Merry Christmas from the geek in me to the geek in you!

(You can find more geeky stuff here)

Promises and Memories

Willow tree figurines have been special to me from the moment I first saw them, and now they are even more precious.

I started collecting them when I first met my husband. He got me the "Together" figurine for my birthday and proposed to me later that year. My family started to catch on that I liked Willow Tree so I started getting and giving the angels as gifts.

For our first Christmas after we were married, Dave gave me the first installment to my nativity set (the leading roles of the Christmas story) with the promise that each year he would add to it until I had the whole Nativity collection. We never had a second Christmas together. In September of 2005 we were in a car accident together and he didn't make it. We were moving up to Fort St. John where he had started a new job and had been working for the two and a half months prior. I stayed behind to pack up our place and get things ready for the move and he came down a couple days before the moving day. When he arrived, he presented me with a final Willow Tree figurine called "Promise". Two days later, my life changed. I hold on the promises he gave me. Promises that he will never leave me, that he will go to the ends of the earth for me, and that he will always take care of me. In such a way, God makes us promises as a husband just as He is a Father, King, Friend, Comforter....

Nothing is the same as it once was. Nothing except the promises and the memories. I often wonder what he would think of all that has happened over the last year. To some things, he would be shocked and appalled. To other things he would simply be saddened that he can't fix them. But I hope that if he were to see me, and how I have managed through it all, he would be proud. He would rejoice over the strengthened relationships with my family. He would remind me of the choice that he made when he married me while other people have forgotten them.

I just opened up my box of Christmas decorations for the first time since the accident (everything was in storage last year while I recovered), and I was flooded with memories. Christmas does that. Every year, I still try to find the Christmas tree farm with the Winnie-the-Pooh house where we went as kids. I watch "A Christmas Story", "The Snowman", "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas", and occasionally the animated "Rudolph". Come to think of it, TV holds far too many memories of Christmas that it should! I remember how on our first Christmas together we made such a huge breakfast that we invited our landlords to come and help us eat it, and there were still leftovers and other baked goodies that I made! I had bought a Christmas tree that year from the back of some guy's truck in a Wal-Mart parking lot. It was the perfect size, but for reasons that may have been obvious had we checked (like the tree was sitting flush in the stand) the tree was as dry and as brittle as Dennis Rodman's hair. A fire hazard for sure. Dave chopped it up for tinder with his circular saw.

In the box of Christmas ornaments, there was the "First Christmas Together" ornament with our engagement picture that was given to us by my mother, a piece of that first Christmas tree with the year 2005 written on it, but most poignant was my nativity set. I hope to keep adding to it as the years go on because it isn't just memories that I am holding on to; I am holding on to the promise that my life is not yet fulfilled and to every other promise God has for my life. There is more yet to come.

Thank you all for being a part of past, present, and future chapters of my life.

Fear of Missing Something

Sometimes the things that at first seem to be the most benign, can turn out to be the antonym. And like a cancer it grows and it never just hurts the one with the problem. We make excuses, we justify, we ignore it, but soon (and what better time than now) it becomes unavoidable.

Sunday, I went to my old church in Edmonton. Pastor D delivered a message that angered me. I wished that I hadn't heard it not because I didn't agree with it, but because I did. It was about integrity, and how we live out what we believe so that we can live in the world, but not of it. I tried to ignore it, and the truth is that once one is reminded of what they believe, the lessons get tougher the more it is ignored. And now the pieces fall.

I am trying to understand who I am and who I have become. When the reset button was pressed and nothing was the same, I started building haphazardly and blindly. I forgot about the cornerstones and the blueprints. Now as I stand back, I don't recognize what I built and structurally it is not sound. It is hurting people as things fall.

Near death can make one feel invincible-- I have wanted to live carefree and escape the darkness of the fallout from the tragedy. So I have been running, making it look like dancing with a smile on my face and ignoring until my carefree turned into careless.

What now? In the wake of my errors, I can be thankful that I have been learned. I may not be able to fix or get back what I have lost, but I have a knowledge in my custody with which I must do something. And wisdom is what one does with knowledge. I am aware, and forbid that I miss this lesson.

A Widow Dip

How Karen Got Her Groove Back

Have I left you all hanging long enough? My off-season cross training activity is... drum roll, please... hip-shaking, chest-rolling, belly dancing! I stand in front of a mirror and make peace with my jelly, and hopefully as we become friends we can do a each other little favour: I show it off and it shall tighten up. There are muscles to whom I havn't spoken in a while, and I am challenged by making them move in new ways.

