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.

idiots throwing rocks

This is not going to become a political blog (with or without street-corner ranting if you read the comments on my last post), nor is it going to turn into an Anderson Cooper blog, however when I read David Carr's article in the New York Times it made me mad. And that often makes for good blogging.

David Carr it seems, is jumping on the 'we're real journalists and therefore we hated Anderson Cooper's interview with Angelina Jolie' bandwagon. The basic gist of the piece is that both Cooper and Jolie are wealthy and dress nicely and therefore cannot possibly have anything of substance to say. She's an UNHCR Goodwill ambassador and he's a CNN anchor with extensive experience reporting tragedies on the African continent. What could they possibly have to talk about?

Carr writes, "Anderson Cooper. . .gave more than two hours of his program to Angelina Jolie for a two-hour infomercial fomenting an agenda -- saving Africa" Well to be precise, do the math, AC360 is a two hour show, so how Cooper gave MORE than two hours to Jolie is an act of metaphysics yet to be explained. But more to the point, Jolie wants to save Africa? What a terrible idea. How outrageously selfish of her to suggest it. Now I'll admit that a New York Times columnist like Carr is likely better researched than I am on most subjects, but last I checked Africa was still facing some major issues and could use some help. I've heard worse ideas.

If Angelina Jolie had come on the show talked about refugees for 5 minutes and then started fielding questions about Brad I could see Carr's point. But they talked about refugees. For two hours. There were reports from Uganda, vintage footage from Niger, live feeds from Darfur. It looked a lot like news to me. I was reminded of something I saw a few weeks back. Bono was offered a one day guest editorship of The Independent. His headline read:

NO NEWS TODAY*

and then in tiny print way down at the bottom of the page *Just 6, 500 Africans died today as a result of a preventable, treatable disease (HIV/AIDS)

Looks like news to me.

Like several other writers this week Carr chose to make snide reference to the clothing both were wearing for the interview. Jolie reportedly gave a third of her income away last year. Should she be required to give the rest of it away and dress in rags to better tell her story? He then went on to comment on her body art suggesting it seems that someone who changes her mind about a tattoo cannot be relied on to stay with anything else:

"Ms. Jolie proudly talked about having "Know Your Rights" as an alluring tattoo -- an homage to the United Nations refugee effort -- — but that same medium has also served as a signpost for her ex-husband, old What's-His-Name."

Maybe Carr was watching a different interview. In the one that I saw Cooper commented that he'd heard Jolie had "Know your rights" tattooed on her and she admitted that she did. She went on to say that she had once visited a prison in a tank top that showed the tattoo and it caused quite a stir. Hmm, incarcerated men and a tattoo about rights. . . yeah can't imagine why. I wasn't there, obviously, when she got the tattoo, but I'd be willing to guess that Jolie didn't pick "Know your rights" for its sex appeal.

My Director at work is fond of saying "any idiot can throw a rock". It takes no skill at all to poke holes in someone else's ideas. Get some decent boots and head over to Uganda Mr. Carr. I'm sure what you find there will make for a much more interesting column.

hanging out in the JPod

Okay Douglas Coupland, you're forgiven.

Last summer I read Coupland's Girlfriend in a Coma, and I was mad. In place of his usual witty and introspective fiction was a whacked out tale featuring a deus ex machina ending that can only have come from a bad batch of BC Bud. When I heard that he had come out with a new book, and one that was said to be Microserfs for the Google set I was cautiously happy.

Microserfs for me is Coupland at his best. After being burned on Coma I hesitated, but only a little. JPod was worth the ride. In this novel Douglas Coupland brings together a group of video game programmers doomed to share a cubicle because of a glitch in the system. Their last names all start with J. That's all they have in common. But as they quickly learn, there's no way out of JPod.

This book had a great mix of tech stereo-types and lampooned local custom. One of the main characters has a Mom who's growing weed in the basement of their home in the British Properties while his Dad goes after the ever elusive speaking part. He's constantly filming on location in Cloverdale, mostly as an extra. I found myself laughing a lot while reading this.

The plot here is a little more far-fetched than Microserfs, but you have to give Coupland credit for writing a version of himself into the story. I was reading an article in Wired that said that Coupland had read so many strange things about himself on the internet -- he hates phones and never answers them! -- that he decided to create a character named Douglas Coupland who embodied them all. Very nice.

two days with Anderson Cooper

I just finished reading Anderson Cooper's New York Times bestseller Dispatches from the Edge: A Memoir of War, Disasters and Survival and I'm impressed. It's not a title I would normally pick-up and it's certainly not something I would expect to finish in two days but that's a testament to the book itself.

For me it started with a photograph. On the cover of the June 2006 issue of Vanity Fair there's a photograph that stopped me in my tracks. It's a close-up of a man, Anderson Cooper as it turns out, and he's not crying but you can see the water beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes. I stood there thinking "how in the world did they get that shot?". I bought the magazine and the article turned out to be an excerpt from Cooper's book. Having now read both I don't imagine that it was so hard for him to find something sad to think about.

If you do a little research on Anderson Cooper you'll quickly learn 4 basic things about him: his mother is a Vanderbilt, his father died when he was 10, his brother committed suicide 12 years later and he has some very strange, albeit committed, fans. Oh and he also has this day job where he's an anchor for CNN. Since when do CNN anchors have fans?

