Weaving Threads

The book that we talked about over the weekend was Dropped Threads, Marjorie Anderson and Carol Shields' book on what women aren't told.

The book was a good enough read, though there were no true insights for me. My own lack of enthusiasm for the book had to do with the stories all being told from the perspective of white, middle-class, middle-aged to older women. While what they said about what they wished they had known as young women was interesting, most of the voices were the same, and in 2006, we've heard those voices before.

But the book did spark conversation for the four of us gathered at the cottage as we each revealed what we wished we were told as we grew into young women. Over the weekend, the four of us weaved our own threads by sharing a bit more of ourselves.

The most revealing of all to me was not what each of us said, but how each of us felt about the absence of a friend. This is our book club member who did not come with us this weekend. Her husband passed away suddenly five months ago. We wondered if she would leave her teenage children for the weekend and be alone with four women. Not surprisingly, she bowed out.

At various points over the weekend, each of us acknowledged we would have opted out too if we had been her and wondered aloud how our friend was doing this weekend. One of the women came up with the idea of making a wreath with Fall foliage. But when huge wet flakes of snow started to fall from the sky, we realized everything outside was wet and we would be giving our friend a bunch of wet, soggy leaves and twigs. And besides, we conceded, a wreath is too reminescent of death. So we moved on to the idea of making a door swag, like a bow, and decorating it with tiny figures of mermaids, a motif from our friend's favourite book.

We went into town to buy the supplies. When we got back to the cottage, we were exhausted from the town excursion and our hike. No one felt like doing a craft. We ate and drank instead. The next morning, we realized we had to make the swag, clean up, fit in another walk, go shopping at the specialty stores, then drive three hours home. We abandoned the swag altogether.

On the way home, we went to a country store that sold special jams and sauces. We bought a selection of condiments for our friend to share with her children. We put them in a basket, stood back and nodded. This was a much more appropriate gift to let our friend know we were thinking of her. It was not contrived - we happened to be in the store so picked up a few things for her too. It was something she could share with her family. It was the kind of treat we know she would like. The basket of goodies looked prettier than anything we could have made ourselves.

And so the weekend was not only a discussion of the individual experiences that women have, it was also a shared experience in expressing concern for our friend in a subtle and natural way that would not embarrass her. Despite our initial impractical grand scheme, we ended up doing the right thing.

Women Away

In the crisp Fall air of Haliburton and away from my home routine, I slept most of the weekend. I guess I was suffering from Luxor withdrawal and because I was exhausted from days and days of no sleep.

The women of my bookclub are well-read, independent women, grounded in their families and community. And they can be so girly girl the way they do everything together. They make me laugh, long for that feeling of camaraderie, belongingness and self-acceptance, and grateful that I have friends who accept me as I am in all my crankiness.

Saturday morning, the women were up by 8 am. I heard them talking and laughing. I thought, What the heck are they up so early at the cottage for? They made coffee, cleaned up, moved things around. At 9:30, I stumbled out of my bedroom and sat on the sofa, still half comatose. They offered:

-Coffee, Sylph?
-How about some tea?
-Want some juice instead?

They were all washed and dressed. There was a flurry of activity as they took things out to make breakfast.

I said -Can you all just stop moving for a sec?

They laughed me off and said -You'll feel more energetic after some coffee.

I said -No. There is too much activity too early in the morning.

They made breakfast and set the table as I sat there trying to wake up with my coffee. We gathered at the table to breakfast. The First woman said -Is there jam or something to put on the toast?

The Second one said -Oh I'll get up. She got up to go to the fridge.

The Third said -And I brought some marmalade. She got up to get it from her box.

First said -Don't get up, let me get them. She got up to receive the jams and marmalade from the other two.

I said -Is everything a group activity with you guys?

They laughed and said -Oh stop being so cranky.

Later, we got dressed for a hike. A true group activity this time. The First woman said -Hey where are my hat and gloves. I left them on this chair yesterday.

The Second said -I put them on your bed last night.

First said -Where?

The Third said -You must've left them on my bed. I found gloves and a hat on my bed when I went to bed last night.

Second -What did you do with them?

First -Was it a knit hat with black leather gloves?

Third -I put them on that chair. She pointed at the chair beside First's chair.

Second -I've got lots of hats and gloves if anyone wants to wear them.

Third -Here they are. Are these yours?

Second -Do you have gloves? Do you want a hat?

I said -My god, does it matter? Can you stop prattling? We are just going out for 10 minutes.

They said -Well, someone is in a bad mood this morning.

The next morning, when I got up, the women were again showered and dressed. The First said -Gee, I don't know if I want to go for a walk before or after breakfast.

Second -I really need to go for a walk.

First -Where should we walk?

Third -We shouldn't go too far because we are all going for a long walk before we leave today.

First -Do you want to go now or after breakfast.

Second -I want to go now.

Third -I don't care. I'll go whenever you go.

First -Let's go now.

Second -Where do you want to walk?

I said -Can you just go and not keep talking about going?

First -Actually, I don't want to go yet. My hair is still wet. I don't want to catch a cold.

Second -True. Let's go after breakfast.

Third -Let's make breakfast. What do you want to make?

I said -Okay, I am going back to bed now.

And so the whole weekend was like that. Every activity was discussed over and over and the details rehashed before anyone did anything. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep or read.

Once, I complained that it was too cold in the cabin. Then I got up and went to the washroom. When I came back, one woman had fluffed up several pillows and stacked them in my corner of the couch. She held a blanket, ready for my return. She said -Sit down, I'll make you warm.

I said -No no, I don't want to sit there with a blanket over me like a little old lady.

She threw the blanket over me and pretended to throttle me.

I had to laugh. I said -Look how you are being so thoughtful and generous even when I am so rude and ungrateful.

I love these women. I like how their lives merge without reservation. I like how they include me in their activities and still let me be. In fact, I think most of my friends are like that. Maybe that's why they are my friends. Somehow, they feed my soul.

My Secret Life

I now know what it feels like to have an addiction. It controls my day and disrupts my night, yet on the surface, I can seem so normal.

For the last few weeks, this is what I've been doing. I make everyone get ready for bed about 10:30 pm. We are usually late nighters. The Man and The Boy think I'm introducing a healthier regime by getting everyone to bed earlier. By midnight, all lights are out and the boys are asleep. That's when I come to life.

I get up around 12:30 am and I play Luxor. I play till about 2:30 am, sometimes till as late as 4:00 am. Last night, I beat the game. Once you beat the game, you get a bonus stage. I am at the last level of the bonus stage.

I can't wait till I beat the bonus stage and return to normal life.

What this sneaking up in the middle of the night has done is make me very tired all day. I need a snooze mid-morning and late afternoon. That means, at night, I am wide awake. I need to reset my body clock. But god, it's hard. On the one hand, I want to resume life before Luxor, on the other hand, I am looking for a new addiction.

This morning, I got up early and helped The Man practise his interviewing techniques. Then I helped haul two tables to Candidate's office. Now I need to do some shopping as I will be in Haliburton with my book club for the weekend. I have not read my book because I've been too busy with Luxor. Guilt and exhaustion for momentary pleasure. Knowing that The Boy had beaten the game twice effortlessly won't let me admit defeat. The frustration I feel when I lose just strengthens my tenacity. I bet that's the gambling gene at work.

That's what an addiction is.

Thugged

I go through bouts of being so anti-social and downright hostile. Or maybe I'm just not having a good day with the city.

Today, two men knocked on our door. They were burly looking. I say they were thugs. They wore city uniforms but drove an unmarked car. They simply double-parked, knocked on our door and demanded that I pay them $239. That's for not paying for our front-pad parking for the last two years.

They said, "You owe this amount. Now what are you going to do about it?"

I said, "Nothing. Since when does the city send people out to collect at the door? Why are we the only borough paying for parking on our own front lawn when the rest of the City of Toronto doesn't?"

I was about to demand to see their ID and phone the city to see if they really send out officers to collect for parking permits. Then The Man stepped in with his own complaint about the neighbours across the street who keep parking anywhere they want using a handicapped sticker. This is the same family that parks a tow truck in front of our drive so we can't get out and gets away with it because they stick the handicapped sticker on the tow truck. How many handicapped people operate a tow truck?

The Man aired his complaint. The thugs said, "We can't do nothin' about that." The Man gave them a cheque. The thugs got back into their car. I called out to The Man and the thugs, "Did you at least check their ID?" But the thugs drove away.

On principle, I have refused to pay to park on our own front pad. At least the cheque was made payable to Treasurer, City of Toronto.

Then I went to Candidate's office to help out. A friend and I mounted a sign to identify her office. It was good to be doing something useful and I felt less hostile to the world after.

Arrogant City

The garbage trucks came and went. The city's tree cutting trucks rolled in onto the street. They did not stop at our house. The tree in front of our house has dangling branches touching the car. There are dead branches in the tree that have been falling down.

