happy new year 2007!

Welcome to 2007! You know you've really become a west coaster when, while getting ready to head to the beach on the first morning of the new year, you look out the window and hear yourself think 'it's not raining THAT hard' and continue to get ready. My initial plan for the photo above also included a festive sparkler but the wind and the rain really picked up down by the water and I couldn't get the crazy thing to light.

So far 2007 has been pretty great. I got to welcome in the new year last night exactly how I wanted to (luxury) and now so far this year I've been to the beach, finished a good book, and indulged in a latte and a few chocolate dipped strawberries left over from last night. It's an unsustainable lifestyle to be sure, but well worthy of reveling in in the hours of vacation that remain.

It's impossible to escape the looking back this time of year. For myself I have to be careful not to wallow in it. But looking back over 2006, it was a good year. It wasn't 365 days of roses and rainbows, but it's in the past now and we choose the filter through which we view our own history. I choose to smile. Some of the good was fantastic and some of the bad truly sucked but I got to spend time with the people I love and I never went hungry. I have enjoyable and interesting work and somewhere to come home to at the end of the day. It may not technically be Xanadu, but I'd wager it's pretty darn close.

tech question re: new Blogger

I am appealing to the collective tech once again. I switched my blog over to the new Blogger and I'm right back to an issue I had with the old Blogger -- how do I keep the blog title from pasting itself right across my header without also removing it from the page title in the browser (and also in my profile)?

I managed to get the graphic itself back in by recycling the code from my old template. I know there was a way around the text-over-graphic thing, but the last time I edited my template was about two years ago. (I know...) I do have a new header graphic to put up but it's not quite ready to go yet, still needs some tweaking.

Any ideas? Helpful hints? Backdoor code?

christmases long, long ago

Many Christmases ago when I was a little girl - 5 or 6 I think - I received a set of Mr. Men cookie cutters for Christmas. Who could have guessed that all these years later I'd still be playing with them? I have no idea how many times I have made cookies with this set but one thing I always wanted to do was to outline the details in black and do fancy run-in work to ice in all the colours. I can remember my Mom saying many times what a lengthy process that would be and suggesting straight-up buttercream icing as an alternate. My Mom, as I have long known, is a wise woman. But this Christmas I decided to take the long route, just for fun.

Kendra had always wanted to try exactly the same technique so over Christmas this year we pulled out the vintage cutters and got to work. I have to say, in writing and for the record: Mom was right. It took AGES!! First there was the careful outlining -- no easy task on Mr. Small let me tell you. And then run out work which it turns out should be called painstaking - guiding - tiny - drops - of - icing - around - with - a - toothpick work. It was probably madness even to attempt it, but even as our fingers began to cramp it was great fun and the results as you can see above are quite impressive. True, the recipe makes about 4 dozen cookies and we probably got around to icing about half that, but that's really not the point :)

In news of a Christmas decidely more recent I am delighted to have spent another wonderful Christmas with my other family. It is an amazing thing to be able to spend Christmas with people on whom you have no claim -- in blood or the law -- but who have invited your into their hearts willingly. What a great way to acquire extra family. There were aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and sisters, presents and baking and puzzles. The TV was off for three days straight and no one noticed. Merry Christmas indeed.

For my parents, here are the photos of me opening the enormous present you trekked most of the way across North America for me. It was so big we'd nicknamed it "the giraffe" but it turned out to be even better than that.
Imagine you remembering on your far away holiday that my old hammock had finally given up the ghost. I can hardly wait for the weather to clear up enough to go and hang this in the backyard. I have just the right spot. Could there be anything better than a shady spot with a hammock to read in?

the accidental manicurist

First of all, Merry Christmas! Can you believe it's the 23rd? As my brother would say when we were growing up "it's the Eve of Christmas Eve!" We were big Christmas celebrators at our house. All the decorations had to go up each year, we baked the cookies and used every cookie cutter Mom had cutting them out. Then we'd spend all afternoon decorating. Good times.

Who knows which of us will online in the next day or two so in case I'm not, or you're not let me give you my Christmas greetings now. May you see all the reasons you have for your heart to be bright. And for the ones who live farther away than I wish you did, know that I hold you in might heart even if my arms can't quite reach that far.

You may be wondering what all this has to do with an accidental manicurist, well not much so far so let's take care of that. I learned a lesson in the importance of clear communication today. Kendra and I headed off to our favorite Manicure place to get some fancy nails for Christmas. Traditions come in many forms.

I am a recovering nail bitter but of late my nails have been in decent shape. The plan was to try something new and have the technician add a layer of acrylic over my existing nails to give them a little extra strength. I thought I was pretty clear about that. I sat down and 10 seconds later the technician had taken a pair of clippers, cut my nails down to stubs and pulled out a box of acrylic tips. "What are you doing?" I asked, only partially succeeding in concealing my growing panic. But the time for clear communication had passed. Long story short, I got a little more fancy than I bargained for:
I have never had nails this long -- or this SQUARE -- in my life. They kinda get in the way. The square part I can take care of with a decent file, the fake part will take some time to grow out. I suppose it's a good lesson -- know what you're getting into and if it goes badly, time will often fix it. I struggle with trying new things, it's something I've learned about myself and I'm working on it. I guess the nails aren't the only thing that will take time.

looking like Christmas

There are only a handful of days left until Christmas and around here things are certainly looking the part. The tree is up, the stockings are hung, the mantel is full and the cat is trying to eat everything. The house smells of pine -- one of the things I'm certain Heaven smells like. I sat staring at the tree so long this morning that Kendra asked if I was okay. Apparently I had an eerie stillness about me. I couldn't help but think how many memories are hung on the tree each year and how wonderful it is to have such a season to unpack them.
This is a mosaic of a few of my favorite things (or favorite deckies as we called them growing up). Top left is an ornament I made when I was three. It's supposed to be a bell, fashioned from egg cartons and glitter. My favorite out everything on the tree. It has crossed the Atlantic ocean and traveled the full width of North America. It reminds me of my Mom who always has time for crafts and of the magic that transforms something empty and used up into something beautiful. I always hang it near the top of the tree.

Next is a snowflake I bought last year in the gift shop of Salisbury Cathedral. Salisbury dates to the 13th century -- literally hundreds of years of worship are soaked up in the stone walls. I remember being there and falling silent. A snowflake, it turns out is a beautiful picture of just that.

I don't know where the robins came from, but they have always been a part of Christmas. Robins figure prominently in English Christmas cards. We had a set growing up that would get wired into the decorations in the house. When I moved out I asked to take one with me. The robin reminds me of my Dad because he used to hide the robins each year and my brothers and I would sit in the living room trying to see who could spot them first.

The Disney ornament is in memory of my birthday trip this year. When I spotted it in the vastness of the World of Disney store I knew it was too perfect to pass up. What a great way to remember a perfect birthday celebration.

The stocking is for my Nan, a champion knitter in her day. There's a whole set of these knitted ornaments -- stockings, candles, snowmen, candy canes. I have no idea how that works. My parents have a complete nativity that she knitted one year. Shepherds and staffs, kings and gifts, it's all there.