It's amazing how reserved and stiff we can be until we are moving our bodies with other women, showing off our bellies, and jingling scarves around our waists. We learn how to loosen up and giggle while we jiggle... Bill Cosby, eat your heart out! I seriously need to loosen up, though. I will be practicing in the car, doing dishes, taking out the trash, talking on the phone.... I hope that by Christmas I will be jingling my bells around my hips.

I'm fall-ing in love...

...with the most WONderful season of the year! The air is crisp and full of more smells than a high school, and the trees are as colourful as the well clad folk walking under them. I love the knit sweaters, the knee high boots, the scarves, the wool jackets, the hats.... Apples taste better than in any other season, wineries reveal their latest vintages, and a homemade stew warms the heart, soul, and body.

Fall prepares us for the cleansing of the winter in order to bring us the new birth of spring, an even though the leaves and the grass seem almost dead at my feet, I feel most alive knowing the fall marks change for me. Death brings new life, and grief should stir change and hope in us. The end of a year is approaching and I feel a confidence and motivation stirring in me to begin setting the table to voraciously take in the possibilities laid out for me. I shall raise a glass of a 2005 Sumac Ridge Cabernet/Merlot and with a tear toast the past with all of its memories of joys and sorrows, and drink to the year to come.

Now, if you will excuse me.... I am going to make myself a cup of tea, dust off my TV for the first of a few long anticipated season premieres.

Let it Ride....

Tonight, I hang up my paddle and PFD after a glorious season of dragon boating. We paddled up and down the river tonight, as normal, but it felt so final when we pulled the 6-16 (type of dragon boat we use) out of the water, portaged it up to the boathouse, and parallel parked it next to the other boats. I reminisced how we paddled through the then high and raging waters, then to the low and calm waters now. We paddled through clouds of mosquitoes and waves created by careless boaters. We paddled through rain, hail, and heat.

Memories of the teammates, beer, burgers, chants, belches, and so much more will stir me to smile. Not to forget the accomplishments of five regattas, three medals, and one ribbon! I am unsure whether I will be paddling with this team next year as I start to plan for the rest of my life, but there is no doubt that dragon boating will be part of those plans!

There IS one more practice on Thursday as there is one boat still in the river for winter training, but I will not be attending. I have other plans. Should I share? Or should I just leave you all hanging until Thursday night? I will give you a hint: It focuses on core strength which is a great cross training exercise for the off-season. Oh yes, and it requires some... rhythm.

I will miss my team, pub nights, and yes, I will continue to miss my cute hat. I still keep an eye out with the hopes that one day it will find its way back to me. Like a message in a bottle, it drifts with my heart to some far off land where it shall rest, and frolic with other cute hats. I digress...

FINISH! IT! NOW!......Let it ride.... Cheers!

Huli Happens - A lesson in leaning

The Fraser River might have been a little chilly and icky, but some conditions just don't stop us paddlers! Take this weekend, for instance: we had our final regatta in Kelowna and while Saturday was gorgeous, Sunday was treacherous with 2 foot swells-- and we paddled anyways. We accept that dragon boating, canoeing, kayaking, and doing dishes are all water sports.

The Fort Langley Canoe Club just bought an OC6 (an Outrigger Canoe that seats 6 paddlers), and we have all been excited about paddling Hawaiian style in the Bedford Channel. An OC6 is a much skinnier canoe with a beam on one side and consequently has a propensity to flip, or "huli". So in order to have permission to take this new toy out, we must attend a huli clinic.

The anatomy of an Outrigger Canoe:

Yesterday, we portaged the OC6 down a few blocks and launched it into the river. We stood in the rain while we learned the what's-its and who's-thats of the vessel and then we piled into the canoe and paddled out to the middle of the river to huli and recover. Brrr! We leaned to the right, grabbed the left gunwal, and over we went! Seat 1 collects the paddles, seats 2 and 5 straddle the bottom of the boat, seats 3 and 4 hang onto the ama while 2 and 5 flip their legs around and stand on the mukus. They reach over the gunwal and grab the iakos and as 3 & 4 give the ama a push, the weight redistributes, the ama flips around and hits the water with a loud THWACK, and Bob's your uncle. We climbed in, we bailed, and paddled like hell. Just to make sure we had the technique down, we rinsed and repeated 4 times. OK, it was a shivering good time! Exhilarating! Some of us couldn't get enough of it! In fact, I hope to catch the next clinic just so that I can do it again! I plan on having my personal photographer, Krista, there to document it.

To learn more about Outrigger Canoes and hulis visit Pogue Sports Canoe Club. There are pictures of the huli, and the canoe in the pictures is identical to the one that we flipped.

Happy Birthday, Dave.

I miss you.

"Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back..."

I just returned from the land of "Simpsons" skies and Saskatoon berry pies. Oh, how I love going back to my genealogical roots! One would think that a girl who was raised amongst traffic jams would feel so out of place on a rural farm with home made jams, but home is where the food is.

