Relief

The play date at Alex's friends house went WELL. I am soooOOOOOooo relieved. Alex was excited to hear that he was going to a friend's house to play, but as the day before wore on, doubts crept into his mind. He decided that I would be there, but I set him straight about that. Well "why can't Olivia come too"? - She is too little to go on a play date.
"Tippy (his teddy bear) would like to come", I was then told. Not a good idea, but I really had no good reason to give as to why. The bear didn't go. Alex began to relenquish each one of his security items. This time, for whatever reason, his desire to go and expereince, was stronger than the doubts and fears that had previously kept him captive.
Perhaps he had seen other kids getting invited to houses after school, and had wondered why he ahd never been asked - whatever it was, he was ready to fly solo, and having done so, he gained confidence and had a fabulous time.
The difficulty came when trying to convince him that it was time to go home. A bit of a wobbly was cracked, but nothing too major. It was more to do with tiredness, and I don't think he really wanted to make a huge scene. Boy, I am everso relieved, and proud.

Time

"In life when one door closes, another door always opens...but the hallways are a bitch." - Ronnie Kaye, author of Spinning Straw into Gold.
Man, can I relate to that!
I am reading a FABULOUS book at the moment called "Life Lessons", by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler. EKR is a psychatrist and well-known authority on matters concerning death and dying. I have read her stuff before, particularly her autobiography "Wheel of Life" (which I found fascinating, but it may not be a book for everyone). Well, I guess I like her take on life.
Believe it or not this book is about life lessons; lessons learnt from the perspectives of the dying and bereft, when we are divested of our layers and left raw to contemplate and reflect.
So far, it has been an incredible book, which discusses fourteen considered "life lessons".
I'm presently reading the chapter concerning the lesson of time, from which the opening quote was taken (pg. 119). Time is something I had never really considered myself as having an issue with; impatience yes, time... no.
But for the last few years I have felt that I have been wandering aimlessly through the hallways and corridors of God only knows where. I have watched all that was familiar slip away from me as if I were an astronaut, blasting through the atmosphere while watching the familiar landscape below me transform, and become a glowing distant blue orb - beautiful, but no longer reachable. I sat in awe of what had been - my life - and confused at how I lost it. But with great anticipation, excitement and in stunned paralytic fashion, I salivated at the thought of what was next for me..... nothing came, well nothing I had hoped for. So I was left, only to mourn all I had lost.
At one stage, I felt cold and lonely while standing in the hallway and I have certainly wished that the future would just bloody well hurry up. It has been a test of faith really.
I have mourned my losses. I have stopped staring at that door that was merclessly slammed shut without notice nor explanation. Today I wander, still in the void, but no longer grieving for the past nor panicked about the future. A period of my life, with all of its promises and ideas, has passed. The course and the game plan have changed. I have considered and am thankful for my gains and gifts, I guess I have the tools I need for the next phase, in which I am the new apprentice- though for what, I am unsure. But when it is my turn to lead, to emerge from the furrow, it will be made known to me, and I will accept the challenge with grace; in a way, perhaps I already am. The hallways may be a bitch, but our time spent in them is only temporary - their purpose is to leads us somewhere else.
Yes, I definately have issues with time.

SURPRISE

The first picture is of the house before we bought it - doesn't actually look too bad from afar. The next picture is what it looked like in winter - not really comparable, but the only front-on picture I had of the house once we got our meddlesome mits on it. It doesn't show the slosh pit that was the side lawn, but you can see the drab colour...very depressing in winter, it looks kind of yellow against the white snow....dirty.

I know it is a bit shadowy, but this is the house now. We painted it in Benjamin Moore's Green Gables with Classic White as the trim and Midnight Sky for the door...not that you can really see that. The trim was previously done in heritage green as was the door. Our old place had the same green trim, but this combination made the trim look really heavy, and a bit dated, on the whole. It needed a paint anyway - so we took advantage of the situation and changed the whole colour scheme. We like it.
We have begun to plant out front: lavadner, white fall "mums", some other thing with yellow green flowers in winter, and along the front fence a hedge plant with lovely pink bell shaped flowers. We have also bought a few varieties of bulbs, which I will plant out soon - it has been a little warm for them just yet. The place should look great come spring next year.
So there you have it. The wait for photos is over.

contrast

Hmmmm....what can you really say about this?

So....
This is the back of the house. You can see the colour difference. We think the green gives the place a fresher look. I really hated the previous washed out grey colour (or Nantucket Grey, as is its actual name) to me, it made the house look dirty. We had to pull the red Rhodo out, as it was too close the house and made Ashely nervous.
The other plants you see here out the back, are fake! Yep, the previous owners FILLED the place, inside and out, with dusty fake pot plants and fabric flowers - just looking at them was enough to bring on an asthma attack.
Due to the shadows you can't see so well, but we have made a flower bed along the side and back of the house. We have only planted out our potted raspberry so far.

barren to not

barren...err, non-barren?

