tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-362006022024-03-07T18:28:31.772-08:00spindrift and dreamsVoyager, laundry queen. Wanderer, commuting civil servant. World traveller, mom. Big dreams, bigger mortgage. My life.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-27668912276704588082011-03-02T20:59:00.001-08:002011-03-03T10:48:27.607-08:00Goodbye sweet old girl.I said goodbye to a beloved friend today. For thirteen years she has given love, comfort, companionship, and play. We have hiked up mountains together, and shared a tent in the snow and in the sand many times. She has been a pillow for my tears and happy playmate in good times. A protector of her household of humans, cats, and her buddy Henry. Part lab, part German Shepherd, she was so gentle with little kittens and puppies, but took her job as our family protector seriously. She was not so keen on most other adult dogs, unless they were males with all their dangly bits intact. She was a bit of a slut that way. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0q20yI0QalHotpKGfuCgCbH0vYW5o6Q_JdFl-RrMay40RDpHGYt6A2e6_NSK2VekhgrvittC5mQxTqIsyNYcoG5AK1wxAmwsHhP2MJwXQkfkCbdT2SESyo0TeysCOnYcF-Ci2A/s1600/scan0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd0q20yI0QalHotpKGfuCgCbH0vYW5o6Q_JdFl-RrMay40RDpHGYt6A2e6_NSK2VekhgrvittC5mQxTqIsyNYcoG5AK1wxAmwsHhP2MJwXQkfkCbdT2SESyo0TeysCOnYcF-Ci2A/s320/scan0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">She was a mutt named Tika. I got her as a refugee from the Vancouver city pound when she was about 9 months old. She was big, untrained and rambunctious; throwing herself against me and licking my face when I went to the pound to walk her as a volunteer at the pound. I bought her a condo. Really. When I met her my 11 year old son and I were living in a rental house that did not allow pets. I loved that old house. But I loved Tika more. So I borrowed a down payment from my sister, and bought a pet friendly condo so I could adopt the dog who had stolen my heart. I had never had a dog before. Or more correctly, a dog had never had me before. And she had me. Oh, she had me. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">She loved to hike. On future hikes I will always feel her spirit jogging ahead of me down the path, waiting for me to catch up when I lag. She loved to sing and play with our cat Oliver, and if any of the cats tried to eat from her bowl she would step aside for them. She accepted our new puppy Henry five years ago, a little reluctantly at first. But they became great friends, wrestling, playing, and chasing chipmunks together. Henry will miss her as much as I will.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Cancer finally took her spirit. In the last few weeks her body was here, but her eyes held no life. She was often miserable, could barely walk, and on pills for pain. My heart ached for her. On the weekend we made the decision that it was TIME. We made the fateful vet appointment for today at 4:00. At the vet's, we were shown into a special quiet room. Everyone was so kind. The vet tech put a catheter in Tika's leg vien, then the vet came in and gently explained exactly what would happen, and said we could take as much time as we needed. Finally, I nodded and sobbed "O.K. it's time." A few seconds later, as I held her, Tikas's head slumped in my arms and it was over. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Goodbye my beloved Tika. A big chunk of my heart went with you today. It will heal, in time. But you will have a place in it forever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLS5VhhLKP2dwYlx2xWbpOKIMY4_1KvlpnTR3AgisOdR-KvlU4So-EbNKhEYsNacrGebUtDRrT8NbTJUB1YYoZ1-llBdsaAzJno6xvUtkAf7DAdOReRmz0h6BlphDnIf6s_QdyQ/s1600/scan0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjLS5VhhLKP2dwYlx2xWbpOKIMY4_1KvlpnTR3AgisOdR-KvlU4So-EbNKhEYsNacrGebUtDRrT8NbTJUB1YYoZ1-llBdsaAzJno6xvUtkAf7DAdOReRmz0h6BlphDnIf6s_QdyQ/s320/scan0002.jpg" width="243" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-53670843016208438982010-05-21T08:54:00.004-07:002010-05-21T04:34:52.308-07:00The most wonderful time of the year<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9V97rRpin2C0VdKc2f6SoHgmXzprXYu5UrgQpBkH3yP-7MPYAbdyELWb0O9K2PkeqrnH1AetcR5uKjnScnhuvuMR79c6q-5iCoNkpffsFhGn3xLRY_0LRMbWaXoDQL0tsvof-Gw/s1600/IMG_0649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9V97rRpin2C0VdKc2f6SoHgmXzprXYu5UrgQpBkH3yP-7MPYAbdyELWb0O9K2PkeqrnH1AetcR5uKjnScnhuvuMR79c6q-5iCoNkpffsFhGn3xLRY_0LRMbWaXoDQL0tsvof-Gw/s320/IMG_0649.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">No, your browser has not screwed up and sent you into a post from December. Christmas is O.K., but it does not compare to the first really HOT WEEKEND AT THE LAKE.</div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So did Henry:</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The deck chairs were pulled out of storage and the spiders were sent packing.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Then we had lunch al fresco on the gleaming table and chairs, talking about the summer ahead. Swimming, wakeboarding, the rope swing, B's famous margueritas and friends visiting.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">As the sun headed west we sat on the dock with cold drinks, reading, dozing, and making plans for the many long hot weekends to come. Bliss. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>I have not just been away from the Internet, I've been away from home. Although, one is never very far away from the Internet, at least not in most of the places I've visited. I've logged into cyberspace from Kathmandu, the Serengeti, <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Koh</span> Pan Gan Thailand, Guatemala, and tiny villages in Canada's north... Oh. Does that sound like I'm showing off? Putting on airs? Of course it does, because I was. But I'll stop. For now. <br />
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Anyway, I had a lovely time away. There was leisure time to take long walks, read, drink a cold brew in the sunshine, spend time with family, and feel the warm white sand on my feet as turquoise waves lapped at my toes.<br />
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You may be thinking, "she must have gone to the Caribbean, or Mexico, or maybe Hawaii. Or even the South Pacific." It takes as long to fly to those places as it did to the place I really went, but it wasn't one of them. I'll give you a hint:<br />
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We did not eat this monster, but we sure enjoyed several of his great-grandchildren. <br />
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Have you guessed where I was? First person to get the country and region gets a big round of applause. The first person to name the actual beach in these photos gets first prize: an all expense paid trip to anywhere in the world you can toss a ball to from your own home. Really. I am that generous.<br />
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.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-85529427854253156062010-04-24T08:49:00.000-07:002010-04-24T08:49:35.103-07:00Wet nose wisdom: Lessons from my dogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKBRgupPfmDOu1YzQmsUCCadlHf-8VHBjkroC7JO0p5q_hrrXkI0-GSxxNG-TvzIEKdpwXhP7ORfDo2dHCnrmbaJzYO-1zZFJQKaIBEMLRFx8iCKhFgagLYjTN5Aix89b9TXxCw/s1600/IMG_0633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKBRgupPfmDOu1YzQmsUCCadlHf-8VHBjkroC7JO0p5q_hrrXkI0-GSxxNG-TvzIEKdpwXhP7ORfDo2dHCnrmbaJzYO-1zZFJQKaIBEMLRFx8iCKhFgagLYjTN5Aix89b9TXxCw/s320/IMG_0633.jpg" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I herded the dogs into the car for the short drive to a park not far from my home. In this city of beautiful parks, this one is not. It is a ribbon of land along the Fraser river, not more than 200 metres wide, bordered by light industry on one side, and log booms on the other.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6rZgRS9lxkdBTeR7BPiDBSt35nJYjHeaSpJnaGKrPPxXPA748SaS93bAFb3x0ei-KP92EYB0m-zNZGWS-mZSxXPsQbS53xMNIYGpNVKdfUD0owpM9ElpGsXVpB0TsVhFxadTsQ/s1600/IMG_0639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6rZgRS9lxkdBTeR7BPiDBSt35nJYjHeaSpJnaGKrPPxXPA748SaS93bAFb3x0ei-KP92EYB0m-zNZGWS-mZSxXPsQbS53xMNIYGpNVKdfUD0owpM9ElpGsXVpB0TsVhFxadTsQ/s400/IMG_0639.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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But it has an off-leash area the size of a football field, and a three kilometre off-leash trail along an ugly slough. There is a scummy pond to swim in. To Tika and Henry, it is paradise. <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As we walked along the trail, I stopped whenever the dogs paused to sniff, or cool off in the slough, and I looked around me more closely. There is beauty in this unappealing park. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-MjztS6KByxt2L3W3PY1zJ9ZBAiwsuF5ozarVpKIB7U14wWz1bdY4Fk45oANvZSiVegujoKyFNc9M9An-IcildD9WyQ_TlgQeTYCVF2oGzCxGkZWoPef1QDNuokC3KxYvWBNODg/s1600/IMG_0640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-MjztS6KByxt2L3W3PY1zJ9ZBAiwsuF5ozarVpKIB7U14wWz1bdY4Fk45oANvZSiVegujoKyFNc9M9An-IcildD9WyQ_TlgQeTYCVF2oGzCxGkZWoPef1QDNuokC3KxYvWBNODg/s400/IMG_0640.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">(Do you see the snail in the yellow blossoms above?)</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJVp0MPYSbtlbxg0jZQP7fcHLcP1es6-jN505hyOhRJllNP4UfaGwNwGjZFJi1SGywwB8eGrfymhPdibJF65uu0GbBhqQslYawQrc-V11hpzkZFGalxnTQc6SmxIr31tIAObAlw/s1600/IMG_0644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaJVp0MPYSbtlbxg0jZQP7fcHLcP1es6-jN505hyOhRJllNP4UfaGwNwGjZFJi1SGywwB8eGrfymhPdibJF65uu0GbBhqQslYawQrc-V11hpzkZFGalxnTQc6SmxIr31tIAObAlw/s400/IMG_0644.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An old apple tree survives here. (Can you spot the snail here too?)</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3qIEKaQ3-J7Wftb_tB83ORVzQUYm0vHNP-wOeoWiNfeLgJ_G6Md4NKivSuh4hME9haQPf-jzp7oEWi_rr9d0nuFTTuGaelcBMyEgyuBu10Xs_SkpVytq1L8TilBcSUJybOxnjQ/s1600/IMG_0628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3qIEKaQ3-J7Wftb_tB83ORVzQUYm0vHNP-wOeoWiNfeLgJ_G6Md4NKivSuh4hME9haQPf-jzp7oEWi_rr9d0nuFTTuGaelcBMyEgyuBu10Xs_SkpVytq1L8TilBcSUJybOxnjQ/s400/IMG_0628.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">A spotted towhee watched me carefully. He may have been guarding a nest.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3W4IrUA0_MHJTiFr1Hnk-3RPdKhc3tt7zXBPnohMbhQVY6hyphenhyphen_w8LuIqXqfHYGHwl6LKTvOMpAASWxlcb9XArDN6kFvWH3K8cwXVzybA372ucbVhVi64zJlrbNeloUogf0id3HA/s1600/IMG_0642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3W4IrUA0_MHJTiFr1Hnk-3RPdKhc3tt7zXBPnohMbhQVY6hyphenhyphen_w8LuIqXqfHYGHwl6LKTvOMpAASWxlcb9XArDN6kFvWH3K8cwXVzybA372ucbVhVi64zJlrbNeloUogf0id3HA/s400/IMG_0642.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkM72ZhsU7KGP_uWOdYaJid9_dvnnV566EdpgLs4L9M1NWrg-TtYgXaKNZrnkogSH1Sn7AxTtpfW7yvCGfBvV-E4W7nT20LlHoyf2yWBQoaepWa27JBfo30ZKR9QDNJvhzvCBig/s1600/IMG_1443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkM72ZhsU7KGP_uWOdYaJid9_dvnnV566EdpgLs4L9M1NWrg-TtYgXaKNZrnkogSH1Sn7AxTtpfW7yvCGfBvV-E4W7nT20LlHoyf2yWBQoaepWa27JBfo30ZKR9QDNJvhzvCBig/s400/IMG_1443.jpg" tt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Even skunk cabbage has a kind of elegance.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIDC26xa9Sy0-Xo6UHdbmdUWTkMSoxWf9wX58QnNBrK_aF0km6F0dN0HxQ5ceXt64pGvJf2qupSPkIXQu8Tp6PPiN_6l8skux3OG6ujH73wYy6l0v5Fzuy80baoPGsQw5DnwrKw/s1600/IMG_1423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIDC26xa9Sy0-Xo6UHdbmdUWTkMSoxWf9wX58QnNBrK_aF0km6F0dN0HxQ5ceXt64pGvJf2qupSPkIXQu8Tp6PPiN_6l8skux3OG6ujH73wYy6l0v5Fzuy80baoPGsQw5DnwrKw/s400/IMG_1423.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1fXbDxUwXXWgyvhgVHVW_dXFwLgCd_sKJGDzuYZ15hYANYWOjmm0ueVcTqMQG8GNsa7D8x3RHvTUa2iYHbS5DWmEaX1b9dCdyUMxyv8Nrg4FcC1jZWVtwvcIOhZGtQlQIYTw2A/s1600/IMG_1432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1fXbDxUwXXWgyvhgVHVW_dXFwLgCd_sKJGDzuYZ15hYANYWOjmm0ueVcTqMQG8GNsa7D8x3RHvTUa2iYHbS5DWmEaX1b9dCdyUMxyv8Nrg4FcC1jZWVtwvcIOhZGtQlQIYTw2A/s400/IMG_1432.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJuPRybRxgbaRohwYcLwiJC3Q6HjyigYFaiNATblPxhyU9I3JBLKDDJaZrAAlK84HfzeuPpzRjM4FhybihMVKB69fRUy10GZ9uvJ_5L3YzJHMsLYUPZ-yr7TE6BC9EbjS58gUIA/s1600/IMG_1412.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJuPRybRxgbaRohwYcLwiJC3Q6HjyigYFaiNATblPxhyU9I3JBLKDDJaZrAAlK84HfzeuPpzRjM4FhybihMVKB69fRUy10GZ9uvJ_5L3YzJHMsLYUPZ-yr7TE6BC9EbjS58gUIA/s400/IMG_1412.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">My happy dogs had put me in the mood to see the loveliness. The lesson is, whether I look for ugliness or beauty, I'll find it. So look for the beauty.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMblzwHRx5J6F2QqwllSMXWLwtjh908tULJM2ohxDtZSbj_dcnw3p5n_hRIRI8LbYq6Aq9QLtHdqBK13bbg676RPpU2YX6wKnJzPZTjcqV-41YULqYpfO4AxKuEjdVgS1sDFEfxA/s1600/IMG_0625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMblzwHRx5J6F2QqwllSMXWLwtjh908tULJM2ohxDtZSbj_dcnw3p5n_hRIRI8LbYq6Aq9QLtHdqBK13bbg676RPpU2YX6wKnJzPZTjcqV-41YULqYpfO4AxKuEjdVgS1sDFEfxA/s400/IMG_0625.jpg" tt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">..</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">.</div>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-11050321915114491192010-04-15T08:29:00.000-07:002010-04-15T08:29:24.342-07:00SundanceYesterday afternoon as I travelled through my neighbourhood with the dogs, it may have looked like I was walking. But oh, no, I:<br />