I was visiting my old college buddy Bonnie, and stayed with her, her fiance, and his family on their farm. With nine mouths to feed, I was impressed by how effortlessly everyone was fed until we all rolled home on Monday vowing to return to our diets. Meals went like this: The men shovelled manure outside, and the women congregated in the kitchen picking up various tasks to efficiently assemble the consumable goods. I was pleased that I had the opportunity to contribute by making a gravy for the Sunday night turkey supper. I loved being a part of this "tradition", and my heart was at peace with the fellowship and camaraderie in that kitchen.

Saturday was a wedding planning day, so Bonnie, her mom, and I drove around to four dress shops to discover that they were all closed the WHOLE weekend because Monday was a holiday! Our last stop was the only bridal store in Saskatoon making money that weekend, and Bonnie fell in love-- again. I had to choke back and conceal a tear that formed at my eye when I saw her in her dress. After meeting Pat at their engagement party, I can honestly say that she has chosen well on both counts.

The mineral spa in Watrous has "golden" waters. At least that is what they call it so that we don't feel so bad for spending $12.75 to brine in a murky, salty pool for a few hours. The salt in the water gives a weightless buoyancy and it is a challenge to try to sink. Of course, that would mean risking putting one's head in the water, and I was getting enough of a taste as it was. The minerals in the water are said to benefit the skin, nervous system, and lymphatic system. Primarily the skin. Which means that it gently exfoliates the skin. While relaxing in the water. What happens to the skin? You betcha. Like a filmy layer on top of gravy. I was reminded of this as I was fixing the gravy for that night's supper. I may have lost a lot of dead skin, but I may have gained it back proportionately. Here is a link to the website, and there are some pictures that make the water appear less than "golden": http://www.manitousprings.ca/. It DOES look "golden"... like Grey Poupon. Pardon me....

We stopped at a few of the fields to inspect the canola crops for worms. I got to taste a ripe pod of canola (tastes oily) and a green pod (tastes like greasy peas). I asked about the "yield" and apparently I sounded more like a city girl. So I asked if Pat used "genetically modified canola seed, that was genetically modified for controlling the weeds and for big old yields and margarine oil".... He did. There were wheat fields, flax fields, and barley fields all around and it was so beautiful. I considered how I would re-invent Settlers of Cataan. It would include Alpacas (of course) with whom I made acquaintance at Bonnie's mom's, and cows (from Pat and Bonnie's pasture). Oh, the cows. Holy cow, they like to poop. They were making me giggle and blush and look away because when one stopped pooping, another started. I never said that I was a farm girl, but I like that the Alpacas poop in one spot and they seem to have better control of their bodily functions.

As my plane rose above the fluffy clouds (Okay, I will be honest, it was raining on Monday...) I dreamt of one day day getting my acreage-- not necessarily a farm. I would raise Alpacas (of course), have my own sustainable vegetable garden, grow a big 'punkin patch, and farm Christmas trees. Okay, well farming Christmas trees is not much like farming cows and canola.
Hopefully I can return again before the wedding next year but for now, I will miss the golden fields, "golden" waters, and golden friendships in Saskatchewan.

Uh-Oh...

I just shattered a Corell plate at work. Aren't those supposed to be unbreakable?

It is an alarming trend.

I have put together a list of things that I need:

- A pocket-sized broom
- A plastic set of dishes
- Crazy glue (either for my hands as Hillary suggested, or to repair the less-shattered things)
- A lesson or two on (un)break dancing
- A Kit-Kat
- 15 mins
- A jar of vitamins
- A rubber room
- A sign from the back of a bus: "Thanks for the Brake"
- A roll of "Fragile" stickers
- A new jar of Chili sauce (actually, I think I am done with the chili sauce for a while)
- A "mocha swirl" martini glass from Pier 1 Imports
- A night light
- A puppy

To Be Adored

I lack nothing, but I miss much; when so much is lost, so much is given. I still marvel at how the tangible can be replaced with that which is impalpable: peace, joy, comfort, love, hope.

I had forgotten until this weekend who I was, who I am, and who I am created to be. I fell asleep last fall knowing where I was, who I was, and where I was going; I woke up and everything had changed. All that I had known and planned for was irrevocably altered. I think back to that moment, when a hand was on my forehead and my emptiness was filled with comfort.

I still grieve. I will continue to grieve as I go from strength to strength. I grieve the love we shared and the plans we had. Most recently, I grieve because I am not alone. The emotions flood back, but this time, I feel the sadness through the wisdom and joy that I have had added unto me over almost a year now. My sense of "normal" is fluid: it ebbs and flows, and I am faced with a "new normal" again.

