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09.29.2006  "Classy Ladies"
I watched "Walk the Line" last night.  Even though it was based on real people, I'm sure the writers and director took some creative liberties.  But in any case, there were a couple of scenes that lead me to say out loud, "Wow, that June Carter - what a classy lady."  And I was being sincere, not sarcastic.  Some of her calm, cool reactions made me compare to myself and think: I can't imagine myself handling those social scenarios with such charm and grace; I'd be spitting and scrapping and yelling.  Something to aspire to, I suppose.

And speaking of classy ladies - Ashley got me the most amazing gift (shipped in a brown, paper package in the mail even - the best kind).  She read about my sore muscles in my journal and sent up some herbal liniment (it smells so earthy and nice!).  And she also sent a matching t-shirt set for mommy and meatloaf.  So perfect and thoughtful.  I can hardly wait until she moves back to Vancouver.

09.28.2006  "Birthdays Are Fun, But Kind of Bizarre?"
I am officially 35 today.  However, with my expanded hip socket and subsequent old-Chinese-lady limp, I feel about 85.  My manager suggested I use a cane (temporarily).  I appreciated the advice, but no thanks.  Not yet.

I was greeted in the morning by Robin mumbling a sleepy yet enthusiastic "Happy Birthday" into his pillow.  I got a few e-cards, e-mails, and telephone calls wishing me the best for today.  Farshad and Glyn took me out to a fancy lunch at Wilson's.  And Robin tells me there's more waiting at home for me: cards and even a package.  Oooh, what could it be???  And finally at work they sent around a "Happy Birthday" announcement, and promises of cake tomorrow (I'll share the celebration with 3 others who have birthdays this week).  Tonight Robin will take me out for dinner, and Saturday I've planned an intimate 'do with a few friends (Indian food, then a quick walk up to Planet Bingo for a proper, old-lady good time birthday).

I find the attention flattering and sweet.  I'm always blown away when people remember, then actually act on it.  And when I take a step back from the whole situation, it's kind of a bizarre ritual.  Cakes, candles, presents every year on the day you were born.  I mean I'm not dismissing it and it's not really *that* weird, but when it's my turn to be another year older I guess I find it a bit overwhelming and ritualistic.

A definite highlight for me is opening my birthday card from my mother.  She's given me one for as long as I remember.  And even when I moved out, she ensured that I got my card BEFORE my actual birthday, not after.  One thing Ivan said he really missed were the annual cards he got from his father.  Since my mother is still around, I make sure I really cherish her gesture.  And I never open it early - I save it for the morning of my actual birthday. 

And this year was the second year in a row that Robin has been with me on the morning of my birthday.  Before it was just me and my mom's card.  But this year it was sleepy Robin and a kick-ass present (I might add).  I guess having him around when I wake up on my birthday is becoming part of the ritual too.  I like it, and I plan to keep it that way for years to come.

09.27.2006  "Alternate Head Fashion Options"
I think I look pretty good in hats.  I can pull that look off.  I used to wear lots of hats when I was younger, but now I only wear the occasional toque when the Vancouver weather is especially cold. 

And I think I would look good in a turban.  My wrapped noggin probably wouldn't look as impressive as say Erykah Badhu's, but I think my face could pull it off. 

And I've often thought that if I had to, I think I could pull off a shaved-head look too.  I would get a nose ring, perhaps, and make sure that my lips and eyes were properly painted and the smooth, streamlined look would be rockin'.

Just some thoughts for today.

09.25.2006  "A New Kitty Visitor"
The other night I was leaving the downstairs laundry room and I saw a pair of eyes glowing back at me from around the corner of the house.  It was a curious, little, grey tabby-cat with a wonky tail.  His eyes were huge and his face was extended away from his body and he bobbed his head up and down in that investigative cat manner that's so adorably cute.

I made a kissy-noise with my pursed lips (cats seem to respond positively to that) and he ran right up to me and rubbed up against my legs.  With my arms full of clean laundry, I made my way to the patio stairs and sat down.  He bounded up about two steps past me and nuzzled my ear with his nose.  At that close distance, his purring seemed especially loud.  I walked up the stairs and opened the back door - to my pleasant surprise, he followed me inside the house.  His head was still bobbing around as he checked out the new surroundings, but other than that he seemed quite comfortable.  By then Robin wandered into the kitchen to see what al the commotion was about.

I picked him up and he didn't struggle.  I was surprised how heavy he was (for a little guy).  Again, he nuzzled and purred into my ear.  So sweet!  I went looking for some leftover kitty treats (from the Bud years) but couldn't find any.  I let him back outside just in case he was feeling trapped and he made himself at home on our patio table, licking his paws.  But then suddenly he was gone into the night.

When we went grocery shopping on the weekend, I bought a bag of cat treats for the next time the friendly tabby visits us.  But he hasn't been back since..... :-(

09.22.2006  "My New Best Friend"
I have a new best friend.  I can't tell you a name, because there isn't one.  I think it's a boy.  He's made of blue cloth and he's filled with corn.  I heat him up in the microwave every night for 2 minutes and then I put him on my sore leg.  He smells like delicious popcorn and he's so warm and soothing on my knotted muscles.  Then the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is heat him back up and put him back on my legs.  He's wonderful

I've been calling my non-electric heating pad 'my new best friend'.  During the night sometimes he gets lost in my pillow fortress, or tangled up in the sheets.  When Robin rolls over I always remind him, "Watch out for my new best friend."

I think it's starting to irritate Robin somewhat.  Envious, maybe?  I think so, a little bit.  Robin and I were joking the other day that he might be overcome by a jealous rage and kidnap my best friend, stab him, and then I'll never see my little blue pal again.  There will just be a trail of corn kernels out the back door.

Somehow, I don't think it will come to that.  But, you  never know.

09.21.2006  "My New Favourite Word"
Okapi.  Isn't that just a fantastic word?  It has so much character and articulation and just rolls off the tongue.  Robin and I saw it referenced in "Six Feet Under" recently and just latched on to it.  We'll sometimes use it as a greeting on the phone to each other:

Rena: Hello?

Robin:  Okapi!!!!

Rena: Hi, sweetie.

Robin: How did you know it was me?  [pause] Okapi!  Okapi!

Or sometimes we'll use it as a space-filler interjection during a regular conversation, usually to indicate agreement.

Robin: I was thinking for this weekend, I should probably clean out the garage, and....

Rena: Okapi! [throws hands up in the air enthusiastically]

Anyway.  Yes, this is pretty much a nonsense entry today.  But I'm still trying to use this word (intelligently) in more everyday conversations.  It's turning out to be quite the challenge.

09.20.2006  "What Joy a Few Homegrown Tomatoes and Jalapenos Can Bring"
Like every year (this time of year), Robin and I can't keep up with the amount of vegetables growing in our garden.  The lettuce went to seed weeks ago (who knew those short heads of lettuce would skyrocket up to be 5 feet tall?).  And now we have to harvest all our ripe tomatoes and jalapeno peppers.  Don't ask me about the corn.  Just one word: raccoons.

Anyway.  So I made a bunch of homemade salsa (it's so easy) and brought some into the office to share with my co-workers.  I bought a bag of tortilla chips, set the salsa in a dish, and circulated an email inviting everyone to come and get my freshly made salsa.  Now, I enjoy my salsa (once you've had it fresh, the store-bought stuff just tastes artificial and gross) and I know Robin devours it whenever he can.  But I was surprised how many of my office mates sent me 'thank-you' emails, or personally dropped by my desk to thank me, and tell me how wonderful it tasted.  Someone even asked for the recipe.  And most people were impressed by the fact that most of the ingredients came from my own backyard.

Have I become one of those office people, who bakes muffins and cookies and brings them into the office, and presents them in a large, stoneware dish lined with a gingham-print napkin?  Oh, I don't think I'm quite there (yet).  Although I'm sure some people are hoping for this.

09.19.2006  "Rub (But No Tug)"
l went to the massage therapist today for a deep-tissue rubdown on my sore thigh muscle. She and I laughed (well, I would grimace too) every time my muscle popped and moved around.

But OMG, it felt so good.  If I won the lottery, I would get a massage every day.  It's been decided.  Massages for me and all my friends, all the time.

09.18.2006  "Who's My Work Husband?"
At lunch today, a group of the ladies (and Derek) shared pizza and the topic of work-husbands came up.  I had never really heard of the term, but the description sounded familiar - for us straight women, a work-husband is a male co-worker whom we are not sexually attracted to but we are close to e.g. someone to share secrets with, gossip with, a person we trust, etc.  Note that said work-husband could be gay or straight.

