Good vibes

A little while ago one of my favourite writers, Ian, tagged me with an invitation to write about five things that raise my vibrations. I loved reading his five, and immediately started thinking about what gives me good vibrations.

First though, for those of you who got here by googling "vibes", stop reading now. Just click this link and ignore the rest of this post. It's not what you're looking for.

So, back to what gives me good vibes. There are many things. I'm going to limit this post to one. And I am not going to tag anyone, but if you feel so inspired, pick up the theme. What raises your vibrations?

For me, one thing soars far above all the rest, lifts my spirit, my soul, and my eyes. It's a place, or actually many places. I can pick up angels there. Who then watch over me to make sure I don't fall asleep and miss my life, even when I'm down. Down in spirit or elevation.

Have you guessed? I'm talking about mountains. I adore mountains.
Climbing them:



Gazing at them:




Sharing the thrill of reaching the peak:



Playing in them:



And sleeping in them.





When I travel, I seek out the mountains. On my first trip to New Zealand I gave up the heat of a Canadian summer in August and went straight to the snowy Remarkable Range in the South Island. In the U.K., Big Ben, the Tower of London, and even Stonehenge were a bit of a snore. I really came alive on Mt. Snowdon in Wales.



Sacred Massai Gods live on Mount Ol Donyo Langai in Tanzania. I had to go up and pay my respects of course.



Even in Hawaii, the mountainous cliffs of Kauai's Na Pali coast beckon to me more than the beaches below.




My first real view of the Himalaya Range was of the Annapurna peaks at dawn from Poon Hill, Nepal, which I had climbed by the light of a headlamp before dawn. As the sun rose and these magnificent peaks came into focus I sat and cried in absolute joy.




I'm not sure if my love of mountains comes from some deep yearning to touch heaven, or simply because my first memories start when my family was living in the heart of the Canadian Rockies between Banff and Jasper. Mom and Dad strapped skis on me at Marmot Basin almost as soon as I could walk. They loved to climb mountains too. I have their long old-fashioned ice axes from their mountaineering days. Here they are next to mine:



Best of all is being in the mountains with the people I love. My son started skiing in the mountains with me when he was four. By nine years old he was beating me down black diamond runs. Now he is an awesome snowboarding dude.



In summers my son has hiked and rock climbed with me. But I don't think he has ever felt the same pulling, aching need I have to be in the mountains.





My Beloved has also joined me in the mountains from time to time. When he does though, it is not the mountains, but me he wants to be near. I love him for that.






I told B that when I croak I want my ashes scattered in the mountains. "Can it be Splash Mountain in Florida or the Matterhorn ride in Disneyland?" he asked.

"No way!"

"But what if I'm in a wheel chair by then?"

"You won't be, you're five years younger than I am."

"But what if?"

"O.K., whatever, I suppose I won't know the difference."

So, if you are ever at Disneyland in 40 or 50 years and see spindrift blowing off the peak of the Matterhorn, that will likely be me.

Today's dream travel destination, the Swiss Alps. A mountain range I have not yet seen. Home of the real Matterhorn.

Schmoozed

Ian at Or so I thought has given me a "Blogging Community Involvement" award. Apparently my blog has "the power of schmooze". I'm flattered, thank you Ian. But I'm not exactly sure what this means. So I'll take it to be an indication of a blogger that can schmooze folks in. One who who relishes the blogger community contact in return. Because I do truly enjoy the interaction, "conversation" and cyber-frienships that have developed since I started this little blog. It was totally unexpected, but the best part of this blogging gig.

Apparently I am to name five other blogs for this award. But I am going to break the rules (yes, again.) Because I do not follow many blogs. I've read many, but only a few have caught me (schmoozed me?) and drawn me to follow every post they write. So I could name all of those blogs listed over there on the right under the title "You'll love these" for this award. But I am going to limit it to one. One of the first blogs I began to read, and the first that got me hooked into coming back to it over and over. And the one that got me thinking "I want to try that". Now that's schmooze power!