As I have tried in my own strength to rebuild all that I had lost, I have (by the grace of God) come a long way. The lessons learned are invaluable and I cannot take credit for what God has done inspite of me. So far, I have made it through birthdays, holidays, an anniversary, travelling alone, living alone, legal battles (two more to go...), and more losses. The healing process is constant but not predictable. I have another anniversary coming up.... Please pray for myself and Dave's family especially this month and September.

Since Dave's death, I have known God as more than Friend, Father, and King; I have known Him to be a Husband. For where I was once so adored by Dave, I am now acutely aware of how He has moved in so softly and so completely to adore me in Dave's place for which only He could be worthy.

"I set my face as flint before you now,

My life I recommit here as I bow,

I love it when you gently kiss my brow,

And whisper, 'it's all right'."

Like You - Rita Springer

I remember now. I have stopped running. I am waiting. Listening. I am learning every day what it is like to be adored. May I prove myself to be worthy.

El vino / Wine by Pablo Neruda

Esta es mi copa, ¿ves

brillar la sangre

detrás del filo del cristal?

Esta es mi copa, brindo

por la unidad

del vino,

por la luz desgranada,

por mi destino y por otros

destinos,

por lo que tuve y por lo que no

tuve,

y por la espada de color de sangre

que canta con la copa transparente.

Pablo Neruda, "Las manos del día"

This is my glass, you see

the blood

shinning behind the sharp edges of

the crystal?

This is my glass, I toast

for the unity

of the wine, for the dispersed light,

for my destiny and for other

destinies,

for what I had and for what I didn't

have,

and for the red-colored sword

that sings together with the

transparent glass.
(Translation by Jorge W Suazo)

Like a Bull in a China Shop

The events of this past week and a half begs the allegation: if it ain't broke, Karen hasn't touched it yet. Let me explain: It all started with a brand new jar of Heinz chili sauce; not even out of the grocery bag (thank goodness!). I guess I had set the bag down with a little less care than I should.

It may have been a day or two later when I opened my microwave door and a glass vitamin bottle that was perched atop somewhat precariously tumbled and shattered on the floor. Glass and vitamins everywhere.

I can't exactly be sure of the time that had passed until I was washing my dishes. I mean this to be from the time the last vitreous object fell victim to my blunderous hands; not necassarily the last time that the dishes were washed. One of my drinking glasses broke-- in my hands. In case you are concerned, my hands were just fine.

Lastly, (and I hope it is the last for while) I came home late Friday night and as I fumbled for the light switch, another explosion of glass fell at my feet. Sleepily, I may have said a word or two about one of my favourite martini glasses and then left it for morning.

With all of the glass that has been befallen my floor, it is no wonder that although I have swept and vacuumed (several times over), I am still getting little cuts on my feet when I don't wear my slippers!

Cute Hat

Cute Hat (May 11,2007 - July 16, 2007)

On July 16 during a race pace at a dragon boating practice,

Cute Hat met its untimely end into the trenchant waters of the

Fraser River. In its short time as Karen's possession, it travelled to Maui,

Stave Lake, Diez Vistas, Kent, WA., and kept Karen's hair out of her face

at numerous dragon boating practices, her first regatta, and convertibles.

It will be sadly missed by Karen and everyone else who

thought that it lived up to its name perched atop Karen's head.

Khaki and pink in colour, it will be succeeded but never

fully replaced.

You Know What They Say About Good Intentions...

So I was reading my book tonight. One of them. I have several on the go at the moment. It's called "Why I Hate Canadians" by Will Ferguson which is a tongue and cheek look at one devoutly patriotic man's disillusionment of our beloved country's reputation. He likens the title to naming the book "Why I Hate Bambi's Mother". Don't get me wrong, here. I love our country and I am sure that Bambi's mother was a good and kind doe. Anyways. I read this little paragraph and laughed out loud. Without further ado:

"....And we are brimming with potential energy....Potential energy exists in springs compressed, in rocks poised at the edge of a cliff, and even in someone slouched in front of a television set who intends to get up and do something. They all contain potential energy. Whether anything comes from it is another thing entirely.
"Being described as having "potential" is the booby prize of compliments. It's like being told you're a lousy poet but you have good penmanship. It doesn't stir the blood. Dreams deferred to a later date never do.
"What an impotent battle cry: Rah Rah Canada! We could probably do a lot more if we really tried!
"....At times it seems Canada has the potential energy not of a spring, nor a body at rest, but of a boulder at the edge of a cliff. And the best we can hope for is that the ledge doesn't crumble too quickly."

