Only Lovers Left Alive

We watched it yesterday.  I adored it.  Flat out, moony, dreamy adored it.  Happy sigh.  The scene where Hiddleston and Swinton dance made my week.

Today, more letter transcription for mOm (they are short so it’s easy), and some food shopping.

Leo and Linda are grandparents! All well, she’s a little girl, name yet to come.

Raincoaster

She’s someone I’ve only met the once, IRL, but this comment of hers on a help forum is one of the many reasons I like her.

Yesterday I put all my concert tickets in my scrapbook, aired out my comforter, finally started sorting through paperwork, and transcribed a letter mOm wrote to me and Jeff in May of 1977; I have four more to go, I picked the short one with the biggest handwriting first.

Earlier this week I baked a salmon.  I cleaned the kitchen like a fiend afterwards and got all the scraps and bones out of the house, which is the only thing that prevented the house from smelling like a trawler.

On July 14 1999 I got to see Hole’s last ever concert.  That’s how old I am, heavy sigh.  I didn’t put anything in order, and I actually threw out some memorabilia, which is amazing.  I’m currently making a list of things to sell preparatory to downsizing.  Jeff and I are here until next summer at least, but after that who knows.  I feel a wind blowing through my life.

Yesterday I communed with a moth in a rather unusual manner.  It flew into Jeff’s car and hid, and then announced its presence by flying into my face (cue subdued screaming, which seems to be my second language these days). I encouraged it to crawl onto my hand and then held it out the window, expecting it to… well, candidly, be ripped off my hand.  Instead, it grimly turned into the wind and clung on at 60 kmph (37 mph for those of you who have not metriculated).  It finally picked its own time to fly out of the car, so it was a reminder that life will not only find a way, it will be rather chaotic and self-willed about it.

I hung granddad’s watch over my bed so I can be reminded of how time is sliding by.  Time’s winged chariot is double parked, kids.

A better day

I was having a truly dreadful day, and then Paul called.  When he came over, he didn’t come in the house (I heard the door go, but not his voice) so I went out and looked for him.  He was RAKING GRASS.  After the Epic Mowing of Keith, there was rather a lot of it; Paul claimed he needed it to dry out his compost.  I got him a bag and he absconded with it, yay, thank you.

Then Paul took me for a tour around Deer Lake in a canoe, which was lovely and just the right amount of exercise for my shoulder, and then I bought some beer and watched soccer and a wonderful movie which I highly recommend, Calvary with Brian Gleeson.  It’s a downer but it’s a very interesting and lively downer.  I had never considered what it would be like to be an honest and kindly priest in a town full of previously abused and atheistic parishioners, but it would really suck. And, lots of Irish scenery.

I slept MUCH better last night, surprise, surprise.

 

Well, it’s not my novel, but it’s writing

So, there’s an essay competition.  I wrote it, and now I think why the hell would I submit it even if I thought I could win…?  I have my own bully pulpit, thx.  The essay prize was a thousand dollars, but when I realized that all my good portraits of myself died with the last hard drive, that fixed it.  And so….

 

Why me? Why Vancouver?

For almost ten years, my husband’s request to be transferred to Vancouver by his employer sat in some HR equivalent of development hell.  Nothing happened, and given the desirability of the posting and Paul’s place in the line, nothing was expected to.  Then, three weeks after our family followed his employment from Montréal to Toronto, he got word to report for work in Vancouver in 72 hours’ time.

And he smiled.  He’d applied for three weeks of vacation at exactly the same time, and couldn’t be forced to start work until it was finished. Thus began our family’s transition.

We put everything we owned in a truck trailer — including the vintage motorcycle and sidecar that Paul later sold so we could buy a house – and sent it on its way. We grabbed the kids and the cat and flew to Victoria and dropped the kids off with the grandparents, and then we spent two weeks lining up a car, a place to live and schooling and drivers licences,

We laboured in that little golden slot of weather that we get sometimes in late October, when the days are deliciously crisp and cool, the air smells wonderful, and the sun on the mountains makes you think you’re living in a fantasy novel.

We wondered why there was a bird we could only hear at intersections.  We said Gag-lard-ee and Anna-kiss and locals choked on polite laughter. We found a house (after consulting an earthquake map for the safest locales) and got the kids settled, and began a love affair with Vancouver that continues to this day.

I can’t speak for the rest of my family, since time has kept us in the same city but no longer under one roof, but the shape and texture and beauty of the city has come to mean home as no other place ever has.  Memories bubble up.

