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.

Hollow gut and sweaty palms.

I was driving to work this morning when the radio traffic reporter announced “A serious five car pile up on highway 91 near number 4 road in Richmond has traffic backed up for miles. Try highway 10 or Marine drive…”

I immediately thought “Oh my God!”. My son took that route to work this morning, and he was not very familiar with the highway and its exits. I got that involuntary stab of fear that hits parents at the thought their child could be in danger.

My rational brain fought with my mom brain:

Rational Brain: “It is 8:30 now, and he left the house at 6:30. He must have driven by that spot long before the accident.”

Mom Brain: “ But if it was a serious accident, it could still be tying up traffic two hours later.”

RB: “He would have called from his cell phone if he was in trouble.”

MB: “Not if he is unconscious, …or worse.”

RB: “His old ’91 Ford Escort can’t even go very fast.”

MB: “If a speeding semi trailer, or drunk driver hit him it doesn’t matter.”

And so it went for a few minutes, until I heard that the accident was in the other direction than his. I breathed again.

I worry about the health and safety of my other loved ones, of course. When my mom had heart surgery, I was tense and anxious. When my sister e-mails or texts me that they are in a big storm (she sails for a living) I am apprehensive. When my husband opened his chin playing hockey and had to have stitches I was concerned. (Actually annoyed too, because he had not bothered to do up the chin strap on his face guard. Men. He now has a manly scar like Harrison Ford, whereas a scar on my chin would simply be unsightly.) And I worry about him driving across the accident plagued Patullo Bridge every day.

But nothing is the same as the blood draining, visceral fear that strikes when something happens, or could happen to endanger my child. Like the day a few years ago when I got a phone call from the ski patrol at Grouse Mountain, that started, “Your son has had a snowboarding accident.” My knees started to buckle and I felt faint for a few seconds, thinking “head injury?” "broken neck?" until the patroller added, “He may have broken his wrist”.

I wonder if this lasts forever?

Todays dream travel destination: Grouse Mountain, which is a lovely local ski area, despite my son breaking his wrist there.

Too sexy for my clothes.

I am applying mascara when my Beloved struts up behind me, preening in the mirror. He is about to leave for work. "This looks pretty good on me, don't ya think?" he asks. It was B's birthday a few days ago, and he is wearing new clothes he got from me and from his mom.

"It looks great."

"You don't think the shirt is too light to go with these pants?"

"No they go together well."

"Is the shirt O.K., it's a bit wrinkled?"

"Only a little on one arm, no one will notice," I assure him.

"The shirt is cool, I like this colour."

"Yes, it's a good colour on you Sweetie."

"I do look great, don't I?" B is clearly pleased with his dapper image.

"Yes dear. One thing though, you may want to do up your fly."

What would men do without us?

Today's dream travel destination: Wreck Beach, Vancouver, where clothes, and undone flies don't matter.

Happy Queen's day

This is the beginning of a holiday weekend in Canada. For those who do not live here, let me explain. It is not a celebration of happy gay men as my title may lead you to think. No, it is in honour of our head of state's birthday. Queen Lizzie. It falls on the weekend closest to May 24. Although that is not Lizzie's birthday at all, it is old Queen Victoria's. Liz may be queen and all, but she doesn't get her own day.

We treat this weekend as the unofficial beginning of summer. Cottages are opened up and aired of their winter mustiness, gardens are planted, boats are washed and waxed, decks are power washed, the first camping trips of the season are taken, and much beer is drunk. But unless they happen to attend the movie starring Helen Murrin this weekend, no one will actually think of the Queen at all. In fact, most of us call this "the May 24 long weekend," not Victoria Day. I read that in a recent poll, less than 10 % of young Canadians even know the Queen is our head of state. There are no parades, speeches, or even square dances this weekend honouring the monarch. Well, except maybe for the butterfly. But not for Liz. In Eastern Canada, there will be a few fireworks marking the day, but here in the west we save our fireworks for a really important occasion, Halloween.