The ink well is for me, a reminder to keep writing, a reminder of the power of words and story. This particular ink well was also purchased last year, when I went to visit Shakespeare House. It was the strangest thing to stand on stone flags that once chilled the little toes of a boy who would grow up to transcend the ages. Flesh does not endure, but words can.

This last photo is for my family, because everyone has been posting lovely family pics and I haven't. So here you go. This is me at the company Christmas party with Leah & Lynnette. You can't go wrong with a black dress (even if everyone else has the same idea).

ferocious beastie

I was trying to get a "festive" photo of the cat but she refused to participate. Antique bells on red rope -- she would have none of it. Instead I got this shot of my fierce jungle tigress 'sounding her barbaric YAWP over the rooftops of the world'. (Points to anyone who correctly identifies the quote, double points if you get the non-movie reference as well.) I took this as a sign that the photoshoot was decidedly over. 'Nuff said.

In other wanderings, today I came across an interesting article about a professor who tried to prove Wikipedia was fallible. He failed. In his experiment he added erroneous factoids to several obscure articles. He expected them to last several weeks, but all 13 were gone in 3 hours. The professor conceded that the system clearly worked. Colleagues however were less convinced.

One quote really struck me, "But doubters of the approach -- and in academe, there are many -- say Wikipedia devalues the notion of expertise itself." Are these professional academics really saying that knowledge has no value in itself? Are they claiming that expertise only matters if I have it and you don't? How can knowledge lose value by being shared? Surely the only useless knowledge is that which is hoarded and kept private.

I wonder if they're speaking out of fear? Do they think that Wikipedia will one day replace the universities (they way the naysayers predicted television, or the internet for that matter, would wipe books from the face of the earth)? I can't understand teachers that root for less information, less knowledge. It's such an ignorant position.

about face

In a very strange congruency, the idea of prosopagnosia (face blindness) has come up a couple of times over the past few days. First it was the case du jour on this week's 3lbs (a show I doubt will make it past mid-season, but it stars Stanley Tucci so I'm watching anyway). Then it popped up again in the November issue of Wired. What must it be like to live in a world where the faces are no more recognizable than the famous apple-obscured bowler wearer in Magritte's Son of Man?

The Wired article talks a lot about the isolating aspect of the condition. Imagine not being able to recognize your own face, not realizing when the love of your life just walked into the room. Think of conversations without the benefit of expression or any facial clues. What a confusing world that must be.
There is so much emotion wrapped up in the idea of faces -- everything from recognition, to communication, identity. It's a big part of the world to be cut off from. I'd imagine it feels like losing half of your words.

In Orwell's 1984 there's this whole idea that you can curb thought if you simply remove the words to express that thought. I wonder if someone born with prosopagnosia would be less likely to use facial expressions having never seen them communicated? Years ago Discovery Channel did a series on how the brain processes faces. In addition to face blindness there were people who could only focus on one part of a face at time and could not put together the whole. There were others who could see the face but could not attach emotion to it. I remember one young man who was convinced his Mom had been replaced with an actress who looked just like her. He recognized the face but felt nothing for her. There was still one more who could see faces but could not distinguish a new face from one he had encountered before.

It must be a particularly heavy burden to have to keep introducing yourself to someone who loves you. There's such a strong element of selection in love -- I choose to be with you and no other -- would that choice, and thereby that love, be questioned if there was always a moment's hesitation before he or she moved towards you?

Heavy questions for a Sunday night. I did my first year of University as a pre-med student (and graduated with an English degree, long story). I remember taking a course on Brain and behavior that year. We didn't cover prosopagnosia, I wish we had, but it was fascinating how much we still don't know about the human brain. We can get all the way to the moon and back, but cannot travel all the way into our own heads. I wonder if it's for our own good.

happy feet

The holiday season has officially begun -- my Christmas socks are here. Every year since I went away to university my Mom has had a tradition involving festive socks. It's silly, I know, and that is exactly the point. Each year mid- to late-November a pair of Christmas socks arrive in the mail along with a note telling me that Christmas is coming, my parents are thinking of me and reminding me that the season is so wonderful even footwear can celebrate :)

Over the years there have been socks with Santas, sock with cats wearing holiday wreaths and one pair with bells attached that threatened to split my cat's personality in two. "Must attack bells! Must not bite Food Lady!" Ah the existential trials of fur on for legs.

It's funny how something so small -- a little pair of socks -- can be a celebration if time and attention are put into it. Funny and also wonderful. There are a certain number of major celebrations in a given year and a good many of them are beyond our control. (I cannot, for example decide to move Thanksgiving to February, or choose when it's time for a new niece or nephew or join the family) But if I'm willing to expend time and attention there is no limit to the celebrations I can create for myself and those around me. I can celebrate any time I feel like it.

If you go just outside my front door right now and stand very still you can hear a wonderful sound. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. The snow is melting. The roads are becoming passable again. Tires are finding purchase on the asphalt and white knuckles are getting their colour back. After 5 days of treacherous driving it is a beautiful sound. I think I'll go out and celebrate it.

snowman's paradise

It's snowing in White Rock and it shouldn't be. We're just outside of Vancouver, a stone's throw from the ocean. We're supposed to get two weeks of a light dusting of snow at the beginning of January. Clearly the snow had other plans.


It began last night. Kendra came in from the back room and announced "it's snowing." Like a character from a bad 80s movie I responded "no way!" and headed outside to see for myself. Sure enough it was snowing -- and not the barely frozen rain that passes for snow in these parts, but actual snow. This looked like the snow we got in Ontario as a kid. Packing snow, snowball snow. . . in those days pray-for-a-snow-day snow. It was unbelievable. I didn't expect it to last the night so I headed outside to take a few shots in the dark. Not only did the snow stick around, but it snowed straight through the night and as I am writing this, early afternoon of the following day, it has not stopped snowing.
This is what our street looked like early this morning. White Rock has a tiny, if existent, snow removal budget which makes driving in these conditions nasty. We get so little snow here that no one knows how to drive in it. Half the people drive 5 km/h and the other have drive 80. Both cause accidents. I'm already a little punchy after a recent accident on dry roads. I'm probably the only person in White Rock praying for a quick overnight thaw.

The backyard is beautiful. It's been like living inside a snowglobe today. Everything is white, the edges softened, the leaves thrown into colourful relief. In a true testament to west coast weather my Japanese maple tree still has deciduous leaves peaking out from under this new blanket of snow. Kendra and I headed out this morning to try and rescue the boxwood hedge. It was bent almost all the way to the ground under the weight. A couple of hours later and it is in the process of getting covered all over again.

These pictures are a few hours old now and the snow just keeps coming. The world gets prettier and prettier, the roads worse and worse. I'd like snow just fine if I didn't have to drive in it. I went out to frolic after saving the hedge and shoveling the driveway. It would be wrong to let the snow come and go and not throw some of it around. My aim with a snowball is still terrible, but that's rarely the point. Kendra and I thought about making a snowman, but they take a while so we opted for the miniature versions at the beginning of this post. I can see them on the picnic table out the living room window. They are half buried under new fallen snow.