With lawn.....without lawn

The edge

The other day I was telling a friend about a moment in my life when I felt so dissolved as a person that it was like the world was flat, and there was I, teetering over the edge of an abyss, with stars dotted around me - mere pin pricks in an otherwise dark void.
In less dramatic or horrifying fashion, I find myself once again on the edge of the unknown, and nervous.
Today we had a little boy over for a playdate with Alex. We hadn't had this boy over before, so of course, the experience was a little different from having the very placid and laidback Riley, over.
All in all the playdate went well. The boys seemed to have a reasonable time together, and the warm weather certainly helped a lot. Upon leaving, the little boy told us repeatedly that he will have Alex over at his house, next time. Cool, that'll be great, I said to humor him.
Anyway, I got a call from the little boy's Dad THIS EVENING. In the back of my mind I was thinking Is there a problem? Why is he calling me at this hour? Was something left behind? But I couldn't think of anything, so I wasn't tooooooo worried. He was actually calling to ask if Alex would like to comeover for a play....on Friday! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
I hestitantly said yes. Only because I had asked Alex, "if asked, would you like to go to a classmates house to play". He replied that he would go to the houses of the two boys who had visited us.
I should be rejoicing - he is making friends, YAY! The baby sitter experiment proved that neither they nor I would blow up if separated for a couple of hours, so why am I so darn nervous about this step?
Is it the step...the next step of separation that I am freaking out over...arms swiping at my baby boy as he slips through my strangle hold? Or is it the fear that he is going to freak out when I am not there, that the baby steps I am happy for him to take, if he wants to take them, will be set back months, years even, due to the trauma of a bad experience? No one wants to have a freaked out kid on their hands - especially one that is not their own. I have told the parent of this boy that I will be home all afternoon should there be a problem. I will talk to Alex about the playdate, to be sure that he really wants to go. I will drive past this kid's house to show Alex that he is not going far. I will assure him that he can ask the boy's Dad to give me a call if he wants to go home. Is there anything else I should do? Get a lobotomy perhaps? HEEEEELP!

Joy

Here in B.C Canada, we are not exactly blessed with the best zoo around. The enclosures are mostly archaic and insufficient, but this did not dampen the delight on the faces of children everywhere, who were just in awe of the aminals, many of which had only been seen in books, or better, animals neither they nor us- the adults- had even heard of. Take the Mara, for instance. An odd rattish looking creature, about the size of a wombat. Not an overly pretty sight mind you, but fascinating enough to glare in bewilderment for a few moments and shake the head while walking away. Who says the God's don't have a sense of humour?
Much excitement was had in the moose, with his enormous rack of antler, seeming to teeter on top of his head. I took a picture of him, but it was to look into his large, soft, dark brown eyes that melted my heart - such a beautiful animal, but strangley paired in the the same enclosure as the Emus - not a combination that would immediately appear logical to me. We also saw some wallabies - so we got a bit of an Australian fix really.
Alex and Olivia are sitting on top of a giant tortoise - not a real one. They were having a great time as you can see. When I saw them gleefully jump on the tortoise, it reminded me of my brother, who as a little boy "rode" on a real giant tortoise at the Adelaide zoo....not sure if it was really the done thing, but I remember him sitting on the huge creature as it struggled to move along. I think my Grandpa plucked him from its back quite smartly, come to think of it.
We had a good time at the zoo, but I do wish such places were able to provide better facilities. The animals are the meal tickets for all employees who work there. The animals are the main attraction, people will always want to see them. So the animals deserve it- they deserve the best.

A bloke's dream

Last march Ashley did the unthinkable and tore a sledge hammer through the shed that came with this house. Sub-consciously his rip-roaring trail of destruction probably had to be more to do with pent up angst and work stress than a vicious hatred for a dear old shed that had done absolutely nothing wrong - except for being a little rotten I guess, but that was due to no fault of its own.
Well some of Ashley's destructive delight might have been to do with an assumed guarantee that one day the shed would have to be replaced....."where on earth are we going to put all that stuff"? Well gee, I wonder...?
This is how it all went down....We re-assigned the shed space and made it a play ground (old news). There was an odd little area that used to be where the previous owner stored an industrial sized bin to shatter all his glass into (he was a glasier). For those who don't know, hundreds of little fragments, along with large plates of glass were strewn and buried all over the backyard, making the yard 100% unsafe for kids when we moved in. Consequently, we had to hire a bobcat and a tip-truck to have our backyard scraped and removed of all the glass. This act turned the backyard into a sloshing mud hole during the winter months. It was a complete mess and it was extreme, and it has taken a full year to reclaim our yard as a useable space.
Anyway, we have lawn now and some vacant garden beds which will be filled with glorious plants, given enough time; and now a shed.
The shed is just your little 8X6 foot garden variety; that was all that would really fit in that area. We could have gotten a bigger one if the gas metre wasn't an obstruction, but that is ok. This shed fits everything we wanted in there, with a little room to spare.
The best thing about the shed going up, is crossing off that last large and expensive item on our renovations list. From now on it will be doing small things, buying and planting plants, curtains, little bits and pieces, touch ups, decorations like paintings and pictures, maintenance (fingers crossed, I just remembered that our furnace is over 30 years old. I would sincerely love it if it lasted another winter or two). This is a picture of the shed. I might even take a snap of the exterior of the house during the week. Stay tuned!

ten years

Ashley and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary yesterday – 10 years! Boy does time fly. While 10 years sounds like a long time, Ashley and I have actually been together for over 16 years – that is literally half our lives.

We are the proverbial “high school sweethearts”; an irksome phrase if you ask me, even if it is the case. We had attended the same high school for three years prior to being placed in the same year eleven home class. I had no recollection of having seen him prior to that first day of the new school year, and for him, the same applied – no prior recollection of me; to this day we wonder how that could have been possible.