*chuckle here*

The book only gets better. If you like wit and want to hear a different perspective on being Canadian, then I would recommend it. There are also many other good books that I have half read that I could recommend. I even finished one that was so good that I couldn't set it down. I was also confined to an armchair for two months, so it was much easier to sit still long enough to finish it. What else was I going to do? Crochet? That was around the same time that I tried to teach myself to crochet. Again. I made my sister a "scarf" for Christmas. I gave it to her in a gift bag and said, "OK, now give it back. It's not done yet." To which she replies, "So, this is the gift that I will never see again?" I think it is tucked away in my closet. In that same gift bag.

This brings me to the two big flat boxes lying on my living room floor. (How does she DO it?! From a book on "hating" Canadians to boxes on the floor?!) A couple of weeks ago, I spent a Friday night doing what most 'normal' single people do. I went for wine and dinner at Ikea with a friend. I was on a mission for some storage solutions for my little home. Wouldn't you know it? The 'As-Is' section came through for me again! The headboard which I have been ogling was 57% off! We wrestled and wrangled the awkward boxes into the back of his brand-spanking-new Mazda Speed-- and I could just see the sweat forming on his brow as he considered how we were going to tie the hatch closed!

We brought them to my place, cleared a spot on my living room floor, and laid them to rest. They are very flat and very heavy. I intend to take a whole day sometime 'soon' to assemble this brilliant solution for my bedroom, but it must be the WHOLE. DAY. Otherwise, I fear that I will have a semi-assembled headboard in my living room, and that would not be as easy to walk around as it is to simply walk on and over the boxes.

I wonder if I can attribute my squirrel-like attention span to an adult-like ADD? Maybe I watched too much TV as a kid. Maybe I have some potential energy like a wound up Jack Russell that needs to be released from its kennel after hours of watching other dogs running and playing in a large park near a sausage factory. I digress, and conclude....

.....They stay in the box.

Karen's Book List:

Red, White, and Drunk All Over by Natalie McLean (Finished)
Bacchus and Me by Jay McInnerney (2nd chapter)
Blue Like Jazz (Intro)
Night by Elie Wiesel (Finished)
Why I Hate Canadians (2nd or 3rd chapter)

A Tale of Two Regattas

Just me, and my paaaa-ddle,

Strolling down the avenue;

Just me, and my paaa-ddle,

Not a soul to tell our troubles to-oo;

And when it's 12 o'clock, we climb the stair,

We never knock, 'cuz nobody's there...

Just me, and my paaaa-dle,

All alone and feeling blue!

I just got my first paddle and had it cut to suit my proportionately short arms. Just in time for the Kent regatta. Oh, it is beautiful. Sleek, smooth, short, and sexy. I almost slept with it that night, but I forgot it in my car. Side note: I don't usually leave my objects of affection in the car.

My first regatta (July 14) was a thrilling experience-- all 12 minutes of paddling! My day started at 4 am and we drove for two hours and thirty five minutes down to Kent, Washington. This is noteable as the mapquest instructions said that it would take us a whopping two hours and thirty EIGHT minutes. We made good time. Our first heat (race, that is) was at 9:10 and we came in second. The second was considerably later and we came in 2nd, again. The third (and consequently, our final) heat finished very close. Although it appeared that we came in 2nd, we actually came in 4th. We paddled hard, and we were all heart.

If you have ever been to a regatta, you would know that there is a lot of waiting and standing around for a 3 minute race but the day was gorgeous and hot and we were all in good spirits. Someone brought some water guns and we had a great time soaking each other.

In a stark contrast to that first regatta, this past saturday was my second regatta at Harrison. This was a day of confusion. The weather was about as confounding as the organization of this event. The day started off drizzley, and by the time we arrived, the sun started peaking through the clouds. By our first race, the sun shone gloriously and we were basking in the warmth and excitement of the day. However, this is when things started to get unzipped. Our first race finished, we were panting, sweating, patting each other on the backs, and thirsting for our water back at the tent. We were met at the dock by an official who announced that the race would have to be redone. The timer malfunctioned, or just didn't function at all. Reluctantly, we gave it our best a second time in less than 20 minutes. We are thankful that during our practices Cheryl inflicts on us two race pieces in 10 minutes. Time: 2 mins and 34 seconds. Place: 3

The second race resulted in our best time. Time: 2 mins and 25 seconds. Place: 2 Now, I should mention that coming in second was 3/10ths of a second away from coming in first! By the third race we were getting frustrated by all of the waiting. This waiting was exceptional. We were already 2 hours behind schedule now. Another race was redone for the same reason as ours and grumblings were heard over some race times that were clearly errant. So we paddle out to the starting line. We hold hard. The wind picks up and moves each boat into the wrong lane. We realign. The wind starts to move us again. After realigning the second time, the horn is blown and we pretty much have to do a running start. Half way through the race, the horn is blown again. We stop. We have to start again. A drum fell off of one of the boats. Time: 2 minutes and 45 seconds. Place: 4.

