Holly's World

It's all good.

2010-02-14T11:05:00.002-08:00

Pumpkin House ... Transformed

2009-03-11T21:51:00.009-07:00

Well, it was a long process - but the house is done, except for the exterior paint and some landscaping.

See the before and after photos and decide for yourself:

This is the kitchen: with its original wallpaper, originally without ventilation or a dishwasher - Now, with an extra wide gas range, dishwasher and heated floors. We use less than half the gas and electricity of our neighbours, simply by using higher grade insulation, 'on demand' water heating and E-rated windows. Feels good.

Cozy and warm, this house is a pleasure to come home to each evening. In fact, with the 'tankless' hot water system... we can all have a shower, do the dishes, and our laundry at the same time.... heaven, and for a fraction of the energy costs of most families. Saving the environment, one shower at a time.

2008-01-10T19:13:00.000-08:00

The Pumpkin House...

Try this.... squint a little and picture the chimney painted green.... Doesn't it look like a giant pumpkin?

Luckily I like pumpkins... this is our new house.

It's 80 years old; the average age of the residents in the luxury retirement community I manage - and completely as sturdy and interesting.

Edward has worked tirelessly removing every centimetre of lath and plaster, knob and tube wiring, and seriously ridiculous wall paper, leaving a home with possibilities stifled only by the imagination.

This house has stood for 80 years with no exterior insulation, no stove venting, precarious plumbing; but lots of 'living'... it was built back when a 2x8 was actually 2 inches by 8 inches, not today's lame excuse for lumber. Even the engineer and inspector had wistful expressions when they emerged from the access panels to tell us that the house is more solid than anything built in the last 50 years, with rarely seen stability and 'amazing' lumber.

In spite of the children's objections, we shall attempt to save the 'Disturbia" forced air vents, custom doors, and as much of the hardware as possible...

We are currently accepting suggestions for exterior paint colours ...

2007-11-16T16:33:00.000-08:00

I knew it!

2007-03-05T10:46:00.000-08:00

MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT...

"Seduce my mind and you can have my body.

Find my soul and I'm yours forever..."

2007-02-13T12:38:00.000-08:00

Hola Amigos!

We're back. And what a fabulous time we had! Wandering through the streets of Havana reminded me a little of some areas in Rome. The streets are cobble-stoned in Old Havana, and inside open doorways we often found small workshops, art markets, or food vendors patiently awaiting business.

In addition to marveling at the architecture and the narrow streets, we saw a baseball game, found a geocache, visited a cigar factory, ate in some paledars (small in-home restaurants licensed by the government for up to 12 seats), and generally soaked in the flavour of the city.

At the cigar factory I discovered the best job in the world; that of 'the reader'... Beginning with the newspaper in the morning, and novels or other interesting works in the afternoon, his job is to ensure intellectual stimulation in what would otherwise be the mundane task of rolling over 160 cigars each day.

Some locals complained about the economy, but far fewer asked for help than during my last visit to Gastown, where I was overwhelmed with constant (often rude) requests for money and cigarettes. We found murals of Che Guevara covering large cafe walls, highway billboards and banners during our travels... It seemed that most public artwork serves as a reminder of Cuba's revolutionary struggle. It was fascinating.

We traveled to Varadero for the last two days and enjoyed la playa publico where more locals and fewer tourists visit, and enjoyed a freshly caught and grilled fish, on the beach with our double mojitos and 7 year old rum.

What I remember most are the interesting vignettes of life and custom that we stumbled upon ... the factory workers who should have been bartenders; the bartenders who should have been factory workers, the fella who asked Ed for his pants, the little boy's bewilderment when we gave him the baseball glove, the policeman who just 'hopped in' for a bit of a ride in our taxi, the diligent washroom attendants who also seem to be plumbers, the teeny tiny little old lady who shooed away the would-be purse snatcher at the stadium, and the toothless woman who wouldn't stop kissing me at the outdoor cafe...

It was a very special trip.

2007-01-18T09:50:00.000-08:00

HAVANA!

We leave for Cuba in 9 sleeps.

Five whole days in glorious Cuidad de la Habana... Habana Vieja to be specific - the old historic section of Havana... followed by two days wherever else we choose; perhaps rural Cuba or the beach.

Our hotel in Havana is actually a bustling restaurant with only 9 rooms above it - nestled in a colourful neighbourhood, with a breathtaking courtyard and its very own cigar lounge.

These last few icy Canadian days I will spend brushing up on my Spanish, learning more about Cuban culture and local customs, and of course deciding which bikini(s) to bring.

Hearing stories from friends who have visited Cuba, seeing photos, and reading about its history, we already know it will be hard to come home.

Dos mojitos, por favor!

2006-12-29T11:35:00.000-08:00

Lawrencism #12

"I've never felt sorry for women. After all, they are the real power behind the curtain..."

-30-

2006-11-22T16:40:00.000-08:00

Normal or Neurotic?