The city's tree cutters told me I had to phone the city to call them in. Just because they're already on the street, doesn't mean they automatically go around to all the houses and trim their trees. So I phoned the city's forestry department. Who knew the city had a forestry department? The woman told me an inspector will come by and assess the tree to determine if it needs pruning. It'll take 12 weeks before he shows up. Then, any trimming needed will take place after that.

This is mid-October. That means the inspector won't even look at the tree till mid-January. Any trimming will likely take place in the Spring. That means over the winter, when the dead branches are laden with snow, they could fall on innocent passersby or smash on top of our car.

If I go and trim the tree myself, I could be fined for damaging city property. This is such a no-win situation. I note that today, October 12, I phoned the city about our tree, just in case I need to sue the city later.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Story

It's not that I meant to lie. It's more that I got my myths mixed up. That's what happens when you rely on the memory of an 8-year-old, even if that 8-year-old was me.

Like most Chinese myths, many variations of the Mid-Autumn story exist. My version is about how the foolish search for immortality was foiled by a woman, turned Chinese Thanksgiving in celebration of the harvest moon. Or, can't live forever? Then work by moonlight to reap the harvest and make living comfortable. There, that's more like it -- the Mid-Autumn Festival is a celebration of the Fall harvest.

Careful though, this story too is mostly culled from my 8-year-old memory.

A long time ago lived the Archer. He was so artful with the bow and arrow that he had no rival, neither on earth nor in heaven. He was married to the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen. But he was also a vain and boastful man. He was so proud of his skill and renown that he wanted to live forever so he would always and forever be the best archer the world knows.

One year, ten suns appeared mysteriously around the earth, circling it nonstop. The land became hot and scorched, and people had a difficult time growing food. Earth and heaven dried up and people were dying. Finally, the gods asked the Archer to shoot down the suns. The Archer said, "I will shoot down the suns if you can make me an immortal."

The king of heaven agreed.

The Archer took his bow and nine specially-prepared arrows that will withstand the heat of the sun and stood in the middle of a field. One by one, he shot down nine suns. Everyone was relieved and overjoyed.

The king of heaven gave the Archer a small bottle containing the elixir of life. But the king said, "You must wait one year before taking the potion. You must spend this time cleansing your soul and preparing yourself spiritually for immortality. If you are not clean when you drink the potion, you will not ascend all the way to heaven to become an immortal."

The Archer took the potion home and hid it from his wife. Then he went about purifying his spirit.

The wife, who knew about the potion, wanted it for herself. She wanted to stay young and beautiful forever. So she looked for the potion everywhere in the house every chance she had.

One day, the wife found the potion. She opened the bottle and drank the potion. Just at that moment, the Archer came home and saw his wife finishing her drink. Immediately, she started to float up to the sky. By the time the Archer found his bow and arrow, she had already flown up to the moon.

There was only one moon in the sky so the Archer did not want to shoot it down, otherwise there would be nothing to balance the sun, and he could not disrupt the harmony of nature.

The wife stayed on the moon and was joined by a jade rabbit.

So while in the West, people look at the moon and think the man in the moon, in the East, people look at the moon and think the lady on the moon, and her jade rabbit.

Yup. That's the crazy story. I mean, where did the jade rabbit come from? What was it doing on the moon?

And the story of the lovers that I told? Not a lie at all. I assigned the story to the wrong ocassion. That's the Chinese Valentine story. The day is celebrated on the 7th day of the seventh month on the lunar calendar. Double Seven in mid-summer, usually early or mid-August on the Western calendar. And is mid-August not a romantic time of year?

Mythologizing

On Friday night, we had the first of our Thanksgiving dinners at the house. The day coincided with the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival - the 15th day of the eighth month on the lunar calendar.

Mid-Autumn is a major festival for the Chinese, almost as celebrated as New Year. Families and friends worship the moon, they visit each other and exchange moon cakes, kids walk around with lanterns to replicate the lumination of the moon. But in our family, this is not a festival we have observed. I am not sure why. But I can almost hear my mother say, It's too much bother.

Someone at the table asked, What is the Mid-Autumn Festival in celebration of? No one really seemed to know. But recalling the movies I've seen and stories I've read as a child, I have an association of lanterns, the moon, the milky way, and reunited lovers. This is drawn from my memory as an 8-year-old. I verified a few details with mom, then I told this story to my family, gathered at my table.

Once, there was a cowherd who was taking his cow home at night. He passed by a lake and happened to spy a group of fairy goddesses bathing in the lake. He was in a playful mood, so he stole a set of clothes hanging on the tree nearest him.

When the goddesses finished bathing, they got dressed and flew back up to the sky. Except for one. She couldn't find her clothes. The cowherd came out and returned her clothes. They chatted and fell in love. She decided to stay on earth with the cowherd.

A few years go by, she bore a son. Meanwhile, the Sky King noticed that his daughter was missing. He sent his staff to find her. They report that she's living on earth with a cowherd and had become a mother.

The Sky King was furious. He wanted his daughter back. And besides, goddeses and mortals don't mix. So he went to the cowherd's house and made the goddess go home with him. The goddess and cowherd wept at the parting.

Out of compassion for his daughter and her family, the Sky King allowed them to meet once a year, on the 15th day of the eighth month, when the moon is at its brightest. The harvest moon would guide the lovers to each other. He then cast stars into the sky and built the Milky Way, a bridge that connects earth and heaven. The lovers meet on this bridge once a year.

So the Chinese celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival to mark the finding and reunion of lovers. Girls walk around with a lantern on that night so her true love can find her.

That's the story I told. And evidently, I am a true storyteller. Because that story is a complete lie. Even as I was telling it, something about it didn't seem right. It was too neatly wrapped, too romantic. The Chinese are a practical people with a clumsy oral tradition. Mid-Autumn is almost as big an event as New Year. A public dedication to love and romance? An impractical cultural mindset possible only in a weird screwiness of convenience.

I researched the Mid-Autumn Festival this morning and found a totally different story. A whole new set of memories came flooding back. I confess, the new story I discovered is probably more about the Mid-Autumn Festival than the story I told, because it's about the sun. The moon only featured as an afterthought. Go figure. Only the Chinese would make a big festival of the moon when the story is about the sun.

So what's the real story of the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival? And what's with the story I told in its stead. That'll be tomorrow's post.

Prerequisite: Experienced Shopper

The Boy's been home sick for two days and was feeling better today. I took him grocery shopping with me for a change of scenery.

Even sick, he's impatient with the shopping process. "I'll get some of the items on your list," he told me and proceeded to get the items he's familiar with. Some were easy - eggs, juice, broccoli.

Then he said, "What's this? M-A-R..."

"Marjoram."

"Does it have to be French?"

"Fresh. Fresh marjoram. You okay with the other items?"

"Mmm... yeah, yeah."

Later, he came back with some items, as well as things for his own consumption not on my list, like chips, sunflower seeds, and boxed drinks.

"What do you plan to do with this?" I asked, pointing to the can of red kidney beans.

"That's yours. It's on your list."

"Where?"

"White beans."

"These aren't white beans."

"They're red. They didn't have white so I got red. It's just a different colour."

"But red kidney beans are a different kind of beans from white beans. White beans are actually a kind of bean."

"Oh."

"When did you start eating margarine?"

"You wanted that."

"Marjoram."

"Yes, so that's margarine."

"Marjoram. Marjoram is a herb."

"Humn."

"Are these chocolate bars for you?"

"No, they're yours. See, chocolate."

"Right. I should have told you they are in the baking section. I wanted semi-sweet Bakers Chocolate."

But good on The Boy for getting me items close to what I wanted.

Small World, Big Family

My real estate friend sent a note to say the house next door had been sold. A few days later, we saw two women walking around the house. We exchanged hello's. One thing led to another, The Man invited them in to see our house.

Only one of the women was the new owner of the house. The other one was her sister. We showed them around our house. They told us what needs to be done to their house before they can move in. I invited them to the coffee party I was having for Candidate though they didn't come. They seemed like nice people.

Today, we received a phone call from our massage therapist. I hadn't talked to him for almost five years, since our medical benefits ended. Massage Therapist said - Guess what? I'm your new neighbour.

I said - What? How?

- The New Neighbour that you met the other day? That's my wife.

- That's great news. How did you figure out it was us?

- Wife said she met a Sylph and a Man. I wondered, Could it be them? I know you live around there. So I looked your file up, and there is your address, next to the house we bought.

Is that incredible or what? Massage Therapist is one of my favourite people.

Later in the evening, some friends came over. We were heading to a townhall meeting together. Friend said to The Boy - Hey you go to the same school as my neice. Do you know Sister's Daughter?

The Boy said - Yes, we're good friends. She is also a good friend of my buddy, Butterfly Boy.

- Yes, Butterfly Boy has been up to our cottage several times.

Wow. I really like it when The Boy's friends have parents who know each other.