We looked at ourselves and posed the question to each other.  The majority agreed that Tom was probably our work-husband.  But then a couple of us backed out of that statement and said he was more like an older work-brother.  I was going to email him this interesting tidbit, but I'm pretty sure he'll read this entry....

My point to this entry, though - it got me thinking about my work/office relations in general.  I've been here for 3 years and I consider many of my office mates to be my work friends.  And I remember at my last job the 3-year mark was a significant milestone - after being at the same workplace for this amount of time, I feel very comfortable around my co-workers in general and I think I have most of them figured out.  I'll have a select few who are my confidantes and some relationship might even extend outside of work hours.

And today I got 2 e-mails from 2 friends whom I had met at my last place of employment.  One moved to Toronto 3 years ago and the other is busy climbing mountains and traveling around the world.  But we still keep in touch, and I still consider them to be good friends of mine.  It's amazing that a company can bring people together who wouldn't normally meet up, and we'll eventually establish friendships with some of them that can last years and survive geographical separations.

When I look around the office today, I wonder who I'll still be speaking to after I'm gone?  I'm pretty sure I know already.

09.15.2006  "Is It Warmer In Here?"
Last night, Farshad and I saw "An Inconvenient Truth."  In a nutshell, it's a documentary of Al Gore as he makes a presentation on the alarming dangers global warming.  With many visual representations of trends (e.g. fancy graphs) and photographic evidence of changes over time (e.g. comparison pictures of glaciers from 1920 vs. 2005) and CGI effects (e.g. what Manhattan will look like if/when Greenland melts into the ocean, etc), it was very eye-opening and scary.  I have to admit, the most touching illustration for me was the computer-generated clip of a polar bear desperately trying to find a foothold amidst the melting ice as Mr. Gore told us that for the first time ever scientists are finding dead polar bears who have drowned after swimming as far as 60 miles as they chase the quickly-retreating ice floes.

But as always, I looked at the data with a critical eye (and mild suspicions of a conspiracy theory).  However, as with anything like this, even if only 10% of the facts were true then it's still very real and terrifying.  I'm inclined to agree with Mr. Gore, though.  We really need to face reality and acknowledge how rapid population growth and industrial businesses (among many other things) are having a devastating effect on our planet.  I was pleased with myself as I watched the credits and I found that I was already complying with many of their guidelines to live a greener life.  Of course there's always room for improvement, but at least I'm doing my share.

Also, another reason that I'm buying Al Gore's argument is that his daughter is/was a writer with "The Simpsons" (or "Futurama").  Intelligence must run in the family....

09.14.2006  "Meeting Room Naming Convention"
At a recent work meeting we were shown a floor-plan of our new office space that we'll be moving into by mid-November.  I saw that there were four meeting rooms and I wondered what they were going to be called.  Then coincidentally Tom asked that exact question.

Afterwards Tom and I had a 2-part MSN conversation.  I suggested that since our new corporate overlord is a Japanese firm, that we name the meeting rooms using Japanese sushi and food items e.g. Wasabi, Bento, Tamago, Gyoza.  But then I got silly and suggested that we call the rooms words like 'Fection' or 'Continent' or 'Ebriated' (actually, that last one was Tom's).  So when our co-workers ask what room the upcoming meeting is in, we'd say "In Fection", or we could answer "Where is Tom?" with "He's in Toxicated" etc.  Get it?

Yeah, yeah - pretty adolescent.

09.13.2006  "The King and Mom"
Last night as I battled my latest bout of insomnia (caused by a pinched nerve in my leg, then the self-pity feeling that set in around 3:37am), I thought about what I used to do when I couldn't sleep as a child and a young adult.  I thought back to my mother and her king-sized bed....

When I was a child, I suffered from an overly-exaggerated fear of the dark (honestly - is the darkness itself really going to hurt me?).  I required a night light and the bedroom door to be open.  And often that wasn't enough.  My mother would put her foot down somewhat - she encouraged me to fall asleep in my own room under the soft, lamp-glow by my nightstand.  But she promised me that when she went to bed later, she would come get me and carry me to her bedroom (just in case I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling terrified and alone in a dark, quiet house).  Many times I remember waking up next to her unmoving form in her large, king-sized bed.  It would be dark and I felt so tiny in the massive bed, but I could sense her presence and of course hear her nocturnal snoring.  And I would feel safe and loved.  And I would easily slip back into a deep, childhood sleep.

When I got older, my fears of the dark naturally went away.  As an older teenager, when my curfew was finally lifted, I found myself coming home at a late hour during the weekends (or early hour depending on how you looked at it).  But my curfew-less life still had rules - I still had to come into my mom's room when I got home and even if she was fast asleep, the agreement was that I had to lightly tap her toe and tell her, "Hey Mom.  I got home safe."  Often she would just grunt in acknowledgment.  But sometimes she'd fully wake up and ask me how my evening went.  It was an invitation to stay and chat.  She'd usually say the same thing: "Phew! Go lie on the other side of the bed.  You smell like smoke!" (remember, these were days when smoking was allowed in night clubs).  And then I'd make myself comfortable on the big bed and stay a bit and tell my mother about the more exciting details of my evening.  I loved the mother-daughter catch-up time, and the white, cotton sheets were always cool and smooth against my skin.   I'm sure most of the time I was talking to myself as my mother quickly drifted back into dreamland, but I'll never forget the feeling of comfort and familiarity as I heard her breathing become more and more rhythmic.  I would quietly leave the room as the sound of snores started up again and I would head to my own bedroom

I would grapple with insomnia once in awhile when I lived at home (due to university exam stress, boyfriend trouble, whatever).  I would try different things: reading a book or magazine, changing sleeping positions, counting sheep - you know, the old standards.  But when it was really bad, I would wander down the hall to my mom's room.  She always slept on the right-side of the bed, so the untouched left-side was always an open invitation.  I would quietly slip under the fresh, cool sheets and just lie there, being comforted by the presence of another person who was deep in sleep.  Often it would lull me to sleep.  Or sometimes if she woke up when I climbed in beside her, she'd ask how I was.  I'd ask her to tell me a story, in hopes that one of her retellings of a childhood story that I had heard time and time again would 'bore' me to sleep.  It never worked - she'd start telling me something, but she'd become incoherent pretty quickly until she was just mumbling nonsense, then snoring again.  But it was always worth a try.

And that takes me to the present.  Now I have my own king-sized bed that I share.  But dare I say - it's not the same?  When two adults share this bed, it's definitely not as big and comfortable as I remember as a child.  And last night when I couldn't sleep, I opted to sleep in the spare bedroom.  I didn't want to wake Robin up with my constant leg stretches.  And frankly, his snoring was starting to piss me off.

As I laid in the small, twin bed (much like I had as a child) and the white moon came in through the window and cast a natural, night-light on my pillow, I thought of my mom and her king-sized bed that was always available for me if I ever wanted to pay a visit.  I thought of my mom now, still in North Vancouver but now in a down-sized queen bed.  And at that moment, as I felt like I was the only person awake in the world, I wished her bedroom was still just down the hallway from me.....

09.11.2006  "The More People We Know, the Less They Know Us"
I was watching "Six Feet Under" last night and a conversation between two of the characters really stuck with me.  They were in their late 30s, and they observed that they thought at this point in their lives they'd have more, close relationships with people.  They also commented that the older you get, the less people seem to 'get' you (i.e. understand who you really are).

My initial response - yes, it's true.  So true.  But why is that?  Why do I agree?  Well, I think the older we get, the more complex we are.  We acquire more experiences and therefore form more opinions and further develop our beliefs.  We have more things going on in our lives as we grow and move around and change jobs and develop career paths and have relationships.  And when you're younger, it's easier to have friendships and relations with various people since your focus is typically quite narrow.  An example would be the 'party phase' in your early 20s where your circle of friends is the group that you go to nightclubs with every weekend.  And that's what you do. Not much more than that.

But as you evolve and mature, you might find yourself developing at a different rate than your other friends.  At that point, you start to acquire new and different people in your life - people who share your lifestyle, interests, and have compatible belief systems.  And I find that as I've gotten older, I've gradually gone through a 'scaling down' process with my friendships.  My time is limited and precious and my life is busy, and I only want to be spending it with people who are 'worthy' of the investment.

