stop was Ba Le Deli & Bakery, which is all of five minutes from my house, at an intersection where uber-Hipster coffee, old-school Mexican, Mexi-fusion, East Indian pizza, French cuisine, Caribbean-Japanese diner and more all meet in a glorious multicultural melange. I was all ready to order... and then I saw the Cash Only sign at the till (this would be a common theme all along Kingsway). I told them I'd be back, and started walking towards Victoria, where I remembered seeing a Vietnamese restaurant years ago with such mouthwatering photos of subs in their window that I'd wanted to visit for ages, and never got around to it. 

The stores along this stretch of Kingsway are, for the most part, small businesses that seem to cater to a loyal following and aren't that interested in attracting newbies. Many of the cafes look dark and dusty- they might be making the best food in the 'hood, but you'd never know it from the presentation. I wanted to give them all the benefit of the doubt... but I didn't want to waste my money, either. I kept going, drawn by my memories of the large-windowed and attractive cafe I'd seen years ago. 

Past Cedar Cottage Coffee, where I met my guy 6 months ago (I noticed that Crow Salvaged Goods, an interesting art/furniture store we'd checked out that day, hadn't lasted as long as our relationship, although a check of the internets suggests that it was meant to be a temporary store). Past the Tipper, where I've eaten several delicious breakfasts. Here I was at Victoria... and I couldn't find the cafe of my memories. There were a couple of Vietnamese places (including the infamous and long-renamed Pho Bich Nga), but none of them had mouthwatering photos of banh mi in the window. Either it had closed, or it was under new management. Back to Ba Le for me! 

The clouds came back, making everything look darker and more dramatic. 

I kind of wanted to try the Dragon Lord Cafe, which has a powerful name that doesn't match the cutesy cartoon animals on its awning, but it was closed. Since I was feeling fuzzy-headed and tired, I decided that Vietnamese Coffee, swimming with condensed milk, would cure what ailed me. I dropped in to another cafe that was painted lime-green inside, and ordered one to go. Sadly, I picked the wrong cafe... and the wrong coffee. I forgot to ask for it hot, so I got a cold one, the condensed milk glomming sulkily onto the ice cubes and the coffee bitter. Four bucks wasted. 

Ba Le smelled of fresh bread and I was intrigued by the dumplings, leaf-wrapped rice, and dessert-like things at the till. Since I don't know my way around Vietnamese deli meats and the word "headcheese" does NOT do anything for my appetite, I stuck with a safe sandwich option: grilled pork with veggies... and more coffee. "It's very strong and very sweet," the woman at the till warned me briskly. "Perfect!" I replied, and sat down to wait. It took a while, but when the sub arrived it was everything I'd hoped for: tender pork with just enough sweet sauce, the lightly-pickled trio of carrot, cuke and daikon; cilantro and spicy peppers, packed into a warm, toasted baguette. Heaven. 

I wolfed it down, along with the coffee, which was- as promised- very strong and VERY sweet. It didn't totally wake me up, and whatever bug I'm fighting is still lurking, but I think I've found a Vietnamese treat to rival my old love, the Number 49. And since it's five minutes from my house, and a mere $4.50, you can bet I'll be back. 

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.

Lucky.

The city is cold and rainy. I buy an adorable pair of grey fleecy fingerless gloves with a mitten attachment that pulls over the fingers. Mittens! I haven't had them since my age was in single digits and it feels awesome. 

Old Yeller played a gig this week: seven friends crowded onto and around the tiny corner stage while our friends and family laughed and ate and cheered. The best pre-Christmas present a girl could get. Well, that and my guy taking pictures of us like the paparazzi; meeting my friends, giving me a grin and a wink when he catches my eye. I tease him: You'll get tired of coming to my gigs. And he gets that stubborn look in his eye and says Nope. 