Something about him caught my eye – the mysterious
energy, I suppose. But I had other issues at the time, like
an unwillingness to let go of a lust-filled obsession for a
hot, but totally unworthy loser. As for Ashley, year eleven was all about having a good time; whooping it up with the drongo mates and hooning around town in the wake of a new found sense of freedom, which just so happened to have four wheels. In any case I was shy and mostly silent, and Ashley was largely…well, absent.

If I could muster the courage, I would sometimes engage in a little bit of awkward small talk with him during home class time. We were teased for “liking each other” (“ooh arr, giggle, smirk, tee hee, hardy ha). I think I turned red and said to my accuser something dignified, original and witty like “Do not! Jerk!” While Ashley played
the aloof card and told the class that he thought I was “a snob”; a remark that sent a dagger straight into my precious heart, leaving it to labour and heave amidst the agony of the gaping wound.

It wasn’t until our final year of high school, once it was long over with that tormenting presence that came to be the fore-mentioned loser, that I actually told a friend of my feelings for Ashley. I only divulged this furtive information to entice this friend to reveal the identity of a guy whom she had harboured secret feelings, since grade 8. And since the high school days were drawing
to a close, it was now apparent that she should relinquish her burdensome secret, or risk a life-time of wanting and imagining the what-if. So, my name for her name, that was the carrot I used to coerce her to surrender the name of her heart's desire, and send it soaring to my open ear like a dove from the hands of its captor.

Of course, the risk in our information trade was that our secrets would be made known…and at that age, well….it was really only a matter of time, and I guess that was the sub-conscious reason for the reveal …too paralysed and fragile to take action ourselves! So as expected, my friend told everyone else, including someone who happened to travel home on the same bus as Ashley – someone who, no doubt is reading this entry and laughing out loud…I am on to you!

Predictably, without my knowledge or consent, these two friends of mine eventually set Ashley and I up. I remember it clearly, at lunch one day, some poodle-type girls trotted over to my friends and I (you know the type - primped and fluffed; lots of make-up and hair). I knew them to hang out with Ashley’s group of friends. Grinning, they announced with exaggerated giggly enthusiasm “Ashley said YES !” Confused, I turned in the direction of my friends, who were fleeing the scene, with knitted eybrows, grim faces and on tip-toes.... as fast as they could. I can’t remember what I yelled out to them, but I wasn’t impressed nor was I happy.

After lunch, Ashley approached me at school assembly, and I too considered doing a runner, but didn’t, I would have to face the music eventually. We sat down, and with the droning waffle of some teacher in the background, I told him that my friends had played a joke on me, and I had nothing to do with their devious plan. We sat there for a little while. It was awkward; we did not really know what to do or say next. I was still tender and reeling from the disastrous experience with that other guy, and didn’t really want to go through that again any time soon. Ashley, who I have since discovered, has no idea how to take a hint; consequently he completely ignored the wall I put in front of him, and asked me out to a party instead. He made it sound casual, and suggested we go and see how things turned out. Hesitantly and rather miraculously, I agreed.

The party was a bit of a fizzer; basically a bunch of yobbos standing around staring into a bon-fire , drinking beer and having very little to say. We left early and went to the bowling alley, caught up with some friends of mine and chatted together for the remainder of the evening. As if nothing has changed since that moment, I yabbered on and on and on about serious things that were sincere to my heart, and I felt, for the first time ever, that someone was actually listening to what I had to say, without their eyes glazing over with boredom or confusion, and without the fear of being ridiculed. The rest....well, lets just say that the details are filled pages in this book that is our life together, while the rest remains unwritten.

green thumb

Alex planted a sunflower seed a few weeks back and has been rewarded BIG time.
The day after we planted the seed, we were a bit worried because a guy down the street had an enormous sunflower - 7 feet tall, at least; its stem, the thickness of my wrist; and the flower, the width of a computer keyboard. It was even staked to a telephone pole to help support its weighty head. It was...a bit scary looking, and we hoped ours would be a little more...well, petite.
It was, as you can see, but still, it was much bigger than we had anticipated. We stupidly grew it in a pot, thinking it wouldn't get much taller than knee height. The plant grew so fast, it was really quite amazing. Alex was concerned that it might even reach his bedroom window.
It is so tall that Alex had to stand on a table AND bend it down to get both himself and his flower in this shot. He is so proud. 

If you notice this notice....