I found out that my son always eats his favourite thing last. Lawrence always eats first whatever he thinks will lose heat the fastest. I'm pretty sure I eat my favourite thing for the first bite because it tastes so much better on an empty stomach, but usually I eat everything at the same time. What I mean is that I mix foods on my fork, and I don't eat only one thing at a time, preferring a mix of flavours at once.

Clearly my son has a well-developed understanding of the benefits of delayed gratification that I lack, and Lawrence... well, perhaps he should stop thinking so much.

I have heard of people whose food isn't allowed to touch the other foods on the plate, or they must eat each thing in its entirety before moving on to the next item on the plate, or they never mix foods on their fork. I'm guessing there are many other 'food neuroses' - Please, tell me yours.

2006-11-22T08:54:00.000-08:00

For once unafraid, I can go where life leads me.

2006-11-21T22:35:00.000-08:00

Easy. Consuming. Unconditional.

... seremos juntos para siempre...

2006-11-02T14:33:00.000-08:00

Did you know that if you say the word 'banana' slowly enough,

it sounds just like gullible?

2006-11-01T14:22:00.000-08:00

This kind of certainty comes

but once in a lifetime...

It's true.

2006-10-26T15:33:00.000-07:00

Generation Gap?

Lawrence was incorrigible today. He says he was a bystander in his son’s upbringing, preferring to leave the child-rearing to his wife. He says this is because the purpose of parenthood (for the man) is to ‘grease the road to a little tail’ by giving the woman what she wants: children.

He chose to accomplish this by adding only sperm and money into the equation – he feels that this money is his gift of time to the child. Time = Work = Money. His argument is that his wife gave of her time by actually raising ‘the boy’ and so it’s pretty much even, and that he does not owe her a debt of gratitude for raising this little citizen into adulthood with little to no collaboration.

Fascinating…

2006-10-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

Strength, courage and balance...

Sometimes I feel brave. Sometimes I don't.

Yesterday I met an extremely brave young lady. She is 13 years old, has a degenerative eye disease that renders her virtually incapable of seeing anything other than the most drastic changes in light and darkness. This alone must be terrifying; to have seen perfectly as a child and watch your eyesight deteriorate just as you are becoming a young woman.

But the truly remarkable thing about Brittany is that she is an accomplished equestrian rider. That's right: she mounts a horse, rides around the ring performing jumps and other maneuvers ... without the benefit of her eyesight.

Think about it: it's scary enough trying to navigate your own bedroom with your eyes closed. Can you imagine controlling an 1100lb animal through an obstacle course blindly? I think Brittany is amazing, and the next time I'm feeling not so brave I'm going to remember her.

2006-10-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

Mummy, does God have a moustache?

I love the questions and comments children make in their infinite innocence. Some of my favourites follow:

"Don't be sad that Great Grannie is in heaven, Mummy - you can still e-mail her"

"Mummy, the man on the TV said we have to call this toll free number NOW! Right NOW!"

"Mummy, the sign says: NEW BUSINESS PARK COMING SOON .. No fair! Does that mean ONLY business people can play there?"

"Mummy, Laurel just told me how babies are made... It's really gross. Do I HAVE to do that when I grow up?"

One night, while tucking my son into bed he threw his arms around me and said, "Oh Mummy - I love you! You smell JUST like sausages..." (quite a compliment since sausages were his favourite food at the time)

At 4 years old my youngest asked me for a cookie, and I said "What's the magic word, sweetie?" He seemed puzzled, looked around, shrugged and said, "I dunno ... WINDOW...?" Clearly, I'd failed to impart to him the magical quality of the word 'please'...

2006-10-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

She's just not that into you...

The above is true if:

1. She can only see you once a week
2. She is uncomfortable with your compliments
3. After four dates, she still just wants to talk
4. She absolutely refuses to let you pay for anything
5. She is vague when you mention future plans

She may still enjoy spending time with you, but she doesn't see a future in your relationship unless she shares your sense of urgency in spending time together, makes plans for more than a few weeks away, or accepts gifts of any kind.

"It's impolite to rob people of the opportunity to experience reality by not being completely honest"
- Don Lasell

2006-09-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

You MUST be kidding...

Okay... so doesn't anybody dress up anymore?

Gone are the days when pride in one's appearance is part of the first impression ritual? When did it become the norm to show up for a date (unless you're hiking) in a faded T-shirt with some swirling logo on the front? And sneakers.

Yes, I know we live on the West Coast and by default are laid back, but really - this is getting ridiculous.... I would say in the past 6 months almost every fella I've dated (usually dinner or drinks on a patio) dresses inappropriately for the event, in my opinion. This is truly an epidemic of massive proportions.

Trust me, if I'm going to spend time with you I'll eventually see your repertoire of comfy T-shirts, but it's pretty unlikely you'll ever get to that stage with me if you can't even put on a nice shirt for a first or second date.

It's not like I'm expecting a tuxedo or anything, but even a nice golf shirt and a pair of regular shoes would do the trick. I'm not unreasonable, but I am picky. You will probably never find me inappropriately dressed for any occasion... unless of course you say we're going to the Symphony then change your mind to bowling at the last minute (or heaven forbid, vice versa). I expect the same from the men I date.

