Category: Urban living

Mouse

I woke during the night to the unmistakable sound of Eddie meowing with something in his mouth. I didn’t feel much like dealing with it at the time, so I went back to sleep.

Later, Allegra mentioned that she had both heard Eddie and watched him. She said Eddie was clearly looking for Margot, either to let her in on the fun or to provide some lessons on cathood. It was a mouse. Apparently Eddie let it go in the basement and the two cats played with it and/or chased it around for a while.

Allegra briefed me in the morning and I started the search. If Gizmo was still with us, I might not find anything, except perhaps a very small patch of blood, or possibly a tail. What I found was Margot, in the basement, staring intently at a box against a wall. I pulled the box away and sure enough a mouse appeared. With Margot’s assistance, we cornered the critter and I grabbed him by the tail. It was a cute little thing, brown and white, apparently undamaged, and stared up at me from my hand, without struggling. I carried it outside to the bushiest area I could find and let it go.

Margot was still staring at the box when I left for work.

Most mornings I awaken

to the sound of Jeff tapping on his keyboard.  Sometimes it’s a cat and that staccato defooding sound in some very long-to-be-discovered corner.  Sometimes it’s the smell of a skunk penetrating through the window; sometimes it’s my natural clock, which spits me back out into consciousness anywhere between 2 and 7 am.  Sometimes it’s a leg cramp, and that’s what I got this morning.  I woke to pain pain pain and had a hell of a time getting my foot flat to the ground to get the muscle stretched out and the muscle – the same one I blew out running for the bus the year after I hurt my back – is still grumbling and hot.  Ah, but pain is what tells you that you’re alive.

Daughter Katie came over last night.  I picked her up after work (Dax tried to scare me by materializing next to my car window, but Katie had the kindness to warn me, so I let him know that he WOULD have given me a heart attack if I hadn’t been warned.  He also told me the size of his paycheck, which was respectable for his age and educational level) and then fed her and Jeff home baked schnitzel and veg, and we talked and watched CSI and the Mentalist, which amusingly enough had identical plots, and then we walked up to 7-11 where I got her bus tickets and milk and eggs for myself, waited with her for her bus and then walked home.  Canada Way is so noisy for pedestrians it’s practically deafening; two streets in Jeff and I enjoy a very peaceful little enclave, no barking dogs or noisy neighbours, and yet we’re smack in the center of Edmonds, 10th, Kingsway and Canada Way, all busy arterial streets.  We do get train noise at night as it echoes in the Fraser Valley and comes up the hill; we get the eerie booming noises at night that are actually special effects explosions down in that movie set off of Marine down in the flats; and we get airplane noise a fair bit, although rarely at very low levels, and hardly ever helicopter noise, which scares the crap out of me.

Soon there will be a visit by the rest of Paul’s family to abide for a while in the bosom of the alternative justice system of BC.  I have decided that with all my quirks and drama I’m best off staying away.  My mother is hosting them and that will be the right end of the family to shelter and help them while this goes on; who can say what will happen but I earnestly hope for some closure and a feeling that it’s what John would have wanted rather than a trial and jail for the woman whose inattentive driving killed him.

I am very seriously thinking of either giving Ziva to a family member or selling her.  I have taken so much pleasure in owning her that it may seem a little odd, but if I’m going to be that close to the new location of the office and I can still borrow Jeff’s car occasionally to shop, I should be in good shape to have enjoyed her and then released her back into the wild.  Neither of the kids have evinced much interest because they don’t really have the cash flow.

Ocelots at the Seattle zoo.

I am waiting for Jeff to awaken so I can cook him breakfast.  Finn pancakes and coffee; I’m going to have mine with applewood smoked cheddar.

I have shippiles of work to do today; I have Valentines to create.  I am planning on sneaking into work on Sunday after church and putting them in people’s mail trays.  Every year it’s the same thing.  People are travelling, or they never check their mail trays, and the next thing you know you’re getting thanked for the Valentine on March 1st.

I brought home the flowers Jeff and the folks gave me and they are still gorgeous and sweetly scented.  I know cut flowers are frowned on by some people in my connection, but I will never frown.  Their colour and scent brightened my work area and made many other people happy but me for the balance of the week, and now they’ll be pretty in my kitchen until they’re done.