<br />
Tiptoed through the tulips:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEg8eGwcWvfwcNMyKpWGOvl3R4oZ-kSs6AY8frShBrSKZhXNXSyMcz2F7VS0MkGiUs9tp-0-9V96xOT3G034g0lcBb4G-LeWaV2GcWwf7Tw5AyjYarErRvlCWrUZbxDQU7VdbH0A/s1600/IMG_1456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEg8eGwcWvfwcNMyKpWGOvl3R4oZ-kSs6AY8frShBrSKZhXNXSyMcz2F7VS0MkGiUs9tp-0-9V96xOT3G034g0lcBb4G-LeWaV2GcWwf7Tw5AyjYarErRvlCWrUZbxDQU7VdbH0A/s400/IMG_1456.jpg" width="400" wt="true" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoesOfJHVpTN0RVW_JYvJbs0dAlKmB1JCFdyRnx8cI5zEGaUO-SHoHgcAJRR5SDmtXTsiQztbudmNyF-iY_oxp-X-LK6QPfyl8aqbovM2iaUu-BmDsZ4bvLU4sPU64eghqpIkzIw/s1600/IMG_1465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoesOfJHVpTN0RVW_JYvJbs0dAlKmB1JCFdyRnx8cI5zEGaUO-SHoHgcAJRR5SDmtXTsiQztbudmNyF-iY_oxp-X-LK6QPfyl8aqbovM2iaUu-BmDsZ4bvLU4sPU64eghqpIkzIw/s320/IMG_1465.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Belly danced through the bluebells:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihI1EcWtxCdQIv_pPRhbFo0OtFJJ6GLbN6RnyAewh-B8tftMDuKrSpymVIFekFa3bdFERhD9EvTI56L3XZ3wJ-XWVjEtqaSeOgydcPN8vE3saT6W3dhPL8LQOhfMphCyZTBH20jQ/s1600/IMG_1454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihI1EcWtxCdQIv_pPRhbFo0OtFJJ6GLbN6RnyAewh-B8tftMDuKrSpymVIFekFa3bdFERhD9EvTI56L3XZ3wJ-XWVjEtqaSeOgydcPN8vE3saT6W3dhPL8LQOhfMphCyZTBH20jQ/s320/IMG_1454.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rumbad through the Rhodos:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhN55OGGX8Mj0nDw5_uFBfmHJO778I3A0VekOubcTLvR8mq8C5KMkeSy4eRO7nUYv21JhBsU6BR0APNNim260KhE9jbrvvI2hl-keBL6Joix5nBtV4haM0TDCsPTOc3cAJytowg/s1600/IMG_1462.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdhN55OGGX8Mj0nDw5_uFBfmHJO778I3A0VekOubcTLvR8mq8C5KMkeSy4eRO7nUYv21JhBsU6BR0APNNim260KhE9jbrvvI2hl-keBL6Joix5nBtV4haM0TDCsPTOc3cAJytowg/s320/IMG_1462.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Did the bossa nova in the bleeding heart:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxLMZgrjS98-JAGexsPwTEYzP_y80IpNVMsvuE8ZR5PE-nXf-YV8T_jF5W-fxEbUHtMOUTs-s_CQvSPz3PcVcTq0ODr1rkWkx6yQkghfClpnfkxrz_qzCXnbhSP7qJz8xULKHLg/s1600/IMG_1473.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxLMZgrjS98-JAGexsPwTEYzP_y80IpNVMsvuE8ZR5PE-nXf-YV8T_jF5W-fxEbUHtMOUTs-s_CQvSPz3PcVcTq0ODr1rkWkx6yQkghfClpnfkxrz_qzCXnbhSP7qJz8xULKHLg/s320/IMG_1473.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Arabesqued past the azaleas:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugdQOX32r1fKq2FZoBhm8rY5hJ2ULObtReOwAefSRyhjE1nYSi5hvNedLnT0uDi_gI3fDInPOAVkyxOdmsyrcHpRpElYtONslCW7TcaoOB1xTP6msABzstE-6yqCMO336iJNZIw/s1600/IMG_1451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugdQOX32r1fKq2FZoBhm8rY5hJ2ULObtReOwAefSRyhjE1nYSi5hvNedLnT0uDi_gI3fDInPOAVkyxOdmsyrcHpRpElYtONslCW7TcaoOB1xTP6msABzstE-6yqCMO336iJNZIw/s320/IMG_1451.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Do-si-doed around the dogwood tree:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRGBiJR1rsa1ieXCz54KTlkM4gl9jyrWZXAeefSs0eDmFGTXIcEXaysWpQ2BS3Dd1h5bl7YArsyOweyssOEhk_9vmYKMck4fJnazCD2Gc-GnN_WqWTJeWfzngNtur5_uXaOzxlw/s1600/IMG_1464.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRGBiJR1rsa1ieXCz54KTlkM4gl9jyrWZXAeefSs0eDmFGTXIcEXaysWpQ2BS3Dd1h5bl7YArsyOweyssOEhk_9vmYKMck4fJnazCD2Gc-GnN_WqWTJeWfzngNtur5_uXaOzxlw/s320/IMG_1464.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And fox-trotted through flowers I don't know the names of (do you?):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9bxqKMn9ylpo8XWUXjzyHTI5p-Lnww5ndCMv0xBgSrBeAhN7gQR1EE8ufaunGGtcM9mS9qxX3nCB81CWWLQZ24d15amMW3lq78leb41AWo7bT7CDExsSMsf6JqG3tsbczEq4Xw/s1600/IMG_1472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9bxqKMn9ylpo8XWUXjzyHTI5p-Lnww5ndCMv0xBgSrBeAhN7gQR1EE8ufaunGGtcM9mS9qxX3nCB81CWWLQZ24d15amMW3lq78leb41AWo7bT7CDExsSMsf6JqG3tsbczEq4Xw/s320/IMG_1472.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidABDcttIQNZtplaQp7dzjxHOJylGgKi0wlNSkbWzxwaueW-EXezg0codZYnHSQ2_DiOiR05TLJdQUW9G0DG3aiMGdFiYzwEFfoGx0Gz1olt2jdZ8aSAtN512VYUutlMDQiPAPAA/s1600/IMG_1467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidABDcttIQNZtplaQp7dzjxHOJylGgKi0wlNSkbWzxwaueW-EXezg0codZYnHSQ2_DiOiR05TLJdQUW9G0DG3aiMGdFiYzwEFfoGx0Gz1olt2jdZ8aSAtN512VYUutlMDQiPAPAA/s320/IMG_1467.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I even discoed through the dandilions:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4e0QQkBwFsk2oFYC3FStKxR8my-x20W4NQigEJuJHmDa2P1l5YyN-q6UrT20cTGALFDYhEUK3MR24gGZpsqK8vnCOh3h06AWxVjzrqoIOJ50_M80NLXvmMfVBdYaNPKm4bhI4A/s1600/IMG_1452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4e0QQkBwFsk2oFYC3FStKxR8my-x20W4NQigEJuJHmDa2P1l5YyN-q6UrT20cTGALFDYhEUK3MR24gGZpsqK8vnCOh3h06AWxVjzrqoIOJ50_M80NLXvmMfVBdYaNPKm4bhI4A/s320/IMG_1452.jpg" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because when flowers are singing in the spring sunshine, my soul has to dance.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">.</div>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-37656693831715382252010-04-08T20:57:00.001-07:002010-04-08T21:08:45.233-07:00My mean streak<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVR9KMiSYAEi9VGHLwVateZ6QJTVVi-CYzAaqzgfNy7IE1LNxrLzycEXeSaAA7bNLvK6QnztOV-xYAuQsW_a0BqbKn2Jkhbms9qF4XeehZ-rFKCu-81hLkhmWEO-OSD6i2NLAoA/s1600/van_208.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVR9KMiSYAEi9VGHLwVateZ6QJTVVi-CYzAaqzgfNy7IE1LNxrLzycEXeSaAA7bNLvK6QnztOV-xYAuQsW_a0BqbKn2Jkhbms9qF4XeehZ-rFKCu-81hLkhmWEO-OSD6i2NLAoA/s200/van_208.gif" width="200" wt="true" /></a></div>I rushed in the front door.<br />
<br />
"Hi Honey, how was your day! Guess what, I have exciting news! I have tickets for a lecture tonight."<br />
<br />
"Tickets? As in two?<br />
<br />
"Yes, we are so lucky. They are sold out but my friend Sue is sick and she gave them to me."<br />
<br />
"Um, for tonight?"<br />
<br />
"Yup. We will have to hurry, it's at University of the Fraser Valley, and it starts in an hour and a half. It will take almost that long to get there."<br />
<br />
"Um, a lecture you said?<br />
<br />
"Yes, about the archaeology of the Old Crow site in the Yukon. Dr. Harlan Smith is speaking! I can't wait!"<br />
<br />
"You didn't tell me about this lecture Sweetie, I wish you had called."<br />
<br />
"Sorry, my cell phone was dead. But you know how much I love archaeolgy, so I knew you would be excited to share this with me. It will be so INTERESTING. And afterword there is an open question session we have to stay for. I want to ask Dr. Smith to explain his statistical sampling algorythm."<br />
<br />
My Beloved looked stricken. I decided to end his misery.<br />
<br />
"APRIL FOOL'S!!!! Go turn on the Canucks game, I'll bring us a couple of beers."<br />
.<br />
.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-71403016417170887502010-03-22T14:10:00.001-07:002010-03-22T14:13:40.875-07:00In case of fire or earthquakeRecently I wrote about <a href="http://spindriftanddreams.blogspot.com/2010/03/in-eye-of-beholder.html">a sculpture</a> I love, and said that it would be the second piece of art I would save if my house was on fire. The first piece I would save is so important, I have always hung it near the front door in the four successive homes I have lived in since it was created in 1991. As I have told the artist, that's so I can easily grab it as I flee from the flames. Here it is, right beside the door:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVt2XXBb6tBzg39EylZINiAcXCZsqguAdkG0FNEMLnYPBC_vPTgxvj9pbsmS0mZR-8iMtVto5bouVChUslMx47GubZuRU7IueVXRFEFmag9y4Rb8Ti7n_MAUP9CubNgYMvyeDnMQ/s1600-h/IMG_0587.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVt2XXBb6tBzg39EylZINiAcXCZsqguAdkG0FNEMLnYPBC_vPTgxvj9pbsmS0mZR-8iMtVto5bouVChUslMx47GubZuRU7IueVXRFEFmag9y4Rb8Ti7n_MAUP9CubNgYMvyeDnMQ/s400/IMG_0587.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The artist is my son, and the title is "My Fourth Birthday Party". But there is no need to tell you the title, because of course you knew it depicted a birthday party as soon as you saw it. Right? The orange birthday cake with glowing candles (very Dali-esque in perspective) gives the subject away: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dYyneIHBqml3lfnK26BU_B9JIFIdk82DFgcZUQjqiKviaQ-APDOHfCSUTgF1gPbI1gCjg-GwmtyO9y0wQ06CXlUS-dsu3Qe4CEfqRhW27tem1KGUXi6Q_3N6SCSGoMH7h3wB8A/s1600-h/IMG_0596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dYyneIHBqml3lfnK26BU_B9JIFIdk82DFgcZUQjqiKviaQ-APDOHfCSUTgF1gPbI1gCjg-GwmtyO9y0wQ06CXlUS-dsu3Qe4CEfqRhW27tem1KGUXi6Q_3N6SCSGoMH7h3wB8A/s400/IMG_0596.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The wild, fifteen-toed creature lighting the candles to the left of the cake is me. Clearly, my kid will spend many future hours on a shrink's couch dealing with mother issues. The happy person in red to the right of the cake is the birthday boy artist. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are many gifts with lovely loopy bows and ribbons, which you can see stacked on the left of the painting. In fact there are more gifts than people, perhaps indicative of the relative importance of the former over the latter in the artist's psyche. On top of the gifts, depicted in orange with five legs, is the cat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXB5DytmwLaKB1l3Yxre27ujbHFXgj0iW6aeeXsolCneQB4krvuuS6rWFf5NGOQvJ18l-E200QkldnURtsWZPSvBMGI2u1ueXoy6S2eH13ka_AmFbpyhqnDcsN2pq58THlgYrCA/s1600-h/IMG_0593.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOXB5DytmwLaKB1l3Yxre27ujbHFXgj0iW6aeeXsolCneQB4krvuuS6rWFf5NGOQvJ18l-E200QkldnURtsWZPSvBMGI2u1ueXoy6S2eH13ka_AmFbpyhqnDcsN2pq58THlgYrCA/s400/IMG_0593.jpg" vt="true" width="223" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a sunny day, but there was also a rainbow, because rainbows are such happy additions to a party. The sun looks rather piqued about being upstaged by the rainbow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOY1s9NeAKeXFDmn6KtcBWysY8uCf6GlPazcnQITDkipfKVgceghpm56uGT9JGFEIIvLr_xTvS02r3Ga9B_NcFbY8MU6t0adv_3zuQ_PZlmN51BogvRxpLrY-jILc8I7ck1qrnYQ/s1600-h/IMG_0594.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOY1s9NeAKeXFDmn6KtcBWysY8uCf6GlPazcnQITDkipfKVgceghpm56uGT9JGFEIIvLr_xTvS02r3Ga9B_NcFbY8MU6t0adv_3zuQ_PZlmN51BogvRxpLrY-jILc8I7ck1qrnYQ/s400/IMG_0594.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>If my house ever catches fire, or gets rattled in an earthquake, I will be standing on the street in my pajamas (such disasters are always at night you know,) clutching this masterpiece. Other than the people and the furry creatures, there is nothing else so precious in my home.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix4VNC7rugigMaKl1W6MM7HWC6Jmx9d3KU2aQBzu4KH5DxUI-NGihrBi1qYke2V18286xhpuWD6hkltZk8wtOoymq2ac-j0JaK84BbJ1COJeZaxVQ-h6ncoaBSoRPfIHfFx-3idA/s1600-h/IMG_0589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix4VNC7rugigMaKl1W6MM7HWC6Jmx9d3KU2aQBzu4KH5DxUI-NGihrBi1qYke2V18286xhpuWD6hkltZk8wtOoymq2ac-j0JaK84BbJ1COJeZaxVQ-h6ncoaBSoRPfIHfFx-3idA/s320/IMG_0589.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">.</div>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-29600300586272562822010-03-17T09:24:00.003-07:002010-03-17T14:52:38.295-07:00Happy Saint Paddy's day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhiHf_kZ3aZPzAHhwU-ndlyQ-YI3Un3hl9Vb2eQ81J_C9DvsRiNDv-Iy_H8ZsHwDOEm9lWFLUsE2kYJ5moVLm_3uzjVUvz1dEg4wKYAVfy0tVdaUpL2219XrbMrMThgAOnzz95w/s1600-h/IMG_1405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhiHf_kZ3aZPzAHhwU-ndlyQ-YI3Un3hl9Vb2eQ81J_C9DvsRiNDv-Iy_H8ZsHwDOEm9lWFLUsE2kYJ5moVLm_3uzjVUvz1dEg4wKYAVfy0tVdaUpL2219XrbMrMThgAOnzz95w/s320/IMG_1405.jpg" vt="true" width="320" /></a></div>Top o' the marnin to ya!<br />
<br />
I always feel like smiling on St. Patrick's day, though I can't explain why. There is nothing remotely Irish about me except the shamrocks currently blooming in my front yard. <br />
<br />
(Aside: I have not seen any other outdoor blooming shamrocks here in Vancouver except in a plant nursery. I found a tiny clump of these in a hidden corner of my side yard when we moved into this house six years ago, and transplanted them to the front. They have thrived and colonised, even through the nastiest of winters, and delight me by blooming every year around leprechaun day.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGWEmQRU8GLVTTb3SZb1-RglAveDhjpOH0vsakJRz46NQKTDghEF6eatocrGWt8yBlQR-d1nTQ5QF2LyN_fdun-IS4lfBoCxm2giBkT3ePdzYPwrxgQ5EeGcKoSQSBPnVbuWiyQ/s1600-h/IMG_1403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGWEmQRU8GLVTTb3SZb1-RglAveDhjpOH0vsakJRz46NQKTDghEF6eatocrGWt8yBlQR-d1nTQ5QF2LyN_fdun-IS4lfBoCxm2giBkT3ePdzYPwrxgQ5EeGcKoSQSBPnVbuWiyQ/s400/IMG_1403.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFG8JPtyoy5zsOLaOG-HjlmDxn8MZfnfuq-cgmZh2NL5P_3kGN5SrN_iBmFtVUf8PEV2NzFrEwk18_2IW3D-7hlCUbuSogicvND6ms8-MFtpAHZUGFpOc31yBjeCni1L56sLfn7g/s1600-h/IMG_1411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><br />
