Category: Domestic Life

Beautiful day

It’s difficult, when you’re not an art historian or otherwise an art geek, to assess the value of seeing a real Vermeer or a real Rembrandt.  But it is supposed to be good for one, so I accompanied daughter Katie to the current exhibition at the Vancouver Art Gallery and was happy to be thrust 350 years into the past, when the current ideas about what constitutes the middle class were putting down sturdy roots. I looked into portraits whose faces bore the stamp of This is my Relation; I was struck, over and over again, by the beauty of details, clouds, ships, insects, trees; by the shine of the silver, the connections to the Dunnett books, and the pushing of art into places where it had never gone.  Why draw a dead and a dying horse side by side?  Why depict the interior of a synagogue (showing the mothers attempting to ride herd on their kids at the back of the shul)? Why elaborate on a new fashion of depicting happily married couples in a fantastic amalgam of backgrounds – he set amid his globe and his expensively bound volumes, she sweetly tugging at him to go into the garden for a moment?

It was the Art of Middle and Upper Class White Folks, writ large and small and in brilliant detail.  As a result, it is comfortable art.  Not challenging, not disturbing, not heartbreaking.  English contemporaries commented on the Dutch mania for everybody, from the greatest to the meanest, having pictures on their walls.  It’s pretty standard now, that your house isn’t a home until the pictures go up, and now I have a solid sense of where that notion came from.

Katie really enjoyed it.  She particularly enjoyed the paintings with trees, the detail and substance of them. We also agreed that the paintings on copper were the most beautiful, texturally.

I only played Art Troll once, forcing her to stand in front of the Vermeer, telling her that it was the first time in 50 years that a Vermeer had come to Canada and that she bloody well better look at it.

Then we wandered up and down Granville looking at the trendy shoes and clothes, I stepped into Tom Lee for a couple of packs of strings, we had a beer and cocktail (Sex on Wreck Beach, fancy that) respectively at Speakeasy, and headed out for Metrotown where she bought hair gunk and I heard the siren song of new smallclothes.  We parted at Edmonds Station.

Then I went to Planet Bachelor to hang out with Keith and Paul (Keith bailed on karate) and sing and play for a while.  Watched the 1929 documentary about the Peking (4 masted barque) again; I never get tired of watching that. I was very out of kilter and didn’t do anything very well; couldn’t remember lyrics etc.

Katie and I had a very good day, and I get some more Katie, greedy me, when she comes back today and I get my hairs cut.

Then she’s off to the PNE and I’m going to cut grass and tidy the kitchen and put away my laundry (finally) and start figuring out how to transfer the John tape onto another tape so that Phyllis can hear her son singing, and get ready for the small dinner party tomorrow night, which will consist of me, Jeff, Keith, Suzanne, Mike and Paul.

John’s interment in London is tomorrow.  Ruth and John and the kids will be going; I don’t know if any other relatives will be there.

more True Blood and more cat fur

Another great episode.  This one Eric is barely in, but it’s still good.

Jeff and I have a busy day planned, culminating in  a barbecue for Katie and all the women she lives with.  First, a trip shopping, then District 9 at Metrotown (it will likely be nuts), then the barbecue.

My efforts to keep hair out of Miss Margot’s digestive tract have not been entirely successful.  She produced a tiny, ladylike little furball yesterday.  Hopefully this will inspire me to brush her more often, although considering I’m brushing her at least twice a day, while she grouses and grumbles and tries to bite and wriggles like mad OR sits there purring like mad as if she’s glad I finally got round to it.  Sometimes she asks to be be brushed – and still complains – and sometimes she runs away and wails.  The other night she spent I don’t know exactly where, but when she returned in the morning she had half the undergrowth of Burnaby lovingly stowed in her belly fur.  Normally I only brush her for about 2 minutes at a time, this time I locked the bathroom door and got really thorough.  MASSES of fur and crap came out….

I compost everything I pull off her.

Finally saw Driving Miss Daisy.  I liked it, but there were specifics about it I didn’t like all that much, like the soundtrack.

Bob Dylan’s New Year’s Day is done

I have always been much more fond of the lyrics than the tune on this one, but I don’t mind. …. I remember the day I wrote it… on the subway, coming back on New Year’s Day from crashing at Dave’s the night before.  Toronto seems so very far away from me now.  And yet thither must I go.