The sun disappeared and it started to rain. It rained HARD. We waited and waited for our 4th and final race. We were told that we were placed in the top of the "C" division and we would be competing for a consolidation ribbon. We stood in Marshalling in the rain for a total of two hours. In those two hours, we were told that we were bumped up to the "B" division and would be completing for a medal. And then we were told that we were in fact going to stay in the "C" division race. Our last race finally arrived and we paddled hard in the torrential rain. (Good thing I had that Stave Lake experience to which I could compare this, and it really wasn't THAT bad) Time: TBA Place: 2!

http://www.dragonboatwest.net/ will definately have something to say about this-- and it has!

Momma told me there'd be days like these...

Subtitle: Ramblings and cryptic disclosures

Back in college, my favourite teacher was Mr. Heaney. Not because he made me feel good about myself, but because he didn't. In fact, I think we all left his classroom with our heads hung in shame over our fallen nature. One of the more poignant lessons was about "blocked lousy goals". Let me explain: With every situation, we have an expectation of how it should turn out. Since so often, our scripted outcome fails to make the final cut, we get angry, sad, and pass out blame. The goal we had was blocked. We didn't get what we wanted. Who knew Mick Jagger was that insightful? So, if our goal was to satisfy our desires and if that goal was intended to give us "life", then our goal was lousy. Blocked. Lousy. Goal.

This brings me to a conversation I had today about expectations. It was pointed out that we need to learn how to manage our expectations. Manage? What about killing them? They are lousy and no good and seldom does anything positive come out of them. Expectations, as I was taught, put a responsibility on things and people beyond our control to bring us our idea of happiness. I have thought about this, and I have not yet come up with any concrete way to manage them. What a pointless blog, so far. I hope you weren't expecting something good.

I will say this: I am glad that today I can pound the water as we practice our race pace. I am also glad that needlepoint isn't a full contact sport. When the concrete starts to set, hopefully some good habits and coping skills are embedded in the mix. I shouldn't even try to compare losses when one isn't personal, it is final, and has left me with joy. The other wasn't, isn't, and hasn't. Oh yes, and voo-doo dolls as gestalt therapy might not be such a bad idea.

Bailing and Flailing in Fort Langley

Probably the saddest thing you'll ever see is a mosquito sucking on a mummy. Forget it, little friend.
-Jack Handy

People who claim they don't let little things bother them have never slept in a room with a mosquito.
-Anonymous

The flood has been averted and the time of rejoicing has passed. Was it only a month ago when I went down to the swelling river at lunch and stood somberly with concerned and nail biting town folk? We stared at the path that was no longer fit for walking and stood in silence. Even though no one was speaking, it seemed eerily quieter still with the water so near our feet. A block away from the river the stores, post office, and sidewalks were buzzing with speculation over, "how high do you think the water will actually get?", "are you prepared?", and "I heard that we will be evacuated in less than a week!".

The current was strong. It wasn't "safe" to leave the dragon boats in the water, so we portaged the voyageur canoes to and from the boat house twice a week. But we still paddled. I managed to get some of my finer belongings over to my storage locker, and every day I stared out my window at the green field and imagined it submersed in murky, silty, water.

I took pictures of the river on the day it reached its highest level. Since then, it has been slowly receding leaving a patterned baldness where the banks fell victim to erosion and a dirty trail of silt marking the water level which once made us tremble. How soon we forget when another nuisance comes along.

Vancouver might be resting under a cloud of smog during this (dare I say) heatwave, but here in Fort Langley we have a cloud of mosquitoes much like T.S. Eliot's "...yellow [black] fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes...Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains...Curled once about the house, and fell asleep." But I don't believe they DO sleep. I have been sleeping with one eye open and my hand on the fly swatter lately. In fact, there is nothing romantic about this. Checking each other for ticks is likely more fanciful than slapping each other because "you had a mosquito there."

Today at the grocery store, post office, and on the side walk the talk was a-buzz about the bloody-thirsty pests that have invaded our sleepy town: "How about these mosquitoes!", "I heard that it is only going to get worse as the water recedes", "Did you know that vitamin B1 and apple cider vinegar will keep them from biting you?", and "Sorry. Mosquito".

Being the object of one's desire is the finest flattery, and with this warm summer weather some of us are searching for a hot summer romance to sweep us off of our feet. However, being followed by this particular entourage who are trying to get into my pants and suck on my neck was not what I had in mind.

For now, I wonder what will soon (I am really hoping it will be soon) replace this nuisance so that it too is also forgotten?

Paddles Up!