And it's a scary feeling, when you take a closer look at those people in your life and ask yourself: do they really know me?  Do I 'get' them?  Are we on the same life path?  Are we evolving in tandem or are we going our separate ways?  And sometimes the answer isn't always what you were expecting or hoping for.  It's unsettling, but it's inevitable.

But then I have those eye-opening moments with my current friends, like when Mark is bursting with excitement about that freakish, single hair on his forehead that he's been saving all week to show me because he knows I dig that kind of thing (even though it's been driving his partner crazy).  Or when Trevor sings a Rasta-inspired version of "Say a Little Prayer For You" in the karaoke box and Ivan and I laugh so hard we are doubled over in laughter and we almost drown out the 'The moment me wake up/Before me put on me make-up' and the tears roll down from our closed eyes.  Or when Brent, delirious from lack of sleep and tired from shopping, cocks his head and asks me what would the staff people do in the upscale furniture store if he grabbed one of their smartly, assembled displays and threw it out the sliding door onto the sidewalk.  "It would be CHAOS!" he laughs maniacally and I whole-heartedly agree.

Yes, these seemingly trivial, little moments actually demonstrate how well my friends know me and what makes me tick and most importantly what makes me laugh.  I'm pretty sure I 'get' them, and they 'get' me.

09.08.2006  "Let's Hear It For the Boys! (But Where Are the Girls?)"
Something has become glaringly obvious to me lately.  You might already realize it, but recently there's something 'missing' from my life that has become front and center in my mind.  I'm talking about my lack of female friends.

Let me start by saying I'm not in any way discounting the importance of my current, male posse.  They're awesome and I love them.  But the 'girl power' I feel from them is different from what I've experienced with my female comrades in the past.  And note that I do have women in my life.  My mother is one of my closest confidantes.  When I'm around the rest of my family (aunt, female cousins), I also feel that familiar closeness - but I really don't see them that often.  I am friendly with the 'girls of the office', and I do have women as friends but we seem to be separated by geography or family commitments.  So, there you have it.

So, what's a girl-seeking-girl to do? (and I'm not talking about the X-rated kind of search).  Well, I'm sure I could join a pilates or hula dancing course (or pole dancing).  Or I could peruse the 'self-help' section of Chapters (they have an advice book for everything).  Or I could go to extreme measures and be like the main character in "About A Boy" and be a fictional single mom and join a support group in order to meet other women (to befriend)....  Uhm, on second thought, nix that last option.

Anyway.  I'm not going to lose sleep about it.  But if I really put my mind to it, I'm sure I could be successful.  And my search could lead to some pretty interesting, blog-worthy situations?  I'll keep you posted.

09.06.2006  "Girls Gone Wild (Just for the Weekend)"
Robin was away for the weekend, so I reverted back to my single days.  I was out and about every single day, only stopping back home for a quick catnap until it was time to go out again, then I'd return for bedtime.  I joked with my friends, saying it was a "Girls Gone Wild" weekend for me.

On Saturday evening (after celebrating Trevor's birthday with Thai food for dinner then karaoke on Robson Street) I found myself back at one of my old haunts - Celebrities on Davie.  It had a good vibe, the music was energetic, and I liked how the crowd was a mix of all characters (young, not-so-young, straight, gay).  As I looked around (it's been about 1 or 2 years since I was last there), I couldn't believe that I used to go every week religiously to this club.  I ran into Aly and we seriously could not remember the last time we had been there together, and I joked that the last time we were probably wearing plaid (from the Grunge days) with coloured jeans and shirts from Le Chateau with zippers.  It was an exaggeration, of course.

But as I stood amongst the good-looking people and as the lights flashed all around us, I kept picturing that younger me.  And I tried to get inside her head.  But I couldn't.  Was I having fun then?  Yes, I imagine so.  But what was I thinking then?  Was I actually enjoying myself, or was I just enjoying the thought of being there?  Probably a bit of both.

And is there a point to all this?  No, not really.  All I know is my younger self would not be having such analytical thoughts while running around the dance floor and seeing how many China White shooters she could drink without hurling.  Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing - neither.  But I do know that even though I had a crazy, busy, fun-filled weekend, it was so exciting to see Robin walk through the door on Monday evening after a 4-day absence.

The present-me wouldn't change a thing.  And if you were to ask the then-me the same question back then, I'm sure she wouldn't change a thing either.

09.01.2006  "Things We Almost Lost In the Fire"
Seemingly random events and words can sometimes hurt us and put us in harm's way.  Or sometimes they heal us.  But often, we link the dots and make connections in our minds.  And then it all makes sense in the end.

It was my first day back at work after my vacation, and my horoscope said something like "someone's sudden death will jolt you."  Just silly random words.  Then at the top of the stairwell I noticed the next-door, temporary editing outfit has put up a sign for their movie: Things We Lost In the Fire.  Ivan.  It reminds me to call Ivan to see how he's doing today.

A few minutes later my work e-mail brings news of death - someone I did not know, but someone who was close to someone who is dear to me.  I am stunned and deeply saddened for the day (and the emotions spill over into the rest of the week).  And I don't remember the seemingly accurateness of the foreboding horoscope until days later....

Later I'm at Ivan's apartment, helping him pack and move what's left of his belongings.  The dehumidifiers whine noisily in the hallways, and the burnt carpets leave a chilling reminder of what could-have-been, and the smell of burnt materials is heavy in the air.  It's bedlam.  Boxes, bundles of clothing, whatever could be salvaged.  Beds and couches are left behind because of smoke damage (plus the fact there is only one working elevator and there are dozens of misplaced tenants trying to move out at the same time).

I'm assembling a cardboard box and I go to the balcony to escape the stuffy apartment.  I look out from the 8th floor, and I'm chilled.  I imagine Ivan standing here at 5am, trapped, the little balcony being his only salvation from the black smoke that engulfs the rest of his floor, and all he can do is wait for help.  Waiting, waiting, while people below (who are oblivious to the fact that he's out there due to lack of safe escape routes) scream at him, waving their arms, "Whoah, dude!  Get out of there!  There's a fire right beside your window!"

Leave the furniture.  And leave the old reminders of your ex.  Just get out.  After you've been suffocated by the smoke and by your past, it's time to get the hell out.  Grab what you can, grab what's important to you and get out as fast as you can.  The rest can be replaced.  And the important thing is you're there to walk away from it all.  You weren't lost in the fire.  We still have you with us, thank God.

I think of my co-worker who has just suffered the most unimaginable loss.  I recall something he said about two weeks ago.  As he did a walk-around introduction of a new hire to the office, they both stopped at my desk.  "This one," I hear him say in his soft, playful voice, "this is my favourite person to work with."  I smile into my monitor and say something cheeky in response.  But I'm flattered.  Then his easy laugh, and gentle tone as we talk more.  The thought warms me, and is now burned in my mind.  I wonder when I'll see him next?  I wonder how he'll be?  I think of him often, these days....

I drove into work today.  I park for free in my old Cambie 'hood and catch the #15 bus downtown.  But the construction forces me to take a detour, right into the path of my old building.  I figure for old time's sake I'll drive by the back of my building, a route I did for many years.  But there are blockades even on the side-streets, so I can't drive past my old place.  Oh well.  But I end up parking further down, where I normally park these days anyway.  I was able to get to where I wanted to go anyway, regardless of the detours.

Things happen.  Horrible events happen.  But I'm thankful for what I haven't lost.  And I'm comforted by the fact that I'll always find my way, and figure out how to get to where I need to be.

08.30.2006  "From Two To Four"
My mother recently repeated for me a conversation that she had with one of her patients.  When asked how many children she had, she answered without hesitation, "Four.  I have 4 children."

"Really?" was the surprised response. 

"Yes.  Two boys and 2 girls," she stated proudly.

Let's see.  There's myself and my brother.  That's it for the Yung children.  But then there are also our spouses. 

How sweet.  My mother is the best.

08.29.2006  "Kayaking Down a River of Beaver Dams"
It was our annual Whistler vacation last weekend.  Having Piers join us this year and seeing the vacation through a set of fresh eyes made me fall in love with Whistler all over again.  It's so beautiful and clean and there's so much to do if you choose to be active for every day that you're there.  And our 5-star condo that we always stay at really is a killer deal.