The landpeers are power washing the back deck preparatory to painting it.

I had lunch at Himalayan Peak with Hardeep, Trevor, ScaryClown and Robof9 yesterday, and hung with the folks in the cafeteria after that.  LTGW encouraged me to go to the 4:24 showing of District 9, but I wanted to get home and make dinner.

and now for some math tattoos.

Like a complete unknown

Bob Dylan finds out that he should carry ID.

Last night we saw Sarah off, we being me and Paul, since we go very far back with those folks.

All I can say is that we had a hell of a good time and I didn’t hit the sack until 10:45 – which given I told Paul we’d be out of there by 8 pm is pretty funny.

Also, I talked to a former coworker and mentioned I’d be looking for work in 8 months or so and he told me to look him up then… I suspect looking for work will be interesting, but not difficult.

I’m going to try out the panniers today…. in about ten minutes I’m going to hop on the bike and go shlepping.  And taking back movies, etc., to the library.

Jeff’s off in Courtenay and I miss him… cats are unsettled and the house seems just that tad too quiet.

Swithering turns into action.

Yesterday I decided I’d had quite enough of lying around feeling sorry for myself, especially after I realized that my last week of angsty angstiness was hormonally triggered.  So I got up and reorganized the hell hole that is the plastic container cupboard, cleaned the kitchen, washed the dishes, ran two loads of laundry and tidied my room.

Paul called around noon and said he would come over to sing and play for a while and then take me to Jericho.  This was an extremely welcome idea – he turned up around 4.   Paul put some very tasty ornamentation and frills of the guitar variety overtop Home on Derange and Lifeline on John’s old six string Guild; then he made a face and said, “These strings are dead!”  Yes, I made the natural joke, in exceeding bad taste, that follows on to this.  We examined our cases for replacement strings (my mando sounded like shite) and had a socially mandated “Not only do we tune because we care, we occasionally change the strings, too!” session.  Zow.  My mando, never quiet, now sounds quite brassy.  I am about to inspect it for how well it stayed in tune.  Funny side note…. I tried tightening the strings without putting the bridge back.  Bwa ha ha.  Fortunately Paul didn’t laugh; just advised me to loosen a bit and then see if I could slide the bridge in, which didn’t take too much effort.  I may have to adjust it a trifle as I never seem to get the octave to line back up when I change the strings.  The colour difference between the old and the new strings made me laugh.  Paul said, Recycle them, and I said, nope, they aren’t recyclable.  The chart on the fridge settled the argument, and he said, quite reasonably, that if the metal recyclers take them it’s odd that the city doesn’t.  So they went in the trash, but we tried.

I was having such a good time singing and playing I wanted to drag my feet and not go to Jericho; Paul was firm.  “After 4 days in the hangar I want to be out doing something” – so we went.

AS ALWAYS I was glad we went; there were (just in the opening acts): miniature bagpipe.  Banjo. Steel drum; tight three part a capella harmony; penny whistle; lovely folksongs, newly minted and strictly trad.  Although, how you do Barbara Allen on the steel drum might be one of those things ya can’t picture until you see it.  (Answer, very well, thanks, it was very well done.)  For once I didn’t play myself – didn’t feel the need.

Crashed at Planet Bachelor; woke in the morning to the sounds of Keith puttering and the divine scent of coffee.  Got up – no Keith; from the back door being unlocked and the dearth of cream I assumed he’d gone off to fetch breakfasty stuff.  He came back and was just so irrepressibly cheerful and productive as he made himself a yummy brekky (I had cherry strudel and coffee with floods of cream for brekky, bad me – Keith had eggs).

He has an interview Thursday.  I have a good feeling about it.  He’s off to Ted’s optical joint to volunteer and keep his customer skills up while he looks for work.

Sometime in the next few minutes birthingway should show up and drop off the clipping bag for the lawn mower, and if she forgets again, I will just smile and expect her next week instead.  I don’t feel unplugged from time – that’s hard to do when I talked to Unca Dave on the phone this morning – but I don’t feel the whirling urgent torrent of it the way I did when the kids were smaller and there was always something emergent.