After so many years in Ontario it is a little funny to think that snow in late November is newsworthy but it just doesn't happen here. It's like that year they got snow at DisneyWorld over Christmas and all the fountains froze. No one saw it coming. Every now and then a gust of wind comes through and shakes the trees and the white world gets even whiter. What a good day for a fireplace and a hot cup of tea. A snowman's paradise indeed.

UPDATE: 2:00 Sunday

This is what the tree in our front yard looks like now:

This is the same tree that's in the night time shot up above. It's completely covered in snow. The boxwood in the backyard is starting to bow again. The driveway looks less and less shoveled. And the snow just keeps on coming.

CNN gets a little closer

Every few months I run a Google search on myself to see if anyone is stealing my articles. Today there were no thefts of the list but I was very surprised to see an entry labeled "CNN.com - Transcripts". Of course I followed the link and it turns out that back in October Anderson Cooper read one of my comments on air during a segment at the end of AC 360! How very cool.

The first week of October 2006 CNN sent a couple of teams to Africa to cover the situations in Darfur and the Sudan. Anderson Cooper hosted a week-long special "The Killing Fields: Africa's Misery, the World's Shame". It was, hands down, some of the most disturbing television I have ever seen. Night after night there were stories of such unbelievable suffering. It was so hard to watch but it just didn't seem right to turn away. Cooper often speaks of the importance of bearing witness and this whole week was like that.

Tuesday of that week Dr. Sanjay Gupta posted a blog entry about some of the things he had seen. Inside the camps, he wrote, "They complain bitterly of not enough food and clothing. They wish they had better roofs over their heads than sorghum branches tied together with twine." However, he went on to write, "living conditions throughout much of Chad are so terrible that many people will simply pack up their belongings and move into refugee camps, which ironically offer a better way of life than most people in Chad could ever hope to see."

I was so shocked to see that sentence, that branches and twine were more than people could hope to dream for. I submitted a comment to the AC360 blog and was thrilled to see it actually appear on the site. CNN gets hundreds, sometimes thousands of comments on the blog. They post up to a hundred of them or so per post. From time to time Anderson reads two or three on the air and October 4th he read mine live from Rutshuru.

I can't believe I missed seeing it on air -- it was a Wednesday, I'd signed-up for a class. Fortunately transcripts live forever so I know about it now. CNN does sell individual copies of past shows and I think I'm just geek enough to order one. How often do you get to hear your name on CNN? Until then, it's right there in the records. If you follow the transcript link, scroll all the way to the bottom you'll see this:

COOPER: Jeff, stay safe. Appreciate your reporting. Thank you.

Before we go, we wanted to show you what's on the radar, some of the responses to our programming on the 360 blog.

Sharla Jones from Buckeye, Arizona, writes on the blog, "Watching this series right now on 360 is really making me re-evaluate my own life and how I'm living it... Watching the pain and suffering right now... it made me cry."

This from Kelly in Marietta, Georgia, "It shames me to think that we apparently learned nothing after Rwanda. Why are we, nor the rest of the world, helping more?"

And Claire Colvin of White Rock, British Columbia, writes, "I can't wrap my head around someone fleeing to a refugee camp of their own volition because the conditions there are better. Surely we can do better than this."

I was on CNN. Well, sort of.

stand in the wind

I have never been an adrenaline junkie. I take no pleasure in taking risks, but for some reason I cannot resist the sea when it's inflamed. The wind picks up and starts to roar and I have to go and hear the water roar back. Today the wind was up. I grabbed my Gortex and headed to the beach.

At the shoreline everything was in motion -- the water and the wood and the grasses and the trees. Only the gulls trying to fly into the wind were still, suspended in their animation. I love standing there surrounded by the wind, feeling small. I think it's good for us to feel small for time to time. It helps to remember that so many things are not under my control, so much is beyond my grasp. It reminds me not to try so hard to hang on to it.

Going down to the ocean in a storm always feels like going to church. The awesomeness of God is inescapable there. It's in front of you and behind you, in your ears, in your face, pulling tears from the corners of your eyes. Huge drifting tree logs are no match for it, this huge expanse of open water cannot resist it. I know that most people look for quiet to meditate in, but I find myself meditating in the rush and the noise and the motion of the storm.

One of the many things I love about White Rock is that every time I go to stand in the wind there are others already there. People come alone, they bring their children. Up and down the beach you can see them, brightly coloured coats bobbing right along with the drift wood. When the storm is really good every one has a camera. And you can see as you walk by, every one of us is smiling.

baby, you can drive my car

And now, thankfully, so can I. It's been a couple of weeks since the accident and while I am still mourning the lost of my little, black Civic it does feel pretty good to have a car in the driveway again. I was really hoping that my Civic was fixable. When the insurance guy called to give me the news that it was a write-off his comment was "your car is a lot shorter than it used to be" and I knew the Civic just wasn't coming home.

I've spent the past couple of weeks doing paper work and making trips to ICBC. There is something undeniably depressing about being handed a bag with the leftovers from your car in it. But it's all done now. There will be other Civics.

In the meantime, I am now the proud owner of a 05 Nissan Sentra. So far its lived up to everyone's expectations and is a solid little car. I'm starting to warm up to it. I bought my Civic while at University so it was a base model. Standard transmission. The only "extra" I put in it were floor mats. The new car has toys. And it turns out, I kinda like toys.

By far the funniest thing that has happened was when I brought the car home and realized that it is EXACTLY the same colour as my cat. The photo to the right has not been Photoshopped in any way. I swear I didn't do that on purpose. (Although during test drive the car did feel oddly familiar...) I haven't taken it fast enough to see if it purrs yet. All in good time.

I helped edit CNN

I'm pretty sure that I helped edit CNN.com today. The midterm elections are happening south of the border so I stopped by CNN.com at lunch to see how things were going. Much to my surprise there was a grammatical mistake in the tag for the main article. It was front and center on the homepage of CNN International. I took a screen cap because I was planning to blog it. (Yes, I know. Still.)


Right at the beginning it says, "Republicans were facing with the possibility..." Nasty. I decided the decent thing to do would be to at least tell someone at CNN about the mistake, rather than just mock it. It's election day afterall, a busy day for the site.

CNN has a pretty good feedback system so I sent them a quick message and suggested an alternate wording. I didn't expect anything to come of it and went back to work. Imagine my surprise a while later when I actually got an email back from CNN. The nameless CNN employee said that they would pass my email on to the Webmaster. "Right," I thought, "okay."

I couldn't help checking the home page about five minutes later and lo and behold, the text had been changed.


Yeah! Good grammar triumphs again. I'm sure this is the closest I will ever get to having a hand in anything that goes on at CNN. But hey, for an editor this is kindof like catching a glimpse of the band just as they're getting on the bus. (Yes, I know. Again.)

trick or treat

It's amazing how a scent can take you right back. And not just to where you were but how you felt. Last night as I carved the top off of the first of these pumpkins I took a deep breath of childhood. One sniff of fresh, raw, pumpkin and I was back with my brothers at a kitchen table covered with newspapers. Pumpkin carvers in hand we were all set to go. (To this day I don't understand how they cut pumpkin but not skin.)