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<img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFG8JPtyoy5zsOLaOG-HjlmDxn8MZfnfuq-cgmZh2NL5P_3kGN5SrN_iBmFtVUf8PEV2NzFrEwk18_2IW3D-7hlCUbuSogicvND6ms8-MFtpAHZUGFpOc31yBjeCni1L56sLfn7g/s400/IMG_1411.jpg" vt="true" width="400" /><br />
<br />
As I was saying, despite the red hair and a fondness for a bottle of O'Hara's Red, I have no Irish blood. I am seventh generation Canadian, a Heinz 57 mix of Scot and several other nationalities, including native Indian.<br />
<br />
So why do I have an affection for St. Patrick's day? Bartenders ruin beer in his name by turning it green. Leprechauns are greedy, gold chasing little buggers. Irish people talk funny so. I don't even know an Irish person.<br />
<br />
Wait a minute, I do know an Irish person. Or did, once. Dilip Kerrigan. He was Indo-Irish, with caramel skin, licorice hair, and deep navy eyes. His smile radiated sensuality way beyond his 16 years. I was 15, and Dilip was my first boyfriend. We met at a party of ex-pat teens in Dar Es Salaam in 1973. We were both home for holidays from boarding school, his in Dublin, mine in Nairobi. We had four weeks before we had to return to school, and we met every day after that party. <br />
<br />
Dilip had a motor scooter. We would ride it to one of the empty beaches north of town and swim, then make out under palm trees. I learned from Dilip that kissing could transport me to an exquisite new world, and the shy touch of his fingertips on my breast could ignite a fire that thrilled and terrified me. In the evenings when most ex-pat parents were at the gymkhanna club playing bridge or snooker, we met up with friends and went to Etienne's. Etienne was a French bar owner with a passion for African bands and no scruples about serving beer (but no hard liquor) to under-age kids. That month I developed a taste for beer. And kissing. <br />
<br />
Etienne's was an open-air bar with rickety tables and a dirt floor. The drumbeats would reach up through the ground and free our timid western limbs into wild dancing, leaving us sweat soaked and breathless when we hurried home to make our curfews.<br />
<br />
When Dilip and I returned to school we wrote to each other for a while. Dilip wrote me vaguely suggestive poems which I hid in my Swahili textbook and devoured nightly after lights out. I never saw Dilip Kerrigan again. Our next school holidays did not coincide, and later that year my family and I returned to Canada.<br />
<br />
Perhaps St Patrick's day, with its reminders and celebration of all things Irish, evokes the sensation of the first awakening of sensual passion in my life by that sweet Irish boy. Now that's a reason to celebrate.<br />
<br />
<em>Beannachtam na Femle Padraig!</em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWmcUyHbOgE5BGBaHEZBtaLIpo08Ly-tby4NNepjKHYtt_idu58-rbcHCPu2tKLjxsRKjrK0J6bpqhc8Ssad-09LZbBbDpdcmnyZUwuI1Py_nhZjAoCWKxXpx9PC1PFoUD-wPew/s1600-h/st-patricks-day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWmcUyHbOgE5BGBaHEZBtaLIpo08Ly-tby4NNepjKHYtt_idu58-rbcHCPu2tKLjxsRKjrK0J6bpqhc8Ssad-09LZbBbDpdcmnyZUwuI1Py_nhZjAoCWKxXpx9PC1PFoUD-wPew/s320/st-patricks-day.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-53625169435743458152010-03-15T09:50:00.012-07:002010-03-16T09:24:58.024-07:00Puck, Prime Minister, people swilling beer:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPS-zoEiJUnCjbUZ1w4JrFFoB6_DzHioCvymnAvIC0tVgXfJF9C8MzwCR4EZdQ-JASpD_Dyt4SArnnJ8vxhZzzVnvFv6cfW_7PiumCWqVwIkox6L6GqwWlhnS3JoFNtMnFW4Oww/s1600-h/2680681.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPS-zoEiJUnCjbUZ1w4JrFFoB6_DzHioCvymnAvIC0tVgXfJF9C8MzwCR4EZdQ-JASpD_Dyt4SArnnJ8vxhZzzVnvFv6cfW_7PiumCWqVwIkox6L6GqwWlhnS3JoFNtMnFW4Oww/s320/2680681.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449258779766116322" /></a><br />At ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. Oh Canada.<br /><br />I was at the first <a href="http://http://www.vancouver2010.com/paralympic-games/ice-sledge-hockey/">sledge hockey </a>game of the Paralympics last week. Generally, Paralympic athletes do not get the recognition they deserve. I have to admit, the Paralympics would hardly be on my radar, except that the sister of a friend of mine was an Olympian in wheelchair rugby some years ago, making me a little more aware. Now the games are here in Vancouver, and I am happy to see them generate so much excitement.<br /><br />That excitement was evident at the sold out Canada versus Italy game last week. It is Hockey, after all, and this is Canada. Our red blood cells look like microscopic pucks. Our passports are the same shape as the blade of a goalie stick, and their covers are dyed to match the blue line.<br /><br />At the game, the beer was flowing, the flags were waved, and the cheers were deafening. There had been no tedious security checks coming in: in fact the only hold up at the entrance was the line up at the beer taps.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwngVHsOap7CxVrXtZXaEbrXotqIYqbQRBPGlGhAGpmWpuudxbkAuq2ALLbtKB9JQFg1oP_EgTkDUKSoPlYNXvzLQEd8yGpocwF8ZnYNJToxOCwfUdA4stECoKgtKIiecGjYkX0g/s1600-h/2680675.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwngVHsOap7CxVrXtZXaEbrXotqIYqbQRBPGlGhAGpmWpuudxbkAuq2ALLbtKB9JQFg1oP_EgTkDUKSoPlYNXvzLQEd8yGpocwF8ZnYNJToxOCwfUdA4stECoKgtKIiecGjYkX0g/s400/2680675.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449261779683336738" /></a><br /><br />Our Prime Minister was there, looking like someone had shoved a pickle up his...um...conservative platform. His advisers forgot to tell him this was not a somber occasion. Someone should have brought Stephen a beer. Are we sure he is Canadian?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZgDF9vW7J0gwgPqH_RszIlQyE3l20JgoccNetT1pEGyMQT7hYALxlro1Pte41WzoSVOxpy1ewCed_KhKCJVCrXHKBU23McSvq48Wn8qKBe5ql096ISXDYz-K_sbGfiq6WANvTA/s1600-h/2680677.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZgDF9vW7J0gwgPqH_RszIlQyE3l20JgoccNetT1pEGyMQT7hYALxlro1Pte41WzoSVOxpy1ewCed_KhKCJVCrXHKBU23McSvq48Wn8qKBe5ql096ISXDYz-K_sbGfiq6WANvTA/s400/2680677.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449267005009826898" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-40524674997140065622010-03-09T10:49:00.020-08:002010-03-11T09:16:47.116-08:00Water therapy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG7oqfDPV0VNqkzTNTvCUooge834qagFNv4Zw07b-lklsLfB_5G3DlNvCNANVtOM-XDEhYlnGmLAj0nBb5RbdhPGCnoWu7-q8PGsfNiKj2Kc45ZYA3LTXvaPmffTTDaNxrpz_Yg/s1600-h/IMG_1367.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwG7oqfDPV0VNqkzTNTvCUooge834qagFNv4Zw07b-lklsLfB_5G3DlNvCNANVtOM-XDEhYlnGmLAj0nBb5RbdhPGCnoWu7-q8PGsfNiKj2Kc45ZYA3LTXvaPmffTTDaNxrpz_Yg/s320/IMG_1367.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446712939644665810" /></a><br />"I'm going out in the Kayak," I informed B on Saturday morning. "I'll just be an hour or two."<br /><br />It was a glorious spring day. I decided to paddle up the lake to Seal Bay, about two kilometers away. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJZ0g7R3WWk5Lqx0Dr7gC9MvSRt-Y1DzIQR0LKvc-j_ZiWbtMcA5O8xFXU4PKOFR5gz91WztjbAM5udC-dj1RkBXzOXVj57YLS9J-XT0yFTf038181e8HKVTNNKcMe7sQ0c4KnA/s1600-h/IMG_1343.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJZ0g7R3WWk5Lqx0Dr7gC9MvSRt-Y1DzIQR0LKvc-j_ZiWbtMcA5O8xFXU4PKOFR5gz91WztjbAM5udC-dj1RkBXzOXVj57YLS9J-XT0yFTf038181e8HKVTNNKcMe7sQ0c4KnA/s400/IMG_1343.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446723511676822402" /></a><br /><br />It was silent but for the drip of my paddle, and the little rivulets of melt water cascading from the rocks, onto me (and the camera lens)when I went in to explore a little cove.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZILHMFUDxkkjl-e8wm2VnAPrGFIWxrWkMa9to_YTAr6ObFpmA0FXWkxFWh6jbODvVkP5T2ovdRpuyDkFHoaRUp5yutuZ-gtA5of7-4iqRna8AmweRQEGsDNTaJj5S9N1BhJ7fA/s1600-h/IMG_1377.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuZILHMFUDxkkjl-e8wm2VnAPrGFIWxrWkMa9to_YTAr6ObFpmA0FXWkxFWh6jbODvVkP5T2ovdRpuyDkFHoaRUp5yutuZ-gtA5of7-4iqRna8AmweRQEGsDNTaJj5S9N1BhJ7fA/s400/IMG_1377.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446718953736959810" /></a><br /><br />I got to Seal Bay, and decided to continue further north, by then mesmerized by the rhythm of paddling, and the sun on my shoulders. Our weathered old kayak, which we bought from a friend for a case of beer, is fast and sleek. She whispers through the water. I decided to head for the Indian pictographs, painted by ancestors of the <a href="http://www.katzie.ca/">Katzie First Nation.</a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfsoLIM998nymVDDFKTltxMJqpYgFyiZi0oXRNj98EsrQD7z-llDca4wI2-ku0a8N5QdR3-Qn5-LM2xwcq_nwB-5NPCD_R0i5cwJ9n215CdKS0wr1IHdUh9HMoJmweSaSMncUtA/s1600-h/IMG_1378.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfsoLIM998nymVDDFKTltxMJqpYgFyiZi0oXRNj98EsrQD7z-llDca4wI2-ku0a8N5QdR3-Qn5-LM2xwcq_nwB-5NPCD_R0i5cwJ9n215CdKS0wr1IHdUh9HMoJmweSaSMncUtA/s400/IMG_1378.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446721986285253490" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghN7SErC0Idnz9CO34uVJLWbW7Ehs86eS2U6dTyuil6Mr9_5WtePUj4vCfGJNfgVLTPiieVEkRUzFOmdjYQAiOOXDriFsnISC0rzhBhGbsQbe2IAQ-Eo5dh37S-MulfUZ0nx2XNw/s1600-h/IMG_1383.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghN7SErC0Idnz9CO34uVJLWbW7Ehs86eS2U6dTyuil6Mr9_5WtePUj4vCfGJNfgVLTPiieVEkRUzFOmdjYQAiOOXDriFsnISC0rzhBhGbsQbe2IAQ-Eo5dh37S-MulfUZ0nx2XNw/s400/IMG_1383.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446723905546355922" /></a><br /><br />When I had been gone longer than expected, my pit crew showed up with lunch. I was happy to see them, and hungry, but I enjoyed my solitude again after they went back to the cabin. I paddled on.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZA0k7oZfTXQSlVxlh2QFQNvx3RpofNds9lDe_rg_Cdy47cX8ygM6dn6uw02LsM_5bTQeR7n2S5CfUIKFwypcBmT77vJFrBNaqoqPfcdrvB2D-yHkpcl_P2f_vFuDSlU8oJmODA/s1600-h/IMG_1373.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZA0k7oZfTXQSlVxlh2QFQNvx3RpofNds9lDe_rg_Cdy47cX8ygM6dn6uw02LsM_5bTQeR7n2S5CfUIKFwypcBmT77vJFrBNaqoqPfcdrvB2D-yHkpcl_P2f_vFuDSlU8oJmODA/s400/IMG_1373.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446724604337552994" /></a><br /><br />Eventually, as the sun dropped closer to the mountain tops, I turned for home. As I paddled into our bay, the snow on Golden Ears Mountain gleamed, and the afternoon light sparkled on the lake.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39zj1ZWiXrKv1R9fO2YZW2cu9ow7zJ-WREgW_11VVUGDRQRDfeRW-aFBnHdXsWyDhJdfHkOmfFDAjDtWK8xJf5YbdmcN0cTeZnYN6sjfS_nv-mnntTm8RhnFzIWPtWWS_b5TJeg/s1600-h/IMG_1384.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi39zj1ZWiXrKv1R9fO2YZW2cu9ow7zJ-WREgW_11VVUGDRQRDfeRW-aFBnHdXsWyDhJdfHkOmfFDAjDtWK8xJf5YbdmcN0cTeZnYN6sjfS_nv-mnntTm8RhnFzIWPtWWS_b5TJeg/s400/IMG_1384.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446717326249481058" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSktlYk3tJqfZeuwfrlk7CZSzCjyu1FtqZCJtTnp4M6PY1f2OZkdKGQ2RFf3MVh-_zyharqdxBF2iRNGo4Z6HiZNJpmkJfQL_G0x3DOeEoqCGtU-kn-lC77BSFGt2OrK10ngyGQQ/s1600-h/IMG_1389.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSktlYk3tJqfZeuwfrlk7CZSzCjyu1FtqZCJtTnp4M6PY1f2OZkdKGQ2RFf3MVh-_zyharqdxBF2iRNGo4Z6HiZNJpmkJfQL_G0x3DOeEoqCGtU-kn-lC77BSFGt2OrK10ngyGQQ/s400/IMG_1389.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446729218948431746" /></a><br />Days like that are imprinted on my soul.<br />.<br />.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-5155762977156626732010-03-03T09:17:00.025-08:002010-03-09T10:48:09.562-08:00In the eye of the beholderI own very little original artwork apart from some inexpensive pieces picked up in markets on my travels, and a few paintings by a talented great aunt. But I have one piece of painted wooden sculpture that I love so much I would grab it second on my way out of my burning home. The first, most cherished piece of art I would grab is my son's painting of his fourth birthday party. But that's another story.<br /><br />I call my sculpture "Silly Little Man", although that is not what the artist called it. It depicts a small man with arms outstretched, standing in front of three large salmon swimming toward him. Here it is:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeq4oSmgcbKLMYWPD-_4c9SnQFH8UU_LO6ixmkvuLqNSgboaoHDlAdQx1uRDysMP4H9EWuWa1KdYoh8pcuo5puSiv-86hHm-ecFs4xSxY2eGwWv7Bk3DPdXmvgMjjaeZMsE6szRA/s1600-h/IMG_0586.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeq4oSmgcbKLMYWPD-_4c9SnQFH8UU_LO6ixmkvuLqNSgboaoHDlAdQx1uRDysMP4H9EWuWa1KdYoh8pcuo5puSiv-86hHm-ecFs4xSxY2eGwWv7Bk3DPdXmvgMjjaeZMsE6szRA/s400/IMG_0586.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444471908517556802" /></a><br /><br />If you are thinking "Is she kidding? That's junk," you are not alone. Someone once asked me if I bought it at a garage sale. <br /><br />I love it.<br /><br />I love that the salmon are so fluidly carved, and done in otherworldly colours, while the person (to me he is a man, but could be female I suppose,) is blocky and rough, with no nuances of colour.