While I was at Jericho last night LTGW called.  Things aren’t great at the old stomping grounds, but he has his parachute packed.  It was great to hear his voice; I don’t miss work at all but I sure miss the smiling faces of the folks, as was brought serenely home to me at Brian’s birthday bash.

Today, I jump on the cycle and do a shop, and then a family feast on the q, the whole fam damily plus Mike, and a huge couple of salads, and something sweet and cold for dessert.  And I should likely get more beer.  Later, Katie will come over.  And then True Blood again, cause that just never gets old.

Oh, and I got a Lone Wolf and Cub movie out of the library – maybe we’ll watch it, Mike and Keith are ENORMOUS fans of the series.  Mike even gave Keith his Lone Wolf and Cub t-shirt, which he prizes.

So I’m feeling better, but singing and playing with people always does that for me.

Sundry and Various

I’ve been feeling quite odd for the last few days, like I’m coming down with something.  I can’t be too wobbly – my appetite is unimpaired.  I am also completely uninterested in work, which is why I’ve been doing things like posting bits of humour I worked on 15 years ago.  I wrote a couple of movie reviews.  Saw Bon Cop Bad Cop last night and LOVED IT… I will definitely watch it again.  Jeff is starting to see the value in borrowing movies from the library 🙂

Leo and Linda are in Newfoundland.  Here’s a pic of him playing with an outdoor chess set.

leoplayingchess

Tom L’s mother passed away yesterday. I light a candle for the journey.

The carpet cleaning man came yesterday and removed the smell of dog from our house.  The sofa and love seat and the carpet in the games room were all cleaned; Granny’s carpet went away to be cleaned (and the underlay got hauled away, thanks be, so we don’t have to cut it up and throw it out) and will be back in ten days or less.  Harry gave a vivid description of how the carpet is first put into an interesting machine which beats it with leather straps.  Insert random BDSM comment here.

Paul and Keith are back tonight tomorrow night; I have to jump on my bike and get over and feed Kira.

Pork chops marinated in pear juice and rosemary and then barbecued, and home made tabbouleh for dinner last night.  Jeff said, “What’s fer puddin?'” after this minor feast, and I nearly snarled at him; then remembered we had a frozen peach and raspberry pie, and that it’s actually cool enough to turn the oven on.  So we finished up with pie.

Errandy day

First get the last of my boxes out of the basement so the carpet cleaner dude can do his thing.

Second get over to Planet Bachelor and feed Kira.

Third get back here to let dude in.

Fourth see birthingway as she’s supposed to drop the bag for the mower off today.  I hope.

Fifth …. I’m thinking it’s finally cool enough to bake.  And Jeff loves him some treats.

And maybe I’ll go pick up the Pretenders tix today.

Furbabies & Gilgamesh

This morning, while Eddie was grumbling the whole time, Eddie and Miss Margot played over the same little  stuffed mouse.  I am trying to train Miss Margot to run along a track (which is interesting, because once she has ‘prey’ in sight she’s indefatigable, like a squat and furry greyhound) and Eddie got into the act.  Then, grumbling still, he walked away.  Twice or three times this morning he’s bopped her on the head.  She never says a thing, just flops on the ground.  She’s 1/3rd his weight, it hardly seems fair.  Gizmo never hisses at or hits her.

Yesterday I wrote another tune.  The recorder was sitting in front of me. I recorded it.  What was so hard about that?  Why have I not done that before?

A zillion years ago Loki told me that the oldest story was the epic of Gilgamesh.  It’s been on my list of things to read since I was a small child.    The most recent reworking of Gilgamesh is by Stephen Mitchell, a noted scholar, writer, translator, and custodian of wisdom literature.  I heard about it when the book was released on the CBC and put it on my list; it seemed that finally the translation, or retelling, worth reading now existed.

Yesterday I went to the library, because the *^%&$$ ICBC finally got off its duff and sent me my address change, without which I would not be able to get an update to my library card.  I did so, and Gilgamesh was waiting for me; that and a number of other fine books and movies.

