Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!

How many of you lost power yesterday because of the wind storm?  I don't think we appreciate how powerful natural forces are until we come face to face with them in something like that storm.  We dodged the bullet in Port Moody and only lost power for a minute or so.  One of our neighbours trees came down and a huge branch was blown off one of the old trees that surround the elementary school.  I always feel badly when I see a tree blown down.  They can't escape the storm and have to endure it somehow and of course, sometimes they can't.

We spent a few days over on the Island.  A friend reminded me of Parksville and I recalled the broad expanse of beach and the cute little touristy town and thought "that's a good spot to spend a few relaxing days" and so off we went.  We stayed in Nanaimo our first night and trekked over to Newcastle Island, which we hope to camp at next summer.  It is close to the world, but not of it and we beachcombed and explored the strange formations etched in the rock by the surf.

Then we took the short jaunt over to Parksville.  Our hotel was really nice and Ant said he could live in it very enthusiastically.  It had a full kitchen and a nice bedroom for me and a balcony with a barbecue and a little peekaboo view of the ocean and a fireplace.  I'm up earlier than the boys, of course, and the mornings were cool, so I just got my book (one of Anne Perry's Victorian mysteries called Blind Justice, quite entertaining) and curled up by the fire and drank my coffee and felt like a queen, a bit.

We had two highlights to our trip (besides the relaxing and general enjoyment of being away and not being able to do any of the duties and responsibilities that press on us when we're home).  We went to the World Parrot Refuge where they have hundreds of birds who were once pets but were surrendered to the Refuge.  Birds are very difficult pets -- I know because I had Orlando, a grey cockatiel, for thirty years.  I did not want a bird as a pet -- I don't think it's fair to keep an animal trapped in your house when he could be flying -- but my old boyfriend wanted one and got him when I was home for Christmas and when we parted ways, he asked me to take Orlando and I did -- we were good buddies and I did not clip his wings ever, because I thought that was wrong, so he did fly around the house (and yes, sometimes he pooped) and I believe that's why he lived so long and was so strong and healthy for so long.  But I digress!  Parrots and cockatoos are extremely intelligent and have not been domesticated (they are still basically wild - only one or two generations from the wild).  They need a lot of attention and exercise and activity and of course, most people don't appreciate that and they buy one (which contributes to the disgusting pet trade which steals birds from their wild lives and then breeds them or traps them as a pet -- apparently only 20% of the birds who are captured for the pet trade survive the trip to become a pet) and then realize they can't care for it properly and give it to someone else or return it to the pet store or most terribly, let it go, or wisely, take it to the World Parrot Refuge.  There the birds are released into huge aviaries where they can fly and be with other parrots or cockatoos and live a more natural life.  There are lots of things for them to do -- toys to play with and little cubby holes for them to explore and people like us to interact with -- we loved all the birds we encountered (which is one problem for the refuge, because you realize how smart and charming the birds are and think you'd like to take one home, but of course, that's not allowed).  We met lots of very appealing characters -- sweet little Rosie who waves (she's a green parrot with a rosy collar) and Angel, a cockatoo, and a couple of blue parrots who reminded us of the grumpy old men Muppets -- they were hanging out on their feeding station enjoying a variety of fruit and when we walked by they lunged forward furiously -- hoping to bite us we think, and a funny little fellow we're calling "Grabby" who took your hand in his claw and then very gently moved his claw up your arm to get to your sleeve and then held on for dear life!  Many of the birds can talk and you realize they learned that in their life as a pet.  It was very hard to leave the Parrot Refuge because the birds were all beautiful and sweet and curious, but of course, they are better off there and MUCH better off to be left where nature intended for them to live.  If you are interested, you can visit their website and they take donations, too.  It is certainly a good cause.

Another memorable event for us was our trip to the Horne Lake Caves.  We drove down a very dusty road along a beautiful lake for about 20 kilometres in order to arrive at the Horne Lake Cave Park.  William was nervous about going into a cave but I was very blasé.  When the guide asked if any of us had been in a cave before, I said, "no, but we've been in a mine".

He was polite, but said a cave was quite different.  He wasn't kidding!