There were years when we had a pumpkin each and years when we had one huge pumpkin between us. Either way what I remember along with that scent of pumpkin was the anticipation. Something wonderful was about to happen. It happened about the same way every year. I loved the feel of "pumpkin guts", Dave didn't like it as much. Mark tried to smear it in my face. I squealed. Our designs stayed on a theme. We were mostly a traditional "faces" bunch. This was long before we'd learned the finer points of pumpkin carving, the importance of carving the tiniest details first and largest details last. But it was something we did together. And it was wonderful.

Tonight as I've been on the other side of the trick-or-treat door I was thinking about the costumes I can still remember. I was a clown several times, an Indian squaw (complete with brown woolen braids). There was the year I was Wee Willy Winkle and learned why Hallowe'en costumes should have as few props as possible. One year I went as a high society lady swanning around the neighborhood in my Grandma's real fur coat. She would have had a FIT if she'd known. I remember Mark as the blue ghost from PacMan one year and a gangster another. Later on Dave would prove to be the best at costuming. He has an imagination that dreams entire worlds.

I remember the trial of eating dinner Hallowe'en night. (It took so long.) We had endless existential discussions of what constitutes "dark". "Is it dark now Mom? Can we go?" After the frenzy of the night was over my brothers and I would meet in the front room. I don't know why we always met in there, it was one of those rooms that you weren't really supposed to use. But each year we met there dumping out our bags so the yearly sort could begin. Anticipation gave way to excitement and then in the manner of children, bargaining. It seemed that we went out that night in the fullness of Fall but found winter waiting for us in the morning.

All these years later it's all still there. Just waiting in the scent of fresh pumpkin.

only that which can be fixed is broken

The good news is that I'm fine. Bruised, but fine. My car is not looking so pretty. Coming home from work last night I was in my first car accident ever. I would be quite happy for it to be the last.

Everyone is fine, thank God Himself. Only that which can be fixed is broken. As the doctor told me the car did its job and "sacrificed itself to take the brunt of the force". Poor little car. I feel very fortunate. It could have been so much worse. I was looking at the accident report the police officier gave me. There are two tiny little boxes labelled "Number of Injured" and "Number of Dead". Mercifully both boxes on my form are empty.

I've spent today resting. Driving is a little painful -- seatbelt buckle resting on top of a seatbelt buckle bruise. I went to the local pool to sit in the hottub for a while. I think it helped. Public hot tubs are a strange concept but we haven't quite gotten one installed at the House of Mirth just yet. Needs must.

There were four of us in the spa and I was the only one without tattoos. How strange. One guys had two half sleeves and it was hard not to notice them. No one looks anyone else in a public hot tub. Sleeve guy and I made eye contact only once, brief and awkward, shattering the lie that each of us was here alone.

For the next couple of days I'll be bumming around in a rented Chevy Aveo. As the commercials promise it does have a "neat-o sound system" but I'm not convinced that it's "fun to drive". Here's hoping I'll be back in my little, black Civic before long.

got moo?

This has to be one of the coolest things I've seen in a long time. Everytime I look at it I get a head full of a thousand ways to play with it. It's like a really big box of crayons for grown-ups only so much cooler.
Moo.com is a company out of London that is offering custom printing of minicards from your Flickr photos. Cool right? But here's the best part: they're $20/100 and you get to choose up to 100 different images per pack! There's also space for up to 5 lines of text, full colour, on the back along with your Flickr buddy icon (optional). No additional charge.

Imagine the possibilities. . .

A contact of mine who is a professional make-up artist has started using them in place of traditional business cards. I'm imaging art projects and think that I might just have found the ultimate cure to grey cubicle walls. There is already a gallery of what people are doing with these on Flickr. Just looking at the promo photo inspires me. So much colour, so many choices. So much fun! And at this price, I can afford to play.

I'm placing my order this week-end.

amazing indeed

Over the week-end I finished reading Michael Chabon's Pulitzer prize-winner The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. Wow. Wow. Wow. If you're looking for a feast, this is your book. It's taken me a couple of weeks to finish, not because it was slow or uninteresting but rather because the story, the language, is so delightfully dense. It's like my Mom's British Christmas cake -- so rich and full of flavour that it would be a sin to rush through it.

This is a book that begs you take your time and well rewards those willing to linger. I found myself reading sentences over again. I caught myself reading aloud in places because the music of the text was too good to waste in silence. I savoured this book over breakfast and at the beach and in bed and in stolen moments waiting for the office microwave to warm-up my lunch. It was so worth the savoring.

Chabon made me reach for a dictionary more than once, so he'd have my gratitude if had he written a story only half as satisfying. This is a truly epic tale. On the surface it's about a pair of cousins who stumble into the comic book business in New York just as the jaws of the second world war are opening to devour Europe. But just past the cover of what they are supposed to be doing lies a world of real heroes: a boy trying to save the family he left behind, a girl reaching out to an unreachable boy, a man stepping into another's responsibilities, a child speaking the words the grown-ups have forgotten how to say. It is a story of family, of struggle, of loss, of the great surprise of coming home and the paradox that sometimes the only way to truly get home is walk out of your own front door.

I had to delay the book that was next on my list and sub-in something lighter. My brain isn't ready for another serving of solid food quite yet. I'm still digesting this one. I picked up a short novel, something to cleanse the pallet. It would be disrespectful to go back to the table so soon after being so well satisfied.

visitors and photos

Guess what I'm thankful for this year. . . . I'll give you a hint, it starts with "F" and it rhymes with "tamily". I know I'm a few days late for a Thanksgiving post, but hey aren't we supposed to be thankful all year? I guess I'm starting early for next year.

It's crazy to think that Thanksgiving has come and gone already but there are pumpkins on my mantel so it must be true. I had a great time setting out leaves and gourds again this year. I never used to decorate for Thanksgiving but there's something about this house, this neighborhood, that just makes it make sense.

Janie and Corrina spent the day after Thanksgiving here and we had a great time. It was such a beautiful day we HAD to go to the water -- afterall these ladies live in a landlocked province, horrors! We bundled up the baby and headed down for a good, long walk. What a great way to spend an afternoon. Dave, we took the next two pictures for you, one of the kite surfers who were really, REALLY enjoying the day, and one of your girls walking the boardwalk (and missing you I'm sure).
There are, of course, more photos of the Little Bean so for Grandparents, Parents and any other interested parties, you can see more of Corrina and the lady responsible for at least half of her cuteness on Flickr. But because it can be such a long way all the way over to Flickr, here are a few more gratis.

Enjoy! (I know I did.)

indulgent

Time is one of the great luxuries in life and today has been a very indulgent day. It didn't get quite as far as the "complacencies of the peignoir and late coffee and oranges" that Wallace Stevens wrote of but it came close. I realized this morning that I couldn't remember the last time I had taken my lunch down to the beach. Clearly today was a day to take to the sea.