<br /><br />I love that the salmon look as if they are about to swim right over the man, barely seeing him and his outstretched arms. <br /><br />I love that this piece symbolizes for me the mystical power of the salmon runs; so much a part of our west coast culture, both from prehistory to right now, for first nations and all of us. Anyone who has seen a shallow stream roil with the ruby backs of salmon on their fatal upstream journey, or watched them arc high over a waterfall cannot be but awed.<br /><br />I love that, while the body of the fish are painted in jewel bright colours, their eyes reflect the raw cedar forests that line the streams they travel.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvYESFAuF1iBHFjcP-4dLrBbTX0jte0HaBQDGHuS-9_Ls8SgUpJIdSFXSMxSJYwEQoxFYPQKZcZuXm5PuqdfV2Jw-ZWkwXsdrD-QOESbwnv1azIA9HxK5jEEk5FGL7sCyTv-rpg/s1600-h/IMG_0585.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvYESFAuF1iBHFjcP-4dLrBbTX0jte0HaBQDGHuS-9_Ls8SgUpJIdSFXSMxSJYwEQoxFYPQKZcZuXm5PuqdfV2Jw-ZWkwXsdrD-QOESbwnv1azIA9HxK5jEEk5FGL7sCyTv-rpg/s400/IMG_0585.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444516738866561458" /></a><br /><br />But what I love most about this piece of art is the foolishness of the little man in trying to stop the salmon from swimming upstream. At the same time, I identify with his hubris at trying. When I bought this sculpture, in 1992, he was me. I was a single mom of a toddler, still wet behind the ears in the practice of law, and going through an ugly divorce. It was just beginning to dawn on me that I was not CEO of the universe, and I had to let go of trying to control things I had no power over, or go crazy. I saw the "Silly Little Man" in a gallery window downtown, and it stopped me cold. I knew at once I had to have it, though at the time I could not have fully articulated the reasons. It is only in retrospect that I came to realize why it "spoke" to me. It cost far more than I could comfortably afford then (or even uncomfortably afford). I ate many meals of cheap mac & cheese after buying "Little Man". It was worth every noodle.<br /><br />So "Silly Little Man" sits on my mantel, and I love it even more than when I got it 17 years ago. He still makes me chuckle. At both of us.<br /><br />The artist, <a href="http://www.peterkiss.com/">Peter Kiss</a>, would likely be surprised by my interpretation of "Silly Little Man". His title for it, printed on the underside, is "Fish Guides". If you look closely at Little Man's right hand, it is pointing backwards, as if perhaps he is showing the salmon which direction they are to take. (And, yes, one finger of the right hand is broken. Sorry Mr. Kiss, your art is a little too delicate for the number of times I have moved house.) Perhaps the artist intended to portray the whimsical idea that, instead of salmon having a mystical force guiding them to the spot they were born, there are actually little traffic cops showing them the way. <br /><br />What do you think? <br /><br />Do you have a piece of artwork that you were compelled to have? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOml3wmTNKZv6o_Z486il6pfYEMljaU_jUsOir9YkCPxfyLSh3w8qXS-O6wyoKsEjgY8_kVJUapyYDqXgfM3Y9cr5XkpBIUySH9S3GGLwW5-E4QN-LVt6NjsZsoVDpu2xNbybeA/s1600-h/IMG_0584.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOml3wmTNKZv6o_Z486il6pfYEMljaU_jUsOir9YkCPxfyLSh3w8qXS-O6wyoKsEjgY8_kVJUapyYDqXgfM3Y9cr5XkpBIUySH9S3GGLwW5-E4QN-LVt6NjsZsoVDpu2xNbybeA/s400/IMG_0584.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444537073923648626" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-67918682436349642552010-03-01T09:18:00.011-08:002010-03-04T08:58:03.206-08:00The day the country turned blue<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAq499nN1eS0lcDiePJUluAlzFQIAI-_AEstoQzEgw9vNfuSd0Pe12wZ7y_DPEtVBGfWokNVa2Aa9RQDMhW2jAMAV9mhxMGWX0Vr3wsGmP-3HuA3oXvgEyj15RWND4lFTLSxFUCQ/s1600-h/oly_2_65127.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAq499nN1eS0lcDiePJUluAlzFQIAI-_AEstoQzEgw9vNfuSd0Pe12wZ7y_DPEtVBGfWokNVa2Aa9RQDMhW2jAMAV9mhxMGWX0Vr3wsGmP-3HuA3oXvgEyj15RWND4lFTLSxFUCQ/s320/oly_2_65127.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443764229571476754" /></a><br />The Olympics are over. I have mixed feelings about the whole Olympicorporation, though I do admire the athletes and their dedication. Today, I am happy to have my city return to some kind of normal.<br /><br />Yesterday though, my ambivalence was on vacation. Gone so far it could not even text me a little reminder. No matter how I feel about the Olympics, I AM a hockey fan. Multiply fan by a thousand and you have the level of passion for the sport felt by my beloved and his father. So yesterday, we went en famille (me, husband, son, father-in-law and mother-in-law) to the packed local pub to watch the game on the big screen. <br /><br />The game was a nail biter, though when only 24 seconds were left and we were a goal ahead it seemed time to start celebrating gold. Then; "OH NO!!!", and people across our puck-crazed Dominion groaned when the U.S. scored. I swear I heard a guy in Corner Brook scream "SON OF A BITCH! Lads, pass the screech, quick!" In the pub we shook our heads, disbelieving that the game was tied and would go into sudden death overtime. <br /><br />In the interval, I commiserated by phone with my sister, who was watching from New Zealand. (She is a bigger hockey fan than I am, once mortifying me at a Canucks game by standing and screaming "I love you Trevor", after Linden was sent to the penalty box.) The pub patrons wondered how they could bear the tension. Many more pitchers of Molson Canadian seemed the answer at most tables. (I saw one young woman at a nearby table drinking a Corona. She must be foreign.) <br /><br />The puck dropped for the overtime period. The din in the pub made the lampposts outside tremble. A rowdy woman kept shrieking at the T.V., "GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!GET IT OUT!" It was my 80 year old mother-in-law. I looked nervously at my 89 year old father-in-law, who was half out of his chair, fists clenched. I mentally reviewed my CPR training. After five minutes , the tension and the beer forced me to take a very speedy trip to the ladies'. Too bad medals are not given for fastest trip to the loo. The score was still zip all when I breathlessly returned. Then the beer caught up with my son and he jogged off to the Gents'. Just as Son was out of sight, Crosby scored for Canada, and the Country let out its collective breath. My son came running back. "I missed it," he wailed. Many of you have seen the ensuing decorus pleasure shown by us reserved, shy Canadians. We went ape shit. <br /><br />...<br /><br />My mother claims that my father had a talent for being in the bathroom whenever something important happened. It looks like that gift has skipped a generation.<br /><br /><br />.<br />.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-43985820719851604132010-02-24T20:38:00.021-08:002010-02-24T23:26:40.874-08:00Dad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5G_cnFGnUujazdg_ccHCD6ixjsFMA1Lewi21wyllaU-jwSEVqamYMsYHb1GZwCy4tn-jQUoJRd13FAI33Cc-vEMl2ODnqjBc_QlNz99LFUIjLPHAxMwBoEJ6jHRqlQGbJHExTmQ/s1600-h/dad+peru.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5G_cnFGnUujazdg_ccHCD6ixjsFMA1Lewi21wyllaU-jwSEVqamYMsYHb1GZwCy4tn-jQUoJRd13FAI33Cc-vEMl2ODnqjBc_QlNz99LFUIjLPHAxMwBoEJ6jHRqlQGbJHExTmQ/s320/dad+peru.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442074572251776578" /></a><br />My Dad died at the end of September last year. He had brain cancer.<br /><br />I spent most of August and September back in Nova Scotia, visiting him every day in his palliative care ward. On his good days I would take him for a walk outside in a wheelchair, and we talked, or listened to music. He loved Mozart. And Patsy Cline. <br /><br />On worse days, near the end, he lay in bed, desperately gasping to stay alive while I read to him and held his hand, hoping, or pretending, that he knew I was there. I silently wept. <br /><br />I have written about my Dad <a href="http://spindriftanddreams.blogspot.com/2007/06/1969-science-fair.html">here</a>, and the beginning of his illness <a href="http://http://spindriftanddreams.blogspot.com/2007/12/on-serious-note.html">here</a>. Those words give only a glimpse into the complicated love of our relationship. Now, thoughts of Dad smack me many times a day, leaving me sometimes smiling, sometimes aching, sometimes anguished. I can't write about them. Yet.<br /><br />I didn't know that losing my Dad would be so hard, or that the pain would still be so dense. I miss him.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSY-a3vQKH1TiKI1_a0VWPen2epyE-7vhYrrSC5-gjJnptaHtqmWTuu_zFMHMPmTyzv2WQVWdKEROEz2UZ6hMHWyeo1qfEcnuMOS_7AUBETMoDfNbzUzQiWFKyvad-PBEcRiUGg/s1600-h/dad+and+luke.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSY-a3vQKH1TiKI1_a0VWPen2epyE-7vhYrrSC5-gjJnptaHtqmWTuu_zFMHMPmTyzv2WQVWdKEROEz2UZ6hMHWyeo1qfEcnuMOS_7AUBETMoDfNbzUzQiWFKyvad-PBEcRiUGg/s400/dad+and+luke.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442074958223356050" /></a><br />Above photo: Dad in 1988 (with my son).<br /><br />Top photo: Dad in 2000 at Machu Picchu, Peru. He gave me my love of travel and of mountains.<br />.<br />.<br />.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-45860414906656653462010-02-22T14:16:00.018-08:002010-02-22T16:26:37.183-08:00She just couldn't stay away<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5r3lTsBwMKqSVHH8_XoZbyox4H6tY197UcrUZw5Tyu7mnwEpg0Ps2owbRh_XUPZLfF-Yk2VLFrT2BzCWTYodH1KbFFznjMNnMz2Hl0OUBEMIWoRlP5Fi9Be_Ubw2RqSnp_c51Q/s1600-h/IMG_0532.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5r3lTsBwMKqSVHH8_XoZbyox4H6tY197UcrUZw5Tyu7mnwEpg0Ps2owbRh_XUPZLfF-Yk2VLFrT2BzCWTYodH1KbFFznjMNnMz2Hl0OUBEMIWoRlP5Fi9Be_Ubw2RqSnp_c51Q/s200/IMG_0532.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441218198205881122" /></a><br />You thought she was a goner, but...<br /><br />Apologies to Fred Penner for abusing his lyrics.<br /><br />Yes, I am back. I missed you all. And I was recently given an irresistable reason to write my blog posts again. A reason I could not ignore, that just set my typing fingers a twitchin! I've been banned from blogging. By my work. Well, not exactly banned, but my employer has <s>commanded</s> said that we should not participate in blogs, facebook, twitter, or any other social networking activity. Even on our own time. This is supposedly for our own safety, as my job has somewhat of a public recognition factor, by people who are not always happy with the result of my labour. Which does not explain why the edict applies to everyone, from the virtually anonymous file clerks in our records department to those of us in the public eye. I think the real reason for the ban is so the Minister does not have to worry about one of us flashing boobs or balls on facebook. Which makes me want to open a facebook page and...<br /><br />I have been busy, as my last post whined about. Much has happened since then. But I have been writing, (just not blog posts) and I may even receive a little coin for some of my scribbles. More about that later.<br /><br />Thanks to the Olympics, downtown Vancouver is virtually shut down for all but the revellers. That means many of us downtown worker drones are <s>teleworking from home</s> walking the dog in the middle of one of the most glorious stretches of spring weather I can remember. As you can see:<br /><br />These beauties are blooming in the traffic circle on my block.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFR2qTEBQ7B_LO7xu7mgf0494TyIfGNh_QPXZ3OHu8onG-J059xxhDA03OU58iLkMObf-IpV64mfXgYvDjTkQoyDNiV9WdtdvaRiusQVQnRr7z6IR5y3FFpARF_gWQkZTOnEdGHw/s1600-h/IMG_0535.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFR2qTEBQ7B_LO7xu7mgf0494TyIfGNh_QPXZ3OHu8onG-J059xxhDA03OU58iLkMObf-IpV64mfXgYvDjTkQoyDNiV9WdtdvaRiusQVQnRr7z6IR5y3FFpARF_gWQkZTOnEdGHw/s320/IMG_0535.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441219118495539586" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdBO7b343le_H1vJQeuez5-1zDwr0FPJ86WgnLVTJL3Is9djUuuQvVsL6v-JyE5ga_ktPjARyrDtucKfSc4hJdCeh2tJxWVnrn2m8S3dSvwm35gjDLsciHUS0xhlvj-lSEZL0lQ/s1600-h/IMG_0534.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdBO7b343le_H1vJQeuez5-1zDwr0FPJ86WgnLVTJL3Is9djUuuQvVsL6v-JyE5ga_ktPjARyrDtucKfSc4hJdCeh2tJxWVnrn2m8S3dSvwm35gjDLsciHUS0xhlvj-lSEZL0lQ/s400/IMG_0534.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441220381269900322" /></a><br /><br />Who knew azaleas, daffodils, crocuses and cherry trees could all bloom at the same time? I've never seen that before.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxvyqYT39aHK4SvCNFEGJk1hk9L2nK1OlPDbJqg3nMdEoqVtCKDUq4jAM2flESzrE1i5D_AicEw0aVz7z3iskSTJss677525VMC4Y71No4TeHR2bT9fxRVQAdwnYUiiiBTEraEw/s1600-h/IMG_0537.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxvyqYT39aHK4SvCNFEGJk1hk9L2nK1OlPDbJqg3nMdEoqVtCKDUq4jAM2flESzrE1i5D_AicEw0aVz7z3iskSTJss677525VMC4Y71No4TeHR2bT9fxRVQAdwnYUiiiBTEraEw/s400/IMG_0537.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441222049821206946" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYVV27b-N_q59k8P5Fn0wi23yBiVF8KEk36uAHe2WzoxSoNJfqhIgy4GvkPdE0pUdkIaPK1rRKog_PeD5VMhyphenhyphenc8AEs4HHLvPm7hyjE4jVkSFJ1CRQpcYtkkUMgwFxdkE8_Ndk4g/s1600-h/IMG_0531.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVYVV27b-N_q59k8P5Fn0wi23yBiVF8KEk36uAHe2WzoxSoNJfqhIgy4GvkPdE0pUdkIaPK1rRKog_PeD5VMhyphenhyphenc8AEs4HHLvPm7hyjE4jVkSFJ1CRQpcYtkkUMgwFxdkE8_Ndk4g/s400/IMG_0531.