I send a hug into the ether for Lady Miss B and warm wishes to her hub and miniB, and a big old mushy group hug for Tom and Peggy, my folks and brother (nearly typed bother, and that was NOT my intent), Scott for digging up the name of the psychologist for me, my coworkers Mike Y and Hassan and Kev and Patricia, and I blow kisses at Veronica.  Sneetchy scowling at some other folks for workpain, but I won’t name them. More hugs for Rev. Katie who visited me in sickness and hell that’s what ministers are s’posed to do, and Sue, Carol, Kathleen and Gary for a really good board meeting.  I wish the contractors working on the new building the time, money and safety to do a good job.

I wish a lot of things.  It’s strange to think that this time last week I wished for nothing but cessation of wishing.

Life is good.  I’m going to go work on Dandelions Dreaming now, it’s the best thing I can think of for Peggy’s birthday.  Later today I’m going to talk to Jeff about capturing video from games so I can do something really kickass for Left4Dead/Rising in a Zombieland Redemption, which is the new and deliberately awkward title for my zombie choon, and it may get even longer, at which point I’ll shorten it again.  Such is the creative process; you put your best shit in, you take you best shit out, you put your best shit in, and you shake it all about.

Some woman tried to kill me today

Blue Maxima, licence 338 TGG, pulled out onto 10th without looking. I swerved, a very alert human in the oncoming lane swerved, the alert human behind me didn’t run into me, and as for crashstyle, you couldn’t pass your hand through the gap she left. She pulled in front of me.  I followed her for ten blocks, watched her make TWO cell phone calls, pulled up next to her at 16th and 6th, and got a good look at her.  I wanted to follow her some more.  But I didn’t.  Folks at work are teasing me to call it in.  Why, so I can spend a f*cking day in court?  Puhleeze, Louise.  I have amazing reflexes for an old broad, and thank Darwin I had help.

If we had collided, we would have blocked a major traffic artery blocks from the turn off for the bridge.  And it wouldn’t have been my f(cking fault, for once.

41 things I love about my car

I was going to do this as a pictorial essay but I kept thinking that even attempting to do this was the height of self indulgent schlock; pictures would just be even more self indulgent.