We had to hike quite a distance to get to the cave and we were given helmets with lamps on them and told to wear warm clothing (it's about 8 degrees in the cave) and gloves to wear inside the cave.  The hike was very pleasant, through beautiful trees that whispered in the breeze.  The guide told us about how caves form and what kinds of things we might see inside the cave.  (No bats, which is a bit of a disappointment, since I'm very fond of bats.)  The formations of the calcite, which take thousands of years to form.  We got quite warm on the hike and finally found ourselves at the entrance to the cave. Then I realized why William was apprehensive because I felt really scared.  It was this dark Styxian crack in the earth and there was a metal ladder leading down into the darkness.  This was nothing like a mine which is a very human and civilized construction.  This was wilderness with a vengeance!  But I don't like to seem timid in front of the boys, so I did not voice my fear.  I swallowed it and we descended into the cave.  Of course, it was very beautiful inside -- the calcite is white and glistens in the light of your headlamp -- there are shapes like drapes flowing over the rock and other shapes like straws and a huge "ice cream cone" lump.  The water glistens, too, and looks like flecks of gold.  We had to slide into the cave on our bums (and I wondered how we would ever get out) and if you thought too much about how much weight was over your head, it was very freaky.  The cave "floor" didn't exist -- there were round slippery rocks everywhere and it was hard to navigate because you had to bend your head down to light your way and then you weren't looking where you were going!  We made our way forward for about five minutes (doesn't sound like a long time, but when you're about a second away from panic or full blown claustrophobia, it is a lifetime!) and then we were truly inside the cave.  The guide told us we were going to turn off our head lamps and be quiet in order to experience the cave fully.  We did and the darkness was a thick presence -- I opened my eyes as wide as I could, but could see nothing -- it was just thick blackness in my face.  The guide said your eyes would never "get used" to it because there is NO light.  It was also really quiet -- no wind whispering in the trees, no birds, no sounds at all.  It was a completely alien and mysterious environment.  It is strange to think of all the beautiful formations that are in darkness for most of the time.  Anyway, we made our way out of the cave and I, for one, was elated to rejoin the world I know.  The boys were very pumped up and said they would like to come back next year and go in further.  I told them I would not be able to go on that trip, but I was certainly glad they enjoyed it.

It was lovely to get away for a few days and then come back with a week before we must return to our duties.  I hope you all enjoy your week and look forward to seeing you "back in the saddle" on September 8.

Banksy's new art installation -- "Dismaland"!

Banksy calls it a "bemusement park" and from the pictures I've seen, it is loaded with wry social commentary and some pretty hard-hitting stuff as well.  You can look on the CBC's "Arts and Entertainment" site if you want to see photos, but a couple that really struck me were a sculpture of a killer whale leaping from a toilet into a kid's plastic swimming pool and another installation in a tank with a North American style pleasure boat bobbing along with a jam-packed boat filled with people fleeing war and poverty, just like we're seeing in the Mediterranean Sea (and other places, as well) these days.  It's on at a place in England called Weston-super-mare until September 27, but apparently the line-up is about four hours long at this point so if you go, bring a book!

We don't know anything about Banksy and I really like that because it flies in the face of all this passion for fame that is such a part of what we seem to have become.  Everyone wants his fifteen minutes (or seconds) of notoriety.  I used to want it when I was young.  I wanted to walk in to public places and imagine that people were looking and whispering about me and saying, "oh, that's HER!"  "Is that HER?"  But now I realize that often people would be saying it and accompanying it with "she doesn't look very good" or "she's a lot OLDER in person" or something like that.  I am glad now that nobody knows me -- anonymity is great!

On a completely unrelated topic (but maybe not, since I thought of it while I was writing), have you ever heard of a "mirror fast"?  It's when you avoid looking in the mirror for a period of time.  A writer named Autumn Whitfield-Madrano coined the name and decided to do it because she felt like she was too focused on her appearance and that, by avoiding looking at her reflected image, she was able to focus on more important things in her life, like her goals, her relationships, her good qualities.  I admit that when I see my mirrored reflection, I am often shocked.  I really don't look like I imagine I do.  I often see my own mother when I glance quickly into a shop window.  When I see photographs of myself, I'm often dismayed and focus on all the things that "aren't right".  Other people see the same photograph and they just see me, not what's wrong with me (I think they do -- at least, that's what they say).  I think I might try it and see what effect it has on me.  Of course, I certainly don't do a lot to enhance my appearance, and I often wonder what effect I would have on people if I knew how to dress (!) but I know how to do lots of other things and you can't have it all, can you?

'Smores Dip

Well, this is an unusual blog for me.  I don't usually blog recipes -- I am not a bad cook, extraordinarily enough, since I did not make any effort to learn until relatively late in life, and eternally regret not taking my mother up on the offer to learn to make pie crust.  She was not a good cook, but she could make beautiful flaky piecrust every time and I long to go back in time and when she came out of our little kitchen and found me reading on the couch, I would jump eagerly up and say, "are you making pie, Mom?  Can you show me how?"  But we can't go back in time, and must try to learn to grab those opportunities when they come to us the first time.