There are many great sandwich shops in White Rock and after doing my civic duty and supporting local business I made a beeline for the water. I had almost forgotten that it is October -- I swear it still feels like it should be late August at best -- but down at the water's edge the Fall in inescapable. I breathed it in.

I still miss my favorite reading spot that got blown away in the storm last winter. It was a HUGE piece of driftwood that must have been part of a barge at some point. I remember trying to imagine its slow progress up the beach. One day it was there, immovable. It was a perfect spot to stretch out, level enough to set a cup of coffee on. The next day it was gone. I haven't found a good replacement yet, but I came a little closer today. There's a new configuration of driftwood that acts almost like a recliner just with a little less padding. All in all, not a bad place to read.

All day today I've moved at my own pace, doing only exactly what I feel like doing. I bought pumpkins to decorate the fireplace and strung leaves into a garland. I learned today that you can bake cookies in a toaster oven if you're really determined to do so and willing to wait out baking two dozen four cookies at a time. You have to double the cooking time which seems strange to me but there you go. I've kept the TV off and the radio on. It's been a good day.

Sidenote: anyone have any ideas on fixing an oven that spontaneously stops working? It's not the power supply because the range top still works. I've replaced the fuses in the stove and also checked the main kitchen fuses. It shouldn't be the element itself because that was replaced last year. Very strange. Good thing I'm not the one cooking the turkey tomorrow!

Speaking of turkey, Happy Thanksgiving one and all! May your table be full and your heart satisfied.

not exactly high speed

Well that was weird. The YouTube video I tried to load over a week ago magically appeared on my blog today. I'm pretty sure it would have arrived faster if I had put the video in an envelope and mailed it to myself -- and that's using Canada Post. Wow.

Consider this a public service announcement:

If you're planning to embed a YouTube video in your blog skip the easy looking "add this video to your blog" link and just grab the code. Turns out it's much faster.

Long live the code monkeys (just because Blogger made everything push button doesn't mean we can't still come out to play).

this one's for Dave

Hey little brother, I enjoyed the Animaniacs vid so much I deided to see if I could dig up a copy of Conversational Norewegian with Freakazoid. And sure enough here it is. Do you remember way back when. . . you drew me a poster of this? It hung on many of my dorm room walls and always made me smile. Even when Calculus was doing a serious number on my head I can't help but smile at the "happy little narwhale" (although personally, I'm still waiting for that to come up conversationally). Here's to blue heros you can't fly but still fight crime, sortof.

Enjoy!

shiny, pretty things

Scott Adams has outdone himself once again. Take a look at the center panel from one of last week's strips --->

Brilliant. It reminds me of one of the quotes I have pinned up at my desk at work "The world is still deceived with ornament." (from The Merchant of Venice) It never ceases to amaze me that we are so consumed with how things look and so willing to turn a blind eye to how things are. I remember a couple of years ago I was asked to write an article on the perception of beauty around the globe. In my research I came across a quote from a plastic surgeon in Brazil. He said "Half my patients don't want to feel better, they just want to look better." How scary is that? We're so convinced that how we look is the only thing that matters that we're willing to endure painful and often risky surgery, not to correct a medical condition, but solely so that once the bandages come off we can look a little more, or a little less.

In July of 2003 James Poniewozik wrote an incredible article for Time entitled "Trading Faces". The version online is not the full article so I can't find the exact quote, but he was writing about the phalanx of make-over shows on TV (even in 2003) and the desire for someone to be able to see past our bland exterior and catch a glimpse of the real us. "We used to call that the look of love, " he wrote. "Now we just call it television." If you can get your hands on the full article, I highly recommend it.

We are like little children, reaching out for the shiny, pretty things, making no distinction between a diamond a piece of tinfoil. I think in a lot of ways, Adams is right. Hotness is like a superpower. It can blind otherwise functioning human beings into making decisions based on the most fallible of factors. I took a sociology course years ago on marriage and the family. One of the things I still remember the professor saying is that so many marriage fail today because we often choose a partner based on the one thing about them that is guaranteed to change -- they way they look.

Why are we so obsessed with what we can see? Seeing is not the same as knowing. It's easier. Is there more to it than that?

Chapters marketing strategy: shop elsewhere?

For the first time ever, Chapters disappointed me today. And that's hard to say. I'm a huge fan of Chapters and a very good customer. I know that my liberal heart should beat for the independent bookseller, but Chapters just has sooo many books. Resistance is futile. Except, it would seem, today.

Last night I was watching CNN and the anchor recommended Lawrence Wright's new book The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11. Of more than 3500 books and articles written about the topic this one is, in his opinion, the best. Recently I have been making little forays into the world of non-fiction and thought this could be my next adventure. I went online to Chapters.ca and sure enough they carried the book. It was listed as a bestseller, 34% off for iRewards members. Sweet. Chapters.ca has a great little feature that lets you know whether a title is in stock at a particular location. My favorite Chapters had 6 copies. Perfect I thought, I can swing by after work and pick one up.

I went to Chapters, grabbed the book and as I was headed for the check-out noticed that there was no mention of the bestseller discount. I got up to the counter and asked the salesgirl "I went online and this was listed as 34% off, but I noticed there's no sticker. Is it still on sale?" "Oh", she said. "That was probably just online." What the? She checked the computer and sure enough IN STORE the book was $12 more expensive than online. "I think I'll just order this online then" I said. "Oh but then you'll have to pay shipping, $5.90." came the reply. True, but that's still less than $12 she wanted to charge me.

When I asked about the discrepancy another salesgirl told me that "the online Chapters is a totally different company, they often have better prices." So now you're telling me that I shouldn't shop here at all? On what planet does it make sense for a business to undercut itself? To compete with its own brand?

I left the book on the counter and walked out of the store empty-handed. I'll order The Looming Tower online. Of course now I'm going to check Amazon.ca and see if they're cheaper.

tech question re: You Tube

Stymied for several days now I have decided to appeal to the collective consciousness. I am trying to embed a video from You Tube into this blog and I can't get it to work. Specifically I am trying to snag the "Conversational Norwegian with Freakazoid" video (yes Dave, this one was for you). I created a log in for myself on You Tube, I've gone through the steps to connect my blog with the You Tube account. I clicked on "blog video" and filed in a title, post etc. I get the little message that says "this video will appear on your blog shortly" but it's been 24 hours now and nothing has shown up. I went into blog settings to see if perhaps there was some kind of moderation that needed to take place but it's not in the queue either.

I know several of you have successfully added You Tube vids to your blogs. Any ideas on what the hang-up is?

huggle and squee

It's been a great week for words. I'm reading Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and he's had me reaching for the dictionary more than once. I love that. It's like discovering a new colour or a new way to eat chocolate. Amid the more scholarly four and five syllable treats from Chabon I've also come across a few new words on blogs, among them "huggle" and "squee" words so perfectly suited to their task they're almost onomatopoeic. Nice. (I know, I know, once a word nerd always. . . although "logophile" has a sweeter cadence.)