After the townhall meeting, we went for coffee with Friends. Friend said - My daughter lives around here, I wonder if she comes here.

Half way through our meal, who should walk in with her roommate but Daughter! They joined us, we had a nice chat, then we came home.

It was a terrific evening of close encounters of the six degrees kind. You'd think we lived in a small town and not the largest city in Canada.

To Turducken Or Not To Turducken

Thanksgiving is this weekend. I'm hosting two gatherings. One with my own extended family, the other with SIL's family and my mother-in-law.

For my family's dinner, I had planned roast beef. For the dinner with in-laws, I've ordered an organic turkey.

But somewhere in there, I am wondering whether a turducken should appear.

My own family are adventurous eaters. We delight in gluttony even as we complain about it. I received an e-mail from Sis. She's thinking turducken too! But Bro is already bringing lamb and chicken wings and I had to cancel my roast beef. Should a turducken make an appearance instead? There is gluttony and there is excess to the point where we're throwing food away while people starve in Africa.

I think SIL won't mind turducken. She had dinner with us on Boxing Day and we ate leftover turducken, though I think she may have only eaten the turkey part. I remember telling my mother-in-law about my turducken last Christmas. I seem to recall her incredulity at the combination of birds was expressed in disgust. Or was that someone else? Quite a few people showed open disgust at the idea even as I tell them Loblaws now sells the tucked birds in their frozen meat section.

The Man says he doesn't care. He claims he's up for the adventure. But he's a kill-the-food-twice-skinless-
boneless-chicken-breast-cooked-till-it's-cardboard guy. Oh he denies it. Will anyone lose their appetite and pick around the birds with trepidation if a turducken made an appearance at the dinner with in-laws?

Too much excess at my family's dinner and too many reservations with the in-law's dinner. Okay. I will reserve the turducken as a Christmas special with my family only. I hate people puking at the dinner table either from gluttony or fear.

Taking Sides

There was a ruckus in the backyard this morning. Not our backyard, but the backyard next door. There were about six people gathered, arguing, loudly. Curious. Because the house next door has been vacant for a couple of months now. No one lives in that house and the new owners have not moved in yet.

We opened the window, because we're nosy like that, and opened the back door so we could see better who was arguing and hear better what the argument was about.

But we could only see one person, who happened to live in the house behind us. Somehow, they had come down the retaining wall next to us, stomped into the neighbour's backyard and fought with the neighbours two doors over.

That's Suspicious Opportunist. The wife stood on her side of the wall and watched her husband do battle. I don't even know what the shouting was about, but I blame Suspicious Opportunist. They are narrow-minded, selfish, ignorant, and opportunitistic. How's that for being impartial?

The Oldest Story

It's been a long time since I've come across a book I want to burrow into and refuse to come out. I tend to like family epics that verge on the fantastical as the story unfolds to reveal the human condition. Like One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Midnight's Children, A Suitable Boy, and A Fine Balance.

Because Naguib Mahfouz died recently, I decided to read him. He's the only Arab writer who's ever won the Nobel Prize for literature. I picked up his book, Children Of The Alley and already, I am hooked on the first page. That's very powerful writing to hook me in so early.

The story parallels the bible - the casting out of Adham and his wife from the mansion, the fight between Adham's sons resulting in the death of one of them, the adoption of an orphan by a wealthy house and later the young man's return to his people to fight oppression by his adopted family's people. Mahfouz must subscribe to the theory that Christianity has its roots in Egyptian mythology.

As much as I know what happens next in the storyline, I can't put the book down. His writing is that compelling. Which proves that it's not so much the story, but the storyteller and the telling of it that draws us in. Maybe the same way gossip columnist make us flock to celebrity gossip. They are just repetitions of the same story with different spins on love, honour, betrayal, punishment and forgiveness.

So here's my own story of love and betrayal. Until Mahfouz died, I had never heard of him. The Man saw me reading Children Of The Alley and asked how I was enjoying the book. Then he told me he gave me a set of Mahfouz's books one Christmas because he knew I had an interest in Egyptian stories. Evidently, not only did I never open those books, I have no recollection of receiving them and certainly don't know where they are now.

But on reflection, I do recall a set of books that bore a name that could have been Mahfouz. I was so interested in that set of books, and believing them to belong to The Man, I packed them up in a box and sent them off to storage.

What We Need

Mark Kingwell is my boyfriend.

That is, he is one of my favourite writers because he's so human and humane. He's young (under 50), he's local (teaches at U of T), he's had a makeover (he transformed from a geek with thick glasses to style icon with shaven head with the success of his book, In Pursuit of Happiness: Better Living From Plato to Prozac, though now he may be sporting a ponytail), he's full of himself (adopts that false humility so favoured by philosphers who ramble on).

But most of all, he expresses my views much more thoughtfully and eloquently than I could ever pen. You know that feeling of accord and being understood you get when you read someone and say, Yes, that's exactly how I feel too but he says it so much better. That's Kingwell for me. Him and Rick Mercer. Are you reading Rick Mercer's blog yet? His recent posts are about the Liberal leadership race - recruiting dead Canadians and the race between Iggy and Rae. I like that Rick stabs everyone. But I digress.

Kingwell specializes in theories on politics and culture. I met him one day at an author's reading and I wanted to be his groupie. I followed him around the room, but I guess I make a bad groupie because he never knew I was following him. Maybe following with the eyes doesn't count as groupie behaviour.

But it is the upcoming November municipal election that had me going back to Kingwell, to read his The World We Want: Virtue, Vice, and the Good Citizen. Not that Kingwell has all the answers. He's an idealist afterall. The question is, how do we build the world we want? By engaging in our civic responsibility to establish belongingness and ensure social justice. Easier said than done when we're so busy tending to day to day living.

Still, we need a guiding goal that at least put us in the right direction. And it's in reseaching this direction that I land on Philia, a site dedicated to the development of good citizenship. On their book list, I see four books that I have read in whole or in part (sometimes, one just can't get into this kind of reading). I guess I have an interest in discovering how to build the world we want.

So all groupieness aside, I count Kingwell among one of my inspirations.

Is Too Much Enough?

We had a very nice dinner last weekend. It was a triple-birthday bash. Bro Bro, The Boy and Kid2 all had their birthdays within days of each other.

Bro hosted the event. I always like it when our extended family gets together. I like seeing the kids play together, and I like how Bro's house is so big, the adults could all be doing things and tend to their own addictions in different rooms.

But the thing I can't get over still is the quantity of food we had. I have not cooked since that dinner because I am still eating the leftovers from it. It's not like we haven't talked about the need to avoid food excess at past dinners, it's not like we're rake thin and need to put on weight, it's not like there were 100 of us at the dinner.

There were 17 of us. 5 were children. So that's really 12 adults, plus little kids being picky about their food. Bro ordered 40 pieces of breaded sole, 40 pieces of whole grilled calamari, 3 chickens cut up, plus potatoes and rice. Apparently, he figured that each person would have 2 pieces of fish, 2 whole calamaris and a piece of chicken, with a few pieces extra in case someone is really hungry, plus partake of the large platters of sushi that Bro Bro brought, the giant salad that Sis brought, and the vegetables I brought. And the three desserts.

I was going to say Bro Bro is the new mom. But even mom felt there was too much food and discouraged him from grilling the lamb and chicken wings, and me from cooking the third vegetable I brought.

In the end, only a tiny chunk was taken from each platter. There were lots of care packages to take home.

I don't mean to complain. It's really nice having so much good food that lasts a week. But I can't help marvel at much Bro over-estimated. Really, there was enough food to feed a hundred.

Forever Young

The Boy has eclectic taste in music. But I am an old fogey. I enjoy sitting side by side with him as we each work on our own computer, mainly because I get to listen to his music, and once in a while, he tells me a funny story. I don't know who all the artists are that he listens to, but I like all of the sounds, rhythms, melodies and lyrics I've heard so far, including the Arctic Monkeys and Panic! At The Disco.

So today, being The Boy's 16th birthday, I dedicate this song to him, written by Bob Dylan, but as sung by Joan Baez, in her clear, strong voice, not his off key mumbling.

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young.

And also Rod Stewart's more upbeat, punky, raspy rendition, probably more to The Boy's liking.

May the good lord be with you
Down every road you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
Surround you when you're far from home
And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As you'd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever young.

May good fortune be with you
May your guiding light be strong
Build a stairway to heaven
With a prince or a vagabond

And may you never love in vain
And in my heart you will remain
Forever young.

And when you finally fly away
I'll be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell
But whatever road you choose
I'm right behind you, win or lose
Forever young.

Caged

I went in search of a bird for my 5-year-old neice. A real, live bird. I wanted a small bird in a small cage. I had a finch in mind. But most pet shops carry budgies, which are okay. The sales people said, They're just like parrots, you can train them to talk. But I really didn't care for their chatter and the very yellow feathers.