Anyhoo, William found a photograph of this 'smores dip on Instagram and so we looked up how to make it (easy-peasy) and last night we had some friends over and we did, and it was very nice.  You take a cast iron skillet (or if you don't have that, a baking dish with a rim).  You put some butter in the pan and put it into a 450 degree oven, until the butter melts and greases the pan.  Then you put about a cup and half of chocolate chips in the bottom of the pan (make sure they cover the bottom of the pan evenly).  Then you take about 15 marshmallows, which you have cut in half, and arrange them on top of the chocolate chips.  Pop it back into the oven and bake for five minutes (keep watch over it!)  If the marshmallows aren't nicely golden at that point, put on the broiler very briefly (like 15 seconds -- keep watching it!)  Take it out of the oven and let it cool for about five minutes (the chocolate will be SUPER hot).  Then you use your graham crackers to dip into the soft gooey marshmallow/chocolate arrangement and it is better than smores around the campfire!  Really!

People who are different, their time is coming! (Hairspray)

I saw "Hairspray" at Theatre Under The Stars at Stanley Park on Friday.  I have never been to Theatre  Under the Stars before, although I've been curious about it for years.  As many of you know, I'm not particularly fond of musicals, but I read a review of this one that was quite a rave and it made me want to see it.

It is a great venue for a big musical.  It really is under the stars -- at the Malkin Bowl in a big field with plastic lawn chairs, but it is a very welcoming place -- you can have dinner there for quite a reasonable price and there are picnic tables and a place you can have your picture taken (in "Hairspray" era clothes) and you can eat and drink while you watch the show.

I don't know if I was in the mood for something frothy and colourful and upbeat, but I was smiling from the moment the curtain came up till the end.  All the performers were so committed and energetic and the story was encouraging and the singing was terrific and the dancing was good.  The set was creative and the costumes were bright and flashy and it was just great fun.

I've never seen either movie and didn't know much about the story and that is rather unusual because I usually do, so that was fun, too.  I didn't know how it was going to turn out, although I was pretty sure I could guess.

Another thing I've been doing lately is watching the second season of "The Wire".  It is terrific television, although very gritty and bleak.  One thing tv does when it's great like this is to give you a whole range of characters and give you an insight into each of their lives.  This season focused on the International Brotherhood of Stevedores and the plight of the working man in Baltimore, but of course, all over the world.  The head of the union was involved in all sorts of corruption, but he did what he did because he was trying to find work for his people.  But it was a lost cause as most things are in "The Wire".  It was surprising throughout and just like the first season, it starts rather slowly and really digs its hook into you and then you just have to see what happens next.

We are going off into the hinterlands for a couple of days.  As many of you know, I am very fond of the flush toilet and electricity (I'm ashamed to say) and will miss it a great deal, but it is a beautiful spot and the kids will get away from their phones briefly which is worth it on its own.  Off to the wild!

I don't want to write about death

I've been trying to write as I always do in the summer.  I finished my romance novel and am now letting it "stew" for a while before I reread it to see if it works on any level.  I am not sure if I made the man too angelic.  He's based on Mike and it is hard to think of anything negative about him now.  I just remember the lovely things and miss him so much.  (Today would have been my twenty-third wedding anniversary.)

I found out about this writing contest that is for very short stories -- three hundred words!  That is VERY short.  I tried to write one, and of course, it's semi- autobiographical, too, because I am in that place right now.  It's called "I don't want to write about death":

I don’t want to write about death.  I want to write about love and how I found it and how it felt and how pretty the flowers were that he gave me and how he always remembered my birthday and made me queen for the day.  I want to write about how he saw into the future and made sure I was safe.

I don’t want to write about death.  I don’t want to write about the coffin and the music we played and the speeches people made and how many people came to pay their respects.  I want to write about our twenty fifth anniversary party and how we danced all night and stood outside the hall and watched the stars and how Christine and Keith ordered cheeseburgers for the midnight snack and how they didn’t come on time and how mad Christine was about it and how Keith didn’t seem to care because he had a buzz on and how we laughed about them because they were always like this and how well we knew them because after all it had been thirty years since they started dating and we started dating.  Well, almost thirty.

I don’t want to write about death.  I want to write about our children and how beautiful they are and how much they look like him.  How Anthony wants to be a doctor and William wants to be a lifeguard and how proud I am.  How much I wish he could be proud with me.

I don’t want to write about death, but there it is.  Grim Death stares me in the face and won’t let me go.  I tried to hold onto you but you couldn’t hold onto me.  Grim Death pulled you away from me, no matter how hard I tried to hold on.  He peeled away my fingers and took you.   I told you I loved you long ago and yesterday.  I don’t want to talk about death.  I want to talk about life.  But there it is.

