Good bad ugly

brO and I are waiting for MR2 to come back from the krankenhaus so we can do a proper shop.  We went for a walk this morning and I picked up some milk and cream so that if the car doesn’t come back today I don’t have to leave the house again,

which is fine,

cause I’ve already written 500 words today and I think today will be furtherly productive.  Kima’s first pregnancy chapter “Someday it’ll keep you” is maybe a couple of pages from done, and I’ve got a good start on Brendan’s first chapter “Check unheard messages” which is all about what happens when you let the Sixer version of nepotism determine who your collaborators are.

And the great thing about writing English goodest is bragging rights.

Ayuh.  All I know is that when I think of the ideas I want to introduce and the hearts I want to break  MUAH HAH HAHHHH! choke gargle.

Fuel oil spill at English Bay.  I’m sickened by it.  The province says “It’s a federal matter” and the feds have killed all the funds for boats for oil spills.  Harper won’t be visiting I’m sure and the boat responsible can’t even be pinned down and fined f’chrissakes.

The grown child of a friend of mine (and a facebook friend) was metres away (indoors thanks be) from the police incident at 5 last afternoon.  Perp got all stabby with two dudes rendered more topologically complex and one woman clinging to life as of this morning; and when bean bag shot didn’t slow him down they gave him summary justice, lead punctuation edition. Vancouver seems to be abloom with police shootings. IA is all over it.

1.3 hours.

ALRIGHTY THEN BREAK TIME IS OVER.

 

Progress

515 words on Sweep Off Those Waves and 1.7 hours cpap yesterday and last night.  I love how my alien female is turning into A FEMINIST NIGHTMARE.  Cause she’s experimenting on her own children in utero.  This should end well.  I think I’ll celebrate with cinnamon buns.

It was a really great service; I love the flower communion and took rhododendron and azalea blooms. Thank you Sue for conducting me there and back.

I’m going to a circle dinner on April 18 – it’s a way of getting to know people from the church that you don’t normally talk to.

SO MANY KIDS.  We had hardly any children at church for a while, and now there are lots.  It takes some getting used to.

 

Ça fond dur, cette poème-la

Ah, but it’s like cat’s piss

this regret, weighing worse in the air

in some rooms than others

.

you are missed with a ferocity

that yet may crumple me

and then, no fucking meme of bitten lip passed over

move from memory to a place

where I can at least look at you

in my mind, where else

and recognize that I must thank you

.

rarely do I remember how

.

this is no sea of troubles

.

I ride life in a barque

partly of your design

these seas I lately conjure are

a hypothetical

My beloved heartsblood ideas

are ripe for satire and me

well I’m ready to be rendered

into literary cracklin’ baby

.

I have been watching the culture war

and I have sent my

smelliest rubber boots a wandering

here and there upon it

Rustled my jimmies and parsed

my arse to the stenosing bones

while dealing with blues &

unemployment, learning to breathe

with a cpap machine and fuck it

I did it anyway.  That was the point.

The work often takes longer than we’d like.

 

 

 

 

 

C’était une poème

I sing the infrastructure blues

cause I just can’t get there from here

moving around the world’s damage

while I carry my own

gotta route around the damage

because I gotta see her

she’s just past that road closure

dying in the hospital

and now I must think of all the times

I coulda fixed it

so she would be dying at home

and not on the other end of that

broken highway

Changes and exits

It’s not my story to tell, so I won’t tell it. Suffice it to say that someone dear to me is experiencing anxiety and disquiet for very valid reasons, and I feel my presence really helped move things along a good path and reduce anxiety, an’ that’s what friends are for.

Spent the night away from home, 4 hours on the cpap anyway so I feel quite perky.  Keith says he needs to talk to me about things and stuff for reasons, and that I’m going to be very upset.  Katie and Alex are coming over later this morning.  O don’t I have a lot to look forward to.

Back to the address to the troops.

Diddy-wah GRR

Buster, you are a CRAZY MAKING CAT.