I highly recommend it.  I wish a really good animation studio would bring it to life; there’s no way you could do it as a live action film, in my view.  What a different world that was, even in the mythic retelling.  To read the flood myth…  a snake stealing the  plant of immortality…. to feel Gilgamesh’s grief when Enkidu dies…. to shake one’s head how the gods cluster round the first offerings after the flood – they are so hungry because their humans are all dead and there’s no one to make offerings …. to smile at the wisdom of the tavernkeeper Shiduri, taking shelter on the roof of her tavern when Gilgamesh shows up, not wanting to be killed by the powerful and crazed-with-grief man…. it was all very beautiful, and very strange.

I have had dreams about Uruk, the city of Gilgamesh.  I just didn’t know that’s what I was dreaming about at the time.

I had a productive and happy day yesterday.  I ran errands on my bicycle, and Jeff and Keith and I watched The Adventures of Robin Hood with Errol Flynn, saw Katie, and Paul briefly, and Mike came over for dinner.  Mike’s kilt came, so I gave it to him and he was VERY happy and immediately donned it. Best gag of the day – BOTH KIDS assumed we were watching Court Jester, because there’s Basil Rathbone in the same sets.  Anybody ever notice how Una O’Connor and Mildred Natwick look awful similar?  I didn’t until yesterday.  And Errol Flynn is among the hottest men who ever lived.

Anyway, if you like costumes, you have to see Robin Hood.  Olivia de Havilland’s gowns are swoonderful.

We watched Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey (the documentary by Sam Dunn, which like his followup Global Metal, was awesome… and SO Canadian) and we celebrated Jeff’s birthday by eating barbecued chicken, and steak, and heart of summer salad with blackberry vinaigrette, and home made garlic bread, and bear claw ice cream.

This morning Jeff walked to 7-11 and they were OUT OF MILK.  Why?  Because their fridges were not able to maintain safe temps for dairy.  Kinda tells you what the last week in the GVRD has been like.  So he went to the other 7-11, which is a bit closer as it turns out, and they had some, and I made Jeff waffles and bacon for brekky.

Here is the recipe for heart of summer salad.

1 mango

1 small purple onion

1 tomato

1 orange pepper

1 red pepper

Cut everything into half inch pieces and drizzle either store bought raspberry dressing or home made blackberry dressing over top.  Take a tablespoon each of Tom’s blackberry jelly and olive oil and three tablespoons of vinegar, add basil, parsley and garlic to taste, then mix well.  If it sounds yummy, it is.

If I was making it in quantity I would likely add half an english cuke and more tomato.

Finished “Anybody talk”

So at least I’m being smart and working in the cool of the day. Having accomplished that I can now go about the rest of my day, which involves errands, blech.  Katie says she has a line on an apprenticeship position.  Later…. Yay, errands all done. Did you know, I didn’t have a single pair of shorts?  Outrageous, in this weather.

And the real world keeps getting more like a video game

Bruce Sterling pointed to this article.

Yesterday the pinball games came home from Victoria.  They are Xenon and Star Trek.  Xenon needs a lot of work a diode, Star Trek needs a diode is functional.  We’re going to get a brass plaque that says, R John Caspell Memorial Pinball Palace, seeing as how the pinballs will be in his old room.  More furniture came into the house, including my room, so I now am overstuffed with solid wood furniture, just the way I like it.

Chipper, you will remember that Xenon was a game you and Steve B useta play on downstairs from your place on King St.  Colin and Catherine, you will remember the Star Trek game as the game that went to Rhino – the same con where Jeff was Robert Bloch’s gofer.  Ah, the good old days.

Margot keeps trying to be trodden on.

I am contemplating the pile of work I’ve undertaken this year with some sadness. It is, after all, work.  But at least I don’t have to commute.

Watched the 25th Hour. Really, really great film; Spike Lee did an awesome job, and the cast is brilliant.  Lee is SUCH an actor’s director.  If you’re in a Spike Lee movie, you may not like him, but he WILL get a good performance outta you or die trying.  I am considering reviewing it.  My review is up on imdb.com

Hotter than the hubs of Hades.

Yesterday I brought 20 beers home on a bicycle.  Mike, you will be amused to learn that I bought 12 Bud Light Lime, having become addicted to them at your place.  (Mike, knowing that I’m a beer weenie, didn’t expect me to like them.  But Jeff and I both do, as it is lime flavoured beer water, and a damned fine thing on a hot day.)  I only had one bungee cord, so getting it all home was a challenge, but the house is downhill from the beer store, at least.