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441222510447806930" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvk6AuYVhRd1EOBdfcZnC_vkwQq8EQ5j66TppeOPD9XS-jN1Mv-ktbxJrbPZPu3lbYz-2sxz6NxIuodXcFoV-Yz2x_BWzAE8MDtQiVdtMW6QkyChDecv8kfH7BvFnUpaQPrtm4w/s1600-h/cherry_blossoms.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvk6AuYVhRd1EOBdfcZnC_vkwQq8EQ5j66TppeOPD9XS-jN1Mv-ktbxJrbPZPu3lbYz-2sxz6NxIuodXcFoV-Yz2x_BWzAE8MDtQiVdtMW6QkyChDecv8kfH7BvFnUpaQPrtm4w/s400/cherry_blossoms.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441223353199799458" /></a><br />I enjoyed watching the kids play at recess at the local primary school. Until I got kicked off the school grounds because dogs are not allowed.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrn8bstK3PEmYkujNSXO8iqjndWrsg78zKYpJPbg5LeNV0nxi2K65rsTXI-tXRA73nB_eWHe7HIHEAvcdkC2XJTkHzlXS0tBaMTsrsp2fjAlnuB1oRmSQx2MWmyg5R2bWpJhwxRA/s1600-h/IMG_0546.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrn8bstK3PEmYkujNSXO8iqjndWrsg78zKYpJPbg5LeNV0nxi2K65rsTXI-tXRA73nB_eWHe7HIHEAvcdkC2XJTkHzlXS0tBaMTsrsp2fjAlnuB1oRmSQx2MWmyg5R2bWpJhwxRA/s400/IMG_0546.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441224462812070162" /></a><br />Some spring blossoms are not so welcome:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3BSUJ8U4wKi6VacLRORHwTBNXaWTrC-Nki3t2psMexW4BfiHKUJW5Tk3xnGLwTfT-5PJ0RSkffu4WFm4c64E_0aCurqXsNdDL4me_Lhjlt3I2cF3hBdZ3lCM93GDAlBkOe3MyCA/s1600-h/IMG_0540.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3BSUJ8U4wKi6VacLRORHwTBNXaWTrC-Nki3t2psMexW4BfiHKUJW5Tk3xnGLwTfT-5PJ0RSkffu4WFm4c64E_0aCurqXsNdDL4me_Lhjlt3I2cF3hBdZ3lCM93GDAlBkOe3MyCA/s400/IMG_0540.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441225075399862098" /></a><br /><br />Here is a photo from the weekend. I had a lovely long paddle in the kayak in shirtsleeves! Is this the result of global warming? Bring it on!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMEU7RR4dThZwISp7KcDMI3mMEUYkyb0pOP6nzD1lHYB5ef5ecoDxt4QFsybLsVd9yVefMbav8w27B-xoTZwG28pQjXNBkbQRrp930pTrboKP8KZKXxaWPR3c73b2otKxsDhnvQ/s1600-h/IMG_0514.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMEU7RR4dThZwISp7KcDMI3mMEUYkyb0pOP6nzD1lHYB5ef5ecoDxt4QFsybLsVd9yVefMbav8w27B-xoTZwG28pQjXNBkbQRrp930pTrboKP8KZKXxaWPR3c73b2otKxsDhnvQ/s400/IMG_0514.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441227044665555682" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-71385779702838214302009-06-11T19:44:00.012-07:002009-06-11T21:52:34.743-07:00Excuses, excuses.Cheeky <a href="http://haphazardlife.blogspot.com/">Jazz</a> left the following comment on my previous post:<br /><br />"Hhmph! It seems posts don't grow on trees either." She is surely referring to the fact that I have not posted in several weeks.<br /><br />Well Jazz, here is what I have to say to you:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLu6U6SdP_Wa-jWGsLlmsHGZnDUBnpmOAAPOJVn35_TbfNw-27GN_ICl-XejV34DiZPeistNjzXtcSp0huG82yy8t9dbVG7SH4anvkAPQllCUSwiAdHSsV-djgH8WhG8RDS4sbOA/s1600-h/IMG_0134.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLu6U6SdP_Wa-jWGsLlmsHGZnDUBnpmOAAPOJVn35_TbfNw-27GN_ICl-XejV34DiZPeistNjzXtcSp0huG82yy8t9dbVG7SH4anvkAPQllCUSwiAdHSsV-djgH8WhG8RDS4sbOA/s320/IMG_0134.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346268731759551346" /></a><br />And:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEWCYnnaHnDiAJqTM6etoljnSB5bDshhAJuj1KVgXwxJmEHNRIMXHXUjPNlV1EaNAGk5NHl1ln2X4B3kuv9iDl7HQ_f54TorbvKuWt1foK2306tXg1jZ0APdYEVJMeqf4v2f3rLg/s1600-h/IMG_0135.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEWCYnnaHnDiAJqTM6etoljnSB5bDshhAJuj1KVgXwxJmEHNRIMXHXUjPNlV1EaNAGk5NHl1ln2X4B3kuv9iDl7HQ_f54TorbvKuWt1foK2306tXg1jZ0APdYEVJMeqf4v2f3rLg/s320/IMG_0135.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346269198167795762" /></a><br />Yes I just flipped Jazz the finger, but I like her, so I mean it in the nicest possible way. But have you ever tried to type on a keyboard with this damn contraption on the middle finger of your dominant hand? (I dislocated my finger and tore the tendon - dull story. Let's just say I did it cattle roping at a rodeo. Or hang gliding. Yes, that's it, hang gliding.)<br /><br />But that's only one of my excuses for not posting in a while. It's a good one though, really plays the sympathy card.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8oiMGmZq-zlU12Z3wTuxre3Br45_nlVmK4fGREWUQzdgbA9CtXeLatCGleUw-dWlMnqSqdPSKWHRx1cBUNXIAPuTeXeAjj2dK4Yh3w7WdX3Mjbu6AA2plV8iuQ0SwpDTS1mc7Q/s1600-h/sand_clock%5B1%5D.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8oiMGmZq-zlU12Z3wTuxre3Br45_nlVmK4fGREWUQzdgbA9CtXeLatCGleUw-dWlMnqSqdPSKWHRx1cBUNXIAPuTeXeAjj2dK4Yh3w7WdX3Mjbu6AA2plV8iuQ0SwpDTS1mc7Q/s200/sand_clock%5B1%5D.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346283462354766370" /></a>The other impediment to me recording my scintillating prose, or drivel, depending on one's opinion, is TIME. I can't find enough of it. I have been out of town where there is no Internet every weekend since Easter. (Pictorial post on that coming soon. What......? Who just muttered "I won't hold my breath?") Weekday evenings are taken up with domestic science, and trying to get a little gardening done before the plants eat the house. If you live on the hyper-fecund Wet Coast of BC, you know what I mean. I swear we can sit in the yard with a beer, and watch the morning glories grow a metre by the time we are ready to fetch the second.<br /><br />Blogging sites are blocked by firewalls at my workplace, so I can't even get an illicit blog word or two written or read while there. Even if I could I would only do so on breaks of course. (See you in that early meeting tomorrow boss.)<br /><br />Tonight I should actually thank Jazz instead of flipping her the bird. Because I would much rather write than fold laundry, clean the kitchen, pull weeds, or scrape the peeling paint off the front porch. And thanks to Jazz I said "bugger that" to those chores, and opened my lap top. Which I will shortly use to journey to your blogs that I love to read, and actually take time to comment.<br /><br />But tell me, where do YOU ALL find, steal, or borrow the time? Any hints?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfoHMgBySLaI0jZGi8WjL12Z95N11luWul__vFai4RoPxG5gXPkDR8kOLuo5smpH_U5_aoZATHty3JcGUt1kh8sNjJzNGOzAP8i9T3BL1voKIrnl5ZhAo1NMZK5W7PPs8RxCpZg/s1600-h/778312.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfoHMgBySLaI0jZGi8WjL12Z95N11luWul__vFai4RoPxG5gXPkDR8kOLuo5smpH_U5_aoZATHty3JcGUt1kh8sNjJzNGOzAP8i9T3BL1voKIrnl5ZhAo1NMZK5W7PPs8RxCpZg/s400/778312.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346282861323855314" /></a><br />.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com83tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-24727902241396718242009-04-21T19:45:00.020-07:002009-04-22T20:30:15.497-07:00It doesn't grow on trees?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIsDoDdOVmL0Af_aWKtMDvlrHWBI0LZXOYZe2FI3R1Pk1Zv2usedroEiEiRXyuqydA088uRVCpaA-4c1mB7PMKgc_-AsR59KDcqv9yDL90IwOnEnG5mE70I99LbK_b2QKlaIc8w/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIsDoDdOVmL0Af_aWKtMDvlrHWBI0LZXOYZe2FI3R1Pk1Zv2usedroEiEiRXyuqydA088uRVCpaA-4c1mB7PMKgc_-AsR59KDcqv9yDL90IwOnEnG5mE70I99LbK_b2QKlaIc8w/s320/untitled.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327367887153723186" /></a>"Sweetie, you know how I've been searching for a new purse?"<br /><br />"Have you?"<br /><br />"Yes, we've talked about my hunt for a well made purse with a long shoulder strap and lots of compartments."<br /><br />"Hmmm, if you say so."<br /><br />"Well I found the perfect one." <br /><br />What I am not saying yet is that I found it months ago at Roots Canada, but refused then to pay the outrageous price. Yesterday I saw it was on sale by 30 percent, which took the price down from in-orbit to only sky high.<br /><br />"That's good" replies B, soaping up my back. I have deliberately begun this conversation while we are in the shower, where B is usually a little, um, distracted. <br /><br />"I have a confession though, it was a mite expensive." (Massive understatement)<br /><br />"Hmmm, whatever." <br /><br /><em>Good, he <strong>is</strong> distracted</em><br /><br />"Well actually, it was more than a little expensive", I admit.<br /><br />B is hardly even listening to me now, as he mumbles, "It wasn't over $500 was it?"<br /><br />"Hell no!" I am relieved that he would calmly imagine I could have spent that much.<br /><br />"Over $300?."<br /><br />"No." <em>Phew!</em> <br /><br />"Well it couldn't have been that expensive then." <br /><br />B nuzzles my neck, and this is the perfect time for me to say "It was only $210."<br /><br />"WHAT!!!! TWO HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS! FOR A PURSE? I didn't know a purse could cost that much!" B shrieks.<br /><br />"But, but, you said..."<br /><br />"I was kidding."<br /><br />And paying way more attention than I thought.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo_H5iJwEiSuhdCRPSQhQOfN0CKl56L8ArdF55XTAWqdcXCeiPZ1PlVRL99EFedakqw4QakIXQX7oqcv5IWchk1EE1oZl6d_zMMrS6CLvGqJNVPte8U_ksg0mMhyphenhyphenfqnNaxYvp1w/s1600-h/IMG_0057.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpo_H5iJwEiSuhdCRPSQhQOfN0CKl56L8ArdF55XTAWqdcXCeiPZ1PlVRL99EFedakqw4QakIXQX7oqcv5IWchk1EE1oZl6d_zMMrS6CLvGqJNVPte8U_ksg0mMhyphenhyphenfqnNaxYvp1w/s400/IMG_0057.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327368784861965138" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-74012082219219633202009-04-16T20:21:00.013-07:002009-04-17T09:10:41.452-07:00Overdue housekeeping<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3YmPvV36S7hHIMj_vtw6E0qfJ_ldrTCZaEqtH1FZ5IdpU0im7UV4gQvz0nuEZrZpdRm-hwzMe87JgbpBOPikugruVlXaJtuZBRMEjMVFma4YPL0A5INWH_dO6c_l2c5eiaHnDQ/s1600-h/TOCL0100.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 147px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU3YmPvV36S7hHIMj_vtw6E0qfJ_ldrTCZaEqtH1FZ5IdpU0im7UV4gQvz0nuEZrZpdRm-hwzMe87JgbpBOPikugruVlXaJtuZBRMEjMVFma4YPL0A5INWH_dO6c_l2c5eiaHnDQ/s400/TOCL0100.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325509413898093058" /></a><br /><br />I got back from the Great White North a week ago. After my last post from Yellowknife I went on to the town of Fort Smith, Northwest Territories, on the edge of Wood Buffalo National Park. Besides Buffaloes, there is an amazing wildlife fact about Fort Smith, but I'm going to only tease you with it for now. I will wait until I return in June and hope to actually get a photo of this phenomenon before reporting about it here. Stay tuned. <br /><br />One of the reasons I love my work in the North is the opportunity to get into small communities, work with, and meet the people there. I am always impressed by people in these communities who work so hard to combat the demons of social, economic and historical problems that too often plague remote northern, mostly First Nations communities. <br /><br />On the charter flight back to Yellowknife, we were served coffee from a thermos, and cranberry bread baked by the co-pilot's wife. Now that's great airline food service! <br /><br />On arriving home, B and I immediately headed for our refuge. Our escape to a little piece of Heaven. Our cabin. This is the view from our deck on Easter Sunday.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqN2P9ivKWkBY-N62Hp_FfPbAEvpLrgkptoZnYcXfBNLJ_mtEL7qb4buKs8eSDPPwhRgnertHjffA7xqMqEOdl6BJ-3oq071y21MlMlYVt8wG9AcoTTOgtd93XKqn810wFJT7Ww/s1600-h/IMG_1220.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqN2P9ivKWkBY-N62Hp_FfPbAEvpLrgkptoZnYcXfBNLJ_mtEL7qb4buKs8eSDPPwhRgnertHjffA7xqMqEOdl6BJ-3oq071y21MlMlYVt8wG9AcoTTOgtd93XKqn810wFJT7Ww/s400/IMG_1220.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325503566935956850" /></a><br /><br />And now for some overdue housekeeping. I was recently given awards by both <a href="http://ian-lidster.blogspot.com/">Ian</a> and <a href="http://david-mcmahon.blogspot.com/">David</a>. I am especially honoured because I must be one of the most unsatisfying people to bestow a blogging reward upon. I am often shamefully late in acknowledging them, and I never follow the awards rules. Instead of passing on the awards, I invite you to read Ian's and David's fine writing. (See, I told you I don't follow rules well.) Thank you Ian and David.<br /><br />.Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-44762226518799341952009-04-03T22:45:00.000-07:002009-04-04T11:46:04.466-07:00Through the rabbit hole<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisCdicdqythp1lhGM4NqN1lmoJNAmWDP6OAncLy4ZRf5neuEvsL1khjCg6XiT_eLMEajRp_Pqj6neKvur6wTdZX4jolmrZ10WpxMd5qtj0iOUbW98mQ3dWZ_UZKIVCeivEMtkxrw/s1600-h/HPIM2977.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisCdicdqythp1lhGM4NqN1lmoJNAmWDP6OAncLy4ZRf5neuEvsL1khjCg6XiT_eLMEajRp_Pqj6neKvur6wTdZX4jolmrZ10WpxMd5qtj0iOUbW98mQ3dWZ_UZKIVCeivEMtkxrw/s320/HPIM2977.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320616454489415602" /></a>As you can see by this photo from my hotel room, I am back in Yellowknife for work, after less than a week home in Vancouver. Yesterday evening here was surreal. First of all, it was still light at 8:15 at night. Not just light, but sunny. At this time of year the days lengthen by about 10 minutes per day.