It is not clear to me, and to many Canadians, why we cling to the monarchy, and the Commonwealth. There are no benefits, and the Queen wields no actual power over us. Perhaps it is just inertia and reluctance to challenge tradition. Or unwillingness to give up a long weekend dedicated mostly to quaffing large amounts of Molson Canadian Lager.

I'll drink to that.

Today's dream travel destination: Buckingham Palace, where Vicky's birthday is likely not celebrated by guzzling lager in the sun.

Quick pics and funny fotos # 2

One wonders how many gents from Penrith have been hit by trains while teetering hopefully on the edge of the platform.

Screaming meme-y. Or me me.

There is an interview meme going around, and I took up Ian's offer. How could I resist, he's a professional journalist. Certainly it had nothing to do with my giant screaming ego.

The questions are interesting, and some are tough, not that I would expect anything less from the thoughtful pro. He got to ask five, and the deal is, I'll answer them, and in turn interview you with five questions. Yes you, just invite me to interview you in a comment below. Don't be shy. The rules are, up to five people can pick up this challenge.

Well, here goes.

1. Obviously by your blog name, you love to travel and have travelled to a number of exotic locales. What is the most satisfying and inspiring trip you've made?

Without a doubt, it was kayaking in Gwaii Haanas Park, Haida Gwaii (or Queen Charlotte Islands, BC, Canada) five years ago. For a week our companions were eagles, ravens, seals and orca whales. We slept on gorgeous beaches or rocky knolls, eating fresh fish or crab every night (not to mention the delicious goodies we packed. The beauty of a kayaking trip is there is room to pack lots of good food.) The peace and beauty, the ripple of the paddle, and the eagle laughter inspired me in deep places that even the most profound words cannot reach.
Trekking in the Annapurna Range in Nepal comes a very close second.

2. What, on the other hand, but still on the travel theme, is your favorite R&R getaway?

In summer, camping at the far end of Pitt Lake, at a special beach we know, accessible only by boat. In winter, snowshoeing in Manning Park, staying at the little cabins.



3. In your career what gives you the most satisfaction?

Uummm, vacations? No, I am kidding, I am fortunate to have a challenging and interesting career. It is very hard work sometimes, which can bring its own satisfaction. But once in a while, I get to feel like I've made a real difference for the world my son and the next generation will inherit. That's the big payoff.

4. When you were a pretty little redheaded girl -- assuming you were a redheaded girl -- what did you want your future to look like? By this I don't mean just career wise, but the whole spectrum and panorama of life.

I was indeed a red-headed little girl, as was my mother, her mother, and hers too. That's the easy part to answer.
I knew from age seven I wanted to be an archaeologist, and make great discoveries. So I did become an archaeologist, and had a great time doing it, although the biggest discovery I made was that archaeologists have very dirty fingernails. As a child I never really imagined a husband and baby in the picture, but they happened, and my life changed. So at 29 I found myself married, pregnant and in law school, something I NEVER pictured as a kid.

5. Your quest and your obligation is to 'fix' just one thing either in your own society or on the planet. What would that thing be, and how would you go about it? I realize there are two questions in one here, but what the hell.

Ian, (batting my eyelashes here) I plan to eradicate world hunger, cure cancer, and broker world peace. And win this beauty pageant.

Seriously though, where to start? If I held the world's purse strings, I would pull money out of waging wars and immediately fix the things that are fixable today. Like children dying of malnutrition or dysentery. It is heartbreaking, and incomprehensible to me that in the next few minutes, tens of thousands of dollars will be spent to drop a bomb somewhere, and somewhere else, a baby will die from lack of food, or lack of a simple rehydration mixture. But the only purse strings I hold are my own. B and I sponsor three children and their families through World Vision. Is it enough? Hell no. I wish I had a better answer Ian. Some days I think I should chuck everything, sell all my possessions, and move to Africa to feed babies. But that's not realistic. What I can do, is help provide for three, for now. Plus lobby and vote for change. And rejoice in the smiles of the few that I can help today.