Besides lounging by the poolside, shopping, eating whatever I felt like without feeling guilty and sleeping whenever I felt like it, the highlight for me was our kayaking expedition.  I can't believe I've lived on the West Coast all my life and I've never been.  But on Saturday I found myself paddling across Alta Lake and then down the River of Golden Dreams.  Even though the rental place had warned us that the water level was quite low (due to numerous beaver dams that we might have to portage over), I found the trip just challenging enough to be an enjoyable work-out.  I did feel a little guilty, though, as I stayed seated and flexed my butt muscles in order to noisily heave my kayak over the beavers' dams - at any moment, I expected angry, furry creatures with large teeth to attack my vessel (and rightly so, I'd say).  But no such encounters.

Anyway, I can hardly wait until I go again (kayaking, Whistler - whichever comes first).

08.23.2006  "Thanks Mr. Bergstrom"
I caught the last half of one of my favourite Simpsons' episodes last night: "Lisa's Substitute."  Those of you who are familiar with the show will probably remember it, the one where Dustin Hoffman voices the substitute teacher for Lisa's class, coming in like a breath of fresh air but leaving almost as quickly as he arrived (too soon for Lisa who is initially thrilled to have a positive, intelligent, adult, male role model in her life but then she must watch heartbroken from the train station platform as he leaves for Capital City ).

I have to admit, I even got a little teary-eyed near the end.  It was that one particular scene, as Mr. Bergstrom is about to board the train.  I'm sure we all can relate at some point in our lives.  We all have moments where we feel a little lost and alone.  Even though we may be surrounded by friends and family who love us, we sometimes feel we're missing that certain something, a void that exists inside, somewhere.  Then one day someone can waltz into our lives and just say the right things, and do the right things that touch us where we're looking to make that human connection.

And when Mr. Bergstrom hands Lisa that note, and reminds her that if she's ever feeling alone and if there's no one to rely on, then all she needs to know is what's on that piece of paper: "You are Lisa Simpson."  OMG, that's it!  Something that I've known all along, that I am me, and I have myself to rely on.  Even if I feel there's no one who fully understands or gets me, that's ok - I can stand on my own 2 feet.  And I don't have to apologize for who I am or how I feel, because I am me.  I just need to be reminded of it once in awhile.

Whoever thinks "The Simpsons" is just a brash, silly cartoon is mistaken.  Thanks, Mr. Bergstrom, for reminding me that I am me.

08.21.2006  "An East Vancouver, Co-Op Living Moment"
I glanced up from my standing spot in the shade, while Robin worked on his newly-purchased car and my friends spoke with their roommate and neighbours outside their co-op apartments.  I saw the young boy lightly touching his wheelchair-bound neighbour, running his small fingers gently over the tattoos that decorated the bare arms.  Unspeaking and still touching the adult's skin, the small boy handed him a flower that he had plucked from the park.

Laughter.  Background conversation.  Then, "Say good-bye to 'Uncle'," I heard his mother say.

The mother didn't glance nervously at the sight of her son physically touching the man in the wheelchair.  The child doesn't discriminate against people living with HIV and AIDS.  It was all human interaction and neighbourly love.  I felt a sense of community that I haven't witnessed in awhile.

08.17.2006  "Keeping Up With the Joneses Who Don't Care"
I don't really understand some people's behaviour or remarks.  Really, I don't.  I guess that's because we're all very complex and diverse and we're coming from different places.  But I can still complain about it (Rant!  Rant! - I can hear Brian now).

My specific example for today is something I've encountered at various times in the past.  The only way I can explain this type of situation is as such: the person is somehow 'creating' a competition with me, in an area of my life that I'm simply not being competitive and didn't think I was.

An example: I bought my current car brand new.  It's a modest car, nothing really flashy, but I like and enjoy it.  And I'm certainly not one to announce all details and brag to everyone who sits down in the passenger seat ("I was able to afford this brand new, cash!  Isn't it great?  A new car is the only way to go!  It's the best!" etc).  I remember giving rides to 2 acquaintances specifically (who did NOT own their own vehicles, I might add) and they commented on my car's 'ugly' interior, and if/when they were to buy a car in the future they would certainly ensure that their interior choice was better than mine.

WTF?  First of all, I'm giving you a ride, you car-less freeloader.  Second, why the urge to point out something negative about my personal possession and emphasize that IF you were to buy your own car you would make sure it was better than mine?  I would NEVER say anything like that to someone else.  Why?  Because I don't have the need to make myself feel better at someone else's expense.

Here's another pet peeve along the same lines.  Sometimes when I've told a story (and it's just that, a story) about something good or bad or simply interesting, the other person responds as such: "Ahhhhh (often accompanied with a dismissive hand gesture), that's nothing.  I can top that story!  Listen to how much better/worse/more interesting MY story is....!" Barf.  I'm not trying to impress you.  It's just a story.  I'm not trying to say "I have the best stories to tell!"  Idiots.

I've even had people make comments to me along the lines of: "Yeah, I've just applied for a new job and I know I'm going to get it.  AND, I'll be making more money than YOU!"  I guess I should be flattered?  Am I some kind of salary bench-mark, a success meter?  If I'm excited about a new job offer and its salary, I would tell people about the excitement.  But I would NEVER make it a personal competition and point out how paltry their salary would then be in comparison to mine.  Cringe.

Maybe it all boils down to class, and being aware of how comments can be negative and insulting, and not going out of one's way to make others feel bad.  Well, that and the fact that people sure are ignorant, insensitive, insecure and stupid sometimes....

08.16.2006  "Missing You"
I miss you, Henry.  I fondly recall our weekly get-togethers, which often involved a visit to our favourite West End noodle house or some bubble tea delivered from Cambie Street.  But our visits always involved intelligent, engaging conversation and reminders of what it's like to really feel.  I realize you're only a phone call away (bookmarked with a 3-hour time difference) but we have our own partners and families now and our lifestyles only seem to allow a regular call every few months now.  However your annual birthday cards and personal, creative presents are always a joy to receive and I look forward to finding those thoughtful brown packages delivered from Toronto on my doorstep....

I miss you, Jason.  Those times seem so far away, buried in the past, when you'd call me from downstairs or we would let ourselves into each other's apartments (me to deliver fresh-made bean dip and you to deliver burnt muffins) or when you'd greet me on the stairs armed with a cup of tea 'to go' as I ran off to work or when I'd go out to my car and see that it had already been de-iced by a thoughtful friend (who had left for work 2 hours before me).  I'm sorry that I could not help you anymore.  I hear that you're doing ok, surviving, but I'm not really sure what's preventing me from contacting you?  But you need to know that those days when I could run down the stairs to see you quicker than the time it took for you to pick up the phone will always be filled with fondness and warmth....

I miss you, Calvin.  If I close my eyes, I can still clearly remember the weight of your 20-lb body (when you were in your prime) as you crowded me in my small, single bed at my mother's house, and your gentle purring and soft tap-tapping of your black tail that I interpreted as immense contentment just to be near me.  I still have your picture at work and at home to remind me that I can find love from a four-legged, furry creature whose greatest contribution to my life was simply his existence....

I miss you, Granny Ruby.  I mainly remember you for your sweet, gentle voice and endless compliments and praise as I was growing up.  I appreciate all those times you babysat us while Mom worked, and I would often curl up in my pajamas on your lap while we watched TV after you had cooked and fed us dinner.  I also remember in your final years, when dementia and senility were slowly stealing you away from us, and I would come visit you in the care unit.  Exhausted from work, I would collapse and curl up at the foot of your hospital bed.  When I awoke, you didn't recognize me but you were happy to have a visitor and you always greeted me with a smiling face and offered me your Jell-O.  Deep inside, even though your memory was being erased, you knew we had a connection that extends back to the day I was born....

I miss all of you.  I don't know why I'm feeling it especially today, now.  But you all need to know what you mean in my life.

08.14.2006  "Quote of the Day Part 7: Free Spirit"
This one is from Piers (yes, I'm quoting you!) and it was communicated via Messenger whilst we were at work.

While chatting about one of Piers' friends whom I had just met (and liked, and told him so), my favourite Brit made the comment:

>Yes, he liked you too!  :)  He's rather a free spirit like yourself!