Song for today is All the Con Men I have Known.  A brilliant tune; it’s the one that gets me the most “That sounds like Joni Mitchell” comments (which frankly I find irritating while understandable) and I personally think the lyrics are among my best.  It’s just not an easy tune, and OF COURSE every goddamned verse has a different tune, because that’s just the way I crawl moaning across the floor.

so much is happening!

Or nothing, depending on how you look at it.

Last night I went to the opening fireworks (Canada) and it KICKED ASS.  The theme was the Wizard of Oz and they did an amazing job of synching up the fireworks, and the colours and patterns, to the music.  I recorded it on my dinky camera; looks like shite but at least I have a souvenir.

The ride downtown last night was difficult; the ride back was scary.  I am SO glad Keith came with me because he was the only thing preventing me from having a full on anxiety attack, so quiet and calm and martial artsish was he.  Suffice it to say that I came a micron from getting backwashed in bear spray.  I didn’t, but it was a near thing.  The cop presence was beyond anything I’ve ever seen in Vancouver. If this is what the future looks like, it can kiss my ass.  I was deaf after I got off the Skytrain – the noise level was incredible – and I had had to ask one particularly lungworthy native chick to kindly please stop yelling in my ear.  (“KAYLA YOU STUPID BITCH BRING ME THE CAMERA I WANNA SEE THE PICTURES!” over&over&over).

It was great to see Alex and Rob and get the benefit of their roof deck once more – unimpeded view and lovely company.  Darwin made little happy bird noises all the way through the display, which was civilized of him; Alex was concerned he might scream through the whole thing, having been so rudely awakened and hauled upstairs.  Alex put on a lovely spread as always.  Cheesy, cheesy goodness! Paté!

Today, I SLEPT IN.  I was supposed to be at Suzanne’s for 9 and woke up at 9:35.  What to do?  No change, no bus tickets; didn’t want to take a cab, so guess what, I rode.  (Thanks Keith for the tire pumping).  The trip there was a breeze, being almost all downhill, and the trip back I took in stages, stopping off to get foodicles for dinner for Jeff and me.  Thanks to Leeanne and Patricia for getting me more inclined to ride; I was amazed, given how out of shape I am, how good I feel now. I mean, I feel really good.

Anyway, Suzanne and I had a good old chinwag and caught up about  the kids and their various interesting life frolics, and then I found out she’s never been to Wreck Beach. This is an outrage!  I immediately called Mike and he agreed this is a problem we should immediately fix, like maybe tomorrow.  I will call her and give her a head’s up.

I rode (okay, that hill above Royal Ave I walked) home, stopping off at the bank and Joe’s Farm Market and Farm Town Meats, getting a mango, a tomato, a red pepper, and orange pepper and a purple onion, and also chicken breasts and pork chomps, and coconut milk for the rice, as when I called Jeff I offered him the option of bbq chomps or butter chicken, and he immediately said butter chicken.  That’s gonna be yummy.  I already made the salad, and as soon as I get off here I’m going to finish cleaning up the kitchen and maybe start running a load of laundry, and then I am going to rearrange my room so I can have all of my recording equipment and musical instruments out at once without difficulty.

I missed the locksmith by literally 7 minutes but that’s not too surprising given that he said he’d be by on Tuesday, and does today look like Tuesday to you?  A good tradesman is hard to find.

Tanya is thinking of dropping by with babby again today.  Happy me.  I have to be here for the rest of the day anyway, visitors would be so nice!

One thing and another

Yesterday… I mean apart from getting ZERO done on my life list, I had something resembling a perfect day.  I got to see my kids and Paul as we chatted about the job hunt for the kids (got some things straight). I got fed a yummy tortilla lunch which Paul and Keith and Katie assembled; later I did a kindness for someone which triggered him buying me sufficiency of beer for the nonce.  Happiness is a fridge full of Corona.