Last summer, I did bootcamp. Five mornings a week for two months. Wait. Saying "mornings" puts it too mildly. I was up at 5am to be in Mission for 6 am. Rain or shine. After an hour of beating our chunky, lethargic, bodies into submission, I typically went for a 2 - 6 km walk. By September, I started running-- shocking, I know. Running was never optional for me. Run to the bus. Run away from the scary man with the knife. Run in my nylons. But for the first time in my life, I ENJOYED it. I had the pumping tunes on my ipod, new running shoes, bladder backpack... I was rolling. Running. Pounding that pavement. I lost about 15 inches during that season, and I felt and looked great! We all know the rest of the story.... Now, I DID lose about 10 lbs in the hospital, but I won't endorse that diet. Regardless, I had to find a new outlet for activity.

My physiotherapist was all about how biking would be great for me, and to that, I snort. How boring. I don't care much for biking. Besides, I need to expand my social horizon. The Orchid Society of Fort Langley sounded interesting, but I needed to sweat. My once svelte body was suffering from the lack of athletic beatings. I needed to challenge myself-- and quick! So my dear friend, Krista (who gets the credit for the photo above) suggested that I join dragon boating. Kudos to Krista! I am once again challenged but now in a non-impact, not-as-early, kind of way.

Twice a week, I congregate with my fellow teamates and we move some murky Fraser River water. We usually wear a lot of it by the time we head to the pub for burgers and brew after practice. On our last stretch, we collectively salivate and chant: ICE! COLD! BEER! Then we change out of our soggy clothes and drag our smelly waterlogged arses to the where the beers and meat pattys are.

Endurance has been the biggest challenge for me and when we do this brutal anaerobic excersise set, I have typically pulled my paddle out a few times near the end out of shear exhaustion. 20 reps at 100% strength, 20 at 75%, 20 at 50%, rinse, and repeat eight times. SO... last practice I did two of these endurance sets (one on each side of the boat) without pulling my paddle out even once. My coach congratulated me on my achievement-- I threw up over the side of the boat.

Chez Fehr

Table for three here Chez Fehr, as I visit my dear old friends Jim and Chrissy Fehr. They were married two months ago, and I experienced being an honoured bridesmaid for the first time.
Now as life settles for them, I get to visit as they whip up something that smells amazing in the kitchen. I am reminded of the many times that Dave and I would have Jim over for dinner and a game of Settlers, and of the crafty time that I brought Chrissy over to sample the brownies that Dave and Jim were burning. We have discussed how my old world and new world have yet to collide and perhaps that will come about in the near future. In the meantime, I am treasuring the moments that I share with my dear old friends, and I am enjoying also the memories that I will make with my new ones. At Chrissy's request, this has been composed in their humble and cozy love shack.

Have a heart?

I have always said that I would want to my organs to be donated if I passed away. Dave had even said the same. It just occured to me that my good intentions won't pave the way on their own. I can't say that I am prepared. So I am registering to be an organ donor, and I encourage everyone else to do it. Piece of cake. No sweat. 1, 2, 3. We fill out a form, and leave the rest to the professionals. So when you are done with them, pass them on to someone who isn't. SO DO IT. Have a heart. And a liver. And a lung or two. And don't even get me started on how you should be looking after those organs! Seriously. Be responsible for what you leave behind. For now, just make sure you are leaving something behind.

https://www.transplant.bc.ca/onlinereg/bcts.asp

A Little Whine Snobbery

I can't help but impart you with some great wine writing by my favourite oenophile and writer, Natalie McLean. This is a great article about wine snobbery that will make some of you laugh out loud. Her wit is unmatched. I am linking her website, simply because I fear the copyright powers that be. I will also pass on a strong recommendation to receive her newsletter. I get it, and it is infrequent enough that I don't feel inundated and I wait with bated breath to learn such new things as botrytis cineria, carbonic maceration, and how global warming has and will impact the vineyards and wine producers. It may not interest some, but it never hurts to attend a social function armed with some vinous fodder to impress.

http://www.nataliemaclean.com/articles/snobbery.asp

I would add my own personal note on wine snobbery, but I believe that Nat has already said it best. My encouragement is to simply venture out from the colour of wine, and the region in which you are most familiar, and explore wines that you wrote off. You may miss out on some liquid gold and an opportunity to learn about the nuances and history of a region.

Cheers to expanding your palate!

High school reunion or museum/zoo exhibition?

Marcella: You know, when you start 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.

[Talking to his psychiatrist about going to his high school reunion] Marty: They all have husbands and wives and children and houses and dogs, and, you know, they've all made themselves a part of something and they can talk about what they do. What am I gonna say? "I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How've you been?"