I did find a shop that carries finches. Beautiful delicate finches. I wanted a pair for myself. The Man said, Don't get them, they're noisy whiners. I said, Nonsense, they have a pretty birdsong. But they need to be kept in pairs. That's two birds in a cage for two. No longer a small cage. After looking at the finches for a while, I couldn't do it. I couldn't buy caged birds.

As pretty as they were, as romantic as the idea was to give a pair of birds to my neice, I felt there was something vile about caging birds. I was reminded of why I can no longer go to zoos. I can't stand seeing the animals penned up, living in an artificial environment, whose sole purpose of existence is to be on display.

Or why I can't go to circuses. I can't stomach seeing animals whipped and made to do unnatural things for our entertainment. It seems so disrespectful to them, so degrading, so conceited of the trainer to exert his will on them just to show his mastery, as if boasting of man's dominion over animals.

Not that I am such an animal lover. I just want a pair of finches to admire and keep me company. I still want to give my neice a pair. I mean, how is keeping birds in a cage different from keepng fish in a tank? I need to sort this out.

Are You A Target?

I would describe myself as a mild-mannered, accommodating person. But this doesn't sit well with the Dark Side. Bro told of his recent encounters with taxi drivers where they try to overcharge him or give him attitude. That is, they want the fare, but they don't want to take him to where he's going.

I've had bad incidents with taxi drivers too where they stomp all over me and I still pay the fare. Once, I was in a hurry and flagged down a cab. The driver said, Do you mind if I just drop this package off first? It's on the way. Being the unsuspecting nice person, I said, Okay. He took me half an hour out of my way, so I was late for my meeting, and I still paid him full fare. I know, I was young and inexperienced.

But I think taxi drivers have gotten even more unruly lately. Aside from being dangerous drivers, they display open contempt for their passengers. I know some of them are qualified to do high-paying work, and it's a force of circumstances that have reduced them to driving cabs. But I am still paying the fare and their attitudes suck.

So now, when I am in a hurry and I have to get in a cab, I am not a nice person at all. I scowl, like I hate being in the cab, and I bark out where I'm going and tell the driver how to get there in a gruff way. I practise being bitchy before getting into a cab. As I walk down the street, I adjust my face, don that "don't fuck with me" look, stomp and slouch as if there is a cloud over my head. In short, from leaving my house and walking to the parking lot where cabs are parked, I transform from a friendly neighbour to hostile bomber. Touch me the wrong way and I blow up.

It really does take practice, because sometimes, you just don't feel bitchy. But I think I'm getting pretty good at it. I've at least perfected the evil eye look. That's the sneer and glare you give to other drivers or people on the street that says, "Lock eyes with me and you are cursed for life." It really keeps people from talking to you unneccessarily.

Scoundrel

My god, tomorrow is the first day of Fall. I wondered when Fall was coming. It's been so cold. I left some cream out overnight, and this morning, the cream was still cold. Very glad I got heaters for the fish. Wondering now if I should turn the furnace on for us. O Canada, the land of two seasons - summer and winter.

We had our coffee party last night for our Candidate. The campaign organizers were right. 12 people come. I wonder why so many of them said they'd come and not show up. It was still great though. The relaxed home environment is certainly a good place to get to know a candidate better. And I got to meet some of the new neighbours who moved in this year. They raised interesting concerns, mostly about with parking in the hood and general right of way for cars in the city. I guess that's what stresses out people most in the city.

It's important that the street knows Candidate's been here to meet them in this format. Now she can knock on doors and make her presence felt twice. Our street supports her any way. In the last election, 50 households put up her sign. Only 2 went with the incumbent. Every time I hear Candidate talk, I like her more.

She knows about the issues in the hood and the politicking behind them. She's articulate, has a clear vision for the city, and has no self-interest, yet, in seeking office.

The Incumbent however, disappoints me more the more I learn about him. Without proper community consultation (he sent out notices to 10 houses so technically, he had a consultation), he asked city staff to do the leg work on the acquisition of the land and construction of a parking lot for a little business strip. When residents found out, we raised hell. The project would have cost over $3 million--$1.5 million to buy the building and land, $1.5 million to tear down the building and pave the land for a parking lot. All this to create 17 parking spots.

We signed a petition to stop the project. When he found out how strong the opposition was, he backed down and never put forth a motion for the project in council. Then he told the business owners they didn't get the parking spots because of the streetcar construction.

What I didn't know was because he had city staff work on the project, our ward had used up our alotted city staff time. The city can no longer give our ward any more time this year. It was lose-lose all around. This from a councillor who's been at city hall in various capacities for 17 years.

Well, the gossip is that he owns many properties under different names and business numbers. He's too busy managing his properties and trying to pass bylaws that benefit his buisness than do anything for the community.

Candidate needs to get in.

Adventure With Bra

After lunch today, mom and I walked by a bra shop in a Chinese mall. She said,

"That's where your sister-in-law buys her bras. Bro's wife. She's been shopping there for five years. She was here just the other day and bought three bras."

"You shop for underwear with Bro's wife?"

"We happened to be here so she went in."

"Hey, 50% off. I could use a new bra." So we went in.

Immediately, a saleslady came up to me. In a flurry of Chinese, Chinglish and English, we had the following exchange.

"All the underwire bras are in this section. Choose one from here," said the saleslady.

"No, I don't like underwire."

"What? You should wear underwire. Given your size, you need underwire otherwise you're just wasting your money."

"My size?"

Another saleslady perked up and said, "Let her try on a 40."

"No, I'm 36, 38."

"Your bra doesn't fit you. Look how you droop your shoulders and back to accommodate your heavy bust."

"Well, I..."

"I bet your shoulders and back hurt."

"Yes, but..."

"You have stoopy shoulders. Bet your bra strap falls off all the time."

"True, I..."

"Try this on. It will lift your shoulders and straighten your back. You'll get better posture."

"But..."

"Don't talk. Try it on. And try this on, and this, and this. You should be careful to take care of your posture while you are still young. You must be approaching 40."

"More like 50..."

"Really? You will have problems with your back if you don't already," the saleslady poked and pinched me. "Have you ever given birth?"

"Yes."

"Wa. Not bad at all then. You are pretty firm for someone who's given birth. Just try these on, then talk. You'll feel the difference. I've been selling bras for over 20 years. Trust me, I know what works."

"But it's size 40."

"40D."

"I'm not a 40D."

"You have a broad back. Buy the bra that fits and not the size you wish you were."

So I tried a blue bra on. Amazingly, it fit and was comfortable. I could feel it hold me in place without being tight. I put my t-shirt over it.

"See, look how much straighter you stand already," said the saleslady.

There was my bosom, stacked skyhigh like I had a boob job.

"No, no. It looks totally unnatural," I said.

"No, when you walked in, you looked unnatural, all bent and stooped over, looking 10 years older than you are. Try this one and this," she waved two pieces of things at me.

So I tried on a black bra and a... I don't know...a corset, a backbrace? It's a vest like thing that has many hooks in the front. I put my t-shirt over these.

"Wa. Look how pulled back your shoulders are and how straight your back is. Now practise elevating your head from your shoulders to lengthen your neck."

Was she kidding? Was she in my pilates class last night? That's exactly what we did. But the incredible thing was that my shoulders and back stopped hurting right there. When I took the bra and body thing off, I wished I could put them back on.

"You wear these everyday for six months and your posture will improve. You need to make sure you don't turn into an old lady with a hump on your back."

No, I sure don't want that to happen.

"And these are 50% off right now. You get two bras and the body pieces for $115, no tax."

Wow. What a deal. So I bought them. They were formidable salesladies.

Small Things

Every once in a while, I ask myself, Are you happy? Today, I answered, Yes.

I am happy because little things matter.

I love for example, the extension shed The Man has built me. I love the red metal roof he's put on it. The bicycles are hanging in it, the garden tools are in it, the main shed is no longer a mess.

I love the car bumper sticker that reads, My Other Car Is A Bicycle.

I feel satisfied today that I got air pumps for both fish tanks. In the small tank, the pump blows bubbles. It's a decorative thing, but it also adds more oxygen in the water for my plattys and mollys.

In the even smaller tank lives Hank. Hank is our new betta. I've been worried for days now the water in his tank is too cold now that the weather has chilled. Sure enough, it registered 70 when I put the thermometer in. I went to get a heater for it.

The first pet shop I went to told me heaters are expensive. It cost $50 for a 50 Watt tube. The shopkeeper said, You don't need a heater for a betta. They can live in room temperature. You can replace the betta five times for what you'd pay for the heater. Disposable fish? I am not that kind of person, but I didn't want to spend $50 on a heater.

So I came home and phoned another aquarium store. The owner has heaters that cost under $25. I went to pick one up. It is almost identical to the one that costs $50. Same tube idea, different brand. I also picked up an air pump to circulate the water.

I liked the bubbles created by the air pump so much, I got one for the plattys and mollys too. I had no idea how much I enjoy seeing bubbles in water. I like watching moving water.