And the award goes to: Alda at theIceland Weather Report. Often side splittingly funny, frequently deeply insightful, sometimes achingly honest and personal. I love her descriptions of "Niceland" and Icleanders, and if I ever need to fly to Reykjavik on the spur of the moment, I will know what time the sun will set.

Today's dream travel destination: Iceland of course. A destination way up on my gotta go list.

Service interruptions due to weather

This blog is on summer hours. Fine weather and long daylight hours may result in unavoidable service interruptions. Regular service will resume with the rain.

I am spending very little time indoors. Saturday we spent the day on the boat at Pitt Lake. Sunday an old friend was in town, and we cycled 68 km to the Richmond Dikes and Steveston Village. The winter's mould is finally baking out of our brains, and the sun has our damp joints moving again.

Evenings have been spent in the garden, where we are making a huge mess landscaping. Lumberjacks are removing a massive overgrown cedar hedge. Two sad trees will also come down. Listen for their screams. Weed beds are under attack. I am finally getting a place to plant my long-wished for Ginkgo Biloba tree.




When darkness falls, making chainsaw use a gamble, we reluctantly drag our aching old bones inside, shower, and collapse. Dust is building up on the forlorn computer. The lonely mouse sits on the mouse pad squinting out at the hot, cloudless sky, wishing for a storm.



Today's dream travel destination, Steveston Village, Richmond, B.C. Where the freshest seafood is sold right off the boats at the docks. And the halibut & chips at Dave's is mouthwatering.

Party animals

Dateline: Saturday June 30, 2007. B and I are taking the dogs for an evening walk in the 'hood.

"Oh look, the Smiths finally finished that retaining wall" I say.

"It looks good. That stone would look great around the edge of the back flower bed we've been planning" B answers.

"The one we have been planning for five years? The one we dug up half the back lawn for, that is now a giant weed heaven?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Oh, cool, look over there, Crazy Hoarding Neighbour has a new member of her lawn gnome family."

"That's no gnome, it's a hung over troll."

"How can you tell?"

"He's cross-eyed and looks about to puke."

"No, I mean how do you know he's a troll and not a gnome?"

B gives me THE LOOK that indicates my lengthy, expensive education was a waste.

A few blocks later, when we have looped back to our front door, I ask, "What do you want to do now? It is Saturday night."

"We could go to a movie."

This time I give B THE LOOK. "Who are you kidding, we haven't watched a movie except on our own T.V. in 4 years." We talk about going, then just wait until it comes out on pay-per-view. Where we can watch it snuggled on the couch with a glass of wine, wearing sweatpants and torn tee-shirts. And pause it for refills and pee breaks.

We check the listings and there is nothing interesting on pay-per-view. Still, it is a long weekend and all, so I suggest: "We could go up to the pub for a beer."


"We have beer here, and it's cheaper. Besides, we've just been for a walk, I don't feel like walking up to the pub. And if we drive, one of us can't have beer."

So we have a short soak in the hot tub and go to bed with books. It's 9:45 on a Saturday night. My God, we are so wild and crazy.

Today's dream travel destination: Montmartre, Paris. Where we would just be starting dinner at 9:45 on a Saturday evening.

I'm one of the Rockin' Girls!

After a few days away from the computer (the weather is finally too good to stay inside for long) I came back to find that CS (Another Tangential Thinker) has given me a Rockin' Girl Blogger award. Now it has been a long time since I've been called a girl and a longer time since I actually was one. And I've never been called "Rockin'". Cool! With my 50th birthday hurtling towards me I am delighted. Thank you C.S. Coming from a rockinest mom, woman, snake lover, photographer blogger I am truly honoured. Proud to be considered one of the girls.

Now I get to hand out five more. To female bloggers that rock. Oh my, where to start? Stay tuned, I need a little time to think about this.

Today's dream travel destination: Parliament Hill, Ottawa. The best place to be for Canada Day celebrations. Where I celebrated Canada's 100th birthday 40 years ago, and where my son celebrated his first Canada Day 20 years ago.