He came in, feet wet and filthy with more than the normal grime, and I decided to clean off his paws before he tracked the schmutz ev’y’where.  Without biting or scratching – a masterful demonstration of tension and torsion – he resisted so hard I pulled something and it feels like the last time I had costochondritis.  I grabbed the scruff of his neck and said, quietly, “You will do as you are told.”  He promptly lay on the floor and let me minister to him, and wipe his feet dry, with no further resistance.  Now I feel like I went nine rounds with a baby goat and all of its pointy little hooves, at 4 am, hallelujah.

On his account we bought toddler proofing for the cupboards…

Only half an hour last night.  Not sure what happened there.  I don’t remember taking the mask off.

400 words yesterday.

I have an interview Monday.

 

We shall overcome

  • Singing that in church on the 50th anniversary of Selma.  I cried, it was really hard not to.  The minister preached an excellent sermon, and owned from the pulpit our shame and Canada’s in the treatment of the First Nations specifically with reference to the residential schools.  The part Unitarians played in Selma was retold.  In the future, they will ask, were you there, and I will have to answer.
  • 1.8 hours on the cpap.  Feel very crusty this morning. I had strange dreams.
  • The Rogue Folk Club is under attack.  They want to redevelop Saint James complex (the United Church of Canada local diocese) and given where it’s located, half a block from one of the priciest stretches of real estate in one of Canada’s priciest cities, I hardly think bake sales and fundraising will help.  Honestly I’m glad John didn’t live to see it.
  • March 14 there’s a demo against C51.
  • March 11 THEOLOGY PUB.  Rob and I are going again but the steak I felt comfy enough to treat him to is not happening again so he’s coming here first for sour owl jowls and then we’ll have soft drinks at the pub. He encouraged me to download Sketchup and it doesn’t fucking work with my Mac OS version so I am really irritated.  I’ll see if I can put it on the other machine. My irritation is softened by our amusing convo yesterday morning.  Me: Hey Rob, missed you in church last week, are you coming? Him: (sleepily) I was planning a leisurely shower and hop on the bus. Me, looking at the clock downstairs at church: Uh, it’s quarter after 10, hon. Him: I set my clock backward instead of forward.  Me: Showing up in time for coffee is a fine Unitarian tradition. Him: Skipping shower…. inbound!
  • Workshops are how to grow a church, who knew.  This is an in joke.
  • My landpeers are not raising our rent – for the second year running.  It’s like a March Miracle.  This is officially the most reasonably priced detached rental in east Burnaby.
  • I got Reddit gold.  If you don’t know what that is, good, and if you do know, ask me for my reddit username so you can bask in the glory that is my helpful commentary to the angry and sad.
  • My pOp played an extremely hilarious practical joke on me and Jeff, and to preserve the dignity of the everyone involved, I am not talking about it on the internet.  I did however light a candle for it in church and it must have sounded funny to the congregation, because they laughed most heartily.
  • I sent off another thousand words to mOm yesterday and as usual she is agitating for more.  It felt so good to have something to send… that chunk is only half way done.
  • The sun and warmth has been glorious.
  • Jeff and I tag teamed to move the fridge, clean under, beside and behind it, remove the MAT of dust on the fan intake, and once I clean the interior the fridge will be cleaner than at any point since we moved in.  I’m thinking of tackling Jeff to help with the kitchen “cupboards must be examined for stale dated contents” clean.
  • I have to call the city of Burnaby today and ask them where the food scraps container we are supposed to get is.
  • The purple and green screeching iridescent ribbons have gone from my fabric stash to church.  I have spent much time thinking what I should do with them, but finding out that the RE kids are doing a Maypole this year means that I never have to look at them and be sad again.
  • I enjoyed my sewing machine so much the last time I’m going to haul it out again.
  • But probably not before I clear off the living room table, which will probably take a couple of hours.
  • Keith is going to come over in the next couple of days and help me get my bicycle in riding condition.
  • I have an appointment with the bone health doc for the end of April. The MOA who called with the appointment info was a truly delightful person and though the call was brief it left me feeling really good.

Ow plus science

Welp, it’s official.  The xray came back and there’s something amiss amidships.  I see the doc March 3rd,  but I don’t think I’ll march forth.  It’s physio for me… likely.  Physio I can’t afford.  Man, I love being unemployed.