The turbaned Sikhs teasing the waitress to bring them chopsticks in the Chinese restaurant, “What are we, uncivilized?” The silent explosion of flowering shrubs each spring, the lilacs, the rhodos and the cherries. The way people leave their Diwali lights up until Christmas. The Babel of accents and voices on the transit; the kindnesses I have experienced on the two occasions I’ve had car trouble and strangers appeared out of nowhere with cell phones. The ‘four o’clock stripe’ at sunset in the winter, just about the only time you can reliably see the sun. The hundreds of kilometres of lovely places to walk and ride; the hills that nearly gut you in the summer and cause articulated buses to splay out like drunks in the winter.

Watching my son do Winter Karate Training on Jericho Beach, marching in his gi into the water; paddling among the herons on the Pitt River, and then nearly dying of the effort required to get back to the dock when the tide was making.  Sunsets and sunrises of transfixing beauty.  Dealing with raccoons, skunks, coyotes, deer and bears, and once, the authorities had to tranquilize a cougar, mere blocks from the house.  Running into herons in every part of the city.  Once I startled one as I came around a corner on my bicycle and nearly fell off as a six food wingspan abruptly flung wide in front of me. The stairs at Wreck Beach and the 60’s vibe that greets you at the bottom.  Sadness at the ancient trees wrecked by a storm in Stanley Park; joy to see the statue of Lord Stanley the first time and read the beautiful words inscribed on it.  Asking Headwater to come play on the back deck for my brother’s birthday, and what an amazing concert that was.

 

There are things I’ve learned to dislike about Vancouver, but complaints are cheap.  I’ve learned to love my splendid city, to want to know more about her and the people who were here before the settlers came.  It was a happy accident that brought me here, and I’ll be staying here as long as I can.  Vancouver has given me a church community I cherish, co-workers whom I now consider my closest friends, and music and love and really phenomenal craft beer in abundance.

 

It seems strange to have been born on one coast only to find my heart’s home on the other, but Vancouver is a place that has taught me to respect the playful grip coincidence has on any human life.

You have to wonder how long they had his obit prepped

Eli Wallach, justly famed actor, has passed away at the age of 98.

Further to my “how screwed up are things employment wise” post yesterday. Boss makes worker carry him so he doesn’t get his shoes wet.  At least in China bosses get fired for pulling shit like that.

Derek Corrigan, Burnaby’sMayorForLifeâ„¢, was ticketed for driving while texting, may God clip his ear. He’s actually not a bad mayor all things considered but he’s a right gendered slur about homeless people.

If you don’t feel like going to Oak St to donate blood, there are clinics in Burnaby (finally).

The worm’s eye view

Deleted this craigslist ad to prevent entombment by lawyers

 

It was an ad for a difficult job paying 12.50 an hour, for a company importing Christmas ornaments from PRC.

 

Long ago, when I was still equivalent to married and John was living with us, he told a story about a Chinese dissident who after many travails escaped from China and came to live in Golden Mountain (Canada).  He went to a dollar store and found the Christmas ornaments he’d been forced to make back in jail in China.  Even if your Christmas chachkas are not made by dissident forced labour, there’s still a good chance that somebody not making a lot of money made them.  And now, to complete the circle of capitalism, the above noted ad.  They want a UNIVERSITY DEGREE, ability to translate back and forth between English and Cantonese/Mandarin, and the ability to work miserable hours for 12.50 of each of those delightful hours.  And the hell of it is, this being Vancouver, they will probably get her.  And you wonder why I have trouble finding a job.

Farmers Market

After five years we’ve finally gotten to the Burnaby Farmers market.

The radishes are so yummy and crunchily perfect. We came away with pork chops, potatoes, blueberry pie, radishes, carrots, artisanal chocolate (lemon basil OMnomG), snickerdoodles and egg bread. Brilliant, brilliant sunny day in the lower mainland, full of wonderful things to do.

Iran and Argentina are going at it for the World Cup; there was a hilarious joke on the internet this morning which I repeat here for your amusement; “What’s the difference between England and a tea bag?”  “?” “The tea bag stays in the Cup longer.”  Seeing has how my grandad played for the Sons of England futbol club in Saskatoon back in the day, I should prob’ly have more respect.  But no, I really don’t.

It is a strikingly gorgeous day.  I am still feeling the effects of Keith coming over here and helping with the lawn, because a) he just melted me with maternal pride, and b) it really needed to be done and c) I did the weed whipping and my shoulder hurt afterwards but more in a “Ha you used it” not “OMG I’m dying” kinda way.

Dog listens to music.