Me?  A free spirit?  Me, who can obsess about little things like it's no tomorrow?  I can have entire, fictional conversations in my head as I try to think of responses to hypothetical, conflict-filled scenarios.  On many occasions (more so when I lived on my own) I've talked to the reflection in the mirror, working through dilemmas out loud.  And don't get me started on my tendencies to organize things, whether it's a simple outing with friends (8 emails and 5 phone calls later) or Robin's underwear drawer.  No one has ever referred to me as a free spirit.  When I think of that term, my younger cousin Tammy comes to mind - a young, chilled, leftover hippie-child who lives in a party house in Hawaii and surfs in between university classes.  Any mention of a problem is handled with a toss of those long, wavy locks and a shrug and an 'Ah well.  Whatever.  I'll deal with it somehow.'

But Piers explained his hunch that I must have been a very independent child, and how I did things my way, and now I don't really answer to anyone these days (still being independent even while in a relationship).  Plus, there's also my willingness to try new things and explore my boundaries.

Yes.  Yes, he's right.  But I never really thought of myself as a free spirit.  I considered it a huge compliment.  And I was even more flattered when I told him that no one had ever called me that before and his reaction was a surprised one.  It made my day. 

08.11.2006  "I Love It When I'm Wrong About People (In This Way)"
This morning as the bus approached me to take me on the short trip to the skytrain station, I saw that I did not recognize the driver.  His age was hard to place (late 30s or maybe early 40s?) mainly because his face was partially obstructed by a long, tangled mess of scraggly blonde hair (although most of it appeared to be split ends).  He was also sporting rugged facial hair and sunglasses.  He looked like one of Dog the Bounty Hunter's nephews (or siblings), more so if he traded in his navy, polyester Translink uniform for a leather vest and armband.

When I approached him with my bus pass, I expected a grunt or a nod.  I just assumed he was surly and cranky, like a washed-up roadie from the Motorhead days.  Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with a large, toothy smile and a 'Hey, how's it going?' that sounded genuine.  I watched how he interacted with the other commuters as we picked them up: he treated us all equally, with a smile and a verbal salutation.  Even the more miserable-looking passengers (mainly the older people) were quick to warm to him.  And one passenger must have been a previous regular on the driver's route  (or perhaps a friend?) because they chatted and gave each other quick updates and even hugged.

I love it when I'm pleasantly surprised by people, when my first impressions are proven wrong in a good way.  However, when the reverse situation happens (i.e. my positive, first impression is shattered the other way when the person turns out to be nasty and horrid) - well, that's pretty unpleasant.

08.10.2006  "Parking and Fashion Karma"
I recently gave my valid parking pass to a young woman at the Impark lot.  It only cost $3 and I had utilized it for 9 hours already (my money's worth, I'd say), and it was still good until 6:00am the next day.  She was very grateful and offered me cash, but I declined.

And all this week I've been clearing out my wardrobe, getting rid of things that I just don't want or need (or are no longer flattering on me) anymore.  I gave 2 shawls to Deanna and she was ecstatic.  She offered me money in exchange for them, but I said no way (they were only $15 each).  And the rest of the clothes I'm going to donate to charity, as usual.

I'm ensuring good parking and fashion karma for myself.  I can't wait for the next time I drive downtown and attempt street parking, or when I go clothes shopping.  It'll be a breeze.

08.06.2006  "Reflections on Pride 2006"
I think this year's Pride Parade was the best one ever.  Well, maybe not ever.  I remember when I first started going (about a decade ago), it was all so new to me.  So I was wide-eyed in amazement at all the colourful costumes and festive drag queens.  But now I'm a veteran and I know what to expect (although, who knew getting bagels on Denman and Davie at 11:00am would take 30 minutes?  Ivan and I found out the hard way).

Anyway.  This year's parade was big, bright and it moved at a good pace (no huge gaps between floats).  Amongst the 300,000 attendees, Ivan and I watched from the shade and I could see Sheldon across the street (in the sun) and I knew Mark and his crew were just 40 feet away also under the trees.  So, with my friends nearby, I didn't feel lost in the crowd.

One of the highlights was the Vancouver Fire Department's float.  They had one of their big, red fire trucks that would stop every 20 feet or so.  One of the firefighters was perched on the roof by the ladder.  She was an amazon - tall, leggy, with jet-black hair and her uniform was dripping wet from head to toe.  She would jump down and unravel the fire hose and aim it at the crowds.  But she'd play us and tease us first, get us to scream for the refreshing hose-down.   Then she would soak us.  Then with one seemingly quick and powerful movement, she would wind the hose up again then jump back on to the fire truck and climb back to her perch on the roof, all the while waving and smiling into the cheering crowds.  Then they were gone.

"Wow, " Sean said as he spoke for all of us, "that is one, HOT lesbian."  We all nodded in agreement.  Yes indeed.

After a stroll around Sunset Beach (when the parade was done), we went for a wonderful, comforting pasta meal at Luxy.  We commented that we wished the Davie Village was always like Pride weekend: packed restaurants, bars and clubs open (and busy), patio and parking lot parties, and drag queens performing on rooftops.  Why is it this festive only once a year?

But then I walked Trevor back to his car, and as we strolled along the sea wall we had our usual, X-rated discussion that we always seem to have when we're together (e.g. tell-tale signs that your boyfriend watches too much porn, how to avoid back pain during a threesome, etc).  Then he gave me a lift in his Cabrio while we listened to a remix of some 80s tune.

I realized the city (i.e. my life) can be as festive as I want it to be, any time of the year, as long as I have my friends nearby.

08.05.2006  "Who Has a Pineapple On Her Underwear...."
I bought some Spongebob Squarepants underwear on the weekend.  They're totally awesome.  They're really bright (electric blue and pink) and they have really colourful graphics (Spongebob chasing bubbles, Spongebob riding a jellyfish) and the words "Spongebob Squarepants!!!" printed in big, bold letters across the ass.  AND, they were mega on sale and they are REALLY comfortable.

I love them.  They make me feel really happy as soon as I put them on.

08.04.2006  "You Know What They Say About  a Woman Who Sneezes Loudly...."
I don't know when this started, but it has definitely been brought to my attention in the last couple of years.  What am I talking about?  My sneezes and how loud they are (and entertaining, apparently).

My nasal expulsions really came into the spotlight when I started my current job.  We're in an open-office environment.  For someone like me who's used to the comfort of cubicle walls, it took some getting used to (but that's a whole other entry about personal comfort levels).  But my point here is that suddenly I found myself in a working space that has no sound buffering walls.  And when I sneeze it is very obvious to my co-workers since I will hear "Bless you!" and "Gesundheit!" from colleagues up to 30 feet away.

For those co-workers slightly out of vocal range, they sometimes feel the need to send their blessings via MSN Messenger.  Or, some feel the need to comment on the number of decibels (e.g. Tom's "Yowza!") or critique them (e.g. Tom's "I've heard better from you") or show their appreciation (e.g. Brian's "I'm going to miss your sneezes when I go!").  In fact, my sneezes have also become a source of entertainment for these 2 individuals.  Sometimes I'll sneeze (loudly) and then a Messenger window will pop up on my screen: "Bless you!" from Brian (who now works at BOBJ down the street).  Yes, I'm wise to him and Tom and their 'Big Brother's watching you' plots against me (I can just picture them giggling into their computer screens as they figure out how to 'get me').

I've also recently gotten attention from my neighbours at home for my sneezes.  The other day I was in the kitchen and the windows were wide open.  The next-door children were walking by in between the 2 houses when I let a rather loud sneeze go.  "Bless you!" they all chimed as I heard their shoes crunching over the gravel rocks.  And the other day I was sitting out on our deck when I sneezed, and I heard the children's blessing again - but this time from inside their own house.  Oh lord.

And when you have hardwood floors, sounds are amplified in general.  So, Robin and I will be watching TV in the living room and if I sneeze, the sound rivals the stereo sound system.  "Geez," he said to me the other day, "can't you be a bit quieter?" he tried to mock me the other day.

"Well, you know what they say about women who sneeze loudly," was my cheeky response.

"Right.  Lucky me," was Robin's grinning response.  No more complaints from him anymore.

08.03.2006  "A Newly Discovered Source of Fat and Goodness"
Earlier this week I had the opportunity to try clotted cream for the first time.  We had an English-inspired tea break at work, and we were served scones with jam and this fabulously rich, dairy product.  It was spectacular indeed.  I only learned later that it has a minimum fat content of 55%.  But that's me - always willing to try something new at least once.

And I'm glad tea time wasn't served with marmite.  I have tried it a couple of times (after English people have tried to convince me "It's an acquired taste!"), but I still can't quite stomach it.