So, what do you notice first about the opposite sex? I don't know.
What do you first notice about anybody? The former was a question put to me in one of those 50 questions to get to know you better emails. I have had the same question many times and find myself struggling to find a reasonable answer. Many people say eyes, their personality, butt, lips etc.... you get the drift. I answered with "the energy". What a puncy thing to say, I know. But when you think about it, what is the first thing you notice about a person? Most people blur by our peripheral vision and meld into one solid conglomerate of human experience, but one or two people always seem to stand out, and they needn't even be the opposite sex either. I guess this question had me stumped because, earlier in the day of receiving that email, I had one of those experiences.
I was at the fruit market minding my own business, when I spotted this guy from afar, out the corner of my eye. He gave me the chills, but not in a good way. This is not an experience I am unfamiliar with, but on this day, I decided to give this reaction a bit more of my time and thought.
He was a white guy with short dark, everso slightly graying hair. He wore dark sunglasses, a black t-shirt with something printed on it, faded blue jeans and white sneakers....pretty normal. I got the impression he was alone, but while standing in line at the cashiers, he was with a woman who had to have been his wife. Both were in their late 30's, early 40's. She was attractive with a mole to the right of her nose, above the lip. Her hair was shoulder length, wavy, dark brown. She wore a straight white linen skirt and a white woolen turtle neck jumper tucked in - it made her look frumpy, when she wasn't really. She had a very thin gold band on her wedding ring finger, possibly 24 karat given the depth of colour - it appeared well worn. From what I could see, this guy was a regular person, grocery shopping with his wife, nothing more.
When it was his turn at the cashiers, the woman had left to gather another bag of whatever, so this guy was left to unload the basket. And that is when I saw his hands....
This guys hands were impeccably clean, in fact, unnaturally clean. They were hairless, although his arms were not, and his hands were bleached white, with short trimmed ultra clean nails. To me they reminded me of a surgeons hands, but he certainly didn't give me the impression that he was a surgeon, at all. There was something unsettling about seeing his hands. They just didn't add up and it furthered my intrigue about this person. I watched them drive off in a gold, late 1990's model Nissan, which unfortunately put a halt to my speculation.
I guess it is a little game I play when I am out and about. I enjoying sitting and watching, and trying to figure people out from the information visibly available. I am very good at spotting Aussies, but I haven't worked out what it is about them. I have to wait for them to speak before I can confirm it, but so far I have been right each time - it is a bit weird.
Once, while in Australia I was speaking to a friend who introduced me to her friend, who was a doctors wife. I said to her, is she from the country. My friend responded, confirming that she was - she was originally from Alice Springs. I commented that I thought so, she gave me the impression of being from the country. My friend appeared offended and asked me whether I or she looked like we were from the country. I couldn't answer her...I WAS from the country. What messages did I send out there?
I know the answer is neither here nor there, and another's impression of me is none of my business. I guess my friend's confrontation prompted me to analyse the thought process when drawn to a persons energy - what is it that makes me notice a particular person out of the sea of people before me. Do I tend to notice the same types of people? Is a look that I am prone to noticing or a behaviour? I still have to work that out? I must say though, human beings are damn interesting to me, particularly their social behaviour. I guess it is all fodder for that future best selling book I am going to write (scoff!).

Babysitter update

I think I must be coming into a purple patch or something - the God's are most definately smiling on me.
As previously stated, Ashley and I have dilly dallied, ummed and arred, nail nibbled and knee knocked about the very normal, and commonly resorted to practice of hiring a baby sitter.
Recently, as you might have read, we contacted a highly recommended person. We spoke to her on the phone and then arranged for a face to face meeting. She sounded great; practically over qualified for the job; mature and experienced, and as I have already mentioned, only lived on the next street. For a couple of nervous baby sitting late-bloomers, what more could we really ask for? Could the prospects get any better? Well, it could and it did!
It was Alex's first day back at pre-school last week, and we were all told the sad news that one of the much loved teachers from the previous year would not be returning, due to the sudden passing of her father, and her decision to resign and take care of her ailing mother. The kids will surely miss Mrs Hanley. She was such a gentle and patient woman, but would you believe, Mrs Hanley's replacement turned out to be, none other than Amy - the baby sitter, whom we were to meet that evening. It was crazy...almost too good to be true. I wondered how Alex would take it...you know, his teacher being his baby sitter and all, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he felt kind of special!
The kids were absolutely fine with Amy, even Olivia. She did follow us around before we left, and put her shoes on as we did. To her, it was simply unheard of for us to go out without them, but she was absolutely fine; no tears, no clinginess, not a quivering lip in sight.
Ashley and I got in the car with both ears flapping, waiting to hear screaming and distraught cries for '"Mummy" or "Daddy". But alas, the mood was calm; not a murmer was heard. At that we slammed the doors shut and resisted the urge to screech the tyres in order to make a quick get away, while our consciences remained clear. We cruised down the street and commented that it felt that we had left something behind; our constant companions, our little angels, our sense of security and... a little bit of our control (did I say that last one out loud? whoops).
It is important to live a balanced life. Too much of anything isn't a good thing. We have been putting the kids first for the last four years, which is fine in theory, but not really in reality. It is important to leave some room for yourself, and also some room for your relationship. We were very aware that we were over-due for some quality couple time.
Thursday will be our tenth wedding anniversary and we really wanted to mark the milestone occassion with an appropriate amount of fanfare, and even romance, if we could be bothered. So today, we went on the trail outing, to avoid spending the entire anniversary evening worrying and discussing what the kids might be doing, and how Amy might be coping.
It was a simple outing. We went to Tsawwassen and walked along the dyke wall at Centenniel Beach. I yabbered on and on and on. Poor Ashley could hardly get a word in, but to talk uninterrupted, well .... it was unusual. For the moment, my thoughts were flying freely, no longer like a panicked bird attempting to escape its inadequate cage. It was a lovely day. The week had been rather cold, I had almost given up hope of feeling the sun on my back again this year. I had even considered turning on the dreaded heater, but I did manage to resist. It was lovely to sit on a piece of bleached drift wood and chat with the sun's soul restoring warmth radiating through our light clothing; water gently lapping at our feet and crickets orchestrating in the nearby shrubs and grasses. No plans were made, no great mysteries were solved, no deep dark secrets revealed -we just chatted, like "hi, what have you been up to lately". We simply gave each other our undivided attention. It was nice and an hour passed in what felt like 5 minutes. We then drove back into town, found a cafe and emjoyed a hot chocolate without having to give away the cream and marshmellows on top (ha ha). It was most enjoyable.
The most enjoyable part, and the most surprising part, occured when we arrived home. The dogs were there giving us their usual greeting - yapping their heads off like we were sailors who had returned after two years lost at sea. Alex and Olivia however, were nowhere to be seen.
We took off our shoes, hung up the jackets and keys, and made our way upstairs. There were faint voices coming from Alex's room, the door was wide open. When we arrived, there were Alex, Olivia and Amy playing with Alex's little cars on the carpet. They had heard us come in, but were enjoying themselves so much, they could care less. It was a great first experience, and of course we are kicking ourselves for not having taken the plunge earlier, but then again, the right person AND the right timing is everything.