A New Year

I think this picture captures last night's party perfectly. Cake and laughter.
It's dark because we were all around the campfire in our backyard; the rain held off (more or less) and everyone I love best in this place came to spend my birthday party with me. My heart is full.
What made it even more special is that it was such a challenging day and we were all exhausted by the time we got home. My room mates and I stared blankly at the walls or napped before guests started to arrive. We were so drained I thought the party would be a total bust.
It had started the night before with the last cabaret of the season. I performed; I drank well-but not wisely- and stayed out too late. I got up yesterday morning determined to go running with a girlfriend even though I was hungover and had had about 5 hours' sleep.
Soon after the run, a phone call from work. A cast member was too ill to perform. Heading in to hospital with the boss. We had to go in to Barkerville, re-plot the show and do it with one less performer. Nervous and grumpy, we ran through the variety show figuring out who would sing what, who would say what to cover her absence. In the dressing room I cried from pure nerves, angry with myself for being underslept and hungover, knowing my voice was not at its best.
And then... the magic you always hope for as a performer. An electric show that crackled with the energy we were all putting out. A wonderful audience. A voice that held up, even though it was tired. An exhilarated, giggly lunch together afterwards. Then home, rest, rallying, fire-making, friends, and another late night/early morning bedtime that was sooooo worth it, spent with friends old and new.
I can't say enough how grateful and amazed I am that I have so many people in my life to love me, celebrate my quirks, comfort me when I'm down, laugh hysterically with me, and make me feel like a million bucks. All I can say is that everyone should be lucky enough to find their tribe. I have tribes in both the places I call home, and that has made a world of difference.
Here comes a new decade. I can honestly say that I am thinner, healthier, wiser, and way happier than I was last year. If that isn't a good way to start your forties then I don't know what is.

Painted by a new friend of mine, signed on the back by a whole bunch of lovely people. Happy happy. 

Thrills & Spills

Today is the first day of ArtsWells, the "festival of all things Art", as it bills itself. Half of east van, my other home, comes to Wells, either to perform or to watch. I shoot into the day firing on all cylinders. A 4k run at 7am. Walking a friend's dog. Two shows. The weather is hot and the haze from a distant (we hope) forest fire puts a blur on the mountains. 
It's an odd sort of day. Three of us are tired from an epic day off of paddleboarding and going shopping in town. This morning my run feels good at the time but is probably not really such a hot idea. Our stage manager takes a tumble off a railing before the 4pm show, bruising her back and shaking herself up quite a bit. I get through that show in a daze, hot and tired out. On our way home we spot a friend of ours lying on the side of the road. She's skidded in gravel, fallen off her bike and broken her wrist. 
From the worry and sombre waiting at the accident scene to the giddiness of a festival- it's a weird transition. 
It ends up being the best year so far for dancing friends (usually I'm alone, wanting to hit the dance floor but lacking friends who want to join me). This year I have a nice pack of girls to get my groove on with. They are all way, way younger than me, but that's no big deal. I bump into friends I had forgotten were coming up here, I hug fellow-musicians who are performing, I buy a pretty ring, I dance and dance. 

Yesterday I spent the day in the water and sun and today I immerse myself in music, with the promise of more to come. Life's pretty much perfect. 

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. 

The Law of Inertia.

Is it Spring Fever? Newly-gained confidence from learning difficult things?  Looking good in my new, smaller-sized clothes? Cycles of the moon?
Whatever it is... all day today I've been feeling like a cat on the prowl. Singing, bus-riding, taking my martial-arts class- I notice men again for the first time in what feels like weeks.
I was doing a recording session this morning, singing for two hours about putting on my dancing shoes. When the car pulls up this evening I run to meet it, stepping gingerly though, because it's snowing. I'm going out, after a long week learning about blood, and trauma, and deadly bleeding, and all the other million stressful things that make up first aid. What I really want to do is grab the first tasty man I see and pull him into a long, slow, sexy kiss. What I do instead is go out for drinks with 2 of my exes. I must be a masochist.
It is actually lovely that I can do this. I may not be exactly a fizzing firecracker on the ol' dating scene these days, but I can have drinks with 2 men who love me dearly (and are good friends themselves, which makes life easier). We go to a tiny bar because a band I love is playing, but it's so busy that we end up being upstairs, where we can talk but not hear the band at all. Ex One and I catch up: my Occupational First Aid course, my new home, some upcoming jobs; his kids, wife and new band. He is anchored; I am a drifter. From time to time we run downstairs to check out the music (and so I can drool over the drummer). Ex Two arrives straight from work and we have one final drink all together. There is so much love here between us all, love that isn't one night stands or Spring-Fever kisses but it's there nonetheless. Rock-solid love.
It's the law of inertia, I say to Ex One as we walk back to his car. I'm in motion again, so I want to stay in motion. I was stuck, earlier this month. I was inert and lazy, overwhelmed by financial confusion and no work and yet another move. Now I get up at 6:30 to learn how to deal with fractures and head wounds and CPR. The ball rolls: Boom! I get a sudden job offer. It picks up speed: Bam! I get gigs and recording sessions. I've had to wear latex gloves and sweaty yoga pants all week, so tonight-Whee!- I put on makeup and even curl my hair with my sister-in-law's curling iron until my hair is snaky and twisty and sexy.
I like how this feels, the slow picking-up of speed as the ball starts rolling again.