08.02.2006  "Sad Songs Definitely Say So Much"
I've always had a 'thing' for depressing songs.  I don't know what it is.  I almost find them uplifting even though many other people would find them to be downers.  And just like other favourite songs, I'm tempted to listen to them over and over again (press repeat again and again).  Furthermore I don't find that the agonizing lyrics feed my melancholy mood.  No, just the opposite - if I'm feeling 'blue' and I listen to some depressing tunes, I always feel better afterwards.  Or, if I'm in a good mood to start with, I don't feel like my soul has been sucker-punched after a few listens.

An example would be The Smiths' "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now."  This was a favourite from my teen angst-ridden years.  Even today when I hear those introductory, timid guitar chords I feel giddy.

And today, I was blown away by a song I've never heard before.  I was sitting at work, feeling a little bit down (for no particular reason) and suddenly these great musical swells rushed through me via my headphones.  I checked my music stream window, and the song was Moby's "When It's Cold I'd Like To Die."  What a freaking fabulous title!  The haunting female vocals and monolithic music worked perfectly together, and appealed to me.  And what beautiful, sad, lonely lyrics, e.g. "If I holler let me go/If I falter let me know;" and "I don't want to swim forever/I don't want to fight the tide/I don't want to swim the ocean/When it's cold I want to die."

I'm still tingling here thinking about it. 

07.31.2006  "One Week in Farshad Time"
Robin and I were commenting how much we did last week (work plus sailing classes five days a week).  We were exhausted from it and looking very forward to a normal week (relaxing in comparison).  But then we looked at each other and we were thinking the exact same thing: during that crazy one week, we probably just lived an equivalent of one of Farshad's regular weeks.  And he probably managed to do a variety of different things each night e.g. 9-5 work plus gym time plus going out for dinner plus contract work plus troubleshooting someone's computer issues plus flyering.

Yes, it's funny because it's true.

07.29.2006  "The Belles of the Ball"
It was the annual Illuminaries Lantern festival at Trout Lake on Saturday and even though I've been going for the last several years, this year was the first time I actually had lanterns to bring.  And what impressive lanterns they were....

For the record: my contribution to the lantern construction was minimal.  The majority of the work was done by Robin and Brent.  The theme was Pacman - easily-recognizable, colourful shapes that would cast beautiful, glowing images in the park.  Robin decided they would be best carried on a long pole, all in a line (pictures can be seen here).  So there was Pacman followed by the three ghosts, then pulling up the rear was Ms. Pacman racing for the cherries (which had actual cherry tree leaves on them from our backyard tree).  The final step was placing the glowsticks ($30 worth in total) inside each lantern.  We were ready to show them off.

Before we were even completely setup, we could hear the buzz as people walked by us at the park entrance.  "Oh, look!  It's Pacman!" we'd hear as a group walked by.  Then, followed by "Pacman!", "Oh wow, Pacman!" as the others in the group recognized our video game inspired creations.  One little girl (about 8 years old) loudly exclaimed, "They even have the special cherries!  That's totally wicked!"

As we slowly walked around the lake, taking turns holding the heavy bar (always requiring 2 people at a time - one on each end), we were slightly surprised at how many people would run up alongside us and congratulate us on a job well-done ("Best lanterns by far, dudes!").  There were also many requests for photo opportunities.  We'd stand patiently while cell phones, digital cameras, and fancy cameras on tripods flashed away.  They would thank us profusely and we were all immensely flattered.

We were also surprised at how many young children recognized OUR childhood video game.  We assumed only the 30+ crowd would 'get it.'  And yes indeed, the adults definitely got it: "Oh, you guys must be 80s kids," some would exclaim as they walked by.  We had really dated ourselves. There was only one old-timer who didn't clue-in to the Pacman theme.  Even after Trevor patiently explained the various pixelated characters, the older man insisted, "No, no - I think it's the Parade of Lost Souls.  You got the ghosts there, ya see?"  Trevor's response: "Move along, please."  But most of all we were really blown away at how many people asked if our lanterns were for sale.  I personally  encountered 3 incidents, but maybe there were more.

Towards the end of the evening, as the crowd thinned out, we started heading back to the car.  But as we stopped to rest for a bit, yet another group formed around us and we were basking in the light of multiple camera flashes yet again.  We likened the experience to how it must feel to be an extremely, drop-dead gorgeous, hot-looking person - so much positive attention and compliments.  What a great way to wrap up a busy, productive week.

And someone tells me we won the "People's Choice Award" for that evening.... (but as Piers says, we'll just declare ourselves 'Winners of Illuminaries 2006").

07.28.2006  "The Mighty"
This week I fixed my MP3 player.  With the help of the internet, I was able to diagnose the problem, find new firmware, locate appropriate drivers (since I couldn't find the installation CD) and proper instructions.  Now it works even better than ever.

Also, all this week I've been going to work as usual but then heading down to Jericho and attending sailing classes from 6-9pm.  We come home at night around 9:45pm and we're exhausted and ready for sleep.  But with the exception of Thursday (when I felt absolutely drained), I've had a pretty good energy level and I've been learning many new things (about the science of sailing and about myself e.g. how my brain processes information, how I tend to panic easily in unfamiliar situations but how others' confidence can work magic on me, etc).

And on Wednesday I helped right a capsized vessel as a requirement of the course (well, the first time I mainly watched Piers do it but the second time around I was an equal contributor).  There's something about hoisting a completely turtled 14-foot boat out of the water and seeing that enormous main sail and mast emerge from the depths and once again point skyward, and then hoist your water-logged body back into the hull and be back in the game.

And this week I had two people comment how slim, sporty, healthy, fresh and glowing I look.  I think it must be all the fresh air, salt water mists, late evening sun, and the sense of accomplishment I've had all week.

Seriously, with the frame of mind I'm in right now, I feel like I can do anything....

07.26.2006  "Martha the Dog"
I was reminded yesterday of something from my childhood.  I realize it's a very fond memory that was lost in the recesses of my mind but I'm happy that I remember it now.

Growing up, we lived on a cul-de-sac.  It was our world to play in - neighbour's yards, our own yard, driveways.  But since we were young, we were always instructed to stay on the street.  There were dangers lurking at the end of the street, like strangers and careless drivers.  And even though we didn't venture far from the loop of neighbourhood houses, sometimes guests would wander down our street.  One such regular visitor was Martha the dog.

She was a white basset hound with brown spots.  A solid, lumbering yet gentle dog who never barked.  She lived down the hill on the street perpendicular to our cul-de-sac  and every once in a while we'd be playing on someone's lawn and we'd see the familiar rotund-torpedo shape with long, floppy ears headed our way.  She was always unescorted but totally at ease by herself.  We'd drop everything we were doing and run to her.  We'd shower her with attention and she loved it.  She'd lie down on the grass and expose her soft belly, and we'd rub it.  We would also 'comb' her flowing ears with our hands.  She'd sigh with satisfaction but her expression wouldn't change - her droopy, basset hound eyes would look lazily content, bordering on inoffensive boredom. But after about an hour of fawning attention or whenever she fancied, Martha would get up with tail wagging and head back down the street towards her home.

Looking back at Martha's unannounced yet sporadically regular visits, I feel a sense of childhood comfort.  The warm fuzzies, if you may.  The only disturbing thing is I can't remember when we stopped seeing her.  Did we simply outgrow her, and just not notice her anymore as we traded in outdoor childhood playtime for indoor video games?  Or did she just grow old and her visits became gradually more and more infrequent until she just didn't venture into our hood anymore?  I'd like to think that the latter is true, because the image of a lonely, tired basset hound who can't find her little friends anymore breaks my heart.  Yes, I honestly think Martha just eventually opted to stay within the confines of her own yard after the treks up the hill became too tiring.

And I think now, in my adult years, I seem to be missing that 'Martha' factor in my life.  I mean, there are many people and things in my life that bring me joy.  Don't get me wrong.  But there's something almost magical about it, when I look back, and think of the thrill of getting regular visits from a gentle dog and the simple pleasure of running my small fingers through her soft fur, and knowing she was there just for us.  And for those moments, frozen in time, she was the center of our universe.

07.25.2006  "The Ocean Is Our Backyard"
We (Robin, Piers, Brent, myself) are taking a sailing course this week at the Jericho Sailing Center.  It's 6-9pm Monday to Friday.  In the classroom we've been learning points of sail and how to tie knots.  But the majority of classroom time is spent on the water in our individual dinghies.