I'm STARVING!

"Please Sir, can I have some more?"
I am referring to blogs. I have a list of fine favourites; I check them daily, but no one has written in almost a week. I will leave it at that ok...nuff said.

Talking...the necessary evil

Yes, we do NEED to talk. We were made that way.... damn it!
I joined Toastmasters about a year ago, because I am possibly the worst public speaker IN THE WORLD. I don't like toastmasters very much; nothing against the establishment, its just....well, we have to make all those darn speeches!
In all seriousness though, I have to drag my sorry butt to those meetings every single time. When in attendence, I do try to embrace each meeting as an opportunity to grow and develop the skills I need, in order to overcome my debilitating problem - not that I have felt there has been ANY improvement whatsoever. So why do I bother? What MAKES me return, meeting after crushing meeting? Well, there is that strong motivation to start sounding less like a blithering idiot and more like the half intelligent human being I know to be hiding within- SOMEWHERE (probably behind a vital organ, although I did look there once).
Actually, my "Fellow Toastmasters" are a lovely bunch; very caring in their critical evaluations and offers of encouragement. It really is the safest environment for a verbal dope like me to practice in.
I did feel a little disheartened last night at the meeting, however. During the break, a guy who had just delivered a masterpiece of thought, wit and controversy, boasted that he had only prepared his speech that day and hadn't had time to practice; this was his excuse for running out of time.
I take weeks to prepare my speeches, and they are still stilted yawn-fests, filled with moments of stalled brain paralysis and such pronounced tongue tying that I would get a patch for that, if I were in the boy scouts. But I persist, hoping that experience will enlighten me one day - fortune favours the brave, after all.
I did have a scary thought last night after the meeting, that perhaps I might never get that phone book over the head moment that will see me morph into an eloquent verbal butterfly; enchanting my listeners with flutterings of wordy brillance to match my charismatic stage presence (HA!). I wasn't being pessemistic though, nor was I giving up. I merely considered thinking about it less from the perspective of what I could give to make my speeches a more enjoyable experience for the audience (quite a burdensome task when you think about it) and more about what I could take from the audience.
My Fellow Toastmasters are there to offer support; they want to see me succeed, not floundering like the proverbial fish out of water. They want to hear what I have to say. Why join a speech making club otherwise? They are compassionate, because they have been in the same nervous position as me. Even if it were years before, they can still remember that first day when they stopped, closed their eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath before taking that no going back first step into a Toastmasters club.
So next time I prepare and give a speech, I will try my darnedest to take all of that - all their hopes that I do well; all of their encouragement and support; their interest and also their compassion. Armed with all of this, I will attempt to open myself to the full experience of verbal expression, and see if magic happens. I will let you know how it goes.

sun worship

What is that pessemistic phrase?....All good things must come to an end. Why should they? Why, I ask you.
Well I am having an early panick attack about the weather. It is mid September and we are still enjoying this wonderful sunshine and warm weather, but I know the cold snap will be on our doorstep soon enough...there is no such thing as an endless summer, although it comes pretty darn close in Australia.
I know I said it somewhere; winter was my favourite season when I lived in Australia. There was a coziness attached to an Aussie winter. The landscape rejuvenated itself to a lovely lush looking green colour; misty mountains could be spied in teh distance and fog hovered in the nearby gullies. The rain was sparodic and accesssorize the spiders webs with a bling of rain drops. You really only needed a regular coat to walk outside, or perhaps just a warm jumper - seldom did we drag out the gloves or scarf. Gee, the kids didn't even own rain coats before we came here - we just waited until the rain stopped before we ventured outside for a stroll. Well, if you did that here, you wouldn't leave your place for a month! I do love the rain - I know I said that only the other day, and I am looking forward to more of it- things are starting to look a little dry around here. But my stomach does knot up a little when I think back to last winter - man it was hard. I didn't know a soul in this town; none of the neighbours came out of their houses for a chat; no one stuck around after pre-school to "get to know"; we had no money; I was unaware of many of the services that I am now clued up on and to top it all off; I had no car to go anywhere, because I was too stupid to pass the bloomin' driving test; so essentially I was stuck inside with two bored little kids. It sucked majorly and I became very, very depressed with the winter blues. I shouldn't really complain- we actually live in the province with the best weather, and in the warmest region of BC; we receive a third the rain of North Vancouer, and very little snow. It is still a complete shock compared to Australia, but I make a point of never criticising the weather to a Canadian, because living where we live - I know it could be a hell of a lot worse...so I am constantly told anyway.