Enough said.

2006-09-05T14:38:00.000-07:00

What in heaven's name
am I doing here?

For the first time today, I welled up with tears while talking over lunch with Lawrence. I’ve never done that around him because I thought it would freak him out.

It didn’t.

We were having a wonderful conversation about life’s purpose, and he asked me what it is that I truly want in life. The thing is: I don’t know…

I told him I have no idea, and he said, “Of course you do!”

I leaned forward and whispered, “No, I really don’t…” and that's when it happened.

He smiled, lowered his voice... and suggested I write a list of the things I like and the things I dislike, covering all aspects of life. He said it’s worthwhile even if the LIKE side only listed things like ‘pistachios’ -- at least it would be a start.

Peanut butter. I don’t like peanut butter. Oysters either. Oh man, this isn’t going to be easy….

2006-08-31T14:58:00.000-07:00

Gross Motor Skills?

Lawrence is very funny. He doesn't mean to be, and he usually seems surprised by my laughter, but he has possibly the best 'dead-pan' face I've ever seen.

A self-described SLOTH, he admits to purposeful inactivity - on principle. When I questioned him as to why he doesn't dance or exercise, he merely shrugged and said:

"....I've just never lusted after motor control..."

2006-08-31T10:18:00.000-07:00

aMAZingly corny....

Hah! I crack myself up when I come up with silly puns and equally ridiculous retorts.

Sometimes I laugh so hard at myself that I have trouble catching my breath.

We went to the Pitt Meadows corn maze on Sunday... a lovely spot, albeit very dusty due to our lack of summer precipitation. It is a giant corn field with a series of mazes cut into it. We decided to play 'boys against girls' and see who could find their way out of their respective mazes first. Ever prepared, since we were all former Scouts and Brownies, each team had a two-way radio for emergency communications. Let's face it; you never know when a scarecrow might come to life and chase you to your death, a baseball diamond suddenly appear out of nowhere, or you just have to find a washroom - quickly.

About ten minutes into the competition, with nothing in sight but corn husks and blue sky, I received a breathless radio call...

"Mum! Mum! Where ARE you?"

"Uh....... (grin) .... I'm over near the CORN..."

(I told you, I crack myself up)

2006-08-21T21:46:00.000-07:00

He felt now that he was not simply close to her,
but that he did not know where he ended and she began.
~ Leo Tolstoy ~

2006-08-19T10:55:00.000-07:00

Vroom... vroom....

This post is a bit late in appearing, because we've been home for a week now and I have just now downloaded the photos from our last night in Penticton...

The Penticton Speedway is up in the hills above Penticton, nestled off the side of the road; a small oval track with bleachers, a concession stand, and some very busy johnnys-on-the-spot.

With great anticipation we arrived early, for burgers, hot dogs and ear plugs (a MUST, especially for small children) and excitedly awaited the action.

I'm not sure what type of racing this is classified as, but if I were asked to name it, it would be: Big And Small Beaten Up Vehicles With Loud Engines, Hand Painted Numbers And Low-Grip Tires That Screech And Slide Into Each Other All The Time. (Oh, and there should be something in there about smoke and burnt rubber)

I'm guessing that most of these cars were built by their owners and some buddies using parts they found in the auto-wrecking yard, by the side of the road, or in their mother's sewing kit, because they fell apart ALL the time... sometimes the axle, sometimes a tire, but mostly other pieces of metal stuff I didn't recognize. The tires coming off were the most fun, because the sparks from the wheel rims were simply spectacular - kind of like surprise low budget fireworks!

There was one 'mean guy' driver who seemed terribly aggressive and diligently intent on running the others off the road, which he did one by one, all night. The testosterone levels rose steadily as the victims struggled to regain control and resume the race. I'm amazed they didn't organize against him and gang up to render him immobile. If it had been a Hollywood movie, they would have.

Then there was the blue car...

I think the blue car was actually two little old ladies with a trunk full of crabapple jelly returning from an afternoon in the country, who just took a wrong turn. They putt-putted around the track at a speed that can only be described as leisurely, being lapped several (I lost count at 4) times, and when they passed by, you could see they were chatting... "So Millie, shall we do plums next Saturday? ... Now WHERE is that turn-off to the church?"

The blue car quickly became the crowd favourite; the children began doing 'the wave' each time it passed by the bleachers... which seemed like every 15 minutes or so... and the race winner even concluded his victory lap long before the blue car was finished! If you ask the children which driver's autograph they would rather have, they would all say the blue car... and so would I.

2006-08-11T11:03:00.000-07:00

Surprise, surprise…

Wow, in my 40 years as a female and given my girlie-girl upbringing I did something yesterday that I never thought I’d do, let alone enjoy so much.

The children and I went off-road touring in Chris’ giant jeep. Seriously, it’s HUGE. Actually, it was more like rock climbing with the assistance (for the most part) of a motor, but still… all I’m saying is “Who needs Disneyland and Indiana Jones when you can do this!?”