On Day 1 I was intimidated as hell.  We were responsible for our own vessels (rigging them, maneuvering them).   And who knew the masts would be so tall!  But by Day 2 (yesterday) I was already feeling more at ease.  I was actually doing my own tacks and gybes with reasonable success.  And I was feeling less awkward as I scurried around the small hull while I minded the boom and worked the tiller.  However, I'm still not used to always sitting in 2 inches of water.

But there was one point where we were all waiting for the wind to pick up, and we were just bobbing along gently with the ocean currents.  I looked around me: downtown Vancouver straight ahead, Stanley Park off to the side, all the other sailing vessels around me, and nothing but blue sky and water beyond that.  I thought to myself, how could I have lived in Vancouver so long and never done this before?  The ocean is our backyard here - it's a whole other playground and I'm happy to be exploring it.

07.24.2006  H-O-T Stuff"
Vancouver has been experiencing its own heat wave.  Temperatures at the house are about 30C during the peak sun hours.  And since I'm not a fan of intense heat, it's hell.  I'm constantly headachy and nauseated and I'm so tired of perspiring.  Today I was so happy to be at work in a cool, air-conditioned environment.  I feel normal today.

But then I think what it would be like to live somewhere like Florida where the humidity is enough to suffocate you (I've had a stopover at the Miami airport when it was mid-summer - the scorching air blasting in from the auto-sliding airport doors was enough to suck my breath away from me)?  Or what about living somewhere like an inner-city project/ghetto in New Delhi where there are millions of people and no air-conditioning?  Or what about being a firefighter up in the interior of B.C. and being up close and personal with a raging blaze?  Suddenly my blanket spread out on our lawn under the maple tree doesn't sound so horrible.

07.21.2006  "Comedians Probably Come Up with Material In Their Sleep"
Last night I was awoken by a loud screech of tires outside our bedroom window.  My heart was beating out of my chest while I waited for the impact of metal - but then nothing.  I felt Robin stir beside me. "That scared me, Pumpkin," I heard him say.  I was relieved that there was no car accident but I was a bit frustrated at the thought of being abruptly woken up.  I reached behind me and snatched away one of the spare pillows so I could use it in my efforts to get more comfortable.

I heard Robin behind me say something like, "Hey, easy.  Watch where you grab.  There are snakes and scared turtles here in the bed, you know."  Snakes and scared turtles.  No doubt he was alluding to the fact that he was sleeping naked last night (due to the heat) and was mindful of his exposed vulnerability.  I was half-asleep, but I thought it was hilarious.

When I woke up, I remembered our dozy conversation.  But I was pretty sure Robin didn't remember.  Sure enough, when I relayed it to him this morning it was all new to him.  Man, you can't come up with funny, original material like that when you're conscious.  Things are so much fresher and funnier when you're out of it.

07.19.2006  "How To Make a Mundane Errand Fun"
One word: convertible.  Today was a special lunch break.  Deanna had access to a Cabriolet until the end of today, so we ran some errands in North Vancouver.

For those of you that own a vehicle where you can put the top down at your discretion, the novelty has probably worn off (at least somewhat) by now.  But for us, it was a great time.  The only other convertible I ride in is Trevor's, and that's not very often.  Today, as we drove through downtown to Stanley Park and over the Lions Gate bridge, the air was warm (not too hot) and the wind flirted playfully with our loose hair.  There's something about bombing along the causeway with nothing between you and the far reaches of the sky that is so freeing.  The ride was just that much more enjoyable.

07.18.2006  "Bring On the Wonder-Bread!"
At work today, someone brought in a couple dozen Montreal-style bagels with cream cheese.  I inhaled my first one.  It was so good.  Then my co-worker convinced me to have a second.  So I did.  It was also amazing the second time around.

I rarely eat bagels because I read somewhere they're like the equivalent of 5 slices of bread.  So, I just consumed about half a loaf of bread in 1 hour.  Oh, and now I'm eating a sandwich for lunch.  Whatever.  Sometimes you just have to say screw it, and do what you feel like doing.

07.17.2006  "It's No Longer the Partying That Will Kill Us - Now It's the Dairy"
I'm so glad I have wonderful friends who are on the same wavelength as me, who are around my same age and can sympathize with the joys and pains of getting older (as we've moved from our 20s to our 30s).  I'm glad I have friends like Ivan.

When we spoke on the weekend and he asked how I was doing, I told him I was fine but I had some stomach issues last week.  Then I launched into play-by-play details of how I was up most of the night on Wednesday because of an upset stomach, and the suspect was too much cheese at Goody Wednesday at work.  I could just see Ivan nodding into the phone as he agreed about our love-hate relationship with cheese (So good!  But it hurts my stomach!  Oh, I love cheese!  Damn you dairy products - why do you cause me such pain?).

I think this went on for about 5 minutes until we took a step back from the conversation and actually heard what was being said about cheese wreaking such perceived dramatic havoc on our systems.  Ivan made the observation that 10 years ago we used to complain how our weekday late-night benders used to do us in.  But it's no longer the partying that will kill us - now it's the overindulgence of cheese and other rich foods.  Oh, the times they are a-changing.  Thank goodness I have Ivan with me on the journey.

07.16.2006  "Sailing: This Is a Picture I Did Not Take"
We went sailing on Saturday and I brought my camera (pictures to be posted as soon as I clean up my website or upload them to Flickr - whatever happens first).  However, at one point I was struck with terrible motion sickness and had to lay down briefly at the bow on the surface of the boat.  I looked up and wished I had my camera on hand but I was too ill to go grab it....

This is a picture I did not take of my torso, legs and feet that protruded from my line of vision.  The rolling ocean sparkled around me and as I slowly moved my eyes skyward, the raised sail towered above me.  From my horizontal position I had to crane my neck backwards in order to see the tip of the white beast - it was so immense and looming and I felt so small and misplaced.  The skewed perspective made me dizzier than I already was, so I had to close my eyes and ride out the feeling while the sun warmed by inert body and the sounds of the lapping waves calmed my nerves.

07.13.2006  "My Own Private Hell"
For those of you who have never experienced insomnia or a sleepless night caused by a physical ailment, consider yourselves very lucky.  Lying awake while the clock keeps track of how long you've stared at the ceiling (or wall, or pillow) and then you witness the sun slowly creeping into the horizon - it's just pure hell.

I had one of those nights last night.  I went to sleep around 11pm no problem.  But then I awoke at 1am due to a mild (yet irritating) stomach ache and some emotional anxiety ('things on my mind').  Combined with the full moon (which I only found about now) and I was pretty much fully awake until 6am.  At 3am I gave up counting sheep and went to the living room to watch TV.  I hoped it would lull me to sleep, but instead I got caught up in an emotional TV-movie-of the week and a repeat of "Six Feet Under."  Oh, help me.  So, back to bed I went.  I think I drifted off to sleep at 4am but I was snapped back awake at 4:30 for some reason.  Back to the living room for me until 6am.  And by then I was simply spent - I was dazed and disoriented.  So I stumbled back to bed and magically (with the help of earplugs and a sleeping mask) I fell into a quasi-normal sleep until 10am.

I recall working at a previous company where there were a number of hard-core insomniacs.  There was the entire IT department, as told to me by one of the System Admin guys, that suffered from chronic insomnia (but not all at the same time).  Then I remember talking to one of the Product Managers about his sleep deficiencies - I don't think he had slept through the night for 12 years, or something ridiculous like that?  Anyway, he was a nice guy but he looked like hell (thin, pasty-complexion, permanently ruffled).  Then I clearly remember talking to one of the programmers about his insomnia.  He described it like this: whenever he put his head down on the pillow, he'd hear this little voice inside his mind that taunted him, "I'm not going to let you sleep!"  And he would toss and turn for hours. Whenever I have troubles sleeping I can't help but think of this, and it drives me crazy (I wish I had never heard the story in the first place).

At times, I am unable to keep my eyes open due to physical or emotional exhaustion (or just general fatigue).  However, sleep can sometimes be elusive - you almost have to work at it, and sometimes it just doesn't happen.  It's one of those things that when you start to think about it and rationalize it, it suddenly doesn't come naturally.  If I don't sleep well tonight, please beware.  I won't be rational.  I won't be coherent.  I won't be human. 

07.11.2006  "Got Crab?"
My Uncle John is in town visiting from Ocean Falls.  When I see him next week I know he'll give us a gift - he goes crabbing up there, and he always brings a few catches down with him (defrosted and boiled and served with a bit of melted butter and yum!).  But it reminded me of a random, childhood memory that still has me scratching my head to this day.