"Prayers from a Nonbeliever"

Dear God,
I am uncomfortable with what has been happeneing to me since I started writing to you. I would even blame you - if I believed in you. I seem to be looking at my life with different eyes - seeing where I have settled, where I have said, "This is probably as good as it gets, " even when that wasn't good enough. I see that I have not stepped up to the plate in a lot of areas. I have just said, "What's the use? It probably wouldn't work anyhow."
"It probably wouldn't work out" has dissuaded me from a lot of risks - risks that if I thought there were a you, I might have tried taking. I am beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that my world is too small and that I can try, comfortably, to blame that on you - but I might be the real culprit.
I'd like a new place to live - something larger, brighter and still affordable. I have told myself I probably can't find it, so I am not even looking. That lets both me and you off the hook. Neither of us has to lift a finger to improve my life. The problem is, I am now wondering, If I lifted my finger, would you lift yours? Why do I think the answer is yes?

(Cameron J (2003) Prayers from a Nonbeliever: a story of faith, pg.15-16).

little munchkin

It appears my little munchkin has been munching on too much of the wrong thing lately; namely her finger nails.
I had read that it was just a phase and not to make too much out of it -"she'll grow out of it", said the expert. The taste of hand however, somehow appealed so much that she whittled her tiny nails down to bleeding point. And at that, it became apparent that I stop acting like an osterich, and get my head out of the sand over this issue - it wasn't a phase, it was a bad, and now painful, habit!
Off to the chemist we went to get a bottle of that awful tasting polish. Olivia was more than happy for me to dab the clear liquid over her remaining nails, only to reel back, moment later, in disgusted horror, when she got her first taste of the bitter glaze. I didn't actually see her do it, but she ran into where I was with her tongue hanging out, panting. At first her extreme dramatics made me think she had perhaps gotten a hold of the bottle, and had gulped down its entire contents, but thankfully no.
A second and unforeen positive to come from the disgusting painted nails is perhaps an end to the struggle to get Olivia to use her eating utensils. She likes to use her hands (ewwww), and especially likes dipping her fingers into every condiment conceiveable. I smiled a private wry grin when I saw her licking a mayonnaise ladden finger at lunch, grimacing with exaggerated disgust and without prompting, reached for the sparkling, yet under-utilised spoon - wise are those who learn quickly to drop behaviours that bear undesireable consequences. I was proud of my girl.
I should write to the nail polish company and tell them of this new marketing angle - it is pure gold! Although I am not sure pediatricians and child welfare workers will see it that way- it could put a ding in the old profit margin - you know, suggesting a vague form of child torture and all. Well, anyway, its a pity life really isn't that easy that we can't solve a multitude of problems with a simple lashing of clear nail glaze.

Mist

An Australian friend recently started a blog. Her tribute to the dreaded sultana (or raisin), is an absolute corker, which left me almost breathless with laughter. Her site also has a permanent weather feature, detailing the forecasts for Adelaide, Vancouver and somewhere in Iceland, I think. The assurance that I take a daily peek at her site, has now strengthened, on the basis that it has been raining since the early hours of this morning, and only her weather source seemed to have predicted that...so thanks.
Now, when I say rain, it is really more of a persistent mist. I actually love the rain and we certainly get our fair share of it over here; so perhaps I am in the right place - although the sheer quantity of local rain can get a little tiresome after a while.
In Adelaide, the suburban landscape tended to look tired during the long harsh summers. Even the resistant gum trees appeared to shut down in a way; hanging their exhausted limbs in an apparent attempt to preserve their energies. A dose of rain brought more than relief. It brought colour and life, and also an abundance of noisy birds taking delight in refreshed birdbaths and replenished ponds and puddles. A long awaited shower of rain is a gift not only to the plants and animals, but also to the beholder's eye.
It was still raining when I went outside to open the park gate this morning. I chose not to shy away from my dawn inspired wanderings in preference for the cozy comfort offered by my warm bed, but to take my morning walk and let the rain and crisp morning air touch me like a cool flannel dabbed over a feverish child's face.
There was sadness in my heart, and I was needing the silent nurturing of the gentle mist, so I walked. I walked slowly, solemnly, alone and silent....for a hour. I think I saw only three others doing the same. The first was a can and bottle collector carrrying a large sack on her back; scurrying through bins with quiet purpose. The next was a man walking a tan coloured dog that might have been more enthusiastic in years prior to acquiring that grey tinge of fur nestling prominantly under his chin, betraying the dog's age, as if his tender-footed gait had not already. The third was a determined looking woman. She powered past me in the opposite direction, making eye contact and tilting her head in acknowledgement before quipping a motivated and cheery "Good morning" as we passed each other by.
Towards the end of my walk, a glint of gold had begun to brush the outer edges of far flung eastern clouds, and I once again found myself baffled as to why I had previously slept at this hour, choosing instead to miss the world awakening with renewed energy.
I find the rain equally rejuvenating in both a literal, and symbolical sense. It is almost as though the anxieties of the past are being carried away with the dried fallen leaves and small twigs that had blown into the gutter, leaving a clear and shimmering surface from which one can plant new thougths, and allow new discoveries to flourish and thrive, just as The Maker had intended. There is hope in that, and with faith I walk proudly and bravely into the strenthening light of a new day.