(From Grosse Pointe Blank)

The reunion just crept up on me. I hated high school. I was a nerd. I had no intentions of going. Why would I want to relive the experience? I didn't stay in touch with anyone, nor do I remember them fondly. But, at the last minute, I decided to go. What the heck. I didn't have any other plans for Saturday night. I figured that I could pay the $40 and consider it as admission to a zoo or museum exhibit. A study on a cross section of people my age-- static or dynamic? Maybe I could get a sense of how refined I have become in comparison-- or not.

When I arrived, the hostess informed me that I might be the first one there. Not cool. I was just about to go walk around the block a few times when she returned with the news that there were 5 other awkward people standing around. At least we could be awkward together.
As others arrived, I felt like I was on display as much as they were on display. We sized each other up and down and squinted to find recognizable features. I was thinking that it might be an early night, if this what it would be like. The ice was broken when one guy whom I remember from elementary school walked in and started hugging us. We were all new at this at unsure of the proper reunion etiquette.

It was amazing how "down we forgot as up we grew". I feared the presuppositions based on who we were 10 years ago. I feared that after 10 years, all of my adolescent insecurities would come rushing back. But it wasn't so. If one held the belief that I hadn't changed, that would establish their own inability to change. I believe that I have become an emancipated nerd. Freed from the bondage of pubescent social oppression and metamorphosed into a social butterfly in my own right. I saw, through the thickening jowls and waists to the thinning hair and waists, a community in which we share our birth year and, for some, 5 years of our lives. At least we came together with a common ground to stand on, considering how we have moved on to such a variety of walks of life. And we all knew how to party like it was 1997.

I was most shocked to catch up with some classmates whom I hadn't seen since elementary school. Since I was only at this high school for 2 years, somehow I hadn't run into them during that epoch. I learned that a school yard bully had become an RCMP. I learned that although they grew out of their sweatpants, they would still chase the girls around the playground if given a chance. I learned (albeit, from an inebriated classmate) that I am hot. I learned that I did, in fact, have an old high school flame. Even though it is partly true that I didn't date anyone with whom I went to school. We hooked up on grad night, you see. He got his absolution for showing up on my front lawn drunk after we broke up.

At 1 am, we were kicked out of the restaurant, and the amnesty came to a close as we all formed cliques and went our separate ways to after-parties and clubs. In another 10 years, I wonder what will have transpired? I was the only widow this time around, but sadly, in another 10 years there will likely be another. There may be some more missing faces, and there may be some new ones that couldn't make it this time around. There will be wallets of more pictures, there will be more accomplished professionals, and probably some who haven't done much.

I went expecting nothing more than a study of observation. I left realising that I have become something. It is something intangible and gradual, but I have grown more into me. I can't say that the insecurities have completely dissolved, but they have evolved. As I overcome each one, I find that I am more of the hot person yet to be than the nerd that was.

Cheers to another ten years!

I Karened this blog

Blog. I just looked it up on dictionary.com, because I was curious about how many of these post-modern terms are recognised by the literary powers that be. Of course a web-based dictionary would have a suitable definition.

Blog (blŏg) Pronunciation Key n. A weblog. intr.v. blogged, blog·ging, blogs To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog. [(we)blog.] blog·ger n.
1998, short for weblog (which is attested from 1994, though not in the sense 'online journal'), from (World Wide) Web + log. Joe Bloggs (c.1969) was British slang for "any hypothetical person" (cf. U.S. equivalent Joe Blow).

Even "Google" has a definition after infiltrating our common language with web-based terminology. It is a new day when proper names and nouns become abnormal verbs. An Ab-verb, if you will.

Goo·gle (gōō'gəl) Pronunciation Key A trademark used for an Internet search engine. This trademark often occurs in print as a verb, sometimes in lowercase: "A high school English teacher ... recently Googled a phrase in one student's paper and found it had been taken from a sample essay of an online editing service" (Chris Berdik).

Blog you! Kiss my blog! Yo momma is a blog. Could you pass the blog? This needs some more blog. You could use a really good blogging. My blog is broken. I like big blogs, and I cannot lie....

I am really impressed with this new uber-social tool. On a blog, people who SHOULD write are finally published, and people who SHOULDN'T can keep their day jobs. On a blog, peoples' creativity is released (some to the dogs, some to the grand masses) and one writes with the purest desire to share their thoughts out of their own free will (No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers...). On a blog, modesty, humility, and privacy is shed. I love this blog concept. At first, I saw it as a burden to find things of interest to write about, now, I lie awake thinking about all the things that I wish to impart to all you grasshoppers!

Now that I have joined the ranks of bloggers (look at that usage of a proper noun!), I am officially inducted into the world of web-expression. This new outlet of mine will house the thoughts that once were wasted on only a select few and now broadcast them to the WORLD! Muah-hahahahahaha. And THAT is what we are doing tonight, Pinky.