I feel I had taken good care of my fish today, ensuring they have warmth and air. The betta now swims around more. The plattys and mollys play in the air bubbles. My worry about them has lifted and I am pleased with life.

Small things make me happy.

Halloween Came Early

We took a walk through St. James Cemetery yesterday. It was a brilliant, warm afternoon. I have never been to this cemetery. I noted that the cemetery has no new burials. I saw no tombstone with a deceased date in the 21st century. The crowdedness of the graves reminded me just a bit of that cemetery in Paris where Jim Morrison is buried. Pere Lachaise, that's the cemetery.

As we walked along, a military helicopter hovered above. Before we knew it, a shiny black vintage Cadillac with sharp tail fins drove towards us. The driver was a middle-aged man with dark hair. He had a kind of ducktail hairdo. Yah, he could've been straight out of the 40's. We stepped aside to let the car pass. A few steps later, I turned to see it had stopped. I walked a few more steps. I turned again to see if the driver got out. But the car wasn't there any more.

The Man said it must have drove off. But so noiselessly, so suddenly and so fast?

The cemetery is a small one. All paths loop back to the same exit. We could see the exit from where we were. As we made our way towards it, I did not see the Cadillac come around the cemetery. Sure, it could have drove off to another site and stayed there, if you want to be practical about life.

But I don't think so, because I'm going to stick to my interpretation of life through my groovy shades.

Knock Knock

I knocked on every single door on my street yesterday, to hand deliver an invitation to a coffee party at my house to meet our candidate for city council.

Our street has about 110 houses. The amazing thing is, I know someone in every second house. The people I don't know moved here in the last year or so, or I really just don't know them despite having been neighbours for 20 years. But everyone was so friendly and so happy to receive my invitation, saying they will come. Which makes me worry about the size of the party next week.

The campaign organizer suggested that if we send out 100 flyers, we will probably get 5 or 6 people to come. If we are really lucky, we'd get up to 20. I'm thinking more like 60 people could come to the house over the two hours of the meet-and-greet. Gosh, on a warm summer evening, easily 10 people drop in to say hi.

Well, sure. They're neighbours after all. Why not have them visit me for such a good reason. I've promised cranberry muffins and coffee. I have to perfect my recipe for that and for chocolate chip cookies.

Good thing I won't be on my flush program next week.

Flush Or Lush?

I've lost 4 lbs so far on my fat flush. The regiment requires that I eat or drink vegetables almost every hour. Three times a day, I also eat a 3-oz serving of protein. I have not been religiously strict, demanding the occasional cookie or bite of dessert.

But that's just part of the adjustment and practice. Instead of downing two slices of pizza, I just had a nibble, instead of eating two big scoops of ice cream, I just have a spoonful. Last night, I made cranberry muffins and didn't eat any. I am so pleased with myself.

While on this flush, I am hungry a lot. Not starving. Just that little discomfort that makes you reach for chips while you make dinner. So now, I've learned to let this feeling pass or nibble on a carrot.

What I realize is, I reach out for junk food alot. I eat way more than I need at one sitting. In just a few days of being on this flush, my stomach has shrunk. When I went to dinner last night, I only had a single appetizer of sashimi. That's pure protein, a little more than I was allowed, but fits right in my flush plan. Amazingly, I was full on it. In dinners past, I would have followed with a main course and dessert, then waddled out the restaurant, complaining of being over-stuffed.

I am beginning to think maybe I'll stick to this kind of flush eating and abandon my lush ways. I mean, when I come off the flush, I can eat bread and sweets again, but not so often and not in such huge quantities. Right now anyway, I am thinking I'll stick to a relaxed flush plan till I lose 30 lbs.

I wonder if this is lunacy thinking driven by deprivation of nutrients to the brain.

The Dark Side

Two pictures of me emerged in my doctor's office this week.

The first is, I am driven by a desire to build a co-operative, harmonious community. I pick up the slack often because my desire to build this community is strong and I am nurturing by nature. I am disillusioned because I am the only one running on this plan. No one else is. After a while, I am worn out and feel defeated. My efforts have not borne fruit. My co-operative society does not exist. I am so disappointed and disillusioned I have withdrawn from activities that previously gave me my raison d'etre.

The second is, I carry a very dark side that I have been suppressing all these years. I don't let it out because I fear I won't be able to control it. My dark side is ruthless, cruel and insatiable. Because I sense the existence of this dark side, I compensate for it by choosing to do good work and doing more than my share in everything. So I do what I do because I don't want to be a bad person. I am exhausted by suppressing my dark side.

Then there is the rational me that's been walking around. I assumed we have our good and bad sides. As intelligent beings with a conscience, we are aware that we are aware of ourselves. We make choices all the time about how we behave and accept responsibility for the consequences of our behaviour. I do what I do because I choose to behave constructively.

Do these all point to the same thing? Choice and balance? But I tell ya, there hasn't been much balance. I feel my unexpressed dark side is debilitating me right now. It needs to come out. I call on its power to restore the balance. Muhahahaha.

Snapshot

As I sit here this morning, this is what's happening around me:

• Brad Pitt is in town. The Toronto International Film Festival is going fierce. Sounds like there are lots of good films coming out. I've not attended the festival for a few years now, because of its over-complicated ticket purchasing process and lineups. You line up to buy your passes, you line up in the passholders queue in front of the theatre, then you line up to get in. After all that lining up, if you don't like the movie, you don't really want to walk out. Though I am curious to see how much things have changed, now that the festival has become the most important film festival in the world, topping the one in Cannes, apparently. Maybe I'll just go wander around downtown to see if I can bump into Brad.

• The Canadian Opera Company is launching Wagner's Ring Cycle tonight. This week's seats are sold out, but you can still get stand up tickets for $75. I would like to see this one. Maybe that will be my Christmas present. Hey yeah, make The Boy come with me... you know, he may surprise me. He often does, by liking things I don't expect him to.

• The 5th anniversary of September 11 just passed. Condoleezza Rice is in Nova Scotia thanking, no, trying to score political points to ensure Canada stays in Afghanistan.

• Three bodies were found in the Chelsea Delta hotel yesterday. Possibly a murder-suicide. The Chelsea Delta. My first boyfriend used to stay at the Chelsea when he came to town. My best friend's boyfriend also stayed there when he came to see her. So long ago.

• Our local councillor is living with a friend, a fellow councillor, because he got a woman in his office pregnant and denies paternity so his wife booted him out. Since he's been living with the friend, he's starting to look more like the friend - they use the same tanning machines, wear similar kinds of clothes. And he dropped the ball on local concerns. The park at the end of our street got sold to developers and he is now making a fuss about saving the park. Why was he sleeping when the sale went through? Why didn't he make a motion for the city to buy the land when it went on sale? I really want to boot him out of office. Good thing I am hosting a party for my candidate next week.

I am sitting here fading away. The fat flush is harder than I thought. I have to eat raw vegetables all day, and drink vegetable cocktails. I can only eat so much vegetables before my stomach flips over. And I have cramps and a headache. It's that time of the month. Today shall pass.

Another Bloodbath

When we had our Manitoba Maple cut down, The Man insisted on leaving a stump of four feet sticking out of the ground, against my urging to cut the trunk close to its base. It's now six weeks later. He's decided the stump sticking out of the ground doesn't serve a purpose and is an eye sore.

He and Friend With Chain Saw went to work at removing the stump today. There is a massacred tree step where the stump used to be. Wood chips all over the yard like spilt blood from the tree.

We now have to get rid of the wood and I will not have a Fall planting season. I guess I'll cancel that Fall garden party I was going to have.

Is there a bright side to this?

One day, perhaps in the next few years, I will have a nice garden now that the garbage and dangerous growth is gone.

Noisy Sight

While I'm overweight, I'm not obese. In fact, in photographs of me taken from certain angles, you wouldn't even think I was fat.

So I was loading groceries into my car this afternoon when I saw a woman chasing her shopping cart. She's a dyed blond (what are they always dyed blonds?). But what caught my attention was not her dark roots. It was her jiggling chest. They were huge, her round breasts. They jiggled, bounced, flapped, and knocked against each other, as she ran. I thought, Good god, woman, pull yourself together and rein the girls in.

I noticed she wasn't exactly fat either. Like me, she could shed a few pounds or thirty, and yes, in some circles, we'd be called voluptuous. But I'd never let my girls wander off each in her own direction all over her body.

She was a noisy sight.

Fat Flush

I am detoxing. That is, a friend and I are doing a fat flush program to detox and cleanse our interiors.

As I sit here drinking my last coffee for the next ten days, I am trying to get in the mood for it. My goal is simply to feel better. It's been a terrible week as I had to finally admit my addiction to the video game, Luxor. You shoot little coloured balls into a chain of balls. Each time you hit a chain of two or mores balls of the same colour, you wipe out that section. The goal is to eliminate all the chains of coloured balls until you get to the next level. Mindless, stupid and addictive. The playing interferes with my days and nights.