<br /><br />As I walked to a restaurant for dinner, a man came running toward me from the legion hall. "Can you give me a ride to the airport?" he shouts. "I hafta get to the airport."<br /><br />"No," I reply, "I, um, don't have a car."<br /><br />"Bullshit, all you cops got cars."<br /><br />"I'm not a cop."<br /><br />"Yes you are, I can tell by your clothes. And I seen you in your cop car before."<br /><br />I looked down at my clothes: A red Mountain Equipment Co-op jacket, boots, blue fleece hat, mittens,and jeans. Jeans with bright embroidery around one leg. (Yes, I still embroider my jeans. You can take the girl out of the '70s but.....)<br /><br />I just shrugged and walked on as he continued to implore me for a ride to the airport in my cop car. Incredulous, a block later I pulled out the little camera I carry in my pocket, and pointed it at my foot. Does this look like the leg of RCMP-issued trousers to you?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghh-PLejEs6Vd-DfQqe54rQvekW4ba9G5LY083Wnq6BDzF53c-WVjNn48RpGHxJJoKRJ8mqP5WNWN6DB-uKMsx50_O9dlU5UFAE2_anc6XumtrCpNJ26adxD5X5X0bt-EqraKrTg/s1600-h/HPIM3010.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 304px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghh-PLejEs6Vd-DfQqe54rQvekW4ba9G5LY083Wnq6BDzF53c-WVjNn48RpGHxJJoKRJ8mqP5WNWN6DB-uKMsx50_O9dlU5UFAE2_anc6XumtrCpNJ26adxD5X5X0bt-EqraKrTg/s400/HPIM3010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320635046036484562" /></a><br />I opened the door to the restaurant, having found it easily. My northern colleague, who was meeting me there, had explained "You can't miss Thornton's, it is in the same building as the bowling alley". I expected bowling alley ambiance. What I saw was this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FM9_2W48Sx7jQzosFKfoyWdT6CW_cNPBA23iStt6CR4qxkYwyNFAH1BWDRuM9daCGMYtchPXvadx_fNPbMphzTN0UxH5xsVFLmiM2KcOhe35bHmc4WcA-LrL4ikPx9qpmKrMxg/s1600-h/HPIM3015.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FM9_2W48Sx7jQzosFKfoyWdT6CW_cNPBA23iStt6CR4qxkYwyNFAH1BWDRuM9daCGMYtchPXvadx_fNPbMphzTN0UxH5xsVFLmiM2KcOhe35bHmc4WcA-LrL4ikPx9qpmKrMxg/s400/HPIM3015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320873865887939218" /></a><br /><br />A maitre de whisked my jacket away, seated me, and gave me food and wine menus. This was no <a href="http://spindriftanddreams.blogspot.com/2009/03/divine-fish-and-dancing-sky.html">Bullock's Bistro</a>.<br /><br />But what happened next truly set the world spinning upside down. The waiter asked me for I.D. when I ordered a beer. He carded me??!!?? I looked for his white cane or seeing-eye-dog. None. At my age, this is not flattering, or funny, it's just plain wrong. Bizarre. The last time I got asked for I.D. was 16 years ago at a bar in Whistler. I had been wearing ski clothes, a hat, and sun glasses when I went in. A bouncer came up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and said "Miss, I need to see your I.D." I turned to him, took off my hat and sunglasses, and began fumbling in my pocket for my wallet. The tactless punk then looked at me and said "Never mind Ma'am, that's O.K." <br /><br />The only explanation I could think of this time was this establishment must have a policy of checking every patron, no matter how decrepit, for I.D. Or the waiter was bucking for one helluva tip. But when my much younger colleague arrived a few minutes later, she ordered her wine without incident. <br /><br />I commented to my dinner companion that the restaurant was not very busy. There were only two occupied tables, although she had told me earlier that Thornton's was very popular. "Restaurants around here are all slow right now," she replied. "It's the start of home barbecue season, a spring ritual." WTF? BARBECUE SEASON? Granted, the day had warmed up somewhat from the -24 chill I walked to work in that morning. But Barbecue season? This is what the start of the barbecue season looks like here:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5cRu9pIoIXCu7S6_Eu2cpnnOXGkAw5N_mA4O0Y2jHniRcMnwHdOmjKvIbgPqikSGq8gjvVBq9mSLbB0GxaYUopTkASE6JgvUuXpHRw1QQJSbYChXouFfeKxEBrFZKHmtNCW_Fw/s1600-h/HPIM3012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5cRu9pIoIXCu7S6_Eu2cpnnOXGkAw5N_mA4O0Y2jHniRcMnwHdOmjKvIbgPqikSGq8gjvVBq9mSLbB0GxaYUopTkASE6JgvUuXpHRw1QQJSbYChXouFfeKxEBrFZKHmtNCW_Fw/s400/HPIM3012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320886472160236050" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8sJkZ3zX1cL4BjqQgB-LAl08ljTwm1y7s7V8irgvmAdQi7hdYRKiJxZRFvZb1QxWHe8Tnu3UWqLrcR7N_529VKJCiRk0Gh7benYCuQGnrr8yx5pYkSX1votPwufjH05W0utJVSw/s1600-h/HPIM3013.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8sJkZ3zX1cL4BjqQgB-LAl08ljTwm1y7s7V8irgvmAdQi7hdYRKiJxZRFvZb1QxWHe8Tnu3UWqLrcR7N_529VKJCiRk0Gh7benYCuQGnrr8yx5pYkSX1votPwufjH05W0utJVSw/s400/HPIM3013.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320888434769626754" /></a><br /><br />After a delicious (and crazy expensive) dinner of shared tapas, I walked back to my hotel. A couple of the local Franken-Ravens, (bigger, cleverer creatures compared to their southern cousins) followed me, hoping I had saved some crumbs from dinner for them. I have been followed from a restaurant by ravens before up here. <br /><br />It was a strange, enchanting evening. The north always surprises me. I love that. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeFZiTWDSiL9Wwy5GlqnXF9UsSAi036UFg4KDtAPIp4TAxm-uU2RR85AK4NQODJ19GJpzX9oIYqmjOWETH25-zf6_D3Gwg07ghCRULhVP2T0VRL_8FBXF1VqfECnFZeeZ9eDfKg/s1600-h/086-cartoon-man-flapping-coat-tails-with-raven-public-domain.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 351px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeFZiTWDSiL9Wwy5GlqnXF9UsSAi036UFg4KDtAPIp4TAxm-uU2RR85AK4NQODJ19GJpzX9oIYqmjOWETH25-zf6_D3Gwg07ghCRULhVP2T0VRL_8FBXF1VqfECnFZeeZ9eDfKg/s400/086-cartoon-man-flapping-coat-tails-with-raven-public-domain.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320900759800612322" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-43046579966232794702009-03-30T18:45:00.019-07:002009-03-30T21:37:07.239-07:00Highway of Heroes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQt9udAnh3p5h3hzKFSgVrTgk0xkJsp1bYupGkxicgJ7N0INBmBU01LJ9p1TrkoAf5KvFVleJrEAYOg1mvzvW-7iq13pKbP2kZw7_lgLXurJs-_TTEqKM9ldvS8-z66TyZLv2IDg/s1600-h/3147500037_e72685ab8e.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQt9udAnh3p5h3hzKFSgVrTgk0xkJsp1bYupGkxicgJ7N0INBmBU01LJ9p1TrkoAf5KvFVleJrEAYOg1mvzvW-7iq13pKbP2kZw7_lgLXurJs-_TTEqKM9ldvS8-z66TyZLv2IDg/s320/3147500037_e72685ab8e.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319200163115693810" /></a><br />While I was away last week, Canada lost four more soldiers in Afghanistan. I was working long hours, and did not have much time to read the papers or listen to the news. I was aware of the deaths, but I am ashamed to say they did not register with the usual heart wrench I feel at such news. <br /><br />Today it registered, hard, and I cried for the senseless loss of those four young soldiers. And for the men and one woman that have already died in this Canadian mission. It was a video I saw for the first time on <a href="http://theviewfromher.blogspot.com/">Rositta's blog</a> that hit me. <br /><br />Now, I don't normally get political on this blog, other than to occasionally curse politicians or bureaucracy, but that's just sport. And I am not really going to get political now. But I will say that I do not support Canada's mission in Afghanistan. It is a combat role, not the traditional peacekeeping role of which Canadians can be so proud. And more importantly, I don't believe combat can solve the complex situation in Afghanistan. I don't pretend to have the answers to solve the strife in that country, although if you have an hour or two and would like to discuss it with me I have plenty of ideas and opinions.<br /><br />Regardless of my opinion on whether our troops should be there, I have nothing but respect for the individual soldiers serving in Afghanistan. Their dedication to duty, bravery, and belief in the work they do, makes me proud. (And they have done some good work on a grassroots level, just not a long-term solution level.)<br /><br />What made me cry were images of the soldiers coming home on the Highway of Heroes. For those who are not Canadian, let me explain. The bodies of dead soldiers from Afghanistan arrive home by plane at the Armed Forces base at Trenton Ontario. There, they are met by their families, dignitaries and government officials. From Trenton their hearses travel 170 km. to the coroner's office in Toronto, accompanied by their families in limousines. The route is closed to all other traffic as they pass. As soldiers began making that last journey along highway 401 a few years ago, more and more people started to gather along the highway and overpasses to show pride, respect, and sorrow for the fallen, and support for their families. Local police and firefighters joined in. Now, virtually the whole route, which takes an hour and a half to drive, is lined by people saluting, waving flags, crying, or waving in tribute. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVttNdkDUOrlwOXI0mOIH4rZrHgfHq_BLc_CG21KdtE1Pnb9EeF70IbBhLghcTi8EicqrKFw8tY-6PvAqzcX-N-LubLIP2TZtFI3WmIbWCSYTi3TNl0Y7d4jW0Eo-BtU0W5eAqRA/s1600-h/0103Heroes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVttNdkDUOrlwOXI0mOIH4rZrHgfHq_BLc_CG21KdtE1Pnb9EeF70IbBhLghcTi8EicqrKFw8tY-6PvAqzcX-N-LubLIP2TZtFI3WmIbWCSYTi3TNl0Y7d4jW0Eo-BtU0W5eAqRA/s400/0103Heroes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319201221819306626" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X6D0LWJf62Uu9rypcetniDzEINlpTOSj9zlCdKQrvm4PQouPGQ1GfsQK3iz-EyzEQcoYD0J7QshcSoDC2uTGZLfykMUBDDZTbzZcinGCtTNDWQftaF-uvgaHU48ROpm3qfleGA/s1600-h/canada-highway-of-heroes-homepage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X6D0LWJf62Uu9rypcetniDzEINlpTOSj9zlCdKQrvm4PQouPGQ1GfsQK3iz-EyzEQcoYD0J7QshcSoDC2uTGZLfykMUBDDZTbzZcinGCtTNDWQftaF-uvgaHU48ROpm3qfleGA/s400/canada-highway-of-heroes-homepage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319203280177600514" /></a><br /><br />I am proud that, despite the fact that there is little support in Canada for our continued combat presence in Afghanistan, we do not hold it against our soldiers. They deserve only our respect. And I hope the journey along the Highway of Heroes (now officially named) gives the devastated families some comfort, in knowing that they are not alone in grieving their sons' (and one daughter's) sacrifice.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhguQ-Vx9kj20tcPfMM5nGjcaaodFkzSmKJYuOIDJJX_3pUcEz9zXtw29GH-YIyrwoiMU-H5fyz4nvlNVEiNKEOUWTb8wcLrVGnQYDtbiPbZ6EpXXXFr_uOFoaHmg4HRnOItk0TA/s1600-h/Repatriation-Jenna_Brown.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhguQ-Vx9kj20tcPfMM5nGjcaaodFkzSmKJYuOIDJJX_3pUcEz9zXtw29GH-YIyrwoiMU-H5fyz4nvlNVEiNKEOUWTb8wcLrVGnQYDtbiPbZ6EpXXXFr_uOFoaHmg4HRnOItk0TA/s400/Repatriation-Jenna_Brown.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319203953315663058" /></a><br /><br />Here is the video. The Ontario Provincial Police created this tribute, and it is the OPP "Voices in Blue" that sings in it. Maybe the fact that I have a 22 year old son makes this more poignant for me. But I bet you too will not have dry eyes by the end, no matter how you feel about the war in Afghanistan.<br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/K3lMLj1i7oU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/K3lMLj1i7oU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-3355678188185685202009-03-26T10:56:00.045-07:002009-03-27T05:49:12.694-07:00Divine fish and dancing sky<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7PfWrdne5gAFryodA-A2kxBcJKhdA691sNFAb-XekPmuZalvXPdCtoowLSON29hNXMa09a4WsKWkO2qPr_p7CjEyX68thXIZCEqzgc_hKWulX1vQvmB-CBEeuCRbHdkscB_mUQ/s1600-h/Evening_Howl-(1024x768)-thief.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7PfWrdne5gAFryodA-A2kxBcJKhdA691sNFAb-XekPmuZalvXPdCtoowLSON29hNXMa09a4WsKWkO2qPr_p7CjEyX68thXIZCEqzgc_hKWulX1vQvmB-CBEeuCRbHdkscB_mUQ/s200/Evening_Howl-(1024x768)-thief.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317836390063992626" /></a> <br />I pause. Is this really the restaurant? I shyly open the door to this log building, which was built in the thirties as a store on the lakefront. A vivacious woman with abundant blond curly hair escaping from her baseball cap grins and yells out, "Look, our new waitress finally showed up."<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a58KGmMSZOqCEBsQk9-0XSTDNtwR8quWp_ejwW7DrhWyLbrDyxBfTNN1nlIBh0ra5Dxgr0bE-blVMmA024RGCSyjB9tQpSCSVQhLfkW-OZkvp0ad9l3tSzI8iALJDdXGKzQITg/s1600-h/HPIM2979.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3a58KGmMSZOqCEBsQk9-0XSTDNtwR8quWp_ejwW7DrhWyLbrDyxBfTNN1nlIBh0ra5Dxgr0bE-blVMmA024RGCSyjB9tQpSCSVQhLfkW-OZkvp0ad9l3tSzI8iALJDdXGKzQITg/s400/HPIM2979.