haunted

I was requested to blog about the park happenings once again, but I responded saying that nothing much had gone on out there of late. Actually a tonne of oddities have possibly passed me by, but since I am not out there 24/7 anymore , the opportunity to glimpse and hear such hilarities have diminished somewhat.
Then I remembered one little tidbit, and it got me thinking (dangerous, I know).
A couple of weeks back I was on the front lawn painting the unhinged front door a lovely hue of midnight something-a-rather (yes, it has really come to that; even the front door needed work). It just so happened that a huge slowball tournament for the "beer league" was taking place that weekend, so there were an abnormally high number of passers-by stopping to talk and give house and garden tips yeah thanks mate!
Later in the day a twenty-something guy walked past staring at the house; he just smiled. Later, he walked past the other way muttering "memories, memories, memories". Moments later another guy walked past and stopped to talk to Ashley. He tells him that he is a friend of the previous owners son, pointing to the guy who had just walked by. The comment made me wonder what he thought, seeing his childhood home.
I have lived in a few places, and it kind of creeps me out to see where I used to live - like something in the house recognises an escapee or something, or perhaps fragments of my energy are somehow locked into the fibres of the house and are reaching for my soul as I stand there gaping for the few moments I can bear to look, before I feel compelled to slam on the accelerator and skid away as quickly as possible. Has anyone else ever had that experience or is it just weird old me? Not all places have that effect, just the significant ones.
My earliest years were spent in a small rural community in the Murray Mallee. The house was an old federation style stone and red brick home, with high ceilings and cool thick stone walls. There was a pink blossoming almond tree out the side and the place was backed against scrub-land, which was an amazing lush wonderland of greenery, moss and bridal creeper during the cooler months, but a virtual snake pit in summer, and avoided at all cost.
My room was painted in the loudest version of aquamarine you could possibly imagine, with white trim. The rooms were huge. There was a three sided veranda skirting around it, which was wide enough to do whatever really. It was great. I loved that house. It will forever be preserved as the perfect childhood memory, because we moved from there when I was 10, and a couple of years later it burned to the ground. My Grandparents lived on the adjoining property, a mile or so away. I have great memories of life inside that house too. The house has now been condemned and it was eery and terribly sad to see it a few years back; deserted, neglected, unloved... forgotten. Memories, memories, memories, indeed.
The next house my parents built. It was a large light brown brick home. Everything in it was modern and new, unlike the old place. I remember playing "lifestyles of the rich and famous", welcoming imaginary film crews and a TV host to wander through, while I gave them all the royal tour- pretty funny. I lived there until I was 17. I dream about that house a lot, and I recognise that it has sort of come to represent a particular developmental stage in my life.
At 17 I moved away from home and lived in a dodgy boarding house inhabited by lonely old men, potheads and ex-crims. When I first moved there, I was one of two girls in the place, but soon after, I was the only girl to last more that 48 hours with that group of societies outcasts. I lived there for 10 months - I have no feelings of connection to that place, but if I had a blog back then - gee would your eyes bulge ... crazy times!
Then I lived in a flat on a glam street in a posh part of town. It was a safe place to live and close to everything - I could even walk to work. I enjoyed living there for about 18 months or so with my brother, who was attending secondary college at the time. There were many flats in that complex and many people have probably come and gone since I lived there.
I then moved back in with my parents, who had since moved, and were in the process of building another house, in a different town.
It was a nice place; two storey and near the beach, which is what I loved and remember most. I didn't spend a whole lot of time there really, since I worked quite long hours, so when I see that place now, it is kind of weird, because I witnessed its creation, but nothing of me remains there.
Ashley and I then bought our first house. It was a sweet little house, with a huge, parrot filled gum tree out back and a to-die-for view of the distant mountains. We had grown out of the place when we sold it to come to Canada, but we loved it and it reflected so much of ourselves that we might just have put up with the various inconveniences and lack of space, just so we could remain there. We miss our old place; so many of our happiest memories were spent there. I dream about it quite a bit still. It was funny. A year ago when we were briefly in Australia, we drove by and it looked just as we left it; almost felt like it was welcoming us home after a long holiday. It was good to know that someone else appeared to love it, as we had.
Presently, I feel no connection to this current place, despite the hours of hard labour put into it. I don't feel it is very reflective of us. I can't really put my finger on it. Maybe time is required, or perhaps we have to stop DOING stuff to it, so it can settle and get used to its new self. Change is more than an external happening, it must also take place in the essence, or maybe the energy of the original owners remains, haunting and seeping from the nooks and crannies where neither paintbrush nor broom can reach.

The Gate keeper

Apparently I am saving the municipality $35,000. Gee, I'm good.

What a load of bollocks! Some big wig up in the local govt. chambers decided to keep the gates of the car park, which services the public park next door, open permanently - not that he told any residents, mind you.

The park next door is open from dawn till dusk and is very busy with tennis, soccer and baseball during the warmer months. In the cooler months the park is barely used at all, other than for drop off and pick up for the pre-school directly behind our house. We don't mind the positive noise of the park one bit, it makes the place feel alive and we have had no trouble whatsoever with those crowds, but lately things have changed.

In the past month or so, we have been getting groups of 17-23 year olds - just judging by their appearance, who have been congregating outside our kitchen window at 2 am, yelling screaming, fighting and generally causing a disturbance. Annoyed, I watched them through my kitchen blinds one night, and noticed that the park gates were open. There was a group of maybe 10-15 kids, who appeared to be off thier faces. One guy was on the phone and then hung up. Moments later a car pulled up, the guy on the phone made an exchange with the guy in the car, few words were spoken, and the group moved out of plain view, behind our house. This happened on three occassions. On the third attempt, and at 3am, I rang the police - I couldn't take it anymore.