I've done nothing but sit, eat and play the game. My body aches, I can barely walk, I feel bloated. I am reminded of that guy in Japan who played video games for 72 hours straight then died of a heart attack. He was 27. It took all of two days to get addicted to Luxor. I've only been playing for one week.

For the next ten days, I cut out all caffeine, sugar, carbs and bad fat. I drink lots of lemon water, a ginger-carrot-apple cocktail and eat lots of vegetables, lean protein three times a day. That's what I've reduced the flush to anyway.

The flush is good for people who keep trying to lose weight but see no results, if you are tired all the time, and if you suffer from colds and allergies all the time.

So I do my shopping today and weigh in tomorrow. Who knew I had an addictive personality.

15 Minutes

Well, was that fun or what? The Boy got air time on Canada AM with Tyler the drummer of the Bare Naked Ladies.

The subway doesn't start running till 6 am. It meant I had to get up at 5 am with The Boy and Butterfly Boy to drive them to school as they had to be there by 6:15. The parking lot at school was full of cars. It's so strange to see so many car at the school when dawn is just breaking. Butterfly Boy's group sang at 7:00, The Boy's spot aired at 7:30.

It's only 9:30 right now. I've been up for four and a half hours. I'm more tired than I was last night when I went to bed.

The rain's coming! I need to go hibernate.

Tough Love

I'm afraid The Boy's in my bad books right now.

He hasn't got his final report card from last year yet. Why? Because he owes the school $73 for lost text books. They won't give him his report card or the schedule for this year until he coughs up payment. I'm not paying for it. He can take it out of the cheque that's coming his way for a gig he did a few months ago.

He came home from music camp to tell us he's lost his retainer and his watch. This is the second retainer he's lost. We replaced one last year, at $300. I'm not replacing it this year. He will need to pay for it out of his voiceover gig.

And the watch? He has no idea what happened to it. One day, it just wasn't on his wrist any more. I don't wear a watch. Does he really need one? Good thing that voiceover gig can cover the watch, if he really wants one.

This is all on top of losing his knapsack at the end of June. How can you lose a whole knapsack? And losing his toilet kit half way through our vacation. He just didn't repack everything when we left our hotel.

He claims he has no money. Yet, he just came home with the second season of Lost. He could be borrowing from his friend, counting on the cheque that's coming his way. If I choose to go pick it up.

I'm so mad right now I am not replacing anything.

I Did It

I finally committed myself. I signed up for a pilates class not too far from home.

The few times I've done a pilates class, I've enjoyed them tremendously. The last time I did one was in North Hatley, when I visited The Man's cousin. The instructor said in her quaint accented English, pilates requires you to centre your balance and energy in your gut, really good for keeping your internal plumbing in place.

My doctor did say I need to exercise the gut area to keep my uterus from falling out. And there is the incontinence issue.

But one of the determining factors in taking the class is that I went to Wonderland not too long ago. I attempted to climb a roped ladder. It looked so easy when the attendants skipped across it. When I tried, I fell over. It wasn't just that I was standing on ropes off the ground, I felt I had no control of my energy and balance.

Which is evidenced by how often I fall over when standing or sitting. For example, this weekend, I was at a friend's in Barrie. I sat down in a round chair to read. I leaned back and toppled over. Did a backward flip. I examined the chair after. It was solid and sturdy. There was no reason why I should have fell over.

On our vacation, we were waiting in line for something. The line finally moved a few inches. I took a step and fell to the ground. When I got up, I said to The Man, Was that embarrassing or what? Were you embarrassed? He said, I am more concerned about your safety. But The Boy mumbled, Yes, yes, yes, for a long time and stood away so people wouldn't think we're related. As if he doesn't look like me or we weren't wearing similar T-shirts.

I can't remember how many times I have fallen over when I am in Port Hope, or in my backyard, or when I have heels on. I can only blame external influences so much.

So. Pilates.

What I Like

We had dinner with some friends at the house last week. It was a great evening. These were the things that made it wonderful:

• Everyone helped by bringing a portion of the dinner.
  
• I got to cook with a friend. I love doing that. Stay tuned for my community kitchen party, coming up in December, if I get my act together.
  
• The food somehow all went together, like we had God was on our side.
  
• Dinner was a colourful array, diverse shapes and textures of:

• blue corn chips with guacamole
• lemon-rosemary chicken skewers
• tilapia fillets with chili-lime butter
• barbecued corn with chipotle butter
• mango-red pepper salad
• buttered green beans
• honeyed carrot rounds
  
• boiled new potatoes with chipotle butter
• chocolate mouse cake
  

• All of our friends like cilantro.
• Dinner was a slow, relaxed affair that lasted from 6:30 to 11:30, on a week night! I am reading a book that praises Slow Food dinners, ones that start at 10:00 pm and lasts till 1:30 am. I am going to cultivate Slow Food dinners.
• We had an unexpected guest from France join us last minute, straight off the plane.
• One of our friends toasted to welcome our guest from France.
  
• We cleaned our house for the dinner!
• The coffee machine died right in the middle of a brew and we improvised to make coffee, just like camping. Today, we replaced this 15-year-old coffee maker. And I am even thinking of replacing our 20-year-old microwave oven.
  
• The women gathered in the garden after dinner. Just like in Victorian times or in the Middle East when men and women gather after dinner in separate rooms to do their own bonding.
  
• But most of all, I like my friends and enjoy their company. The Man said after, when he sees his friends, he wants to spend a whole week with them. I know exactly how he feels.
  

It's been rainy and cold the last few days. I'm thinking, regular dinners with friends would surely warm us all up.

I Don't Need No Stinkin' Agenda

Once upon a time, I was a structured, regulated person living to a schedule. I was lost without my daytimer, my thoughts were more cogent when I expressed them in Powerpoint, I always caught the details that everyone missed, I wondered if I shouldn't have become an accountant.

Then I stopped working. I missed the deep involvement in projects with people, I missed feeling like I was in control of my work, I missed mattering in a work environment.

But I also felt released, relieved, and realigned. Every time I thought of going back to work, my stomach does a flip and I dread the thought of having regulated days and being confined to a structure. I stopped wearing a watch. I hate details. I feel freer and more playful. I have a better sense of humour. I admit to mistakes without feeling my pride wounded. I feel freer.

Now, when someone tries to tell me what to do, I run like I saw a ghost. Because that person is the ghost of my structured past.

I have dealings with at least two people who require their time scheduled. They need to micro-manage people to feel in control. I have no real patience for them. One of them paid me the highest compliment recently by telling me I am not a detailed person.

How far I have come. And to think I could have turned out like that person upon once a time. Whew.

We Got Checked Out

The house next door is for sale. It's carried the For Sale sign for two months. When other homes on our street have been snatched up in frenzies of multiple offers within days of being on the market, this one just sits there. There was no open house, the current owners "fixed" it up before moving out. Fixed it? No, what I mean is they did work to get rid of the 30 plus years of filth and grime that couldn't be cleaned.

They replaced the kitchen cupboards, bathroom shelves, and put in a vinyl floor that looks like tiles, all over the first floor. Then they painted the walls. The darkness, odour, stains, crumbling walls, falling doors and other disrepairs of a hovel are gone now. But the house has no curb appeal. There was no fluff up to turn it into a show home. It is at best a functional, low-maintenance house.

This month, the owners lowered the price on the house.

A few people have come to look at it. I've seen two parties of viewers. What I saw is, not only are the people coming in to see the house, they walk around to our front yard, look over our house, and peer into our car! They were checking us out, as if we were part of the sale of the house.

Which is true of course. You gotta check out the neighbours. But I feel like asking for a cut of the proceeds. I feel like I'm being sold and should somehow benefit too. Unless we're the reason the house hasn't sold...

Rural Ontario

Parts of rural Ontario really is rural. We passed by a property along the Madawaska River that is all barns and wooden houses. I thought it was a Menonite community. But on closer examination, it was just a working farm. I wondered why it didn't have the fluffed up quaintness of more touristy pioneer towns. This place was real.

Here are some of their barns.



This house is full of junk inside. Its door was open. It didn't look like anyone lived there. Yet, someone is storing firewood on the porch.


Around the corner was this pioneer church, with a copper roof on the chimney.


Here's a view of a lake where we tried to fish but caught nothing, again. I wonder what we would do if we actually caught something. I think I would probably scream in fear.

Those Crazy Ducks

With The Boy at music camp this week, The Man and I went to visit friends and do some camping. We ended up at Bonnechere provincial park and selected a site by the river. The Man wanted to be here because he wanted to do some fly fishing. But a few attempts later, he lost two hooks then gave up. There just wasn't enough room to cast properly.

The river was quite still, which was eerie. I don't like still water. But at least the ducks came to visit us. It was pretty neat camping with them.