We set out at about 1pm for the hills above Penticton in search of two old Kettle Valley Railway tunnels that are dug into the side of the hill. The first was very beautiful and the view was breathtaking, and the second… although a little harder to get to was closed off because it is beginning to cave in – well that … and the ghosts.

At the second tunnel, I attempted to get out of the jeep to take a picture of Philip and Chris and was promptly warned by a very mature-sounding rattlesnake to stay put, which I did rather quickly, with very little finesse and several unfeminine guttural sounds. Philip and Chris explored the area a bit, carrying a big stick to ward off the snakes, bears, ghosts, and scorpions. Laurel and I decided to protect the jeep because well, somebody had to.

Our formal sightseeing accomplished, and with an unmarked road (seemed more like a trail to me) in our path, we headed into what can only be described as Never Never Land. Within 3 minutes of bouncing around and giggling we heard Chris say, “Hmmmm… I don’t like the look of this road…” but without anywhere to turn around, we proceeded forward with a wink.. “Well, if we climb long enough, it has to come down sometime”

It was precisely at this point that we heard the first CRACK! of thunder and minutes later, the rain began… Did I mention that this is an open vehicle? Again, much laughter and teasing continued as we became drenched, the temperature cooling dramatically as we climbed over loose stones, potholes and ruts. Laurel and Philip huddled under a tarp in the back seat while I watched Chris’ face for any signs of fear … nope, not even for a second. Okay… here we go!

We climbed through low hanging trees and over large stones, twisting and turning further up the mountain… “See those tracks?” Chris said pointing to old tire tracks in front of us. “If they made it up here, we’ll be fine” … Uh, okay… We were tossed around, giggling for about an hour, while the jeep spun and slid and muscled its way up the rocky slope.

Finally, off in the distance……… civilization! I should mention, as a city girl, that at this point civilization to me was a fence that was actually built by a human… meaning someone up here was at one point at least, alive. Minutes later, we happened upon the Naramata water reservoir, and found the gravel road for its access. Merrily, we continued on, wet and cold, until …

“Oh, look! There’s a mud pit!”

Okay, here’s the thing: to come ALL this way, and forego the mud was just not fair … Plus, Philip was egging us on…

“Mud? No way! …. Cool…. Please Mum?” That, and the mischievous look on Chris’ face… Well, what’s a girl to do? … “Mud it is!”

Who knew dirt could be so fun? And by the time we’d motored through (twice) and started back along the main road to town... Sputter, sputter, sputter… Uh oh…Oops! Too much moisture in some module thingy… But a few minutes of tinkering and concentration later – the timing adjusted (?) .. we were on our way. 40 minutes later nothing could stop our laughing and hooting as we crept, covered from windshield to tires in mud into the hotel parking lot to change for dinner…

It was a fabulous day. Simple. Invigorating. And today I can’t stop smiling…

2006-08-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

Fore! ...

While Adam is in goalie camp each day, the three of us fill our time either at the lake, at Peach Festival, or for the first few days without the car, wandering around and relaxing. Yesterday; however, we decided to golf because the sky was overcast and it wasn’t too hot… and we had the car back; therefore could drive the few minutes out of town to the hilltop 9-hole course.

My first mistake was renting a golf cart as a treat. Several episodes of “I get to drive first!” and “You got to drive the cart 5 inches further than me!” that would put the Bickerson’s to shame ensued before – on the 7^th hole – I finally commandeered the wheel and proclaimed that “Not another negative word shall be spoken, lest consequences arise!”

Sheepishly, we continued our game … with Philip often just picking up his ball and throwing it as far as he could in frustration. Being an executive course, there were cliffs, plateaus, and several varieties of prickly bushes that precluded our retrieving the balls from what can only be described as spaz shots… We did have some wonderful flukes, some amazing ricochets, and several Mulligans to keep us laughing and teasing, however!

With four hours left before picking up Adam from camp, we decided to invite our new friend Chris (who rescued us, took us to the hotel and fixed my car) and his son Jake to dinner with us. Unfortunately Jake was unable to attend, so the four of us set out alone for what would end up being the most fun we’ve had so far. Chris has a BIG jeep and knows the area well, and had the forethought to make a reservation at a restaurant way up in the hills called Lost Moose Lodge. Personally, I don’t know how a moose can get lost in such low lying terrain, but whatever.

We drove way up in the hills, into rattlesnake country and had a lovely dinner on the deck overlooking the valley. Chris is a car expert/enthusiast so he and Philip talked non-stop about restoring cars and pistons and other mechanically-inclined subject matter while Laurel and I surveyed the gorgeous view. The big joke of the evening was the rustle of rattlesnake sounds that was apparently VERY evident, yet I failed to hear … even once. “Mum! How can you not hear that? How deaf are you anyway?!”