I also rang the council the following day and asked them why the gate was left open. I was told it was a cost issue, and that [he] would prefer to use the $35,000 the non-closure would save the council, for services and projects that would benefit the entire community. Fair enough I said. I told him what had been going on since that decision had been made and asked if I could closed the damn gate myself...since I am right there anyway. "Are you sure?" I was asked "You have to do it every single day...." (patronising B******!)"Well!" I told him, "I do live right there, it is only next door. How hard is it?"

So I have the key and have been doing that job on an entirely voluntary basis for the past week. I don't mind. I do feel a little funny about it now that I have the "job". I probably should have asked the neighbours if they minded me doing that, I am the newcomer after all.

What has irked me somewhat, is that the council shows up at 7am, every morning, to open the washrooms for the park, and they work till 11:30pm, 24/7, and appear to close the washrooms at 9:30pm each night. So why can't THEY shut the gate? They are there anyway - Where is the savings coming from? It makes no sense to me - I feel a little bit used.

Anyway, I have decided to put that minor IRRITATING detail out of my mind and try to look at it positively. I have a purpose to get up early each morning and go outside, so I might as well take the opportunitity to go for a walk after opening the gate - and hey, I might even get a christmas card at the end of the year -YAY!

Anacortes

This weekend was the Labor Day long weekend, so we took the opportunity and checked out another area of Washington State USA.
The day kind of started disasterously. We decided to get up early and head for the Peace Arch border crossing, and have breakfast once over the border. Unfortunately the line up at the border crossing was insanely long and we didn't make it across until after 10:30am. Anyway, still hopeful, we headed for Lyndon, a Dutch influence town that sounded just cooky enough to be fun. WRONG! Other than McDonalds, Dairy Queen and Burger King, nothing was open, so we decided to take our grumbling stomaches and light heads elsewhere.
Plan B saw us deciding to skip breakfast and chow down on our snack supply instead.
We finally made it to Anacortes, a town on Fidalgo Island, around 1pm and hit the restaurant -FOOOOD, so good. Anacortes is one of the ferry ports on the Washington side, that travel over to Vancouver Island. The town itself has a marina and heaps of antique shops. It also had some great homes on the coast.

Deception Pass

After Anacortes, we headed for Deception Pass. The Pass is a narrowish passage of water between Fidalgo Island, and Whidbey Island. It is so named because when Whats-his-name Vancouver, "discovered" the area, he thought that he was looking at a peninsular, rather than an a number of intricately dotted islands....so there you go!
The Deception Pass National Park was beautiful too. A cool, green rainforest walk along the clifftop. We also walked along the bridge connecting Fidalgo and Whidbey Islands; I was standing in the middle of the bridge when I took this picture. Breathtaking view - better than my pictures could demonstrate I am afraid....but what can you do? Whidbey Island is definitely a place I would love to come for the weekend and check out in more detail.

Maiden of Rosario Beach

After the stunning scenery of Deception Pass, we headed to a nearby beach. Rosario Beach, named after the areas Rosario Strait, was a lovely little pebbly cove. We got there just before dusk, as the sky began to blush with a hint of pink. The gentle waves lapped along the shore, turning the little pebbles over with the ebbing tide, making a unique sound; rather like the fizz of a soda just after being poured into a glass - wonderfully peacefully and soothing. We sat on a washed up old log and watched a seal playing in the shallows, while Alex collected rocks and Olivia delighted in dropping them into the water. It was absolutely lovely.
If I lived there, I would sit at that very spot every day and enjoy the tranquility- mind you the water was freezing.

Guess what?

Canada has TIM TAMS.
Found some at a regular grocery store in the imported biscuit section. ARRRRHHHHHH! Ok, lets forget I ever mentioned the hippy thing alright.

I am hippy - hear me roar

Yes you read right - for once this isn't a typo (although I can't guarantee the same for the remainder of this article).
"Hippy", yep that's me. No ,no I can take it. I know I am. Ok, well not exactly the social political revolutionaries and deviants of the 196o's, but I am still one.
I am talking about being unfortunately endowed with large hips. I say unfortunately because clothing manufacturers may as well put up a sign, not unlike the one to the left, to indicate that none of their stock is ever going to fit properly in a million years, so please leave quietly AND DON'T COME BACK!!!! Ok maybe that is a slight exaggeration, but if you have a similar physical disposition, you will understand the frustration.
So why am I going on about this time old adage; a social concern that has baffled generations of disgruntled hippy women? Well, yesterday I made a discovery...at The Gap. Australians have probably heard of The Gap clothing store, but I think there are only "Gaps" in Sydney. "So what", you say? Welllllllll....they have a "curvy" line.
Yes ladies, that's right..... CURVY. Hallelullja, Hallelullja (can you hear the angels singing....ahhhhh....). I am soooOOOOOooooo excited about it. Can't you tell?
I bought a pair of "curvy" jeans yesterday and a pair of "curvy" black slacks - they are a perfect fit! Justice has been restored. Curvy women and "hippies" all over the western world can now sleep peacefully knowing that somewhere out there ...they are represented. Oh, The Gap....you are my hero!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!