Mis-Propane Radiation

This morning I'm stoked to head over to Galiano Island, where my mom is cat-sitting for the week.
The transit choices seem to be: Get up and get there super-early or
Get up later and arrive right on time (if you're lucky and the bus is on time. Being a good Virgo, I get up super-early. There's a cold snap happening; it's crisp and sunny and cold. I arrive at the terminal and enjoy my cappuccino and oatmeal in the morning sun. For over an hour.
Then, just as I'm getting ready to gather my things and board, the announcement: "Due to high waves, the ferry will NOT be stopping at Sturdies Bay this morning." That's it. No alternatives, no apologies. Just a refund, and the knowledge that the next ferry (if it runs) isn't 'til after dark tonight. 
I take the bus. Again. I phone my mom- she's sad. I pay-in total- eleven dollars to do a round trip right back to where I started from. Three-and-a-half hours later. 

When I was watching tv at the ferry terminal the closed captioning on the news reported that some Canadian senators are guilty of "mis-propane radiation of funds". This day feels misappropriated. Or mis-propane radiated. It's a free day: I want to do something unpredictable and fun and maybe slightly slutty. Like take the skytrain to the airport, buy a ticket somewhere and just...take off. Or call someone hot and suggest an impromptu roadtrip. Or go hiking and have a deep conversation with someone. But there's no money, no car, no hottie. I kind of have to hang around in case the ferry's running tonight and I decide to try again. So I go home to my brother's house and walk the dog instead. Halfway home from the park he does what he always does and loses interest entirely in his muddy, slobbery toy so I pick it up with a grimace. As we walk home along a busy street I glance down and realize that the thing I am carrying for the dog looks exactly like a large sex toy. 
Mis-propane radiation. Out there in the sunlight I am content, with a small top-note of melancholy. 

Not today. Maybe tonight?

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...?

Pretty as a Picture

Holy cow! I have a new camera y'all, and it's fantastic. 
My lovely mother came over to visit me in Victoria and we were discussing cameras (because Victoria is a very photogenic city) and Christmas and before you know it we were at London Drugs and...

Here's what it looks like.  Isn't it pretty? I know it's girly, but I love that it's red.

I wish I'd had it in Hawaii, because some of my pictures from there look a little washed-out. I don't think that's going to be a problem with this camera. You can expect to see a lot more pictures on this site from now on. Photography is one of those hobbies that waxes and wanes with me. Sometimes I take a lot of pictures, sometimes not so many. But I always come back to it. Having this camera, I think that I'll be coming back to it more often than ever.

Plus it has a Selective Colour feature which I think I'm going to be using quite a lot. 

So Victoria was amazing. I LOVE it when I have fears or low expectations about a job and then that job just comes along and blows me out of the water because it's so wonderful. You'd think I'd be more trusting by now but no, I still have The Fear before a lot of my gigs. To be fair though, I had The Fear this time because I felt like I was unprepared and under-practiced. But I came through. It wasn't my best-ever accordion playing, but I sounded good in the ensemble. And it re-confirmed for me that sometimes you don't have to be technically the best player in the room, it's also so much about getting along with everyone that makes you the right person for the job and I really fit in. This show was staged so that all the musicians were also participants in the play (to call us actors would be going a bit far since we only had a couple of lines each, but we were integrated into the show rather than lurking in an orchestra pit) and I was the only musician in the band that had experience being ONstage as opposed to being in the pit.  And I just clicked with everyone.  I kept hearing "We LOVED having you here!" from people. Sometimes repeatedly. So clearly I was doing something right. I came home today feeling as though the last 3 weeks- Hawaii to Victoria- have been a whirlwind adventure: new friends, new experiences, and LOTS of great memories. 