These just might be my words of the week:

huggle: [verb] a brilliant hybrid of hug and snuggle. Clearly a word the world needed. I'm not entirely sure how huggling would play out but I'm game. Next time my niece is in town I'll conduct some research.

squee: [noun, also a verb] As a noun the sound that comes out of one's mouth, unbidden, at the sight of extreme animal cuteness or in some cases the hottie of choice. As a verb, the act of sustaining said noise.

I think the world just got a little prettier. It's certainly more fun.

shadows that never did offend

Once again in honour of Kendra's natal day we headed down to Bard on the Beach. For seventeen years Christopher Gaze and company have trod the boards under the tents in Vanier Park and somehow they just keep getting better. Monica, Kendra and I managed to get some of the last tickets to A Midsummer Night's Dream and once again I was impressed. I don't remember the last I laughed that hard during Shakespeare. Kudos to Kyle Rideout for a Billy Idol-inspired Puck and for truly working the striped tights, high tops and a leather vest get up. Very nicely done. I am still applauding.

One of my favourite parts of Bard is always the set design. Kevin McAllister has the impossible task of setting two well known and much loved shoes on a single stage with minimal ornament. Year after year he does an amazing job. This year the two mainstage productions, Midsummer and Measure for Measure were set in Swinging London. I don't know who decided that you could create a fairy forest and almost every prop required from a few white umbrellas but somehow it worked. A single mod lounging chair and a few feet of aluminum pipe and there it was, conjured from imagination itself. A fairy forest, a queen's bower, a lover's lament, a triumphant wedding all summond from wherever creativity lays its head to sleep.

The only part I didn't like was when Puck took center stage to begin his "If we shadows have offended" speech. Surely it couldn't be time to go home yet.

remembering

They lit the torches in New York tonight, two blazing beams of rememberance. I pinned small ribbons to my shirt and went to work. It seems strange that we're back here again and suddenly it's five years later.

I've been asked to write articles about September 11th a few times and today I took some time to go back and read them. The first was written a few days after the attack and it's so raw. I quoted Emily Dickinson's line about grieving “first – Chill– then Stupor – then the letting go–.” I remember struggling to decide if I should go to work that day, and then once I got there spending most of the day glued to CNN.

September 12th I went to worked dressed entirely in black, head to toe, which I never do. I tied a black ribbon in my hair. Since then, one of the things I've learned about myself if that I find symbols soothing. I think in part it's because a symbol is a way of making the intangible, tangible. In the days following 9/11 many people starting wearing red, white & blue ribbons and I have worn them almost every year on that day. It's a small way to count myself among the mourners, to say without saying it, "I am sad today too." I think for me, symbols act as a lightening rod for my thoughts, they help me to gather them in one place.

Today I've been thinking of the people I usually think of on this day. I think of that haunting image of a man falling from the tower. I think of the school children who saw grown-ups leaping from windows holding hands and what manner of terror could have been behind them that the window was their only hope. I think of three thousand families mourning. I think of my friend's sister-in-law who was supposed to be in the Cantor Fitzgerald offices that day but decided not to go. I think of the people who lined up to give blood and the realization that no one was alive to need it. I think and I remember.

much and little

I've almost finished reading Betty Smith's classic A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and it's got me thinking about the ideas of much and little, plenty and poor. Set in Brooklyn in the early 1900s the book is the story of a family trying to get by and trying to get better. Katie firmly believes that education will be the salvation of her children but at the critical moment you can't eat books and school has to wait, children have to go to work. It's an interesting discussion of the idea of much. Francie, the heroine, talks of "the luxury of being rich enough to waste" and I couldn't help but see the modern parallel in that. It's so easy to see someone who has more and think that I have little, why it is harder to see those who have less and realize that I have so much?

There's a Duke Ellington classic that sings about "Ain't got the change of a nickel . . . I ain't got nothing but the blues." I've known days when money is tight but I've never gone to bed hungry. If all my life I've known a full stomach, surely that's proof of much. It should be enough proof and proof of enough. There's been a lot of coverage of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast this week and how they are faring a year after Katrina. Vivid images of little and much. There has been so much money promised, but it seems so little delivered into the hands that need it. I was reading on a New Orleans news site yesterday that FEMA is getting ready to cut off rent assistance. People's homes are still unlivable, where are they expected to go? Everything they owned is gone and now the corner they've huddled in for a year is threatened. How little can little get?

I was also thinking this week of a photograph I saw in May 2002 of babies who had been born in the months since their fathers were killed on September 11th. It struck me that all of those kids will be starting school in the next few days. They have homes and schools and hospitals but no fathers. I'm not sure if that's little or much. I suppose it's both.

I think that I tend to think of "much" as a relative term, more adjective than noun, useful only in comparison. But in reality, much is more of a certainty, more solid. Much is much. It's what's in my kitchen cupboards, even if I don't feel that it's what's in my bank account. Much is what's worth celebrating, it's what I have to share, it is the reality of what I have received. I hope the much, and not little, will prove to be the better description of what I've given away.

sunday afternoon salsa

Why is that you always find the coolest thing to do right at the end of summer? I remember growing up it seemed to happen every year. Just a day or two before school started and inspiration would hit for this amazing thing we could have been doing all summer. Maybe it was the proximity of school that sharpened our minds, or maybe that just made whatever it was taste better. It hasn't happened to me in years, but it happened again this past week-end.

Sunday afternoon RuthAnn and I headed down to Robson Square for Sunday Afternoon Salsa and it was amazing! For four hours salsa music blares through this crazy venue and couples dance like it's the world, not just the summer, that's ending. There was every age, every race and every skill level on display. So many difference faces and every single one of them was smiling. This was of course, the very last session of the summer. I hear plans are underway to do it again next year. I'll have to see if I can get me some moves by then.

contemplations in the moonlight

I found myself thinking about the moon the other day. The moon always gets a bad rap for having no light of its own. A celestial second-class citizen, standing by just reflecting. I remember a science teacher somewhere back in my school days scoffing that men of old thought the moon was a light source when really it's all second hand illumination. But I was wondering the other day if reflected light is really so bad?

Sure the sun is fantastic and powerful and creates its own light, but it occurred to me that you can't look at the sun. It's there and you feel its influence but you can only glimpse it from the corner of your eye. It's so bright, but you can't really see if for yourself. The moon is reflected light. It doesn't control the seasons but controls the tides and you can actually look at the moon. You can sit there gazing at it, contemplating it. It's not enough light to get a sunburn, but it's enough light on a clear night to find your way.

And I wonder if we're a little bit like that with God. God is huge and awesome and knowable but incomprehensible. He's too much for finite minds. Maybe we're a little bit like the moon -- reflections of a light that's not our own. I wonder if that was part of God's intent in making man in His own image, giving us a version of Himself that we could stand to look at, something we could begin to comprehend? I'm reminded of the story in the Old Testament when Moses is on the mountain and wants to see God and God basically tells him "if you saw me, you'd die". And so God hides Moses in a space in the rocks, and covers him as He walks by and even that barest brushing past is almost more than Moses can stand. Like staring right at the sun only so much worse.