Here they come.


Here they are, just hanging around The Man while he reads the newspaper.

Textured Meaning

Well, the shed extension looks better than anything I could have imagined. The bikes are hanging up in it now. I'll be darned.

The Boy is in a good mood this morning. That's because he's getting ready for music camp. We're taking two of his friends with us, then The Man and I will go visit friends for a couple of days. The Boy just came storming up the shower and said,

"Mom, you know that song we used to sing in grade 4 called 'Get Down'? I was just singing it in the shower, and you know, it's a dirty song."

"How so?"

"Well, the lyrics go 'If you get down on me, I'll get down on you. I'll do anything you want me to.' I thought it was just an innocent song about a bunch of kids getting down with a camera. That's what the video showed."

"You were in grade 4."

"I bet there are still all these little kids running around singing songs they don't understand."

"Yeah. I was always nervous when you sang songs from the radio. But parents sometimes just let their kids take in songs at their own level. Then when the kids get older and they understand the lyrics, they say what you said."

"Sneaky, sneaky..."

Sunshine

I must be living in my own happy place all the time. I think The Man is building me an extension for the shed, I have great dinners with friends, The Boy is engaged in school and has good friends, my mother loves us, my friend calls me a lady of leisure.

Then I find out The Man is building not the extension I want but some contraption of his own design that bears little resemblance to what I need. I find out that at the dinner with friends, words were issued which caused slight. I thought everyone was having as nice a time as I was. Wasn't I at the same gathering? How come I didn't hear the exchange? And The Boy, well The Boy and I never have a conversation without arguing. Mom is always preparing for war time and tries to fatten us up while she can so when war comes, we won't immediately shrivel up to nothingness, and she doesn't even live with us. And in my leisure, I take Prozac and see a shrink.

This is all to say, I just saw a trailer of Little Miss Sunshine. It's about a family that looks normal on the surface, but is dysfunctional in massive proportions. Even from the trailer, I could identifying with their life, especially the part where they get pulled over by a cop and the father says, Everyone, pretend to be normal.

Yeah, I feel like we're doing that all the time.

Contentment

I had dinner with a friend this week. She's a wonderful, warm, and engaging woman, involved in the lives of her friends, family, extended family, and community. Almost ten years after her divorce, Long Legs is still very much part of her ex-husband's family. Not just because she has a daughter with her ex, but because everyone, include all her in-laws, likes her better than her ex-husband.

Recently, her ex-brother-in-law got married. She was the ringbearer. That is, ex-bro-in-law felt his own brother and sister might lose the ring, but knew she would get the ring to him safely across air travels. Her ex-mother-in-law remains good friends with her. Her ex-sister-in-law invites her to all family and social gatherings, with or without her daughter.

She dates but doesn't have sleepovers. She said men are generally good company, but they are way too sensitive and high maintenance. You get close to them, you have to maintain the relationship, stroke their ego, take care of their shit. She said, I don't need that, I prefer going out to dinner or dancing with them and being treated like a lady. No strings attached.

I see her point.

But then I'm having such a nice time with The Man right now that I would miss him terribly if we were not together, maintenance, shit and all. In fact, we had an evening with friends last night, and Outrageous commented that all the couples gathered - all long-time friends, were still together. And each couple still having sex and having fun with each other, I might have added. Touch wood. I do not want any of us to have serious marital strifes.

Long Legs and I exchanged e-mails today. She said, The Boy has grown to be a real charm and I know he brings you lots of laughter. The Man looks fine and happy. If we won the lottery, we would be more happy - because we are relatively happy right now.

Right on, sister.

Views From On High

I'm a big picture person. I always prefer the big picture; it helps me put life in perspective.

Looking down from Chateau Frontenac, Quebec City.


It's true that one rolling hill is pretty much like the next. But the amazing thing is they exist, and there are still many to be found. Somewhere on PEI.


Baddeck, Cape Breton Island. The Alexander Graham Bell Museum is on a hill. This is a view of the Baddeck harbour when you step out from the museum.


Part of the Cabot Trail, Cape Breton Island.


Whale watching at Pleasant Bay, Cape Breton Island.



Looking down at the Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia.

So Pretty

At the Bay of Fundy, the park attendant gave us a tide schedule. I thought, What gives? How do you keep the tide on schedule? Who do you negotiate the schedule with? Can there be a delay or cancellation? The Boy was exasperated with me for most of the trip because I was too particular like that, and because I couldn't get over the tides. Every time I expressed awe about the tide, he said, Yes, yes, they're a miracle of nature. Then he moved far far away from me.

We camped in the park for three nights. While it was pleasant being together, camping is not as much fun on our own any more. I like camping better when we can create a village with our friends and families. And the fact that the sites were close together without a lot of trees in between didn't help. The Man was just looking for reasons to complain even though our neighbours were respectfully quiet.

We took all our meals in Alma, a 10-minute drive through the park. Very clever to have a town at the entrance of the park. The gas station runs a thriving business and convenience store. We bought T-shirts that turn brilliant colours in the sun. Fish markets sold cooked lobsters and dulse, dried seaweed that you either love or hate because it tastes fishy and salty. I started to promote the idea of buying a cooked lobster and eating it at a picnic table instead of going into a restaurant for one, a venture The Man and The Boy shied away from till we got to PEI.

Not to be cliche about nature scenes, but here are a few views that took my breath away at the Bay of Fundy.

Driving through the park.


A lookout on the road.


Alma at low tide.


Alma at high tide.


Covered bridge in the park.


Finally, some waterfalls.

A Spinal Tap Moment

In the movie, Spinal Tap, there is a scene where the band is on stage and a little model of Stonehenge comes down. That was a spinal tap moment.

On our way down New Brunswick's Hwy 2, we spied a town called Grand Falls. We were on a road trip after all, so we wanted to stop to see the grandness of the falls in the middle of New Brunswick. Following Visitor Centre signs, we came into a park.

There were the falls.


Puzzled by this trickle, we went into the Visitor Centre to inquire. Little Falls would also make a good name for a town.

"How grand do your falls actually get?"

"In May, the water covers all the rocks. You don't get that effect now because the water has been diverted for hydro."

"So to get the full effect of the grand falls, we should come in May."

"You could. But the park isn't open in May. We're only open in July and August."

Still in need of something grand, we stopped in the next town, Hartland, home of the world's longest covered bridge. We were not disappointed.

The bridge is this long.




Legend has it that if you make a wish, then cross the bridge with eyes close and breath held, your wish will come true. So we crossed the bridge several times making all kinds of wishes.

Lunenburg Lost

This is Lunenburg, a very pretty town.


But it's not the town I visited years ago. It's not that I want to stop progress to satisfy my nostalgic fantasy, but the touristy Lunenburg of today makes me cry. Makes many of the locals who grew up in the town cry too. One of the shopkeepers told me so.

Twenty-three years ago, we were two young women in our twenties. We went down east because we had never been before; we went without a travel plan or knowledge of the Maritimes. We drove into Lunenburg because someone at a gas station told us it was where the Bluenose of the Canadian dime was docked. Having nothing better to do, we went.

The charm of Lunenburg of old is that it was a thriving working waterfront. Townspeople built boats, fished, and transported lumber. My friend and I drove into town and saw a large dock with boats tied to shore. The roads were barely paved. We came down a bend into the dock and stopped inches from falling into the water. A fisherman waved us back and told us to park anywhere, just away from the dock.

I was looking into a backyard of colourful boats. The front view was from the water. Bustling activities, mostly of people and nets lined the dock. Horses and carriages pulled kids and wood and other cargo along the streets. Someone hauling a fishing net down the street told us they had been that way for 200 years and we should go look at the houses. People make a fuss about them for some reason, he said.

The houses were wooden shacks, brightly painted. I walked on narrow, winding dirt roads with houses that opened right onto the street. I felt apologetic as I trespassed on people's front yards. We asked where we could get some coffee. Someone suggested a diner might be open. It was the middle of the afternoon.

We stood on the street, holding our coffees, looking down on the dock. Tall masts and sails went every which way as people below them moved calmly about. I remember thinking, This is a time warp. How long will this place be undiscovered?

As we drove into Lunenburg this week, we first passed through Chester and Mahone Bay with their refurbished million dollar homes on the waterfront. Oh there is the charm of a well-to-do cottage town, and I picked out a place called Hairy Kids so The Boy can stop for a haircut on the way back. Lunenburg still had colourful houses, newly painted. The roads were paved streets with sidewalks and parking meters. Shops were everywhere, selling sportsgear to gifts to designer shoes.

The Bluenose was home, with a young crew of yuppy puppies welcoming visitors aboard its clean and sparking decks. A pay parking lot fronted the harbour. Restaurants lined the dock. Lunenburg has been gentrified, sanitized and Disneyfied.