On a roll

Would you call a middle aged woman who is in-line skating for the first time in over 4 years, praying fervently for her life at the top of every slope to Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and the Virgin Mary....

An old holy roller?


Here is my darling husband, who also has not been on his roller blades for over 4 years, showing off how good he is. And of course being a guy, refusing to wear a brain bucket.


Today's dream travel destination: The The 10 km Seymour Valley Trailway, a little-advertised gem in north Vancouver. Running up the Seymour valley, it is a wide, paved trail, excellent for bikers and rollerbladers. We used to rollerblade it regularly, and are getting ready to again this summer.


Of course Holland would be great too. Flat. Flat is good.

The 1969 science fair

" I can't decide whether to take the money or the prize."
"Take the prize" Dad advised. "The money will be spent next week, but this prize is something you will use forever."

I thought longingly of the five dollars. I could buy this new stuff that had just come out, shiny lip gloss. And some aqua blue eye shadow. In 1969, in grade 7, these were precious items. But in the end I took my Dad's advice, and chose the prize. Sophia Caccione, the third place winner, got the five bucks. I had won second place in the Junior High science fair. Well, actually my Dad did.

My science fair project was grandiosely called a "base-2 computer". Weeks earlier, when I was struggling with ideas for a science fair project, my Dad had asked, "Well, what are you studying right now in math class?"

"Um, binary numbers. I don't really understand it" I said. (I said this about math class often.)

"Well, that's great," said Dad. "We could make a kind of counting computer that displays numbers in binary code, base-2."

I had no idea what Dad was talking about, but I liked the sound of "WE". My Dad is a civil engineer. "Let's sit down and draw up some plans" he said. We sat. He drew. The next weekend, plans in hand, we went to the hobby store and bought meccano stuff: gears, wires, little levers, lights and a battery. I could not have put these together to make a base-2 counter any more than I could have ridden my pink banana bike to the moon.

We spent many evenings in the basement workshop, putting this marvel together. I watched a lot, or occasionally held something steady, while Dad bolted parts, connected wires, and patiently explained the concepts as we progressed. By the end of this project, I actually understood how binary code worked. And still do. When it was finished, it was amazing. You could press a lever marked 1 through ten, and the number would be displayed in binary code in a series of lights that went off or on to represent zero or one.

Dad I should have won first place. Instead of Danny Finkelstein's stupid exploding volcano. Anyone can mix vinegar and baking soda and put it under a paper volcano. Dad I had made a freakin base-2 computer. How cool is that!

There were other projects my Dad and I did together over the years. (Remember the huge plaster model of a glacial valley Dad? You I got an A in geography that year because of it.)

Thanks for that Dad. Those hours in the workshop working with you were special. Your patience and help were priceless. I love you for it. So in honour of Father's Day, I am passing on to you the prize you advised me to take at the 1969 science fair. The one you said I would use forever. The one I gave up lip gloss and blue eye shadow for.

The slide rule.

It's not all about me. This time.

This post is related to the "Eight Random Things About Me" meme. Except I am bending the rules (whaddya mean you're not surprised?) I'm writing eight random things about B. My Beloved. My man. The one it took me 45 years to find.

So, here are eight random things about B:

1. He rescues spiders from the bath tub and gently carries them outside to the yard. (Where Snuffy the cat hunts and eats them for snacks.) But it’s the thought that counts. He also rescues them off the boat, so they don’t blow away and drown. I’ve seen him wade through icy water to deposit an eight legged stowaway back on shore.


2. He finishes my abandoned projects. I am good at starting various endeavours, but I get bored easily, especially when it becomes apparent the job will not look as perfect as I hoped. With only minimal eye rolling, to which he is surely entitled, B picks up my discarded paint brush, or hedge trimmer, or chain saw, or rake, and quietly finishes what I started.