I know that I am not God, I cannot manifest light of my own. But I can reflect it, on a clear night.

happy thoughts and other thoughts

First the happy thoughts -- look at that face! I am seriously in love with his kid. Everyone should get to be an Auntie. The happy thought is that I got to spend the week-end with my whole family in Ontario. The other thoughts revolve around the reason for the trip. We went to Ontario to bury my Grandpa. Funerals always suck but you go through the motions. Stand, sit, shake hands, bow your head, pass the Kleenex. Try to combat the mind games in your head "there will never be another...." Time folds in strange places. As we stood to walk out of the memorial service Janie turned to me and said "You look like you could use this" and handed Corrina to me. She was right. Corrie was just the happy thought I needed.

I took about a bagillion pics of Corrina over the week-end. Turns out she likes my camera and in addition to the one above we got some great shots. You can see the short version on Flickr or if you're my Mom, or Corrina's Mom you can see all 71 shots (fair warning I haven't had a chance to edit these so they're raw).

hello dear, how was your day?

Today was a very strange day. From unexpected packages to Indonesian poetry written in my honor (no I'm serious) it's been a very strange day indeed.

First the package. I'm an editor so people send me stuff from time to time. Most of it is books (whoo hoo!) Now if I could just convince that powers that be that we should run a book club on the site so publishers would start sending me fiction... I also receive samples. Sometimes it's really useful stuff like shampoo or band aids, other times CDs from lounge singers (yes really) or the most memorable of all -- a lightbulb filled with paper clips (I have no idea). Today I got in to work and there sitting right in the middle of my desk was a huge box containing . . . . . . home pregnancy tests.

Um, thanks. The box's contents were emblazoned across the package. I've been at a conference for a week so who knows how long this thing has been sitting on my desk. Let the rumours fly. Not exactly what I anticipatedsetting my latte down beside this morning. I currently have no need for such tests, even if this particular variety is digital and lights up in different colours. (Again I have no idea.) If it could be of use to you, let me know, I've got the hook-up.

Then a Dilbert from a few days ago got me thinking:

He uses schadenfreude in a cartoon, just one more reason to love Scott Adams. (PS, if it helps, schadenfreude is defined as " a malicious satisfaction obtained from the misfortune of others.) The reason the cartoon got me thinking however was that there is another German word that refers to a general sadness over the state of the world. I couldn't remember what it was and it was driving me crazy. It sat there, niggling away at the back of my brain. Several attempts to Google it were unsuccessful (it does happen to me some times). We have dictionaries where you look up words to find definitions, why don't we have reverse dictionaries where you can search by definition to find a word? Fortunately, finally I hit upon an better phrasing of the question (editing is everything) and found the word:

Weltschmerz.

How could I forget such a delicious word? I breathed a deep sigh of relief. And then the thing with the poetry happened.

Towards the end of the day, Leah, my co-worker (and friend) called over the cube wall, "hey Claire, there's an email you need to take a look at and I want to see your reaction when you do." Oh great, I thought. Usually I handle all of the upset reader email and things get handed over to me for bulldogging. If someone's waiting for a reaction it often means a particularly colourful wacko, I mean, valued reader, has decided to drop us a line. In a thousand years I could not have guessed at what this email held.

It turns out that one of our readers in Indonesia was doing some research and came across one of my articles and was inspired to write me a poem. It's an acrostic of my whole name and according to the email that came with it, it is supposed to be sung to the tune of Josh Groban's "You lift me up". Wow. And very cool.

I don't think anyone has ever written me a poem before. Years ago a friend of mine wrote me a song which was pretty amazing. If you ever gets your hands on a copy of Achilles' Lament, it's track 6 "I'll fly Away". I'm in the liner notes and everything. Sweet. But for Indonesian poetry, this was definitely a first. I have to admit I tried singing it in my head and I can't quite get the lyrics to scan. Maybe that part is getting lost in translation somewhat.

Like I said, it was a very strange day at the office. I think I'll work from home tomorrow.

i do not have two left feet

Photographic evidence to the contrary, I do not have two left feet. However, both Kendra and I are now sporting our traditional summer henna/mehndi body art. We had gone down to the Spirit of the Sea festival on Sunday and as hoped there were several artists on site. We were pretty happy with our results. As a side note, I learned that henna is the Arabic term and mehndi is the Hindi term. So there's your useful tidbit for the day :)


White Rock, as always, was gorgeous. This time they had festooned the pier with flags. All this time I thought the brackets were only used for the lights at Christmas but apparently not. If it were up to me I'd keep these flags up all year. I think they're lovely. Anyone know what the final three flags are? You'll probably have to click on the image to be able to see them clearly. They're blue and white patterns and maybe they're just there to be pretty but I wondered if there was something more to it.

After giving the henna some time to set we headed off to Dolce Gelato. Of course. The store was recently written up as the best gelato in Vancouver. Finally someone with a newspaper has spent some ink on what we've known for years. I tried to find the link to the article but it hasn't found its way into Google yet. Congrats to Davide and Elizabeth on a FANTASTIC job well done. I for one plan to continue doing all I can to keep you guys in business for many years to come.

iRevolution 2006

I spent the past week up at Whistler attending a staff conference. We did do more than just sit around and eat, but I only brought my camera out on the last night. Pics of plenary sessions are less interesting anyway. Trust me.

beautiful disaster

Over the past 2 weeks I'’ve been watching CNN'’s coverage of the situation in the Middle East. I'’m watching AC360 which is filmed live, so for a 10pm EST show they'’re filming from the region at 5 in the morning. They shoot the anchor standing outside and I keep noticing the incredible sunrises going on in the background. They'’re quite distracting. Here we are talking about war and the threat of war and Hezbollah and Katyusha rockets and there behind the anchor'’s head is this blatant display of increadible beauty.

At 5 in the morning the sky is still a deep indigo. As the broadcast continues it moves from blue to pink to a yellow that looks so . . . hopeful. From Larneca to Tyre to Haifa to Beirut it's a lovely view, or at least it used to be. For a moment it looks like just another day and then you hear the sirens.

On one hand it's so humanizing, the sun also rises. But at the same time it's jarring. It's so incongruent -- all this suffering framed in the colours of the morning. In in a philosophical way I suppose it's good to know that there is still beauty in a world gone mad, but I imagine the sunrise is cold comfort to those spending the night in basements and shelters and hospitals.

I wish these beautiful dawns were breaking over more peaceful days.

saving the world (a tiny little bit)

A couple of days ago I received an email from Bernat (a yarn company) that contained a very depressing stat and also news that people were doing something about it. First the stat:

"Four million newborns [in developing nations] die each year within the first month of life -- half within the first 24 hours of life."