I went into the Bluenose Shop where a woman sold souvenirs. I told her the Lunenburg I visited years before was very different. What happened? She said, The downturn of the fishery. When fishing dried up, Lunenburg almost died. What saved it was in 1995, the town was declared a UNESCO heritatge site, and some people came in to start new businesses. They still have bits of fishing and ship building, but the invisible industry is software development. That is, there are people in town who develop computer games. The town welcomed in tourism out of necessity. So Lunenburg survived when many older towns in Nova Scotia simply died.

Lunenburg is still pretty. It's just that the way of life the town symbolized is gone. What we see today is a ghost of its former self. It's hard not to lament a loss so unique in Canadian history.

This is the bend my friend and I came crashing around years ago.


That part of the once vibrant dock is now closed.


Further down is where the Bluenose is now docked.


With restaurants and shops facing the waterfront.


But in around the back streets of the town, the houses are still pretty, some quite grand, and more colourful than before.








They repaint the houses often. Here's someone doing just that.


As if the town would forget that fishery is an important part of the town's development, one of the church's steeples wears the sign of the fish.

Home

I guess three weeks with his parents is too much for The Boy. He missed his friends so. Three days ago, he was anxious to come home. He's planned an outing with his friends for Thursday night. Eager to comply, The Man drove as fast as he could and got us home Wednesday night.

The trip was enjoyable. But I agree with The Boy. As we got onto our street, he rolled down the window and said, Hmmm, smell that pollution. Just before we got out of the car, we did a group hug and he said, That was really fun and I am sure that we all look forward to not seeing each other for the next four days.

Now to download my photographs.

Future By The Sea

One day, I am going to relocate to Cape Breton Island. Summer temperature is rarely over 30C, winter is never colder than Montreal and they get powdery snow - the kind you can do stuff in. Alexander Graham Bell retired here because he read a book where the author decribed Baddeck (B'Deck, accent on the "deck" as in G'day) as a town where everyday is like a Sunday.

I am stunned by the physical beauty of the land - a perfect blend of mountain and ocean. We went through the Cape Breton Highlands National Park drive yesterday. That ride along the Cabot Trail is magical. I feel like I was on LSD - everything just seems so poignantly beautiful and majestic. The road is cut into the sides of the mountain. Every time you come over the horizon you gasp at the expanse of nature, height and harmony. I felt no fear of the cliffs; I even ran down one to pee so I wouldn't be seen from the highway. There is a peace and orderliness that I like, and still that capacity for unpredictably savageness. But any violence from the sea is contained by the mountains. I am absolutely giddy when I walk on the beach. I think that must also be why I like the Bay of Fundy. The waters are contained in the bay.

We saw pilot whales north of the park. On the way back, we saw a mother bear and her two cubs frolicking in the bush.

At the IT centre where I am using their internet service, they have a job board. I looked through it to get a better sense of what kind of work I could do out here. I could apply for a position as a researcher and program developer for Parks Canada to develop interpretative programs for their Alexander Graham Bell centre, at the smouldering wage of $9.75 an hour. Sigh.

But one way or another, my future home is where the mountains and the sea exist in harmony.

The House That Lucy Built

When I last visited PEI. I remember driving with a friend, looking for the Cavendish beach to hang for a couple of days. En route, driving on a dirt road, we came across a sign that said Green Gables. Thinking it must be Anne's house, we turned to follow the sign and drove up in front of a house. We went in and were told indeed, we were in the house that inspired Lucy Maud Montgomery to write about Anne of Green Gables. In the Anne fiction, that was the house where Anne lived. I remember thinking at the time, You'd think they could give better directions to this house so the visitor doesn't stumble upon it by surprise.

Fast forward 23 years. That'd take us to this week. We drove through the town of Cavendish. The main street is part of the highway 6, with Anne, Green Gables, Avonlea, and Village shops vying for attention. The poor visitor has a hard time separating the real Green Gables from tourist traps. Highway 6, or Route 66? I half expected a giant Anne head attached to the ground - the way giant hot dogs or ice cream cones are plunked into the ground - with her braids turned up, waving at unsuspecting passersby who subscribe to kitsch as a way of life.

When we got to Parks Canada's Green Gables, I see it is the same place I visited 23 years ago. Only we were travelling on a concrete highway, there were huge signs pointing the way, there was an entrance gate with a parking lot rivalling Casino Rama's, a gift shop, a visitor's centre, and an introductory movie. The grounds are well preserved. No, not preserved. Created. Created to be pleasant walks, with posts and fences, signs and explanations, steps to preserve the walk, benches for the weary. What the grounds have to do with Anne Shirley is kept secret from me.

The house is newly wallpapered, all wood shelves are woodblasted to reveal fresh grain. They have an industrious housekeeping crew, for the house is truly a pristinely kept...historical site, where a non-existent person lived. The whole Anne thing has become cartoon like, a parody of itself.

Still, PEI the island is beautiful. I love the grand open skies, with nary a tall building in sight. I love the rolling, pastural fields of different colours and textures. Every turn we make on the road opens onto a postcard moment. I keep threatening to bring home real lobster traps, to start a maritimes theme in my garden. We've had several lobster meals. The best one by far was when we bought cooked lobsters and fresh oysters from the fish market and ate them on a picnic table beside the harbour. The Boy shucked his first oyster. I'm working on him and The Man to better tackle a lobster in its shell.

The Tides Of Fundy

I absolutely love the Bay of Fundy. It's a miracle of nature that the tides go out and come back in everyday. I know it happens wherever the ocean is. But the bay is somewhat special. Everywhere you look are water falls, rolling hills and pastoral flats of green and water. Covered bridges are a common sight; Madison County should blush at its silly boast. Yet, you know that simmering just beneath the surface is a storm waiting to rage. It's the seeming peaceful waters that I love, knowing the same water can be so potently violent and unpredictable.

The Boy stood in the ocean floor and waited for the tide to come in. Within minutes, the water went from his shoes to his knees. He kept saying we have to come back with his cousins next year, Kid1 and Kid2, and in fact, why not organize our annual group camping trip at the Fundy Park. I think that would be a blast.

There is a town called Alma, just outside the park. We had all our meals there. Lobster dinners are available everywhere. I am trying to not overeat, as I already look well fed. There are houses on cliffs that overlook the tide. I want a house there, where I sit and really focus on writing.

But this is what I notice about New Brunswick. Despite all the efforts by the Maritime governments to promote tourism, the service industry in fact isn't quite prepared to receive customers. Every person, whether in a restaurant, tourist booth, or gas station, wears that Twin Peaks stare. It's a wait, size you up, then act friendly. I keep thinking behind their forced friendliness, they all belong to some midnight cult, and when they stare at us, they are really trying to decipher if we are one of them. Or maybe they just feel their land invaded by city folk.

We had lunch in a family restaurant once. The Boy ordered caesar salad and something else. The waitress came back after a while and said to us, We don't have Romaine lettuce so we sent someone out to get it. Later, she came by and said, We couldn't get Romaine lettuce, so do you want Iceberg lettuce in your caesar salad instead? It's quaint and all. But she might as well have said, Do you really want to eat here? We have a sacrificial ritual happening in the back and you're kinda in the way right now.

Today, we made it to Charlottetown, PEI. It's nice here, but it's not the Bay of Fundy. Even though the tide also goes in and out, and you get the greenery, and water is not far away, I am not as enamoured with PEI as I am with the bay. I don't feel the potential for violence in the air. I need to know passion lies beneath my feet.

Out Of Montreal

We're lost in Canada. We were. But we've found ourselves again, many times. This is what I know about The Man. He drives without knowing where he's going. When he says he needs a navigator, he really needs one. But he's a poor planner. For example, he drives off in the car, throws a map at me and asks me to tell him which way to go. I look at the map and say, I don't know where we are on this map, and I don't know where we are heading to on this map. That's how we ended up skirting Montreal for an hour before leaving the city.

The Boy is more in sync with The Man. He has an excellent sense of direction and seems to recognize street names and directions just like that. Once, when we were lost in Montreal, he directed us back to the loft. I don't know how he does it. The Man says if he ever goes on the Amazing Race, he wants The Boy with him.

But I still like Montreal. Aside from the Botanical Garden, we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art and saw amazing Italian designs. The things I saw made me happy - a mix of...I'm glad people are around to tend to the functional design side of life and a kid in a candy store kind of happy. I bought a sugar dispenser. The Boy has taken to mimicking me when I get excited.

On leaving the city, The Man filled up on gas while The Boy and I went into the store attached to the gas station. As he drove the car to a parking spot, the gas station owner came running after him asking if he intended to pay for the gas. I can imagine how embarrassed The Man was. But we got everything sorted out. Expensive gas.

We went to a friend's cottage in Quebec's Gatineau hills for Monday night. Beautiful cottage, beautiful kids. Wonderful hospitality, just like you'd find in the Middle East. So very hot today. 45C factoring in the humidex. Swam in the lake and didn't want to leave.

We are now in Quebec City, trying to act normal.