far away/so close.

Doesn't air travel blow your mind?

I mean, isn't it crazy that I can wake up in Vancouver, BC, get on a train, be at the airport in under an hour and be in Winnipeg, Manitoba less than six hours after I woke up? And I can also iChat with my sweetie and talk for free over the internet as if we were almost in the same house. The world is tiny.

I'm in the Prairies to spend a week with my mom, who's been out here since January doing some stage managing until mid-May. If I don't see her now, then by the time she gets back I'll be up north and who knows when we'll meet up?

She's staying long-term in a B&B haunted by three portly cats: Indy, Pumpkin and Shadow. Today we roamed by the Forks and had sushi (sushi! on the prairies! another example of how small the world now is!) and I marveled at the sun and the complete absence of snow. (An unfortunate by-product of how small we make our world? Jet fuel as destroyer of snowy landscapes?)

I get back and a few weeks later I'll be gone again. Up north, where I suspect everything will seem far away and the world will get larger again. Until then I scratch a living catch-as-catch-can, play a few last gigs and savour the good stuff:

• looking out from the stage at a gig and seeing some of the people I love most staring back at me
• sharing a stage with three of the craziest, most inspired friends I have, and getting to make music with them
• sunny spring days in Manitoba with my mom

This spring is shaking up my old beliefs and habits and making me believe that life could change forever.

What is Spring telling you?

Stop the presses! Professional Musician Actually Caught in the Act of

Practicing Her Instruments!

Stunned partner, friends say they've "never seen anything like it!"

It's sad but true. I don't often just sit around and work at becoming a better accordion player and singer. Which, I know. "Ambivalent" and "Lazy" probably don't cover the half of it. Being one of those lucky folks who can coast through most things in life without putting in a lot of grind is a mixed blessing I guess: saves you a lot of effort but gives you lousy work habits.

But here's the thing- having to work at a crappy retail job 3 days a week sure gives you (and by you, I mean me) a better appreciation for the work you really love. And a burning desire to do more of that and less standing around making sure grubby little children don't get too violent with puppets that don't belong to them.

So on my days off I'm pleased to report that I've been putting in some long-overdue work on my 2 favorite instruments and actually hearing the results. Which is good, because I have some gigs coming up.

Being productive is also helping me to avoid the 800-pound elephant in the room. You know, the one with dollar signs in its eyes and a sign around its neck that says You Owe Me. Because really, who don't I owe at this point? Visa, Cel Phone, Utilities, Taxman, Medical... they're all lining up to take a piece. And I really, really have nothing left to give them. This time of year is always brutal. And I'm lousy with money. So roll on, May. Because although it means I'll be heading far, far away from my home and loved ones, at least there's a steady job waiting for me. (Thankfully, compared to most people with credit cards and mortgages and kids, my debt load is tiny. And I know I can get out with some steady work. It's just that my work is so seldom steady.)

Being at home has also given me ample time to read my favorite blogs and news sites, and so I offer the following observations:

• Why, why, WHY is "DH" the preferred acronym for one's husband in the blogging world? As in "dear husband"? Can we get any more 1950's? Blech.
• I hereby swear to never, ever use the following texting acronyms: LOL, IMHO, ROFLMAO. They annoy me. However, I do admit to using BTW and my favorite: WTF.
• If I have kids, they will never have a "playdate".

Okay, time to do some chores. Otherwise, my DCLS (darling common-law spouse) will come home and shout "WTF?!"

Later, 'gators.

In the midst of honking horns, gleeful shouts, a fairytale ending to two weeks of olympic games-

A sobering email comes in.

It's from my aunt in England. It's titled simply, Mother. It can only mean one thing.

My grandmother, my mother's mother. Gladys Dennis. Grandmee is dead, at the staggering age of 103.

Bon writes so tenderly in this post about caring for her grandfather as he nears the end of his life in a hospital bed. I am bowled over by her love for him. I am so sad that I have never felt anything like this for my own grandparents.

My relationship with her was a casualty of distance and dementia. She lived in England. I live in Canada. When she did live with us, for 5 years, her mind was still ok but her body was failing her. She was the sick lady in the guest bedroom. Then as her body got better, my parents split up and she went back to the UK and lost her memory. My aunt would go upstairs to work and Gran would forget that she was still there and call the police and say she'd been abandoned. She went into a home and survived, as tiny and frail as a bird, long after her sense of self had flown.

When she saw you, her face would light up and she'd say "Hello, Lovely!" Even though she didn't really know who you were she knew you were someone she loved.

She couldn't remember what happened fifteen minutes ago, but she could sing the lyrics to wartime pop songs and seeing Hitler's face in a documentary could still inspire pure terror in her.

Her house was bombed to the ground in World War Two.

She survived on her own after her husband Fred Dennis died of emphysema when my mom was 19.

She was born in 1906. Nineteen-oh-six. Can you imagine the things she saw, the changes she lived through?

I wish I'd known her better. I wish I'd appreciated her more when she was with us. I wish so much of my family wasn't so far away.