This photo was actually taken with my old camera, which actually did serve me pretty well for a cheap point-and-shoot. 

 Joy, indeed. 

getting high

As the friend who took this picture wrote me: "What a year it's been already!" He's absolutely right. So far I've:

• danced for hours and made new friends
• had a perfect, lazy snooze-in-bed day the day after I danced for hours (technically the same day, actually)
• been invited to play a really cool gig
• gone snowshoeing up a mountain and looked down on my lovely city, still half-shrouded in morning clouds
• ate Lemon-Buttermilk pie
• took a mini-roadtrip with a pal to visit friends of his, where we played music and boardgames and went for a late-evening ice cream excursion
• been for several long walks with my mom, and another roadtrip today with her as well.

Phew. I think I'll take the rest of the year off! Kidding. Hopefully I'm just getting warmed up...

I have to give a huge shout-out to my mom, who isn't mentioned in this blog as much as she should be. Which is how she would probably like it, since she's a modest sort who doesn't really approve of blogging. "Why don't you just keep a journal?" she has asked me in the past. (Because I'm an attention-seeking egotist artist, Mom.) She has been my rock these last few months, giving me rides, money, advice and support. Sometimes I look at her and I can't believe that one day in the not-too-distant future, she'll be too old to go for 2-hour-plus walks with me. I am so lucky that my family is blessed with health and longevity. My mom often sometimes drives me crazy, because that's what mothers do. But we have rediscovered a sweetness together in the last month that has left me feeling grateful and lucky.

My loooonnnnng vacation has shrunk to a couple of days. My little Christmas tree has to come down tomorrow. I cling to the last lazy hours while hoping for excitement ahead; the eternal conflict in my soul between peace/comfort and challenge/excitement.
I've already climbed a mountain this year. What's next?

old/new

It was one of those moments that became bigger than it actually was, alive with resonance.
I got taken to a New Year's Eve party last night, like many other people all over the world. And like many people, it was a party I didn't particularly want to go to: I didn't know too many of the other guests, I was tired, and angry with my date, and to top it off I knew there would be language barriers, as most of the other guests were French or South American. In fact, I very ungraciously snarled "If I hate this party, I'm going to leave," to my poor date when he phoned me. But there was no viable alternative: no one I knew had invited me to a party, so I couldn't counter with a better offer. I resentfully showered and made myself look as pretty as I could, given my bad mood and the extra pounds the holidays had left behind.
It was slow going at first. I was unable to shake off the resentments that I was feeling, and although the other guests were gracious, there were language issues and I felt a bit isolated, and unwilling to make the effort to integrate myself into the party. But slowly, things began to change- no, I began to change- and it was all because of the music.
You see, if you put a bunch of Latinos in a room with some good speakers and a huge iTunes playlist, there will be dancing. And so we danced: sexy 20-something women, an older lady in her seventies, our assorted husbands/boyfriends... and eventually, me.
I love to dance. I'm not all that good at it, especially when it involves dancing with someone rather than just hurling myself around a room by myself, but I am very committed. And at this party, that was what counted. And quite quickly, all the anger and negativity and nasty thoughts and insecurities I'd brought with me simply left my mind as I moved my body in time to the music and bonded with the other partygoers despite our age and cultural differences. I couldn't even remember why I'd had those ugly feelings in the first place. It was a beautiful moment of shedding all the bad things with the dying of the old year, and feeling nothing but happy as 2013 was born.
I know there will be plenty of storms this year. My blissful month of rest and laziness is almost over and I have mixed feelings about going back to the whirlwind of school, followed by another superbusy summer up north (probably my last one as it's time to move on). My relationship will probably continue to provide both moments of beauty and moments of supreme frustration as we try to juggle all the demands on our time as well as the challenges of our different ages and cultures. I know I still have to work on subduing some of the sneaky little demons that hold me back in life.
But if I can just hold on to that wonderful, weightless moment when all the bad stuff just rolled off my back, if I can remember that the worst day can be scrubbed away with some exercise or exertion,  if I can make time for the friends and family who hold me up, if I can look past all the ego of ME to the bigger picture, then this year will be truly wondrous.
Happy 2013 to you all.