  1. She is uniquely and spectacularly purple;
  2. She has a functioning sunroof;
  3. Those two attributes alone are why I purchased her;
  4. The little meeping noise she makes when I leave the sound system in the car (my response being, “yeah, baby, I know” and to then remove and lock it up, this being Vancouver);
  5. The bonging noise she makes when I leave the lights on or the door ajar;
  6. Her incredible throaty purr as I depress the accelerator in fourth gear going up Burnaby Mountain as I go to work in the morning;
  7. The delightful difference that a small amount of maintenance can make in her attitude, viz, what happens when I spend 39 dollars on her for micro blade windshield washers and driving at night instantly stops being scary;
  8. The fact that, despite the fact that she’s a Ford, she is in fact a sportscar, and sportscars are part of family traditions and lore;
  9. The fact that, despite the fact that she’s not a convertible, she can be skyclad and I can get wind in my hair, and that too is part of family tradition and lore;
  10. Ziva’s capacious trunk;
  11. Her ability to haul two in comfort, if they don’t mind the ungainly exit, and five in a pinch, which also describes the status of the rear passengers;
  12. The layout of the dashboard, which combines simplicity and functionality;
  13. Her tachometer.  You see, that’s how I know she’s a sportscar.  And I use it, along with the engine sound.
  14. The sound system, a Pioneer deck;
  15. The subwoofer, now alas in for repairs;
  16. The fact that I have the shop manual;
  17. The fact that I have the original owner’s manual;
  18. The fact that I knew it was going to cost a lot more than the previous owner thought it would to get her running, and cognitively moved myself along the irritation of that knowledge to knowing that one day I would merely love her more for the pains she cost me;
  19. The fact that she has had the courtesy to take to her bed, on those occasions when her ability to move abruptly ceased, somewhere like the highway as opposed to on the ferry;
  20. The way her behaviour seems very human sometimes;
  21. The simply amazing way she cleans up;
  22. The way she reflects how I feel about myself these days – beat up, long out of warranty, expensive to maintain, gassy – in her various flaws, viz, the missing rocker panel and the bent antenna;
  23. The way her model name is outlined in purple;
  24. How there were only two hundred like her ever made (I have a history of loving rare cars, like the Marlin).
  25. How if I want to ever sell her, I can pretty much get back what I’ve spent on her (and I know it would break my heart, but I’m thinking I may sell her when the company moves in March because my bus commute will instantly become more humane);
  26. How adjustable the driver’s seat is;
  27. The way the interior lights slowly fade after somebody gets into or out of the car;
  28. The pattern of the material on the seats;
  29. How fast I’ve learned to get the sunroof open without taking my eyes off the road;
  30. Rear wiper! I had no idea how much I would love having a rear wiper;
  31. How I’m so unused to having a rear wiper that I neglected to buy a replacement when I replaced the front ones (and I’d like to thank Paul and the guy from Lordco for helping with that, in the rain, even);
  32. The blinding speed with which Ziva goes from shoving cold air out her vents to boiling hot gusts of air that make me feel I could drive anywhere in the winter and stay warm;
  33. The equally blinding speed with which she deals with interior condensation – after decades of anemic heaters in various cars it’s like a revelation;
  34. The little dangly sparkly purple skull I hung from the passenger sun visor, which reminds me not to drive like an idiot so I don’t end up like a skullington myself;
  35. The way the check engine light comes on at precisely the same point every day on my commute and goes off just before I get to work, like clockwork, and how this is entirely normal behaviour in her and her sister Probes of like vintage, and that I should only start worrying if this changes, and how it kinda reminds me of me;
  36. The way she entirely hauls ass when I need her to merge with traffic or scooch into a vacancy in a lane;
  37. The visibility!  With fish eye mirrors and proper window coverage I feel like I can see what the hell I’m doing and react appropriately to the solipsistic mixed martial arts amateur night construction plagued gong show that is driving in Vancouver;
  38. How stiffly sprung she is.  I could wish she took speed bumps better, but that’s okay, I’m supposed to slow down anyway;
  39. How the fuel light comes on long before it’s really an issue;
  40. How she makes me feel on a warm summer day, tunes blaring;
  41. How she makes me feel, period.  That loving, obsessive combination of indulgence and pride and worry and irritation that is car ownership, and how it traces directly back to my ancestors and how they felt about their horses.

And the web swings wide

I am breakfasting with Paul – oatmeal – and drinking coffee.  I know I’m being a slug so I’m encouraging Paul to get me exercising so we went for a constitutional this morning.  Margot thought about coming along for the first little bit but she’s even lazier than I am.

I have been watching the world, and I am not happy with the signs.  I do not trust the future; I’m uneasy in the present and the past is gnawing at me.  Many different waves are coming at me and I am reminded of Loppe’s comment to Gelis, “Buoyancy, mademoiselle, is always an asset.”

I am hoping my mother will get some mileage out of the Henry Thomas Wake diaries – there’s somebody in England who runs a lovely blog who’s interested in them.

The homily is stalled on the notion that if you can’t connect cognitive bias to a story (without stories how shall the people live?) the homily itself will be lifeless and unmemorable.

The hymns, fortunately, are picked out and off to the accompanist, thank you Marnie!

I borrowed Mike’s 12 string Aria electric, and now I’m in the market for an amp.

Tom is working on my subwoofer for the car.  I may have to buy a new one, and it’s my own fault for letting groceries slosh around in front of the unprotected cone.

Now it’s time to get a real start on the day.  I like this getting up and going for a walk.  I do feel very awake.

Paul fixed up my bike so I could give it to Katie and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of her.  She’s been working almost every day though.

I am having SEVERE “the Wire” deficiency.  I love that show, and we can’t get more of it from Zip until we start returning things.

Jeff and I watched the Departed.  That is also a very good watch. Leo diCaprio was so visceral….

Elizabeth Fry

Wikipedia article here.

The executive director of the Elizabeth Fry Society talked at church today.  I’ve bitched about Sheriff Arpaio for allowing a woman to deliver her child in irons, and today I found out, while tears exploded out of my eyes THAT CANADIAN CITIZENS WHO GIVE BIRTH IN JAIL DO SO IN HANDCUFFS.

My disgust for the Canadian ‘justice’ system has never been greater.  No… words.