I got to visit with Tre.  Logos, but that’s one cute babby.  Battery and Tanya and Jeff and I laughed and chatted and had a very pleasant time while I got the grisly details of the birth, none of which are for public consumption.  The result, a calm but busy 6 week old who developmentally is a month ahead (REALLY strong), is what counts.

Margot couldn’t stand the lack of focus on her, and came into the livingroom to (very ladylike) hork up some grass, because the babby was being changed at the same time…

The weather, after a little overcast, was perfect all day.

Then, hung out for a while not doing much of anything and Mike came by and took me and Keith and Jeff to the Richmond Night Market, where I bought nothing but REALLY GOOD kettle corn, and where I watched my beautiful son metamorphose into a steely eyed killer (there was a mini-midway, and he shot enough pins to get me a little purple bear (not exactly worth the five bucks he paid to play…. but I digress as usual and besides, Miss Margot is eviscerating it as I type, so its purpose has been revealed)) and after we drove away Mike took us to his cefu’s traditional chinese martial arts club (Mike corrected me, Jack is NOT his cefu, Galen is.  Men can be so STERN when you get things wrong) in an industrial park in Richmond (and boy, has he done a pile of work on that place to help Jack get ready) and then I got to watch the north shore skyline etched against a sunset sky while the wind whipped through my hair.  Ah, convertibles. And I cried a little bit, because I am so happy, and so grateful to be living here, surrounded by such loving friends and family. Side note, John Caspell trained with Jack.  Everything is deeply intertwingled.

When we got home, TrueBlood.  Not enough Eric; no Pam, not enough Jessica.  But considering what the first four episodes of the season were like, I am willing to cut some slack.

Can you tell I had a perfect day?

And today, instead of working, I’m going with daughter Katie and Mike to the beach.  My happiness is like a golden thread.

I would like to give special, extra, crunchy golden props to Jeff, who has been leaving the real for real audio of the Apollo 11 mission running for the last couple of days during waking hours.  It’s been an ongoing reminder of why I’m an atheist.

Until we saw the Earth rise over the moon, I don’t think the fundamental unity of human life, and its fragility, had ever been so starkly drawn.  And it wasn’t the Pope or Mohammad, peace be upon him, what got us there.

The bed, she is together

I remembered the ballad of Frank.  Frank was the plasterer at Amedeo Garden Court some 30 years ago, and he taught me a lesson without ever saying a word.

He worked so deliberately that he looked like he was surfing on molasses.  He never stopped.  He never, ever stopped, until a stopping point came.  He started ready to do the job and he kept at it, taking his mandated breaks, from 8 until 4.

So the ballad of Frank is, when you have a job of work in front of you, gather your materials, mentally prepare yourself, and don’t stop until it’s done.  Which I did.  I counted the pieces, counted the hardware, read the instructions, cast them aside except to consult them as to which kind of hardware I should use next, and took just under four hours to assemble it, stopping only to remove most of the crap out of my room for construction space, and to stay hydrated.  Please remember, I was assembling it alone and you know that awkward little bit at the beginning when you’re trying to get the fracking dowels to line up…. I let go of the footboard and it stood on its own.  So did the other end.  That really helped.

Margot came in and was an entire pain in the ass, chasing screws around, patting them through the holes, and then when I dropped a piece of hardware on the other side of the footboard I said, “Be a love and pass that over here,” which she obligingly did, and how I long to have taped that.

It is an Ikea style single/single bunk bed two shades darker than the floors.  One of the pieces of assembly hardware is so cool I fell in love with it.  And I had to assemble the drawers from 6 pieces plus much screwing, hell now, there were like twelve screws in those bloody drawers.  They ain’t comin’ apart again, by gar.

And I had to screw down the slats (I didn’t put in all the screws supplied, mostly because squirmy eight year olds will not be sleeping in it).  As I affirm to an uncaring universe, if a small child moved in with me I would definitely screw those slats down as much mischief is avoided if the bed is more solid.  And there was the ladder to assemble with count’em TWENTY dowels, plus screws, plus mounting bolts, and the extra screw for the baby rails on the top bunk on three sides, and the getting the two beds lined up on their little metal posts (that was actually the hardest and most awkward part).

So…. tired.   Must sleep now.

Oh, and I finished Imagination and Don’t Put Too Much Sugar In the Bottles.  The short ones go fast.