3. B gets cranky as a grizzly bear with a hang over when he is hungry.

4. So it is a good thing he can cook. He does wonderful curries, especially Thai.

5. He no longer writes “don’t buy any of that low fat shit” on our grocery list. But when I’m not around to make gagging noises and pantomime heart attacks, his favourite meals are cheese perogies with bacon and sour cream, or greasy fish and chips from the local take out.

6. B is a very good hockey player. But he prefers playing on mixed teams of men and women “because it’s more civilized that way”. He always says something positive about my play, and believe me it can’t be easy. In my best season I got two goals. One was in my own net.

7. When we got together 5 years ago B took on the old bitch without complaint. No not me, Tika, my huge, smelly, lab/shepherd cross whose personal mission is to annihilate motorcycles, skateboarders, and most other dogs. I’ve even caught him hugging her while cooing “How’s my special big brown girl?”




8. B is convinced he is a better driver than I am (and most everybody else). While I know for sure that I drive better than he does (and most everybody else). It makes road trips...um...interesting. And sometimes loud. And then icily silent.



Today's dream travel destination: Costa Rica. We are planning a trip there in the fall. Where we may, for the first time in our travels together, rent a car. Or maybe one each.

You can get to heaven in a boat

B and I have a summer weekend special place. The kind of "happy place" you go to in your mind when the dentist is drilling, when you're walking home from work in the dark at 4:30 on a November evening, or when cold rain is dripping down your collar on Groundhog day.

We were there last weekend, for the first time this year. It will be repeated as often this summer as time and weather will permit. And providing B has not already made other weekend plans. (But if you are a regular reader, you know how I can get B to change his plans.)

I'll take you on a tour. Follow me. First we rush home from work on Friday afternoon and drive 20 minutes to launch our boat in a side channel of the Pitt River.



Then it takes about 20 more minutes to get to Pitt Lake. From here on there are no roads, it's boat access only. The stress and cares of our everyday life start to blow away behind us.



We arrive at one of of several small secluded beaches that dot this 20 km long lake. There are 4 or 5 spots that we go to, depending on tides (this lake is one of few lakes in the world affected by tides from the nearby ocean) and the weather.



A glass of wine by the camp fire as the sun sets dissolves all trace of stress:



For the rest of the weekend we play, read, and nap:





And we hike up to a waterfall, picking salmon berries on the way.





Have you ever seen a five star hotel this inviting? I don't think so:



Sunday afternoon, we head home sun kissed and happy, rejuvenated by the mountains, water, and solitude.



A busy Canada Goose and her family accompanies us the last 100 metres to the boat ramp.



Hope you enjoyed the tour. Thanks for coming along.

Wherein B changes his plans

"What a gorgeous day!" I say to B while we are getting ready for work. "The radio said it could go up to 29 on Sunday. Let's go camping."

"But we already decided to only spend a day at Pitt Lake this weekend," said B.

"That's what we talked about, but we didn't know then how hot and sunny it would be. This is the first hot weekend this year, let's go!"

"But I only planned on going for the day, I was going to do some work around the house too."

"It can wait, there's nothing urgent. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't enjoy this incredible weather and camp for the weekend."

"Sure it would be nice, it's just not what I planned to do, my head isn't there. I can't change plans at the last minute."

The "last minute" is still ten hours away. But B has trouble changing plans. His proposed course of action gets burned in his brain, and he suffers the pain of unanaesthetised neurosurgery if made to change course. Oddly, he has no problem going with the flow when there are no plans, and loves to travel with no set itinerary, just letting each day unfold as it will. My mistake was even mentioning weekend plans a few days before. But all is not lost.

I wrap my arms around him, and whisper in his ear: "If we go camping I'll.... [censored]."

B pauses for a millisecond, then starts to do a little jig. "We're goin' campin', oh yeah, goin' campin' tonight."

There's a lesson here women. If you can't bring your man's brain around to your way of thinking, bypass it. Go straight to command central.




We're off to the lake! Back Sunday night. Have a good weekend everyone.