After dinner, with time to spare before our 8:45pm rendezvous with Adam, we took the jeep onto an old logging road for a bra-jarring, giggle-inducing back road tour. We bumped and laughed and were tossed around, and even saw some deer as we navigated the old logging road high above Penticton… it was really a wonderful evening. The children especially loved the idea of getting into the jeep by climbing up the tires and stepping over the side, instead of using the doors …. Good thing I didn’t wear a dress.

Before collecting Adam, we stopped outside of town at an old trailer park where Philip had remarkably spotted an old 1945 Packard for sale. He and Chris circled the vehicle with enthusiasm – apparently it is quite a rare find!

2006-08-10T09:44:00.000-07:00

Goalie Camp…

So, my son tells me that he is going to be the greatest goalie the NHL has ever seen. Of course I believe him, and not only because I’m his mother. We have traveled 500km so that he can attend the Okanagan Hockey School in Penticton, which has a special goalie program that he has been asking to attend for 3 years now. This is a boarding camp - some students have come from as far away as Phoenix and two boys have come from Tokyo to be here this week!

He is ten years old and has never actually played ice hockey on a team, but has proven himself in impromptu road hockey with his brother and the neighbourhood children and wants desperately to play in a real league … “Look Mum, I can almost do the splits!”

I was worried in bringing him to this camp that the other boys’ skills would be far more advanced than his and he was also nervous, but so far this has not been the case. The camp runs from 8:50am to 8:40pm each day and is filled with lectures, clinics, ice time, motivational discussions, off-ice skill training and team-building exercises. All of the counselors are college or AA players and goalies, and from what I can tell, they are diligently dedicated to developing the next generation of players disguised as ten year olds with wide eyes and what can only be described as gumption.

He is exhausted when I pick him up at 8:45pm each evening, and has an hour to play in the hotel pool or the lake before he falls into bed, out like a light in about 40 seconds flat.

Most of the children here stay in the dormitory and eat via wristbands in the cafeteria for an extra daily charge. My son is the only one who brings his lunch and dinner each day and although I suspect he’d like burgers and fries for lunch from the cafeteria, he says nothing and cheerfully eats the wraps, sandwiches and fruit I send for him and thanks me every evening.

He also didn’t mention to me that his counselors were concerned with the old goalie catcher’s glove he arrived with – that it was too old (we bought it used) for him to properly open and close with a puck flying toward him at 85km/h. It was only when I popped over for a visit to the skill centre and saw for myself, that I realized his training would be hampered by failing to use workable equipment. Yikes! $153.34 for a new goalie glove was worth every penny of the pride I saw on his face when I delivered it just before ice time. The other students and the counselors (bless their hearts) even gathered around to admire it. (I even got a hug – in public, if you can believe that!)

That, the car fiasco (below) and the $62.13 for a new goalie stick because he left his at the rink last night is making this a mammoth financial undertaking… but I know it’s worth it, and I can’t wait to watch him on the ice over the years, proudly cheer him on, while thinking to myself, “That’s my son – I made him in my tummy!”

2006-08-09T17:12:00.000-07:00

ROAD TRIP!

As is true of any good road trip, our 4 ½ hour trip to Penticton turned into an 11 hour odyssey just outside of Merritt, BC. The children and I had finished having lunch with a client and resumed our journey in my VW Bug when, tunes blaring and torturous crooning abundant– a red light started flashing and beeping at us from my otherwise very cool indigo dashboard. Laurel, ever the diligent navigator/merging cohort, quickly rummaged for the car’s service manual to look up the meaning of the dashboard icon, while I searched for a spot to pull over. Luckily, right in front of us, on the side of the road was another stranded vehicle so we pulled in neatly behind him, using his roadside emergency pylon thingies to our advantage.

Ah! Engine coolant. But how can that be? The coolant reservoir was almost full, and although it was pink instead of green as is usually the case, VW assured me before we left that they use a proprietary pink product and that my levels were fine… Okay, so we were climbing a long slow grade at the time and maybe it was just too much for my little car to make, laden down with luggage, food, children and hockey equipment. Not to worry, we’ll just wait here, let the engine cool down and get on with the trip. But the Gods of road travel were pointing and laughing at our naiveté as we cheerfully waited and chatted about what we thought would be a small blip in the diary of our week-long trip.

The other stranded motorist suggested driving with the air-conditioning off and coasting as much as possible, so we opted to try that and set off again in 45 minutes. Merrily, we coasted downhill at about 80km/hour, barely touching the gas and only when absolutely necessary…. for about 2km, when …*beep* *beep* *beep* ….

Hmmmm… okay, this could be worse than we thought.

Finding the first pullout, which seemed barely large enough for my bug and meant that every vehicle that passed us made my car wobble in its draft, we set about waiting for the engine to cool.

To make matters even more ridiculous; at one point just when we were ready to get going again after Laurel cooled the motor with my bamboo Filipino hand fan, a cricket decided to join us in the car, crawling far under the driver’s seat and settling in among the springs (probably searching for remnants of the Scotch mints Laurel had unwittingly exploded all over the interior of the car two hours earlier). Well, anyone who knows me will be chuckling because although crickets don’t really bother me per se, there is no way I would travel on the highway wearing a skirt with one under my seat! Twenty minutes of coaxing, laughing, jabbing, and heebie jeebie dancing later, the darn thing reluctantly departed and we could once again begin our painstaking journey.