I want to be as fabulous as THIS girl. Oh wait, that's me!

13 Things That Were Great About Today... and 1 not-so-great thing

1. I called my sweetheart this morning while I was still lying in bed. I love doing this.
2. He mentioned that it was "all white" where he was. I got up and drifted over to the sitting room and lo! It was snowy where I was, too! Have I mentioned how much I love snow? Especially before and around Christmas?
3. My marks are in, and my lowest grade at the end of this term is a B+ (one class). All the rest are A's, A+'s or A-'s. Yes!
4. I actually went to my local library today...
5. ...where I ran into my musician friend Dave. Thereby assuring that there will be some kind of giggery or jammery in my future...
6. and I also now have a whole bunch of interesting books to read and movies to watch. For free. Love the library!
7. I dropped my stuff off at the laundromat, so now I have clean sheets and clothes.
8. I had the bright idea of calling my mom, so I had company for a great walk. Up the hill into Burnaby Heights, stopping in at all the interesting-looking delis and butchers and bookshops.
9. She was looking for some green peppercorns in brine, which I'd never heard of before. (Unless they were the famed "pickled peppers" that Peter Piper picked a peck of). And we were in one of those great stores that just has everything packed away on its teetering shelves, a fabulous mess of middle eastern and Italian and god-knows-what and I looked down and... voila. 
10. I asked at my favorite bookstore if they were hiring. And they ARE. And they have a giant cat. I have always wanted to work at a store with a cat.  So I might actually have some work for the new year.
11. We got back to my place after a 2-hour walk and made potato pancakes as well as chorizo sausages and sweet-sour cucumbers, accompanied by applesauce and sour cream. You know when a meal is actually all that you hope it will be? Yes.
12. This teapot. Which I bought at my favorite restaurant in the little town I live in all summer. So not me, with its flowers and froufrou. But somehow it pleases me deeply. It has cherries for feet! How great is that?  I am drinking orange spice tea out of it right now.
13. It is almost 7pm and I have a pile of new books to look at and movies to watch. How nice. 

1. My acupuncturist put some auricular acupressure beads into my left ear. Three of them. They're supposed to help with my foot and back pain and with calming thoughts. I'm supposed to rub them 3-4 times a day. But they hurt. A lot. Not only when I touch them but when I try to:

• wear a hat
• use my headphones
• lie on my left side to sleep
• ...and when I'm just sitting there minding my own business.

Given that my back gets sore when I lie on it, it seems rather cruel that yet another option (sleeping on my left side) has been taken away, at least for the next few days. Plus, how am I supposed to have happy thoughts when my damn ear hurts all the time? Has anyone else tried these? Are they supposed to hurt this much??

Thankful...

...for a day of sunshine, even if I was indoors most of the day and didn't see it...

 ...and for the reason I was indoors: because I was performing with this theatre company, doing this. 

I was up here, on a teetering scaffold, surrounded by a bunch of my instruments:

 And below me, some surrealist children's theatre was happening:

Creating theatre in a few short days, seeing magic unfold and being part of it. It's been a long time since I've done a project that was so simply fun from start to finish. I think I really needed it right now to remind me that life isn't all about school. It's also about simply playing.

It's about working with lights and cushions and costumes and hazers that fill up the space with beautiful smoke:
It's about working with a 9 year-old who can't help chasing the smoke. And also getting to work with someone I haven't worked with for too long and someone else I've wanted to work with for almost twenty years!
And at the end of the day, it was about cream pies and plastic sardines. As all theatre should be. Yum.


(The show was A Place Called Whisper, produced and created by pi Theatre for Obstructions. What can I say? It's American Thanksgiving, a holiday I've always thought is ridiculously close to Christmas, poor Americans. But I find myself thankful this weekend, holiday or not.)

Gig Madness!