When I was about 10 years old, I was walking home from school.  As I passed a neighbour's lawn about 2 blocks from my house, I noticed something kind of biggish (remember I was a kid) and brownish on the grass.  Being like any curious kid I moved in for an investigation.  Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a full-sized crab (you know, the kind you see in tanks at Chinese restaurants).  And it was alive, and hanging out in the yard (and no body of water in sight).  WTF?

I didn't want to loiter for too long (I was a kid on someone else's property and a bit skittish to start with) so I ran home.  When I got to my cul-de-sac, I convinced my brother and a neighbourhood kid of my discovery.  We all traipsed over there (armed with a large bucket and a shovel) and poked at it for a bit, to disprove our disbelief.  The details after that are a bit of a blur: I think we rang the doorbell to see if anyone was home to claim it.  But then I remember our neighbour putting it in his bucket and he later told us that his mother drove him to the beach and he put it back in the water.

Anyway.  As I recalled the memory last night, I still had no answer to my questions from years back: what was the crab doing just hanging out on the grass?  How did it get there?  Where did it come from?   It's a childhood mystery indeed.  And I almost prefer it to stay that way.

07.10.2006  "My Mother's Cooking"
Growing up at home, my mother always did the cooking.  Always.  Every single meal.  I might have prepared the occasional snack for myself.  But if she was wandering somewhere around the house and I just mentioned that I was feeling peckish, she would be happy to oblige and fix me something.  And then when I moved out, I would come home religiously every Sunday for a visit and dinner.  She worried that my frantic lifestyle interfered with my nutrition so she would make a minimum 3-course meal and send me home with containers of leftovers for the week.

But as I lived by myself I adapted my own style of cooking.  I started off with simple creations (stir-fries, pastas) and gradually became more adventurous (soups are my specialty now).  And now that Robin does most of the cooking, well - I eat what he prepares (and it's good).

However, lately I've been thinking of my mother's cooking.  And I miss it.  When we visit, we often go out to a restaurant now.  She's been cooking for the majority of her life and doesn't really feel the need to do it anymore.  I don't blame her.  But I'll be honest when I say I've been thinking about her Chinese-style steamed spareribs with blackbean sauce or her minced pork with egg.  And I know in the past I've asked for 'recipes' but she was just used to cooking by habit all those years that all she can say is "Oh, a pinch of salt here, etc."

I remember a conversation I had awhile ago with my friends about their mothers' cooking.  Our observation is that there were many foods we ate growing up but the recipes kind of end with our generation (due to our lack of initiative).  It's a little sad, but true.  But it doesn't have to be that way.  My mother is still around - I can invite her over and have a 'recipe-mind-transfer' session where I write things down (as best she remembers) and try cooking them while she observes and improvise where I have to.  It would be fun and worth it in the end, because food association is a big thing for me now that I think about it.  Even when my mother is gone one day, I'll still be able to whip up a tomato beef or chicken gai ding dish and it'll remind me of her.

07.06.2006  "Remember This"
A (not-so-random) thought that passed through my mind as I applied aloe vera lotion to Robin's sun-burnt back the other night....

Whatever you're doing right now, wherever you are - think of where you are in your life, who are your loved ones, who do you interact with everyday, what is your daily routine, what do you think about before you go to bed, and so much more.  Now remember this day because every day is not going to be like this.  Things will change, people will leave your life and new people will enter to take their places (or maybe not), your job will change and your everyday existence will too.  You will look back at today at some point in the future and you will ask yourself: how did I get here? (I think I should credit David Byrnes/Talking Heads for that last quote).

Remember this.....

07.05.2006  "Canada Day Barbecue 2006!"
We had a small get-together on Canada Day because a) it seems to be a tradition (for the past 3 years anyway) and b) we wanted to show off the lovely patio/deck that Robin recently built.  Pictures can be seen here.  I realize that I was off to a good start (took pictures of food that people brought, and snapped photos of the arriving guests) but then I got busy and forgot to keep taking them.  However, the important thing was that I was able to capture most of the pinata festivities.  That was key.

Anyway.  What can I say?  I had a great time, and I know our 25 guests enjoyed themselves as well. Great food, drinks and weather contributed to the wonderful day.  But the best thing was having multiple friends from various circles mix and mingle successfully and not having to worry whether people were getting along and having fun (although Ivan falling asleep on the couch was a highlight too - well, almost expected).  What a great way to celebrate our nation's birthday - by all of us of getting along.  We Are Canadian!

07.04.2006  "Mirror On the Wall"
Piers told me that his new beau, after meeting me recently, made the comment that "Rena is pretty." I was going to classify it as a 'Comment of the Day' but that would sound a little too self-absorbed.  No, it got me thinking a little deeper into this seemingly innocent comment.

Upon hearing the flattering remark, I immediately squealed with delight into the phone.  I never take such compliments lightly.  If someone goes out of his/her way to say something (honestly) nice about me (whether it's about my appearance or personality) then I am grateful.  And even though Robin tells me every day how beautiful I am, I never tire of it.  But here's the key: I don't get a swollen head about it.

Growing up, I never thought of myself as pretty or attractive.  As a child, I was a short-haired tomboy.  I distinctly remember once playing cops and robbers with the boys on the cul-de-sac while the two other neighborhood girls played dress-up on the lawn - they draped themselves in flowing dresses and plastic jewelry and pranced around the yard.  I looked at them not with envy but more with curiousity - how could that be fun?  At the tween age I had the unfortunate experience of going through a growth spurt before all my other female friends.  As a result I always felt a bit awkward and large while they flitted around me, all long-flowing hair and spindly legs.

Then I got fat.  Well, not super-huge, but just kind of heavy in my early teen years.  What can I say - my family had a love affair with food since I could remember.  And my hormones just couldn't negotiate all that overeating.  I remember looking out our kitchen window and seeing one of the neighborhood girls as she headed out to tennis practice.  Her long legs and exposed arms were so slender and athletic under her perfect, white uniform and her blonde ponytail bounced as she ran.  She was one of the girls whom I had watched playing dress-up years ago.  But as I looked down at my own thick body covered with a colourless, sack-like tank-dress, this time I looked at her with envy.

So, I went on a diet.  I lost weight and it was a marked improvement.  I received many compliments from classmates and encouragement from my mother.  But I still felt a little large and frumpy around my other friends - they always seemed to feminine and graceful.  My mother always talked about our family's 'big bones' so I attributed my seemingly large frame to that.  It was slightly comforting.  But whenever I looked in the mirror I only saw fat thighs and too-broad shoulders.  I never even bothered to look at my face because what was the use.  It's quite disturbing, actually, when I look back at that time of my life....

Needless to say I never felt 'pretty'.  And therefore I would never consider describing myself as 'attractive.'  I mean, I was well-liked and my self-esteem was stable and I certainly didn't hate my looks - but I just never really thought that others would be attracted to me for my looks.  And then it all changed.

I had dated a bit in my late teens and early 20s but my looks were always secondary to my positive personality as far as I was concerned.  I went through another 'fat' stage in my mid-20s (I blame it on a change to vegetarianism that was done all wrong - I was young and uneducated about nutrition) but then lost the extra weight again.  I was now in my later 20s and something was happening.  People (men) were showing an increased interest in me.  I remember one distinct time when I had three (3!!!) of them wooing me at once.  What was going on?

I can't help but think that part of this physical transformation was due to my growing circle of gay, male friends.  They always told me how pretty and radiant I was, how I attracted people with my big smile and fantastic rack (heeeheehehee).  According to them, everything about me was to be admired: kissable lips, soft skin, incredible eyes, adorable freckles.  It was a first for me. And hearing it again and again from honest men who stood to gain nothing from the endless flattery finally sunk in.  For the first time in my life, I actually felt like an attractive person.  It was a new sensation, and a welcome one.  And with age comes acceptance and forgiveness.  I now look in the mirror and don't just see my flaws.  I mean, they're still there, but I don't focus on them.  And I came to the conclusion awhile ago that I'll never look like a super-model.  It's just not biologically possible.

So that brings me to the present.  I am definitely not high on myself, nor do I think I'm the prettiest person whenever I walk into a room.   However, now I'm not totally shocked and surprised that someone finds me attractive and tells me so.  And it's a good, healthy feeling to feel comfortable with myself and the person who looks back at me in the mirror.