Often travelers on a road trip have the option of simply staying in the town nearest where the car breaks down.. but in our case we needed to get Adam to Penticton to start Hockey Camp early the next morning, so stopping in Westbank overnight was simply not going to work. We decided to pull over every time the light went on; wait for 20-30 minutes and start off again, hoping to coast into Penticton, find a garage and merrily begin our holiday. By now those Gods of road travel were rolling on the floor…

It got progressively worse until finally, after 5 attempts with this strategy, we made it a mere 200m down the off ramp at 40km/h into a little plaza in Peachland. It was time to admit that the circumstances were beyond our control and call the darn tow truck.

The tow truck driver’s name was Kenn. A man obviously near retirement whose customer service philosophy was, “I treat all my customers how I would like my wife treated in similar circumstances” – clearly, he wanted his wife chatted to death… as he recounted every big wreck he has ever had the ‘pleasure’ of clearing from the treacherous highway. To make matters more nerve-wracking, we had to sit on each other’s laps for the 42 km ride into Penticton in his rickety old tow truck – the kind with no front end, where, as a reminder of your mortality, you sit right at the windshield and are mere inches away from every bug that splatters on the glass. You know your children are growing up when, for the first time, you sit on your son’s knee instead of vice versa!

Kenn wanted me to stay overnight in Peachland to see Klaus, the region’s resident Volkswagen expert who was returning from holiday in two days, but I insisted we continue on into Penticton to see the first available mechanic. Reluctantly, he took us to the local Canadian Tire, which was closing in 20 minutes. We managed to register the car with the service desk, and they even had a quick look at it before closing time. Yup, the coolant was fine. Yup, the fan was working. Nope, there was nothing obvious that we could have done to prevent this. Maybe it’s the water pump? The thermostat in the coolant hose? As the garage doors were closing for the night, the children and I and two mechanics meticulously unloaded our luggage, groceries and hockey equipment onto the sidewalk to await a taxi to our hotel.

Much laughter ensued as we surveyed our mounds of belongings on the sidewalk and took photos of our predicament. Our mechanic Chris kindly offered us a ride in the courtesy van to our hotel and actually carried the luggage into the second floor room with the children while I checked in.

I have to say at this point how wonderful the children were during the whole fiasco – not once did anyone complain, especially Adam who had only this one afternoon to frolic in the lake before starting hockey camp the next morning. Instead they were perky, helpful and remarkably hilarious – we had a great day, a real bonding experience.

All is right with the world, because the situation afforded me the unique luxury of a 30 minute walk alone with Adam to and from hockey camp each morning and evening, and some ‘down-time’ with Laurel and Philip . Adam and I held hands and chatted like we did when he was little, and I had some great discussions with Laurel and Philip during our walks around Penticton … everything happens for a reason… *sigh* … too bad the car was ready in only 3 days…

New water pump and coolant hose thermostat = $628

42km tow truck ride with Kenn, the chatterbox = $110

A road-trip adventure with three great children - PRICELESS

2006-08-01T15:11:00.000-07:00

So they say that our personalities don’t change from when we were children. In other words, the things that affect us emotionally; hurt our feelings, make us happy, our propensity for introversion or extroversion etc. remain static during our lives. What does change are our reactions to these emotions – how we interpret them intellectually and through our environmental conditioning. We then rationalize and react accordingly... applying societal norms, the sensibilities of those with which we interact, and what we know to be acceptable behaviour ... while balancing our inherent urges to express ourselves honestly.

Take for instance: embarrassment, rejection or acceptance, guilt and even pride - to name a few. Exactly the same emotions we felt when we were shunned on the sports field as youngsters or asked to the Spring Dance as adolescents rise to the surface when similar things happen as adults. Most of us learn to put them in perspective, but the underlying emotion is still there.

I've been mindful of this theory lately. Even in daily existence, but most certainly in more significant events in my life ... I'm pretty sure it's true.

2006-08-01T12:54:00.000-07:00

My friend Lawrence...

We met at lunch, after several months of eating alone at separate tables. The credit goes entirely to Lawrence, who finally wandered over and verbalized the silliness of the two of us eating alone in the same room. I happily accepted his offer to join him, and we've not looked back. It's the highlight of my week, for reasons far too numerous to mention.

We only see each other on weekdays, at lunch a few times each week if we happen to turn up at the same time, and we don’t even know each other’s last names - mostly because I keep waffling back and forth between my married and my maiden name, and his is Dutch and it’s hard to remember, plus I like our relationship the way it is.