It's come and almost gone, the weekend I was dreading. Three gigs, all of them challenging in their own way, and all of them were fantastic. Not, always, technically the best playing or the purest singing. But at every one of them I found things to delight in, whether it was the joy of trying something new (playing accordion in a leather mask, anyone?), reviving an old band with a bunch of friends  (Flying Folk Army!) or winning over a crowd of jazz fans on a sunny deck (Pender Harbour Jazz Fest)... it was busy, and exciting, and exhausting too (I got about 2 hours' sleep last Friday night).
So once again I feared something because it seemed too challenging, too scary, too much work... and it became pure fun, from beginning to end. You'd think I'd learn by now, right? Nope.
I have another hectic bunch of weeks coming up: a project that I should have done more work on over the summer is finally here, and I need to buckle down hard to get it done. Plus, there's school, which is a whole 'nother thing. I want to keep my head above water. I really want to not fail any of my courses. And then there's my social life- I'd like to still have a few friends in four years when this academic craziness is all over.
Do you know what I do? Some people cook to relieve stress, some people make things or take long baths... I eat, certainly (and damn you, Capilano U, why do you have to have a Tim Horton's lurking so that I want to buy donuts all day long?), but mostly I come home and grab the electronic bug zapper. You know, it looks like a tennis racket, but when you press a red button it becomes electrified and kills bugs on contact.
What can I say? The summer heat is still upon us, fruit flies are breeding like mad in our kitchen, and the zap! spark! crack! of the Bug Racket fills me with inner peace after a long day.

*I may not be around too much in the next few months as school is really kicking my ass. However, I will try and check in once a month at least, and as a personal challenge, I am going to try and add a photo every time, to make this blog more interesting on the eyes. Wish me luck...

This is what I look like today. 
I have a cold. A cold is such an insignificant virus, and yet it makes life so hard. I want to sleep all the time. I've hardly been on my bicycle in a week. I snuffle and glower and lurch through the day. I save any energy I have for the 2 shows we do daily. 
I am thoroughly grateful that this is happening now, and that I should be getting better by the time we have our gala opening in 5 days. And fully mended by the time my sweetheart arrives in 2 weeks. I am covering myself in oils and ointments from Barkerville's Chinatown, until I smell like a Chinese herbalist's shop; of camphor and mint and eucalyptus. The town cat actually dry-heaved when I petted her today; she hates my smell. I like it, or rather, I would if I could smell it.
There are moments of grace though. We had the day off Sunday and I probably should have slept all day, but instead I went to Barkerville with a co-worker and we did tourist-y things for a few hours. Oh, and I played the church organ for morning service, a ritual I enjoy even if I don't believe in all of it. I bought plants at the town garage sale and went to the place I work even though it was a day off and then we came home and made pasta noodles, from scratch, and ate them- four of us- and there was a lot of laughter and modest amounts of red wine and it was so great to enjoy eating and living with the same people I have to work with all day. It's such a blessing.
I am realizing that I can be a VERY impatient person, and that it can choke me with frustration and rage from time to time, so I am trying to learn to breathe and exercise through this and find some equilibrium. Alone-time helps. Also running and biking (and the occasional glass of red wine).
I am also learning as I get older how much can change in a year and how often I want to say to my year-ago self: Just relax. Focus on all the good things. This too shall pass. One year ago I was newly single and recovering from an operation and I was spinning. Spinning dizzily through change and heartache and freedom and obsession and joy. I don't think I would change too much of that, because it was all useful, but I wish I had been more joyful and less certain that the world would end if someone didn't look at me the right way. 
So one year later, I write a letter to my sweetheart and I say: This is new to me. I'm still learning, but I like it, this romance and writing. I feel like the Victorian miners who 'waited on the mail' and sent letters home to distant lands. Vancouver is my distant land now; we have emails and phone calls to sustain us until this month's end and then we will learn each other all over again. 
And I look at the person who caused me so much heart-searching over the past year and smile politely and try not to plot scenarios where he realizes how wonderful I am and feels like a tool bad person for spurning my advances. Because although exercise and joy and deep breathing all have their place, sometimes there's nothing like making up a good revenge scenario in your head.