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317811140507350338" /></a><br />"What's the pay for your waitress job?" I reply, immediately feeling at home. She, I find out later, is named Renata, and she is the chef, waitress, owner, dishwasher and entertainer of Bullock's Bistro in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. <br /><br />"Come on through, sit down," Renata invites, and leads me into a dining area about the size of my hotel room. All seven tables are full, so I take a stool at the tiny bar. "If you want a drink, help yourself from the cooler over there. Today we've got fresh whitefish, pike, trout, pickerel and arctic char, and all the meat on the menu." The meat on the menu is muskox, caribou, and buffalo. Fish can be battered, pan fried or grilled. All meals come with salad and freshly made fries. There are two choices of home made salad dressing: garlic or feta cheese.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9RVd4Ps3C10kwsHXfcZqSkyeKUjM3SHNZvs0Jsnn5XigPe_JbA-u-VK-daaavN5yvlB179TPyxJV7GO10TA3t_3QmWpugydY8kBLn7yX9k-T0Hpq6J9pXYKKV5lH1h-vBHGE6CA/s1600-h/HPIM2982.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9RVd4Ps3C10kwsHXfcZqSkyeKUjM3SHNZvs0Jsnn5XigPe_JbA-u-VK-daaavN5yvlB179TPyxJV7GO10TA3t_3QmWpugydY8kBLn7yX9k-T0Hpq6J9pXYKKV5lH1h-vBHGE6CA/s400/HPIM2982.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317815051433339554" /></a><br />I order pan fried arctic char. This delicate, pink fleshed fish looks like pale salmon, but has a flavour unlike any other fish I've tasted. It is only found in arctic and sub arctic waters. I try to get some every time I come north, but it is hard to find and rarely appears wild and fresh on menus.<br /><br />For a single diner, there is no lack of reading material, on the walls, the ceiling, and even on the funky caribou's horns.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW84tQor2SSfuTi_fF7tEuLqjhngTV-FOpHd8pZqiiJLOx4Rcjj2S7dEF7xjMTgGU5NacdRhP4mquVkM7AT5NsAKxVwRLy4Kh8BELaT7cW-0VrclVNCrn1ckE0MD4b3eIXJA1v2w/s1600-h/HPIM2981.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW84tQor2SSfuTi_fF7tEuLqjhngTV-FOpHd8pZqiiJLOx4Rcjj2S7dEF7xjMTgGU5NacdRhP4mquVkM7AT5NsAKxVwRLy4Kh8BELaT7cW-0VrclVNCrn1ckE0MD4b3eIXJA1v2w/s400/HPIM2981.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317816480090486290" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhryGW3n4HtlruRIKEDLpWYelQMa4iH18GYTFF4xsrrniCwDIGXqzGeBqwJ68pRUqdz6i1tCgQgZw_u66BMmHdBkVqy7q-EpalhIZmtLmVc9EHM4x5OW_0-qPQ0DFQFV8oY-rydqA/s1600-h/HPIM2990.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhryGW3n4HtlruRIKEDLpWYelQMa4iH18GYTFF4xsrrniCwDIGXqzGeBqwJ68pRUqdz6i1tCgQgZw_u66BMmHdBkVqy7q-EpalhIZmtLmVc9EHM4x5OW_0-qPQ0DFQFV8oY-rydqA/s400/HPIM2990.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317817872980226338" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_qunbGwQMW5HJNMgC88Juz0jlQeZ1y0k6gYWbzEFE-Ym1QlgYqbO_QDPoXKTjODg2pVi0h3PLpAmOQhLafDQkkNKvptxaGDZNf5Pp_1SKN0G30rxq7mcWV8teuaRqodjKAivgg/s1600-h/HPIM2986.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_qunbGwQMW5HJNMgC88Juz0jlQeZ1y0k6gYWbzEFE-Ym1QlgYqbO_QDPoXKTjODg2pVi0h3PLpAmOQhLafDQkkNKvptxaGDZNf5Pp_1SKN0G30rxq7mcWV8teuaRqodjKAivgg/s400/HPIM2986.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317819266671588050" /></a><br />While watching Renata cook, which she does right behind the bar, I strike up conversation with my bar stool neighbours, both here on business like I am. One is a lab technician from Calgary, the other is a cable T.V. consultant from Florida, on his first trip to Canada. He is enchanted by the north. "They will never believe me at home when I tell them I drove on an ice road!" he says, shaking his head. He offers me a taste of his Great Slave Lake pickerel, which is sweet, firm, and a serious rival to my mouth watering arctic char.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ96c-n11pgvbcm4hR-YmHAtMxu_EI50T9GC5SO0TIOjRy8xdy_EkWETtbWi9JvyrrgmYDcOVGxYgTY5_y1IzlMZwwxJqEHptx-GnFVCKKZNJq9E1Hqo855CEy0TIPZWRF_IJP1A/s1600-h/HPIM2992.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ96c-n11pgvbcm4hR-YmHAtMxu_EI50T9GC5SO0TIOjRy8xdy_EkWETtbWi9JvyrrgmYDcOVGxYgTY5_y1IzlMZwwxJqEHptx-GnFVCKKZNJq9E1Hqo855CEy0TIPZWRF_IJP1A/s400/HPIM2992.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317807977422339474" /></a><br /><br />Renata and her one helper keep the whole place laughing with her stories and banter. She serves my coffee with a warning: "Honey, be careful, this coffee will make your bra pop off." (Huh?)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5efU7xxHAFuUCEAbCTHHXrXyeglYjQBMVyiEVISYFKim6gC-yaBNOc1yYoCOgvP6r8kB-iAxRd64LogfjkWXNqK9x0aZaFBNt_frYa3Pc4njotSsi9FCecdL16Be6MiNHXcGarQ/s1600-h/HPIM2997.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5efU7xxHAFuUCEAbCTHHXrXyeglYjQBMVyiEVISYFKim6gC-yaBNOc1yYoCOgvP6r8kB-iAxRd64LogfjkWXNqK9x0aZaFBNt_frYa3Pc4njotSsi9FCecdL16Be6MiNHXcGarQ/s400/HPIM2997.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317809462971655458" /></a><br /><br />Time to go. I zip up my parka, pull my hat down making sure it covers my ears, put my big mittens on over my gloves, and step out of Bullock's. After a moment I realize dogs are barking everywhere, all over town. Then in between barks I hear why; wolves are howling across the bay. The haunting sound of singing wolves brings sweet tears. When I was a girl my <a href="http://spindriftanddreams.blogspot.com/2007/10/everything-i-need-to-know-i-learned.html">Grandpa Gordon </a>taught me how to call to the wolves through a birch bark megaphone at our family cabin in Quebec. It took a lot of practice, but I got good enough to make them answer almost every time I called them.<br /><br />As I walk back to my hotel, the northern lights dance and weave over my head. I have seen them several times on this trip, from my hotel balcony, but never so bright. The lights of the big city of Yellowknife (pop 17,000) had dimmed my view from the hotel. But here by the lake on the edge of town they are spectacular.*<br /><br />What a wonderful place this is!<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYagoHxc6rlxhgmuuTDzzc8SaypSDDcxNtP3XwcPY6HZjAC8LVMFPQnoZNJkKehVF0bNBowGG-IkWH_vdxwUb6MP9J857W3x9O2zlV5M8YPjQVFTsbQV0r0vfqjGT_rBzM6o7RQ/s1600-h/Northern_lights_john_e_marriott.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYagoHxc6rlxhgmuuTDzzc8SaypSDDcxNtP3XwcPY6HZjAC8LVMFPQnoZNJkKehVF0bNBowGG-IkWH_vdxwUb6MP9J857W3x9O2zlV5M8YPjQVFTsbQV0r0vfqjGT_rBzM6o7RQ/s400/Northern_lights_john_e_marriott.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317577135853413618" /></a><br />*(I do not have my good camera or a tripod with me, only a point & shoot, so I did not take the northern lights photo above. But it is very close in colour and pattern to the lights I saw that night.)Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-53871023194430392902009-03-22T15:12:00.027-07:002009-03-22T17:25:11.386-07:00North of sixty<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfPzkt1s8amGhGH3S5x-L6C6jXM6RCXu6crngrRJBQ-cb4x_-CNze6ebo-02t9u7-ymjVSAfJIkIYLNbQmVwXli6HAcamxctm1r_vAV4PBu12x_6wf3i02wuwNK05vRAbqIUIgw/s1600-h/The+North+012.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 145px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfPzkt1s8amGhGH3S5x-L6C6jXM6RCXu6crngrRJBQ-cb4x_-CNze6ebo-02t9u7-ymjVSAfJIkIYLNbQmVwXli6HAcamxctm1r_vAV4PBu12x_6wf3i02wuwNK05vRAbqIUIgw/s320/The+North+012.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316148096950033602" /></a><br />Ignore my whining about winter in my recent posts. Today I am going to rave about it. Seriously. It is cold, very cold, and there is fresh snow on the ground. But I am revelling in it! Look at me over there on the left, smiling in the snow. No, I have not gone mad.<br /><br />I am in the arctic. In Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. Where winter is not just endured, it is celebrated!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3VPiDVyUMJweF06XTu9P-kiUv7eS7i0kSz-NkE-VGoyoOu9ryPKEb_mze7YJsujZmMJJZqdTgnp8Wk0p55OJ5st5SBFQv_gL3M0E5OYxEfzh04Hvz6McKCzUY7_N36JzLWY-q0g/s1600-h/The+North+020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3VPiDVyUMJweF06XTu9P-kiUv7eS7i0kSz-NkE-VGoyoOu9ryPKEb_mze7YJsujZmMJJZqdTgnp8Wk0p55OJ5st5SBFQv_gL3M0E5OYxEfzh04Hvz6McKCzUY7_N36JzLWY-q0g/s400/The+North+020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316146918432616578" /></a><br /><br />So to enjoy the winterness of this brilliant day in Yellowknife, I went where the locals go: on the lake. Yes ON it. Great Slave Lake. Where I watched kite snowboarding.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcO2UZHzmdThpAevlx8sM1IR8UCON6oZyia5EiJasnyp3CFw-QfBV1rUYanY-Ha2Imk1vvP9XFBetkqUWP3na2uN94MAqlKNjnAgos5VHRwX8BpTcezIrxfg6Rbrjtk6J1q6rqQ/s1600-h/88330739_GIvGKrfu_IMG_2702.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcO2UZHzmdThpAevlx8sM1IR8UCON6oZyia5EiJasnyp3CFw-QfBV1rUYanY-Ha2Imk1vvP9XFBetkqUWP3na2uN94MAqlKNjnAgos5VHRwX8BpTcezIrxfg6Rbrjtk6J1q6rqQ/s400/88330739_GIvGKrfu_IMG_2702.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316155293119040274" /></a><br /><br />There were folks walking dogs, skiing, playing on snowmobiles, and flying regular kites on the lake. And visiting the art gallery. That's right, the art gallery in an ice castle. ON the lake.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuL5wGAr590JQpWQcDXJsKJeO2pMCRBdl9Iq-f7zVVxK4sa2SC0XWsFpCh3lpURqPLH1KE1nhQseOGIJUjtS6MlA6_VUW-hdOwl7ayFK2ZFXD5WDGzFomqRt-cVTJZz_8Lzh5F6g/s1600-h/The+North+025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuL5wGAr590JQpWQcDXJsKJeO2pMCRBdl9Iq-f7zVVxK4sa2SC0XWsFpCh3lpURqPLH1KE1nhQseOGIJUjtS6MlA6_VUW-hdOwl7ayFK2ZFXD5WDGzFomqRt-cVTJZz_8Lzh5F6g/s400/The+North+025.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316159513906647666" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzSL-S_BGA5BMGZ7s1go5h14t0Rzy_fgXiOhMhvYHhFp5h3ufnWsrCRIAuXaRU_Lh-QbY6nWM5eVuX3tnzeh-NBYR1-xhm-HGTLYiWkfxtKzbGYNgVewW8hhYrhx8jNNg_WM4_w/s1600-h/The+North+016.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzSL-S_BGA5BMGZ7s1go5h14t0Rzy_fgXiOhMhvYHhFp5h3ufnWsrCRIAuXaRU_Lh-QbY6nWM5eVuX3tnzeh-NBYR1-xhm-HGTLYiWkfxtKzbGYNgVewW8hhYrhx8jNNg_WM4_w/s400/The+North+016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316160650942782866" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsruOnRI_2UHUwSP37O8amjp_8ihWpgDj6-14DgY6YmyU9-JjdMoMrz7WjnL9RMaaBX787YlAu0JlNeuo5wGMEsyr-SCAuZY3JTqXSX7BQw8_Bhwp0a2P2FLeMXBj0TeWZ5Q-mw/s1600-h/The+North+004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsruOnRI_2UHUwSP37O8amjp_8ihWpgDj6-14DgY6YmyU9-JjdMoMrz7WjnL9RMaaBX787YlAu0JlNeuo5wGMEsyr-SCAuZY3JTqXSX7BQw8_Bhwp0a2P2FLeMXBj0TeWZ5Q-mw/s400/The+North+004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316161683484319010" /></a><br /><br />The windows are made of ice.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgq3n8NuRsELC2s3AvdT66Dm50yyP2hN_2vEu_NURqzadLl1S2ViqZYysk92I1TrsaO8_EBPhpIQ4kMxvROcu2Fdm45CApaVyXJmNXFWMN7eqbcYB4-IJ-U8630opdw5laVRM0g/s1600-h/The+North+017.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgq3n8NuRsELC2s3AvdT66Dm50yyP2hN_2vEu_NURqzadLl1S2ViqZYysk92I1TrsaO8_EBPhpIQ4kMxvROcu2Fdm45CApaVyXJmNXFWMN7eqbcYB4-IJ-U8630opdw5laVRM0g/s400/The+North+017.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316162440651073330" /></a><br /><br />I had a lively discussion with the creator, caretaker, and curator of this ice castle art gallery, the "Snow King", A.K.A. Anthony Foliot. He told me his ice architectural skills began when he was growing up in Northern Quebec, and neighbourhoods would compete with each other to make the best snow structures.When the ice is thin on Great Slave Lake in November, he saws out bocks to make the windows in the castle.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qraOsgCrV2sX__dTfGpFCrc-wCkojrI8BPFpz9PUzwCtzGdByKKlcw4ILGj5k-Q1PScEKG_AyGcwUGpvA1gxCbu6qvTz4v9Jcu042MOGNSucbMEmeNvf7JmWlNH-RQMbqDi4wg/s1600-h/The+North+027.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0qraOsgCrV2sX__dTfGpFCrc-wCkojrI8BPFpz9PUzwCtzGdByKKlcw4ILGj5k-Q1PScEKG_AyGcwUGpvA1gxCbu6qvTz4v9Jcu042MOGNSucbMEmeNvf7JmWlNH-RQMbqDi4wg/s400/The+North+027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316165859925099906" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDXh69RxyIw-G-nsnLnUNrm9fC1X6N-ojtYCfwSxGpgapACoE_sbnEo9dIHs5MLawGNsQvN_jU4UEajiJzmjSb-x9Ny-CUeOxOb0EAwixGSdpdPvL28Oq4s4_RF3SDxtfXFxkgw/s1600-h/The+North+003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDXh69RxyIw-G-nsnLnUNrm9fC1X6N-ojtYCfwSxGpgapACoE_sbnEo9dIHs5MLawGNsQvN_jU4UEajiJzmjSb-x9Ny-CUeOxOb0EAwixGSdpdPvL28Oq4s4_RF3SDxtfXFxkgw/s400/The+North+003.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316167889538726674" /></a><br /><br />So, I had great time today time in the snowy cold. In March. Who'd have guessed it!Oh, and please, while I love all your comments, I ask you to refrain from making fashion fun of my over-sized parka with the real fur hood (ick). It's government issue. I'm working you see. Except for a few fun hours today.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxaPm33mkVqVBafB4QE-LzFMsddqLGl1RHr9qK6EewKJk5v-4AB7EVDBz38Sm7KCmw3IjND8yvRG3pAydavBgODffKbPN1Y58Tp16xk0V-cuYu7IxjcTPv_x5wWurtJn-tOl48Q/s1600-h/The+North+014.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxaPm33mkVqVBafB4QE-LzFMsddqLGl1RHr9qK6EewKJk5v-4AB7EVDBz38Sm7KCmw3IjND8yvRG3pAydavBgODffKbPN1Y58Tp16xk0V-cuYu7IxjcTPv_x5wWurtJn-tOl48Q/s400/The+North+014.