He is 18 years older than me, or as he would say: I’m 18 years younger than him, and we laugh, rant, and pontificate beautifully together. Some of my favourite Lawrencisms are:

“Life as we know it would not exist without hypocrisy”

“Everything man does is for the service of his underlying needs; number one being getting laid”

Lawrence is a realist, through and through – a ‘tell it like it is’ kind of fellow. Wonderfully cynical at times, he is an open book among a myriad of people with hidden agendas. He never uses a computer; preferring his secretary instead, so he’ll never see this – and that makes me smile...

2006-07-26T10:10:00.000-07:00

YAY!

Okay, so I bought the golf shoes before my score is even within sight of par, BUT they were only $12 - almost new Adidas Z-Traxions, from Sports Junkies (regularly $129) and aren't they cute?

I golfed last night with my parents and sister at our local Par 3 course, and since we couldn't start until 8:20pm, we managed only 6 holes before darkness curtailed our fun.

My sister, who hasn't golfed since high school managed to fly under the radar for two holes until we realized she was using the #3 driver for every shot .. including putting. "Oh, does that make a difference?"

Dad was very serious, taking at least 5 or 6 practice shots each time. They looked to us to be complete misses, but he insisted they were practice shots, so we cheered him on.

I don't remember much of Mum's actual golfing which probably means she was pretty consistent, but I can still hear her laughter in my head. She was so good natured, as usual - even when my Dad tried to kill her with one of his bizarre spazzy sideways shots.

I really don't want to discuss my score on holes one, three, four, five or six... because I honestly believe they do not represent my true ability or finesse.

So let's talk about Hole #2 shall we? Suffice it to say that I was in top form, shooting one under par for (what we pros call) a BIRDIE!! And quite frankly, I looked adorable doing it... must be the new shoes.

Note to self: Bring bug spray for twilight golf.

2006-07-17T15:53:00.000-07:00

MEDITERRANEAN CHICK PEA & SPINACH SOUP

1 tbsp olive oil
1 small onion, chopped
2 cups chicken stock
1 can chick peas, drained and slightly mashed
2 cups chopped spinach, packed tightly into the measuring cup,
or half a package of frozen chopped spinach
Salt and pepper to taste

A. Saute the onion in olive oil over medium high heat until wilted
B. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil
C. Add the chick peas and the spinach
D. Simmer for 10 minutes
E. Enjoy!

** the quantities of spinach and chick peas may be easily altered to suit your tastes - freezes well too **

2006-07-10T18:48:00.000-07:00

The oddest thing happened to me... Was it outside the boundaries of propriety or am I just too uptight?

I was having a lovely snooze on Sunday morning at 6:21am when the phone rang (the special ring when there is someone at the front door who needs to be buzzed in)... Thinking it was a friend in need, I ran from my warm bed to the kitchen to answer the phone.

It was my neighbour, with whom I have only exchanged polite "hellos" in the hallway. He said nonchalantly, "Hey, I left my keys at work. Can you let me in?"

"PARDON ME?"

Well, since I didn't recognize his voice, I said I would need to come and open the door to ensure I was not unwittingly letting a stranger into the building at dawn to torturously murder an unsuspecting tenant. I was very groggy, but I left my apartment and went to the main entrance and tried to focus on his face before I let him in. He was there with a woman and simply said, "Thanks, man..." and wandered into his apartment - which was oddly unlocked; who does that nowadays?

So here's the thing: Isn't that rude? To wake up someone who you barely know at 6:21 on a SUNDAY?

Or maybe it's just me?

2006-07-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

Congratulazioni Italia!

Watching the World Cup Winners dance around like little boys brought back vivid memories of my favourite country... the pigeons in Piazza San Marco, the disappointed tank-top-wearing tourists attempting to enter St. Peter's Basillica, the annoying Texan lady outside the Coluseum, the mischievous jeweler in Venice, the old rickety elevator at the Hotel Georgi in Roma, and the aged red cobbled walkways of Siena.

A country filled to the brim with vibrant, demonstrative, passionate people for whom this evening is a dream come true... Amo gli Italiani!

2006-07-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

SEEKING TRULY EFFECTIVE BIRTH CONTROL?

Look no further. Need I say more? Been there; done that!

2006-07-05T08:55:00.000-07:00

This is a Pulitzer Prize winning photo taken in 1994 during the Sudan famine. The picture depicts a famine-stricken girl crawling toward a United Nations food camp, located one kilometre away.

The vulture is waiting for the child to die so it can eat her. Nobody knows what happened to the child including photographer Kevin Carter, who took the picture and left the area immediately.

Kevin Carter committed suicide 3 months later.

_____________________

Carter, a white South African, spent only a couple of days in Sudan. According to Susan D Moeller, who tells Carter's story in Compassion Fatigue: How the Media Sell Disease, Famine, War and Death, he had gone into the bush seeking relief from the terrible starvation and suffering he was documenting, when he encountered the emaciated girl. When he saw the vulture land, Carter waited quietly, hoping the bird would spread its wings and give him an even more dramatic image. It didn't, and he eventually chased the bird away. The girl gathered her strength and resumed her journey toward a feeding centre. Afterward, writes Moeller, Carter "sat by a tree, talked to God, cried, and thought about his own daughter, Megan."