Rest in peace, Grandma.

Yesterday, J & I celebrated our 12th anniversary together. What did we do? Well, we ended up playing 'tourists' for a day, and got caught up in the Olympic Party Machine that is sweeping our city at the moment. The surprising part, at least to me, was that we ended up having such a good time doing it.

Yes, the Games have begun, and like many people in Vancouver my thoughts about them were mildly grumpy when I though about the crowds, and extra-grumpy when I thought about the staggering expense attached, the expense that we'll ALL be paying off for years and years to come.

I have no problem with athletes. In some ways they are like artists: they practice their skill hard for years and years and most see very little reward for their work. (I mean, when was the last time you saw a bobsledder with a big-name sponsor? They all get media hype for the olympics, but I bet most of us would be hard-pressed to name a luger, a curler or a ski jumper when the games aren't on.) As a non-athlete who is cowardly about heights and pain, I have huge admiration for people who can jump off a gigantic slide and soar through the air, or survive being cut in the face by their partner's skate and even think of trying again. Some might say that what they do is ridiculous, but hey, I play the accordion for a living. I prance around on stage pretending that I'm someone else from time to time as well. Who am I to throw stones? So if these athletes want to compete in their sports and win little metal discs as a reward for their risks, their pain, their hard work, good on 'em.

I DO have a HUGE problem with the olympics as a money-sucking, corporation-favoring machine. I think that they have no business spending the amount of money that gets spent on these games, lying about how much it's going to cost, and then making us pay through the nose for years. My friend Rodney deCroo writes brilliantly about it on his facebook page, and his arguments are much better-informed than mine, so I'll get off my soapbox now, and say...

... that before yesterday, I never would have believed that I could have so much fun in downtown Vancouver on a Tuesday in February! Jon and I walked around for hours, taking in the free performances, the crowds, the fun. And I thought isn't it kind of sad that we need this kind of bloated, over-priced, over-budget event in our city to let our hair down?

Restaurants packed with happy diners. Strangers spontaneously talking to each other. Parties in the streets. Free concerts all over the place. Pedestrian-only areas. Art installations everywhere. A downtown core filled with crowds and excitement. For a moment, we have become a city that knows how to celebrate life.

When this is all over the after-party hangover will begin, and we will be grumpy again. But I hope that we will remember to tell the ones in power that this- this explosion of art and music everywhere is what Vancouver needs more of.

And in this time of gigantic budget cuts to the arts, something that we're going to see less and less of, unless we fight hard to be heard.

Fired Up

Last night I emailed a friend:

'You know how I started off the New Year nearly naked in a hot tub with you and B, swearing up and down that I wanted to take more action in my life and stop watching from the sidelines all the time? Well, I have no work and life feels as if it's kind of standing still, but now I'm back from Surrey and excited about starting to figure out where the hell I'm headed for the next few months...'

Man, I was so full of fire in early January! And then life and inertia and unemployment and dogsitting rose up and claimed me, and I tumbled happily back into the sticky chocolate pudding-ness of the everyday, where you take a few stumbling steps forward and a few more giant sliding steps backward again.

I am back from my doggy job in Surrey, and as much as I bitched about the locale, I was overjoyed to spend time bonding with my furry 'niece' and 'nephew'. How can you possibly complain too much about this:

"I'm getting fed up with these damn photos!"

...and this:

"Pleasepleaseplease play Tug-o'-War with me rightnowrightnowrightnow!"

Nope, pretty hard to complain about that, huh?

Plus, they don't call it "City of Parks" for nothing:

Pretty hard to believe that this is 10 minutes' walk from Strip Mall Hell, isn't it?

Back when I was more fiery and conflicted, lo these 2 months ago, I accepted a job offer that will take me up north for 4 months this summer, and I was reminded of that job yesterday as I sat in on someone else's audition. Now only 3 months (less, actually) away, and I am excited to work somewhere that will stretch me as a person and as a performer.

Here's what else I want to experience in the next couple of years:

• I want to go to the UK with my guy and see our families over there.
• I want to hear the call to prayer soaring up from hundreds of mosques in Istanbul again.
• I want to sing more often, and get really good at it.
• I want to play music in Montreal, Toronto & Europe with my best friends.
• and more prosaically, I would like to sort out my finances so that the future isn't so scary, tax time isn't a drag, and collection agents don't call us all the time.

Let's see how that goes, shall we?

(In the mean time, stay tuned for my reports as the bloated, costly Olympics descend on my city. I intend to go to as many free concerts as I can, avoid all public transit, and definitely not see any of the actual sporting events.)

Oh, and by the way, I made 2 incredible pizzas tonight. From scratch. Dough and all. In case you thought I was doing nothing with my days. Cooking: I highly recommend it. You will always surprise yourself with what you can do.

happily ever after...