The interviews all seem to focus in on the sadness. In the book Cooper himself admits that he started going to wars and disasters because it was more comfortable to be where other people were hurting but I am surprised that so many of the interviews focus on just this one aspect. Time Magazine's Andrea Sachs sat down for 10 Questions with Anderson Cooper for this week's issue. I would have expected something a little better than "when did you realize your Mom was famous?" and "how did you feel when your father died". Maybe it's easier to stick to the script.

I don't know if I'd say that I enjoyed the book -- famine, war, tsunamis and hurricanes are hardly fun topics. But here at the end of it, I'm glad I read it. Cooper often speaks of trying to get people to remember what happened, to not forget, and reading the book is one way to do that. It's hard to wrap your head around suffering on the scale he has seen time and again but his writing style helps take you there. I got the feeling from time to time that he was holding back, but perhaps that was for my benefit as a reader. Throughout the book he talks about the ways people try to deal with tragedy -- soldiers, aid workers, reporters -- and I wonder if he had to edit himself a bit for those of us who haven't been there.

If I had a criticism of the book it would be this: pick a verb tense. Memoirs, traditionally, are written in past tense and this one keeps flicking back and forth between past and present tense. Maybe for a journalist who lives in telling stories that are happening now asking him to abandon present tense was too much to ask. Maybe it's so ingrained it's just part of how he tells the story.

It's a good book, I'd recommend it. Fair warning: this is not a book you curl up in bed with. I have a feeling it will also prove to be a book that stays with me. There are photos in the hard cover edition but mercifully they're mostly family shots and not field shots. The field shots have definitely been chosen carefully. There's one of Cooper sitting in the remains of a hotel in Sri Lanka mud and refuse and Christmas decorations still hanging from the ceiling. But given the stories, it's relatively clean.

It's been interesting reading some of his other articles. There is a levity and humour in them that isn't in the book. It would have been out of place in the book to be sure, but it's good to know that it's in there. I'm glad he didn't leave it behind in the field somewhere.

There's more to say, but I think it's another post.

slipping into summer

All the season finales are over. I've got 4 or 5 months to wait before I find out if Meredith with choose McDreamy or the vet or if George will ever get what he deserves. In the meantime I've been enjoying the absence. Tonight I sat in the living room working a New York Times crossword puzzle (although it's a Monday so it hardly counts) while Ceone sampled the world music offerings on iTunes. It's quiet and not quiet and I like it that way.

We headed down to the beach for sushi and gelato tonight. There's something undeniably summery about that. (And wonderfully Vancouver-ish about Japanese and Italian cuisine side by side and hand in hand.) I'm still wondering who the wedding couple are in the photo above the register at Dolce Gelato. One of these days I'll have to get around to asking Davide. He seems like an approachable guy I'm sure he won't mind. He's always smiling when we come in. Maybe if you spend your days surrounded by that much gelato there's a lot to smile about.

I can feel myself slipping into summer. Kendra's classes are winding down. I am jealous, again, of the weeks of rest she has ahead even though I know because I've witnessed it that she has already paid for each hour in the sun. There are a few long nights ahead for her. But it's almost summer. Almost. There's a new tank of gas under the barbecue, the flower beds have been weeded and are waiting. My parents will be here in just a few weeks. I have no idea how it can be time already, but I'm slipping into summer. I can feel it.

flickrtoys, Furball and a field trip

Sometimes you just need to play. Years ago a good friend of mine told me that his idea of a perfect day would be a blank canvas the size of the wall, paints and no brushes. I think there's a scene in Benny & Joon that's the same sort of idea, just fingers in paint, a lot of paint. I wonder if he ever got around to trying that? Play comes in many shapes and forms and I think grown-ups would do well to put down their pens and remember that.

Last Saturday three quarters of the House of Mirth headed into Vancouver for girly fun. There was a fund raiser at the Vancouver Museum in support of the Vancouver Food Bank. There was a desert competition, fancy cupcake bake sale and best of all students from the Blanche MacDonald Center were doing hair, make-up and hand massages to raise donations. We decided to play.
Too funny. The BMC students were fantastic. Very personable and a lot of fun (especially when jogger or two happened to pass by the patio doors). I don't know how much money was raised in the end but we certainly enjoyed ourselves. Summer is coming. More time to play!

disneyland 2006 pics

Magical days in the Magic Kingdom. Who says you can't be a little kid again? The full set of vacation pics are now up on Flickr.

i can do this

I've been thinking a lot about age this week - no real surprise there. A friend of mine asked if I was a member of the "30 and Proud" club and I am. No turning 29 again for me. I was thinking back to what I was doing ten years ago and I realized that for me, my 20s were a lot of upheaval, a lot of totally changing my life and wondering if I could do it.

You're going along through high school, and if you live in Ontario you're 19 when you graduate. It's time to go away to university and your whole world changes. I remember sitting in my room at my parents' house and I could almost feel it slipping away. I could always come back, but I could never GO back. Off I went to school wondering "can I do this?"

Four incredible years later it happens again. You graduate and this life that you have built for yourself is pulled apart again. You have to move, find a job, make new friends and I wondered again, "can I do this?"

Many people spend their 20s looking for someone to share their life with and some find them right away and others don't but I think in both situations people are asking themselves "can I do this?" Can I build a life with this person? Can I build a life without them?

What I'm finding now is that there's a reason to be 30 and Proud because sitting here I can say with confidence, "I can do this". I know how to build a life. I know what I need to be happy, to be healthy, to be who I am. Because I also know this, that at some point it will happen again, the world will change and I'll be ready. I can do this.