Summer sun

Hope your summer is going well.  I realize I have not kept one of my list resolutions -- I have not been good about writing in my blog.  It is hard this year -- I don't want to reflect too much on what has gone on in 2015 -- it has been a terrible cruel year.  Usually I spend these warm lazy summer days reading the news and thinking, "oh, that's something to write about" but this year, it is really hard.  I am embroiled in the paperwork that comes at the end of a life -- any kind of life -- a beautiful one, like my husband's or any other kind.  There are forms to fill out and people to advise and life insurance (if you're wise or lucky, like my husband {wise} or me {lucky, because my husband was wise}) to apply for and huge international companies sending you letters offering their "sincere condolences" (why do they bother?  I know they aren't sincere -- they didn't know him -- or me -- so how can they offer condolences?)  Anyway, suffice it to say, this summer doesn't really feel like a true summer, in many ways.  It's just like a time to be gotten through.

I have finished my romance novel -- the first draft anyway.  I'm not sure of the ending, so I have to sit on it for a while and then go back and see what I think.  In a way, it's an ending, because finally the two people I've been trying to get together have gotten together, but in another way, like in life, it is just the beginning.  Maybe if I decide it's actually an ending, I'll write a whole series about the couple.  I do like them.  The man, James Carpenter, is based on my husband, so of course, he's very sweet and attractive -- perhaps too much so.  As I read, I think that I haven't given him any dark qualities at all.  And I think a romantic hero does need some dark qualities.  I'll give it a week and reread it and see what I think.

I'm still trying to figure out a play for the fall.  Usually I have an idea, but this year, my mind is blank.  I thought of George F. Walker's "The Art of War" but the cast is too small.  I need something with at least fifteen characters and then room for more, if necessary.  I want something serious -- we've done a lot of comedies lately and I'm in the mood for something thought-provoking (not that a comedy can't do that, of course) and hard driving.  There's still a month to get there.  I reread "Blood Relations" by Sharon Pollock but that cast is too small, too.  Most modern plays stick to small casts because they don't want to pay the actors.  At least, I think that's why.

I have been keeping up with the news and of course, one of the stories that is grabbing everyone's attention is the killing of the lion, Cecil, by the American dentist.  I cannot see how anyone could derive pleasure in killing an animal, whether the hunt is legal or not.  To me, it's immoral to kill something for pleasure.  We realize that animals are far more mysterious than we ever imagined -- octopuses have the intelligence of a three year old child, and bears experience awe when watching a sunset and crows can make and use tools.  We don't know what Cecil's thoughts and feelings were, but we can imagine he suffered greatly in the forty hours between the time he was shot by the dentist's arrow and his moment of death when he was dispatched by a gun.  I never liked Jimmy Kimmel much before but I really appreciate what he said about the whole sordid mess.  And his suggestion that people try to make good come out of the tragedy has raised $150,000 for the researchers who are studying lions in the preserve from which Cecil was lured.

I watched the first season of "Sherlock" over the last couple of days.  It stars Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as Holmes and Watson and they are terrific.  I don't mind the modernization of the Conan Doyle stories.  I find Moriarty an irritation in the original -- I don't think you need him, but Andrew Scott is lovely, especially that face he makes when he's describing what he would look like if Holmes shot him.  He has a wonderful voice.  And I like the idea of a "consulting criminal" as a foil for Holmes's "consulting detective".  I intend to watch the second season when I can get it from the library.  That's all from me for now.  I'll try to be better for the second half of the summer.

Diversity 101

There is the sexism test that says in a piece of theatre or in literature, you need to have two women talking to each other about something other than a man.  Now a guy (actor and playwright Dylan Marron) has created versions of popular films that eliminate all the dialogue that is spoken by white people.  Not surprisingly, not much is left.  He says it seems that the default position is that the characters are white, if the material doesn't spell it out otherwise.   In our actual society, it seems to be less and less an issue -- children like mine don't really think of themselves as "people of colour".  At least, I don't think they do.  When we talk about race, they don't seem to find it a dividing line or a place of limitations.  It doesn't occur to them that people will see them differently if they think they're "black" or "brown" or whatever term we might use to describe them.  Am I a Pollyanna to see it like this?

On a similar note, I saw a report on the news last night that focused on these stickers that people are putting on their cars.  They look like the ICBC designation for "L" or "N", but they have a "C" on them and at the bottom it says "Chinese driver" or something like that.  We were all shocked and appalled to see such a thing, but then the reporter went to a shop that was selling the stickers and the Asian girl who was behind the counter said that mostly Chinese people were buying the stickers and they thought it was funny!  Then they surveyed people on the street and the Caucasians were shocked and thought it was racist but the Chinese people agreed that it was funny.  A sociologist at UBC (who was also Asian) said that he thought it was people taking the sting out of a stereotype, just as people have done for ages (like "Hunky Bill" using that term for his restaurants, for example).  The world is changing, I guess.  At least, here in our diverse community.  Maybe not in Mississippi -- who knows?  I haven't been there.  In South Carolina, they took down their Confederate flag.