John gets a parting shot

From his close friend and landpeer, the incomparable Juliana, comes an email I simply must share in its entirety:

Allegra, as an anarchist I thought you would appreciate this.   In 2007, John took to me a movie to celebrate my birthday.  It was at University of Victoria, where he had a film membership.  He carefully parked his scooter on the sidewalk next to the bicycles and we attended a wonderful film about the life of Edith Piaf.  When we came back out, it was to find a parking ticket, & he was NOT amused.  Being John he had no intention to pay the ticket and ignored a number of friendly reminders from the University.

Forward to this morning when “he” received a letter from the University telling him that they had not been chasing him for the past 1.5 years because of a court dispute regarding the right for UBC to issue citations but that he still owed the money and they now wanted it.  Apparently after appeal and counter appeal, UVIC is with it’s rights to cite violators so…. they were back at it.

I phoned, asked for Accounts Receivable and started the conversation with  “Account # blah blah”  …   I explained that John would not be paying the bill because he was dead.  I controlled the urge to tell her he wouldn’t have paid it if he was alive either.  Period of Silence, then a pause for review and she came back on the line to tell me his account had been deleted from the system.

I know John is happy to know he won.  A small victory and I’d much rather pay the $20 and have him back but… he won.

hugs and love

Juliana

Zombie walk and hymn sing

The hymn sing at Tom and Peggy’s was awesome, as was the potluck afterwards (whoever brought the masala chickpeas, thank you, they were YUMMERS).

The Zombie Walk was even awesomer, and my fave part was being part of a zombie mob that tried to overturn a post-apocalypse zombie fighting bus.  That and going to Tanpopo still in full zombie regalia and having all I can eat sushi with Katie K.  Happy me.

Ants

We has ’em.

Thursday, off to Lexi’s to meet up with my cousin Darcy and her charming offspring; Saturday, off to the church Board retreat.  (Yes, knowing that was coming up got me off my ass to get sussed out by the RCMP).

Went and harrassed Tom, one of my all time fave activities, to do something about Ziva’s subwoofer.  Ziva is suddenly getting better gas mileage; the only thing I can think of which would account for such a thing is that I’ve finally burned off all the sludge that was sitting in the bottom of the gas tank, because I’m getting 30 more kilometres out of a tank and believe me I have not changed my lead footed driving style.  Anyway, Ziva’s subwoofer has a crack. Jeff wants me to make the subwoofer removable so he can get his bike in the car (the bike would only fit with bungees last Friday when we met up at Swiss Chalet).

Tom gave me celery.  If I find a good place to grow it I’ll grow it next year.  I am already planning a hosta bed under the dogwood in the back corner.  Right now that part of the yard is just a cluster of bluebells and weeds, mostly nightshade, so something to improve it’s appearance and remove grass would be nice.

The quit-by-pictures girl was a fake.  O well.

I tried contacting the JetBlue attendant’s public defender to offer support but nobody is answering the phone there.

Got to get to work…. don’t want to move, although I’ll be fine when I get there.

Watched a simply marvellous movie called The Straight Story last night.  If you want a clean, sad but uplifting story that is full of kindness to strangers, check it out.  At one point Jeff and I said to each other that Richard Farnsworth’s wattles have more acting talent than Keanu Reeves’ whole body, not that we hate Keanu Reeves or anything, we do like him even if woodpeckers do land on his head.

I wish I’d taken a picture of Miss Margot guarding the rat Eddie killed.

[EDIT by Jeff] Ask and you shall receive:

Margot guarding the rat

The things ya see on Wreck Beach

I’m not at Wreck, Mike is (no surprise there) but what he saw at the beach is tres amusant.  Mike was sure he recognized a guy down there and said, “What band are you with?” and the guy, shure as shit, said, “Headwater”.  So now Mike’s seen one of the band members who’ll be playing at Jeff’s birthday party naked.  Vancouver is a lovely town. And a SMALL town.  Don’t piss anybody off, we all either work together, are related, belong to the same dragon boat team or are taking video of your sorry ass.

Staying at home….

I needed a mental health day, and by gar, I got one.

Here’s an interesting comment about the HST coming to BC.  I hadn’t realized stamps will be taxed.

An external report on the G20 riots.

Chocolate…. is there anything it can’t do?

Memory drugs that work… right around the corner? I can’t remember if this article said that or not.