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316170863263001282" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-89747956764292556842009-03-17T08:06:00.001-07:002009-03-18T17:11:59.373-07:00For the birds<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMHV45zO9V8I327wVf65aaNBBWcYAk0fXN1UQ_ROglqakIOrg1EKSIj3XCpwGdAHeQUqapyOaqe8XpP6AQeKdBDTdu8nJkkqJo33ZXFfnH2o37ojlL3Yk1X2iGsTiePF3EBglSg/s1600-h/cabin+from+water.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjMHV45zO9V8I327wVf65aaNBBWcYAk0fXN1UQ_ROglqakIOrg1EKSIj3XCpwGdAHeQUqapyOaqe8XpP6AQeKdBDTdu8nJkkqJo33ZXFfnH2o37ojlL3Yk1X2iGsTiePF3EBglSg/s320/cabin+from+water.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314239950715770754" /></a>We went up to our cabin on Pitt Lake this past weekend. The weather forecast called for rain, but that's not so bad. We have complete rain canvas for the boat (which is the only way to get there), and a weekend spent curled up in front of the fire with a book, without T.V., telephones, or crackberrys is bliss. (An aside here: although our cell phones do not work up there, we do have a portable marine VHF radio, so we can call for help if one of us cuts off a foot with the chain saw. So don't worry Mom.)<br /><br />The main reason I was anxious to get to the cabin was to put up the hummingbird feeders. I adore hummingbirds. Thirty years ago a First Nations Elder in a community near where I was working on an archaeology dig gave me the name "Hummingbird" in Salish. I have considered this beautiful, fearless, little creature my totem ever since. We get dozens of Rufous hummingbirds at the lake, flashing in the sunlight, dancing and diving around the hummingbird feeders. In summer, with the windows open, often the first sound I hear at dawn is the soft drum-roll of their tiny wings.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTewJ-B14Kx0yJydFZ1E5mi4HdHOkIdCoM-t-NyzhpdiQkHxELr01vv0M4ycazmZ9z6LO0qKBow5ABFNW5w1YNZf78m9_WGFo9p4VVvizrOVMTmjvnq6mcBWMnTCmJZXO6UCGGXA/s1600-h/hummingbird.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTewJ-B14Kx0yJydFZ1E5mi4HdHOkIdCoM-t-NyzhpdiQkHxELr01vv0M4ycazmZ9z6LO0qKBow5ABFNW5w1YNZf78m9_WGFo9p4VVvizrOVMTmjvnq6mcBWMnTCmJZXO6UCGGXA/s400/hummingbird.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314228665522229330" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWul6hw6WBIddkDQ1O-UlHjjOWg-qVCOD1X7fTNmIzL23pBLGMj76cibzbgFEBzWV7cCshaqdIo7Vi1s1vc5hyWwthelYCGqbYqqKTiXzLMNWwCvEce1J4C5-Numkmpuoz7vYyKQ/s1600-h/10301Rufous_Hummingbird_WebBF.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWul6hw6WBIddkDQ1O-UlHjjOWg-qVCOD1X7fTNmIzL23pBLGMj76cibzbgFEBzWV7cCshaqdIo7Vi1s1vc5hyWwthelYCGqbYqqKTiXzLMNWwCvEce1J4C5-Numkmpuoz7vYyKQ/s400/10301Rufous_Hummingbird_WebBF.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314230038438264562" /></a><br />We also get the occasional Anna's hummingbird. This is the northernmost edge of Anna's range. A few will even winter over in southern Vancouver Island and some parts of Vancouver. At Pitt Lake, they are still only seasonal visitors. Their iridescent scarlet heads are breathtaking.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fdU_vb9pD3NtcuNJshLQRj4bjE9PEO6jKZBXrl7dxWHiy-UqTNETyUkSGwYEmMqlf695gRdr970KQp2fCMO2KJMj2p-or7wtiGjySYTLRcEwnK2XXQohRu83AsS77CCLyuqq5w/s1600-h/annas+hummingbird.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 380px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fdU_vb9pD3NtcuNJshLQRj4bjE9PEO6jKZBXrl7dxWHiy-UqTNETyUkSGwYEmMqlf695gRdr970KQp2fCMO2KJMj2p-or7wtiGjySYTLRcEwnK2XXQohRu83AsS77CCLyuqq5w/s400/annas+hummingbird.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314230789188161170" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvFstKKNl-790rRcSZ9LJx9dWBcS773u7kjoISl_ygKYxyez2wy9bSh-7W3rokYiZsXUx7fwmpf2YXy12ncMpnkixSe0A3dUSiOiX19JYcz5sXU_gGGU6HA20t6mXxw2qw41kdQ/s1600-h/annas+hummingbird2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvFstKKNl-790rRcSZ9LJx9dWBcS773u7kjoISl_ygKYxyez2wy9bSh-7W3rokYiZsXUx7fwmpf2YXy12ncMpnkixSe0A3dUSiOiX19JYcz5sXU_gGGU6HA20t6mXxw2qw41kdQ/s400/annas+hummingbird2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314240693314514386" /></a><br />Hummingbirds usually return here about the first week of March. Some years they can be spotted at the end of February. I knew their migration north has been a little slow this year, but it was important to me to get those feeders up and ready. The little jewels arrive exhausted after their long flight from Mexico. (Hell, even I'M tired after a flight from Mexico, and that's just from ordering cerveza on board the plane. I don't have to flap my wings.)<br /><br />So the feeders are up, but there are no hummingbirds yet. In fact they may be very late this year. If they have any sense.<br /><br />If any of you in more southern climes see my hummingbirds flying north, tell them from me: "Little ones, you should hang around in California a while. As much as I would love to see you, you don't want to be here yet."<br /><br />Here are some photos I took Sunday as we were leaving the lake.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDaHj87Xuu8Y2hos8eI9H8laiSBmBGqWblXPEDkYH2jISFUjTgbpSpdC1CDTAwQMjd8YGXf819zJ9_c-rBrlr2HdyXMbEFa8xuuXQ7Ia96CAdAPduSATPI8D2ip9DbZbf_3WDvg/s1600-h/HPIM2944.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDaHj87Xuu8Y2hos8eI9H8laiSBmBGqWblXPEDkYH2jISFUjTgbpSpdC1CDTAwQMjd8YGXf819zJ9_c-rBrlr2HdyXMbEFa8xuuXQ7Ia96CAdAPduSATPI8D2ip9DbZbf_3WDvg/s400/HPIM2944.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314242249511664578" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvJfJUzka7JZ8YnaMf148nAubR-Vkw-NOBOEOhAeN3sbRoclgIGFNlPxSu_Z3Svmz9bGLzfHNegOEdb1gtSg5tKdOUzyv8iT4LbnBIAnXX5ZJNQWdWDTymdTkZVodk7IV0mHhFw/s1600-h/HPIM2943.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmvJfJUzka7JZ8YnaMf148nAubR-Vkw-NOBOEOhAeN3sbRoclgIGFNlPxSu_Z3Svmz9bGLzfHNegOEdb1gtSg5tKdOUzyv8iT4LbnBIAnXX5ZJNQWdWDTymdTkZVodk7IV0mHhFw/s400/HPIM2943.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314241966236882546" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzcVPRVDkBgXgt73nbjyT00csWp_86nlEgOA3_R69_JKZ_HnohPQHhUmz4hcwq_p5b-g9CmbGHDBE2WnqqRgqbpABDBgCe1oBvfeoo9Xwu0f-J6PyZ3X_ujJrEB0brBL5Lyatmg/s1600-h/HPIM2946.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKzcVPRVDkBgXgt73nbjyT00csWp_86nlEgOA3_R69_JKZ_HnohPQHhUmz4hcwq_p5b-g9CmbGHDBE2WnqqRgqbpABDBgCe1oBvfeoo9Xwu0f-J6PyZ3X_ujJrEB0brBL5Lyatmg/s400/HPIM2946.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314242821717622530" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-14690824522162042712009-03-15T18:38:00.005-07:002009-03-15T19:32:38.409-07:00Pigs flew<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yEDPvT4gLVcWzC7Y3qDILkKSPh4Cto9gNKLEO8poJqwgDYs9blLfmicO9cZ7vi6-qTfyA_7nPMKrW8FW1y8BupsoPD0epNWh6AuIxsax1VJyJPtfG5mqHtDsO3tQBBSCgA_0Tw/s1600-h/checking_up___confused_man_D6F369DA-F407-0BBA-A0CC7AAB95F4A6C1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yEDPvT4gLVcWzC7Y3qDILkKSPh4Cto9gNKLEO8poJqwgDYs9blLfmicO9cZ7vi6-qTfyA_7nPMKrW8FW1y8BupsoPD0epNWh6AuIxsax1VJyJPtfG5mqHtDsO3tQBBSCgA_0Tw/s320/checking_up___confused_man_D6F369DA-F407-0BBA-A0CC7AAB95F4A6C1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313607406787871746" /></a><br />Friday I was walking down Howe Street, heading back to my office with my take out lunch from Salad Loop. It was a crisp but bright day, and I was walking slowly, to enjoy the sun on my face. Suddenly a vintage Camaro with two young men in it swerved over to the curb beside me. I could see the passenger studying a map. The driver rolled down his window (He was closest to me, Howe is a one way street) and asked: "Hello, can you help us? Can you tell us how to get to the Lions Gate Bridge?"<br /><br />"Sure", I said, "go down two blocks to Georgia Street, turn left, and Georgia Street will lead you right over the bridge."<br /><br />"Great, thanks very much, and you have a good day."<br /><br />"Guys, I should thank you, for making my day. Two men stopping to ask for directions!!!! I'm calling the Guinness book of Records!"Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-43272075493699041122009-03-09T13:47:00.016-07:002009-03-09T14:42:31.771-07:00Betrayed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKeid1QXZmqWHUyy8PMXkKH7Qbv-Kp2afogGiXTj8Hm9U4YCzkifRkoeP7zmMj5yp_UxBttKeBinJCOSJuIb3x9fKllGq-RHMwsrt3L7zyY40PoXsacIaOXbZnhzyQCalccaxUw/s1600-h/HPIM2940.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKeid1QXZmqWHUyy8PMXkKH7Qbv-Kp2afogGiXTj8Hm9U4YCzkifRkoeP7zmMj5yp_UxBttKeBinJCOSJuIb3x9fKllGq-RHMwsrt3L7zyY40PoXsacIaOXbZnhzyQCalccaxUw/s320/HPIM2940.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311293013994705234" /></a><br />Just over a week ago I wrote about <a href="http://spindriftanddreams.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-can-see-little-light.html">spring in the air</a>, crocuses and primulas blooming, and the promise that the winter blahs (full blown SAD in my case) would soon be gone. I did not just post those pics to annoy my Mom (although it is tradition, for 20 years or so I have been teasing her yearly with letters, then e-mail, and then blog posts about Vancouver's February flowers). But I had truly felt a lifting of spirit. A hint of a promise that I will soon go outside and feel lovely sunshine on my face, and warm soil in my garden. <br /><br />But now I have been sucker punched. Mother nature is one sadistic bitch. Look at these photos I took today:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8e10X_dhD1mzhFJcnVXmxkpEJNiAgaUKCzu4VgEFdSgAmAOLXueSc1O_kZLMmoqQNFnLq3iP58ClFs1E1Z59_B6w4CSc9aSBTIeeNeU0eeR2UwSrpMKTAdQtfaSMTmpnjtJFZbQ/s1600-h/HPIM2935.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8e10X_dhD1mzhFJcnVXmxkpEJNiAgaUKCzu4VgEFdSgAmAOLXueSc1O_kZLMmoqQNFnLq3iP58ClFs1E1Z59_B6w4CSc9aSBTIeeNeU0eeR2UwSrpMKTAdQtfaSMTmpnjtJFZbQ/s400/HPIM2935.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311298690182342834" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJEc4sDiccWgoYkKRXOLiWQ6H4LBtP_k1POAYl2Mc_R1ww6jXVf3bRbTC4KsvEaXmpzklFTY2ND5mns0wpp7yTGwgsxcPbc0UfwxFYTuOnJ_mM_sCsowxtut8zwodpTJ3itK2bA/s1600-h/HPIM2937.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJEc4sDiccWgoYkKRXOLiWQ6H4LBtP_k1POAYl2Mc_R1ww6jXVf3bRbTC4KsvEaXmpzklFTY2ND5mns0wpp7yTGwgsxcPbc0UfwxFYTuOnJ_mM_sCsowxtut8zwodpTJ3itK2bA/s400/HPIM2937.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311300871326165938" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZFLE1nK4dBtmbpkkZTiyRSMBhgxdVdTuyaDK-uuARqSWlAOSgMb_KV8OfV72q3m0ysre_6XY2-7ot4OIJDPZfugyM17dKArBh8WpsBK9se8H9NR9quQZHhp2jVztNSck-KibsQ/s1600-h/HPIM2938.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZFLE1nK4dBtmbpkkZTiyRSMBhgxdVdTuyaDK-uuARqSWlAOSgMb_KV8OfV72q3m0ysre_6XY2-7ot4OIJDPZfugyM17dKArBh8WpsBK9se8H9NR9quQZHhp2jVztNSck-KibsQ/s400/HPIM2938.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311301929936711602" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8j9_ESbyScI2g1t78ka7Y9aE3kNFMp4UzexlOx6XK5Q4pPMyMzd8nmLqRkJKkmznfyLpsHo96L0aXGgv53csS6EkGVOOjBewp57QjWVn4gpBxIm3ZGtCdaqvzOsb7asepb62EKw/s1600-h/HPIM2941.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8j9_ESbyScI2g1t78ka7Y9aE3kNFMp4UzexlOx6XK5Q4pPMyMzd8nmLqRkJKkmznfyLpsHo96L0aXGgv53csS6EkGVOOjBewp57QjWVn4gpBxIm3ZGtCdaqvzOsb7asepb62EKw/s400/HPIM2941.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311302668062097170" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36200602.post-89087518649004562402009-03-06T20:07:00.009-08:002009-03-07T19:58:22.117-08:00Henry loves kitty cats<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzenyAS0I212bNzvYSB7vL7s4Y3p34V_G7hNNIxMdYLKNVzHoJ6W4x5yrXNbfvx3I9jo4UHuQgs0L3fS7GppLhybRUzuHvzay1IfR5dzV9lHhEmyfYJlOUneNZNn_XaKI4RU6TQ/s1600-h/HPIM2925.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzenyAS0I212bNzvYSB7vL7s4Y3p34V_G7hNNIxMdYLKNVzHoJ6W4x5yrXNbfvx3I9jo4UHuQgs0L3fS7GppLhybRUzuHvzay1IfR5dzV9lHhEmyfYJlOUneNZNn_XaKI4RU6TQ/s320/HPIM2925.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310660775546424834" /></a><br />"Honey, I'm just taking the dogs out for their bedtime pee."<br /><br />Henry, Tika, come on, lets go out. Walkies!"<br /><br />"Man it's dark out here guys...Tika, what's wrong, why are you whining old girl? Hey! Tika, where are you going? Why are you running back to the house, you didn't even pee yet."<br /><br />"Henry, where are you? OH NO! Henry come! No don't go over that way!!! Go back to the house with Tika. Ignore that kitty, he does NOT want to play with you. It's a bad bad, kitty. NOOO!!!! Oh shit, not again. Get over here you stupid, half-witted dog. That's the third time now, and you still have not learned. Oh god, right in your face again. You are spectacularly stupid."<br /><br />"I've told you, IGNORE the black kitties with the white stripes down their back, you stinking idiot." <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse1Z21hE0FC_xDDCWlaNCv5oF6R0NgAGjOOG-LyjQqDqP5R1FnmC-IYKU3BsI39lL8GRBPM5YNstIZOXtxp4uYPY0i8_XLRet2JvwH3CCenxZ-IbfEbj6JqIHpNthA5mJFj0qSg/s1600-h/pepe.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse1Z21hE0FC_xDDCWlaNCv5oF6R0NgAGjOOG-LyjQqDqP5R1FnmC-IYKU3BsI39lL8GRBPM5YNstIZOXtxp4uYPY0i8_XLRet2JvwH3CCenxZ-IbfEbj6JqIHpNthA5mJFj0qSg/s320/pepe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310298219542753746" /></a>Voyagerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02116163756128298793noreply@blogger.com6