I find it absolutely hilarious that I got my first offer of sex in like I don’t know, a year? …. immediately after I informed my interlocutor that even if I was interested, I am not physically capable at the moment.  I’m not saying men are clueless, but they sure can concentrate on themselves and their needs to the extent that they become stone… fucking… deaf.  The little dears.  Reg will be Reg.

Since I’m never going to date again, I thought I’d take this list and whack it like a rhetorical piñata for a while.

1.  It all went fine until we got to the cat.  After that I don’t remember much, although I do remember waking up in the ambo and thinking “Holy fuck, I hope that’s not all MY blood.”

2.  This is a genuinely hilarious idea, and if I was a few years younger and dating a man with a sense of humour, I would totally go for it.

3.  I think I have sufficient costumery to cover this in style.

4.  Only if we’re doing it on Bowen Island; you end up at the labyrinth if you do this.

5.  This should only be done on a double date.  It will increase all of the fun. For variance, include kids from previous liaisons.

6.  Nah.  Fuckers would just assume the book was used and hate on the retail staff.  Do not do things which will make fuckers hate on the retail staff.

7.  I cannot think of anything which would bring irritation to the boil faster than this, but on the other hand it might be totally fun, except that every time I ever did this with a guy he ended up steering the story over to emergency blow jobs.

8.  Only if I have something that does the bending for me, otherwise it’s going to look like I got to the edge of my neighbour’s yard and gave up.

9.  A charming notion.

10.  Nope.  Trees are too small to hide this ass behind.  Van Dusen Gardens, mebbe.

11.  This could be genuine hilarious and memorable.  I’d start at the cruise ship dock and work my way through Gastown, Chinatown, and East Hastings.

12.  This is TOTES a fannish activity.  People have been doing this in sf fandom since the 30’s, possibly earlier.

13.  See, I’d REALLY HAVE TO TRUST HIM. This is how you end up in the newspapers, sisters.

14.  Only if I’m leaving hangar rash on every sport ute and noise kit vehicle in the parking lot.

15. Not with this pubic symphisis, but in your 20’s it’s a hoot.

16.  I have actually done this; with the right person it’s so funny you’ll be needing oxygen by the time it’s done.

17.  I gave away my superhero costume to Mary Crowell, but I have NO REGRETS.

18.  Had me and my imaginary sexytimefriend but the funds.

19.  Only with my mask…

20.  Only at Wreck Beach…..

Theo, you bastard

This is Theo, George’s cousin, being forced to say something for Raven’s little book.  He’s only doing it because he’s scared of Michel and George. Otherwise, he wouldn’t even be acknowledging that he can speak English.

I have no idea why Raven keeps pestering me to talk about my childhood and my hobbies.  I like eating chickens, alive or dead, and moths are always welcome food.  I am closer than is normal to my Grandmother, but she is in Europe and I am here.  We text or talk almost every day.  It annoys her to use human language, but I think it is a sign of how wily and adaptable she is that she’s taken to it.  She has chosen a strange voice to talk in. It is at the low frequency end of the normal woman’s voice range, and the accent stretches from Germany to the Greece, and while she is learning English, she still speaks Greek to us. I have no interest in talking further on these subjects, and prefer to return to the subject of why humans are inferior.

Humans don’t realize why we have the advantage in the matter of diet.  I have given years of thought to this – although Georgios would mock me for claiming to think at all, such is his disrespect for me – and I’ve determined what’s destroyed humanity.  You could have been like us, unhindered, wild and alone, but evolution forced you into taking the social route and you got into groups.

That was bad, but what really messed you up was agriculture.  Once somebody moves you away from access to the food you require to survive and breed, you are a slave, and only your elaborate social networks, with their elaborate food related rituals, and the buying and selling and growing and storing and transporting and preserving and mixing of food in inane and endless processions of ways, prevent you from seeing this.

If the food supply stops, which happens from time to time, I move where my nutrition buds take me.  For I, in my superiority to humans, have no taste buds.  That would prevent me from eating what I need instead of those materials this body needs to sustain itself.  Nutrition buds advise me that my body will feel better if I eat this.  However unlikely, if it’s safe and it’s within the current dietary rules, I eat it.  I have no moral qualms about eating a dead human, and have been freely offered more corpses than I care to document. I have been advised not to while being recorded.  I can always tell if there’s recording happening so there’s no chance I’ll get Georgios in trouble doing that. Michel sat on me and told me he’d kill my babies, which is stupid because Georgios would never let that happen, but just in case I don’t eat dead humans.