Lately, all my posts have been very earnest and about self-improvement and other Serious Things. Which is great. But I don't want all my 2.7 readers to think that I've lost my frivolous side. So, in honour of the fact that I'm killing a bottle of red wine by myself (well, the dog is here too, but he's mostly asleep until I say the magic word "walk")and because I'm flipping channels between "Four Weddings & a Funeral" and "Grosse Pointe Blank", I present...

Romantic Movie Scenes That Make Me Swoon:

• OK, I love the part in Grosse Point Blank where John Cusack and Minnie Driver leave their high school gym during their reunion and do it in the nurse's office. That scene is coming up shortly, so I may have to stop writing for a while soon...
• The part in "Four Weddings" where Hugh Grant says "I wish I'd rung you. But you never rang me. You ruthlessly slept with me twice and never rang me." And then he runs after Andie McDowell and says ..."I really feel. In short...in the words of David Cassidy, in fact, while he was still with the Partridge Family: I think I love you." (My other favorite part, and the line my friend Toni & I used to quote to each other ad nauseum is "Excuse me. I think I need to be where other people are not.")
• Pretty much any part of "Lost in Translation". But specifically when Scarlett and Bill are in the hotel bar after the fire alarm goes off and the piano player's playing "I'm So Into You" and they're plotting to stay in Tokyo and start a jazz band. Oh, and the ending, of course. What's he whispering in her ear? Isn't it cool how we never find out?
• The sort-of creepy but at-the-same-time-cute relationship between Andrew McCarthy (teacher) and what's-er-name (student) in "New Waterford Girl". I visited New Waterford this summer (it's in Cape Breton) and believe me, you'd want out of there too.
• The surprising chemistry between Ben Kinglsey and Tea Leoni in "You Kill Me" (I watched this movie 3 times back-to-back when I was sick and visiting up at my dad's) ...
• ...and also between Denzil Washington and Angelina Jolie in "The Bone Collector" (totally forgettable movie, though, so don't bother renting it if you haven't seen it.)
• Mr. Darcy saying "I most ardently admire and love you," or something like that, at the end of "Pride & Prejudice". And yes, I mean Colin Firth. Is there any other Darcy, really?
• The ending of "The Sure Thing". I have an ex-boyfriend to thank for introducing me to that movie. He had a thing for Daphne Zuniga. I had/have a thing for John Cusack. We were well-matched. In that respect, at least.
• Oh my god, I nearly forgot "Amelie"! I adore that entire movie! But especially the end, when they kiss. growlfl.
• The ending of "Casablanca". Because although I am no expert on the Silver Screen, I DO love this movie. Just like "Lost in Translation", it proves that sometimes, it's sexier when Guy doesn't get Girl.
• Runners-Up: Dave, Bullworth, The American President, L.A. Story, While You Were Sleeping, Garden State, Delicatessen...

There's not much wine left in that bottle. Which means that I'm probably forgetting a few of my fave movies in my alcoholic haze. As you can see, I favour the quirky comedies over the mushy stuff. What about you? C'mon, weigh in. What romantic movie scene leaves you breathless?

Another house, not my own.

Okay, remember when I was all excited about house- and dog-sitting for my brother? Well be careful what you wish for, because the gods like to have their little joke.
*This post is firmly tongue in cheek, by the way. I am not complaining full-on. It's just that there are... complications.

First off, the Dog. He is seventy, in human years. Seventy. He should be hobbling around with greying jowls, glad to be home after sedately walking a couple of blocks.
Not this dog. He is a mutt, of Border Collie and god-knows-what-else origins. Sterner stuff. Which means that he can run and walk for hours and be ready to go again after a quick nap. He will chase a ball until it's too dark too see it, and then he will find it by the distant thud as it hits the ground. He would live outside always, if he could. Four days and I am already a love slave to his Sad Puppy Eyes. And I am walking. Three times a day I am walking. And running. And rollerblading. Anything to keep up with his needs.

Which is actually great, because Hello, room full of chocolate bars! My brother and his wife are raising money for a charity called Team in Training by selling chocolate bars. (Don't get me started on the irony of raising money to run 21km by selling sweet, fatty desserts. There is something so intrinsically wrong about that, Team in Training. WRONG.) Let's just say that I need these walks badly, given the choco-temptations lying in their office.

Lastly, I forgot how far away my brother and his wife live. They live in Surrey. I make no apologies to any of my readers who may be from there: Surrey is Hell. No, I take that back; Surrey is not interesting enough to be Hell. Surrey is Skytrain and strip malls and big box stores and fast food and white trash and litter and bland condos and falling-down crackhouses and the Mirage Nightclub (which my brother calls the Sluttage, for obvious reasons). East Van has many of these eyesores also, but we do them with style, dammit! I miss my 'hood.

I would like to tie this all together with a snappy ending, but I am tired. So very tired. And it's been three hours since the last walk. Which means that it's almost time to do 'er again.
*I would like to reiterate that I am (mostly) joking. Except for the part about being tired. Which I am. I mean, I've gone from being pretty much a couch potato to being the auntie of a very active pooch. You'd be tired too. Oh, and what I said about Surrey. I meant everything I wrote about that.