When the image of the prostrate girl and the patient vulture appeared, many people demanded to know what had happened to her. The New York Times explained in an editors' note that while she resumed her trek, the photographer didn't know if she had survived. Carter stood accused; callers in the middle of the night denounced him. The girl began to haunt the photographer. In June 1994, Carter, beset by difficulties, killed himself. His suicide note speaks of the ghosts he could not escape, the "vivid memories of killings & corpses; anger & pain," and the "starving and wounded children" ever before his eyes.

In Carter's case, Western newspaper readers saw a little girl. Carter, in the Sudanese village where he landed, was watching 20 people starve to death each hour. Perhaps he might have laid aside his camera to give the victims what succor he could (and thus never have encountered the girl in the bush); perhaps his photographs could have led to greater help than he could personally give. Should he have carried one girl to safety? Carter was surrounded by hundreds of starving children. When he sat by the tree and wept, it was beneath a burden of futility. But his was not a photo of futility, nor of mass starvation, nor of religious factionalism, nor of civil war. Readers saw only a little girl.

Taken from: http://flatrock.org.nz/topics/odds_and_oddities/ultimate_in_unfair.htm

2006-07-03T21:00:00.000-07:00

Ah, the wonder of GOLF...

What an enjoyable day I had. Days like this don't come often... gorgeous weather, wonderful company, thoughtful advice, good conversation...

*sigh*

Suffice it to say that I am not a great golfer. But what I lack in skill I more than make up for in determination and inventive curse words.

This afternoon; however, I did pretty well (no, I have no idea of my score) mostly because of the patient (entirely solicited) advice of my partner... a player self-described as inconsistent, but more knowledgeable about common novice errors thereby improving my understanding of my swing and it's tendencies.

I can't wait to get out on the course again, and when I get to the point where I can shoot within 10% of par, I get to buy myself some adorably tacky golf shoes! Yay!

2006-06-29T19:28:00.000-07:00

... Um, okay ...

Me: "Good afternoon, Deborah speaking"

Customer: "Hi, I just had this thing repaired by you and now it's not working"

Me: Oh! I'm sorry to hear that. Where are you calling from Sir?"

Customer: "****** Company; and when I tested it, it worked but then I whacked it on the table and now it doesn't work"

Me: "You whacked it?"
Customer: "Yup!"

Me: "Why did you whack it, Sir?"
Customer: "Duh... because you're supposed to..."

Me: "I don't think you're supposed to whack it"
Customer: "Yeah, you are"

Me: "But when you whacked it, maybe you broke it?"
Customer: "Can I speak to someone who knows about whacking please?"

Me: "Certainly Sir, I'll put you right through" *sigh*

(a similar discussion ensued in the technical shop)

2006-06-23T22:46:00.000-07:00

Traded to Florida? You must be kidding?
I'll bet they voted on it with those damn dimple ballots...

They probably thought they were voting to impeach Bush.

2006-06-22T20:47:00.000-07:00

Do you think your chances of meeting the right person are hampered if you are a Grammar Nazi? After all, there are many nice people who simply forget the rules once in awhile... right?

Or... will the times when he spells 'loose' instead of 'lose' or says 'there's' instead of 'there are' kill the passion and erode the infatuation?

Two schools of thought prevail in the minds of true Grammar Nazis: those who correct others and those who silently note the errors of their peers. Admittedly, I waffle between the two; neither of which are at all productive.

He says: "What's the chances of me and you going to dinner?" *sigh*

2006-06-21T20:01:00.000-07:00

Is it okay to borrow graphics from someone else's journal if you think they are so beautiful and you give the person credit? I hope so and I hope this man is not angry because I love this. But the problem is that I can't find his blog again so I can't tell him how much I like it or give him credit. Oy vey I'm such a rookie!

Anyway, back to the art. What's happening here?
a. Are they reconciling?
b. Are they scared?
c. Are they laughing?
d. Is she comforting him?
e. Is he comforting her?
f. Are they cold?
g. Are they kissing?
h. Are they discovering each other's bodies for the first time?
i. Are they grieving?
j. Are they praying?

2006-06-21T19:52:00.000-07:00

I knew Cody well, 8 years ago. He was the counselor for my children's summer day camp and their T-ball coach, and we quickly became friends. I remember how easy he was with children, and how he reduced my big dog to a cuddling mass of drool. I remember our conversations about the complexity of marriage and relationships, and he was a sensitive supporter during a very difficult time for me. Some of our conversations changed my life.

I hadn't seen him in several years until one night in a restaurant. The same glittering smile, and the fabulous way he said "Hi" -- then again several months ago while shopping, where he told me about his new business. To see the excitement in his face was so wonderful - he was on his way in life, and content. He said his life was filled with many good friends, and that he was happy.

Today, as I drove by and saw the memorial of the accident and realized that this person who touched my life so deeply was gone, I remembered the brief times we had together, and shed a tear for those who were fortunate enough to know him more recently - I'm certain your loss is great.

Go gently Cody. You are missed.