If humans were much less fussy about their food they’d have more resources for other things, and maybe they wouldn’t need to work at all, since work is slavery with the beatings missing, as I can clearly see.  Work!  I’ve been watching humans work for more than a hundred years, and it’s always the same.  Almost everybody works and the ones who don’t work are either free like me or are parasites like Georgios.  I learned from watching that the people who were most like me, free, although most of them live in cities, which is stupid, since it’s safer outside of them, were considered homeless and therefore less than other humans.  Why?  Because they have no place to keep food.  This must be the most stupid reason to think someone is less than you.  Think them less if they can’t think for themselves, or entertain themselves, or successfully breed.  Not having a place to keep food is not a sufficient reason to think poorly of someone, since that is the default position of every member of my species and to an individual we are better than humans by any objective measure.

The first time I watched what’s called rush hour in Vancouver, I stood on the bridge over the highway and wondered how much of the substance of the earth could be set on fire at one time and yet everything still seem normal.  All this you humans can accomplish, while sitting in a car.  I always prefer to sit on the roof, if I can have it, as I enjoy the feel of the wind, and the g-loading as I hang on is exciting.

I do like moving around better with airplanes and cars rather than walking and horsecarts and trains.

I do not care about any human hobbies, and yet I am asked about mine constantly.  Nothing that happens to me is of the slightest interest to any intelligent human being.  I can neither hurt nor help anyone, so why would anyone care what I do?  Psyche was as persistent as you, Raven, and I don’t say that lightly.  I tell them moths, and then they say, well what about moths? I look at them.  I create habitats in my body for them.  I study them through their life cycles, watch them come into life and leave it and make babies in the middle, I feed them and watch them fly and examine all their body parts in detail and create maps and itemize what they eat, and then I eat them.  There is nothing in the slightest bit unusual about any of this and I have no idea why any human cares about it.

The Golden Seam

At 2:51 today, this appeared.

It is an everyday magic
And yet you’re in my every dream
Very little of the tragic
With you life’s a golden seam
Mining jewels of contentment
And adoration most divine
Living in a loving present
Home and family are kind

Into our perfect home of respite
Perhaps a snake, perhaps a fire
The scalding words, the lip bit
But it can’t make our love expire

Promise me and I will swear to you
By all that’s beautiful and free
I will always love and care for you
As I hope you will love and care for me.

A Valentine for Vancouver

CPAP for about 4 hours.  Wonderful, textured, entertaining dreams. I feel more energetic.

I may go to Mike Beach today if the weather improves as much as it’s supposed to.

Alex and Katie were here yesterday for laundry, recording lullabies and scanning family photos.

Why me? Why Vancouver?

For almost ten years, my ex’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.  Yeah. We did two interprovincial moves in five weeks.

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.

Blergh

Church was quite unhappy making.  I got rumbly tummy from a deli tray, the speaker didn’t bother rehearsing or speaking clearly, all the songs were single stanzas so it’s like stand up sit down fight fight fight.

Then I come home.

There’s nothing left but the work.  It’s a good thing there is so much of it.

I couldn’t bear the cpap last night, I’m breaking out all along where the mask sits.  I’ll put it on tonight… I should probably check the water level.

Four hundred words yesterday.  It’s better, but it’s still no screaming hell.

 

 

Could not cpap

I tried. I couldn’t manage it. I wore it for an hour while awake.

We are watching season 8 of SG1 and season 1 of SGA concurrently, which I enjoy doing.

After taking a week long break, I am completely back on my painkiller (one per day when I wake up) and supplement regimen.  Vitamin C for wound healing, vitamin d for mood and bones, vitamin B6 because I feel better when I take it, a probiotic that is the best balance of what bugs and what cost, and sometimes I take glucosamine even though the studies say it’s a con.  All I know is that I feel like I bend better.

In a while I’m going to make myself pork patties and brussels with a side salad for lunch.

Wrote 400 words yesterday on the equivalent to St. Crispins day speech.  It’s all wrong but at least I don’t have to unravel it and rewind it.  Imagine doing that everytime you wrote something wrong…