The email went on to say that a Save the Children report released around Mother's Day of this year outlined practical ways to address the situation:

"Three out of four newborn deaths could be avoided with simple, low-cost tools that already exist, such as antibiotics for pneumonia, sterile blades to cut umbilical cords, and knit caps to keep babies warm." - State of the World's Mothers Report 2006

What people are doing about it is very simple. STC is asking people to knit or crochet a little hat and send it to Washington where it will be included in aid kits sent overseas. All they ask is that you use one of 4 patterns provided (in part so that the hats will fit) and that the hats arrive in Washington, DC by January 2007. You can download the action kit from the Warm Up America site (partners with STC in this project). The kit has the patterns (very easy), the tag you need to put on the hat and the address to send it to.

As I was reading about all this I couldn't help but think about my niece, Corrina. She's 6 months old, happy and healthy and a delight. Janie was able to get all the medical help she needed while pregnant and if anything were to happen to Corrina now there are whole teams of medical people who would rush to her aid. We are fortunate indeed. So I decided to make some hats.

I'm aiming for 6, one for each month that Corrina has been here so far. So far I've completed the 4 pictured above. Technically I've done 5, but the first one is gymped (read the pattern wrong.) I've got yarn left over from other projects so all it's going to cost me is a few stamps and some time. Years ago I remember someone talking about the idea of tithing our time, how in some seasons of life it becomes fairly easy to give money and tithing time instead is a more noticeable sacrifice. I'm not sure I'm in a place where I'd say giving money is easy, but I like the simplicity of giving time working such a simple pattern that could have such a profound impact.

I remember the first time I got to meet Corrina. She was 6 weeks old and I kept marveling that her head fit in the palm of my hand. Now looking at these little hats it's easy to be reminded how defenseless little heads can be. It's almost absurd to think a little hat can help save a life, but then it's equally absurd that it takes so little to end one.

It's a tiny thing to do, I know. But the smallest gesture is an infinitely larger contribution than doing nothing. I can't save the world, but I can save it a little tiny bit.

ferrying around BC

Mom and Dad have been here visiting this week and we've had a great time. As I was deciding what I wanted to show them this trip we ended-up spending a lot of time on ferries. And thoroughly enjoying ourselves. On Tuesday we took the Grandville Island ferry back and forth across False Creek. We grabbed a great lunch at Grandville Island market and then rode the waves all the way up the creek to Science World. (And in the process discovered where they stash the Symphony of Fire, I mean 'Celebration of Light' barge between seasons.) We headed over to English Bay to see the Inukshuk and ended-up back at the maritime museum. A great day on the water for just $12. Nice.

Thursday we went from the itty-bitty Grandville Island ferry to the Granddaddy of them all -- the Tsawwassen to Swartz Bay ferry. Even bigger than the ferry to Manatoulin Island that I remember from when I was little. (Although they call that ferry the Big Canoe which is much more fun.) The big ferry took us over to Victoria where we learned a new word -- muckle -- had an amazing high tea at the White Heather (highly recommended), toured Craigdorrach Castle and went for a walk along the water.

Today, Saturday, we headed in the opposite direction and took a mid-size ferry to Bowen Island. You have to love a place that calls its main harbour Snug Cove. (Altogether now. . . . . .awwwwww) We had perfect, amazing, beautiful weather. Bowen Island is classic west coast picture postcard -- blue water, big sky, blue mountains and lots and lots of green.

G-o-r-g-e-o-u-s.

I can usually go a long time between dreams of owning a boat but today. . . .today it would have been really nice to be able to get out on that water. Ferries are a great start, but it's not quite the same.

I really feel like I've stepped out of my regular life this week and had a vacation. I didn't do things that probably needed to get done, I didn't think about work. I even managed not to check my email even though decisions are being made that had I been in the office this week I would have been part of. For me the mental rest is as important and as physically being away and I think I really achieved that this week. How incredible to be able to spend these days with people that I love laughing and talking and looking at incredible beautiful sea and sky. A true vacation indeed. And I have the photos to prove it.

sushi for beginners

My parents are out visiting this week so it's vacations all 'round (Whoo hoo!). Yesterday I took them to Shinjuku, my favourite Japanse restaurant, for their very first taste of sushi. I have to say they did very well. We kept it vegetarian (because I can't do raw fish) and had a great time. They tried edemame (my new favourite snack), vegetable tempura, gyoza and a couple of maki. I made sure there was nice, safe chicken teryaki just in case some of the other tastes didn't sit so well but they were champs. They even masterted the art of picking up a single grain of rice with chopsticks. Nice. We were already down at the beach so we had to stop by Dolce Gelato to see what Davide had in store. The man is an artist and his gelato. . . divine. Good job there's a lot of boardwalk down there for walking it off.

memento mori

I came across a new phrase the other day -- memento mori. It translates from Latin as "remember you are mortal". The phrase came up in an article I was reading last week and then again in my current book -- Brad Thor's Blowback. I haven't read Thor's work before but I needed something a little more suitable to a long week-end and so far he has not disappointed.

I'm intrigued by the concept of memento mori. Apparently it shows up in art quite a bit. Thor writes that in ancient Rome when a returning General took his victory parade through the city a slave would walk by his side whispering "remember you are mortal, remember your death". Macabre on the surface perhaps, but I think that we would do well, I would do well, to remember that we're not here forever.

Last week I was thinking about how as humans our 'finiteness' defines us. We are fundamentally limited -- not in potential, but in time. I was reminded of a friend of mine who was on Phi Phi Island when the tsunami hit. He spent hours and hours helping to get people to safety and reached a point where he couldn't lift his arms. He had nothing left to give. Walking back to where he was staying people called out to him and he had to walk by them and it tortured him. But he was empty, he had already given everything he had and more. He had reached the edges of his strength, the horizon of his endurance. And yet the guilt was there even though he had nothing in the world to feel guilty about. Finite cannot apologize for failing to reach infinity.

Reminds me of Blake's lines, often quoted:

To see a world in a grain of sand, And Heaven in a wild flower, To hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour.

Maybe that's simply the reality of being finite, that yearning to reach out towards the infinite. Perhaps it's what draws us to beauty and ultimately to faith. I think so often we try to outrun our mortality, our limitedness, in trying to look younger, move faster, cram more into the day. I don't think denying finiteness is the way to go. Memento mori could prove a much more effective way to redeem the hours.

nina simone saves the day

This is my desk at work and today the Nina Simone CD so prominently featured saved the day. This was one of those days when there was only one time-critical thing that needed to be done and I was finally able to finish it 20 minutes before the end of the day. Everybody needed me today. And hey, it's great to be needed, but sometimes you need a little back-up and the William Shakespeare action figure just isn't going to cut it.

Enter Nina, stage right.

"Darling, you are always needed. . . "
"I wish I knew how it would feel to be free. . ."
"I need a little sugar in my bowl. . ."

Preach it sister.

I was first introduced to the wonder that is Nina Simone my third year of university. My roommate Roni had Nina Simone Sings the Blues and it became our go-to album for late nights and term papers. When our brains were too tired to think and our fingers too stiff to move we'd skip over to track #8 and let the world melt away. Worked every time.

Turns out it still does.