There are things I thought I’d never do. I thought I’d never like avocados. And then one day I did. I thought I’d never get a “real job” that lasted more than a year or two, but I’m an accountant and next week is my sixth anniversary with my employer. I thought I’d never own furniture or live in any one city for more than a couple of years, but then I bought real estate. I thought I’d never get married (not because of any fundamental opposition to the idea, but because my list of criteria of what would make an acceptable life partner sounded shockingly unrealistic), but then I met a guy who ticked all my boxes.
This is what time does. It takes your ideas of how your life is going to go and it laughs. I’ve always known that. My life plans have never been solid. If something doesn’t work out, I’m ok to move on and if an unexpected opportunity arises, I’m happy to go for it. Or if my whims take me somewhere I didn’t know I wanted to go, I trust myself and see how it works out. As a rule, this has gone well for me.
But we’re talking here about vague plans. Things I thought I’d do. Things I thought I’d never do.
But then there are the things I swore I’d never do. The things so based on my understanding of myself that I never questioned that I might change my mind on them. Continue reading
I went traveling again, chickens. And I went alone.
One of many gorgeous buildings in Charleston
I haven’t traveled alone in quite a while, to be honest. My husband is my usual travel partner and I intersperse that with occasional short trips with a friend or my mother. A ten-day trip by myself though, it’s been a while. And it’s a whole other kettle of fish. But there’s something to be said for that kettle.
When you are alone, there is no one to consider but yourself. You don’t have to make any compromises whatsoever. You can make plans for the day and then break them for no other reason than that you just don’t feel like it anymore. And you don’t have to feel bad that someone is going to be disappointed about that. You can unilaterally decide where and when to eat, what side of the street to walk on, and when to have naps. (I love my naps.) It’s kind of wonderful.
When you are in a long-term relationship, there is also the side benefit of having a chance to miss your partner. I don’t think the loveliness of a reunion after a week or two apart can be overstated.
In case you’re wondering, I went to Charleston and Savannah. I understand that these are major tourist destinations for Americans, but here on the West coast of Canada, when I told people where I was going, they all said something along the perplexed lines of, “Huh. I don’t know anything about those places. Do you have family there? No? How did you pick that?” And I can’t say I even had a satisfactory answer. The truth is that I thought Charleston sounded like an interesting name and when I looked it up on the internet, it looked pretty. And I figured that while I was in that neck of the woods, I might as well go to Savannah too, because it was close and I had also heard of it. Continue reading
So. I got it into my head that my husband and I should learn something new together – that it would be good for us to have a new activity to do. So when I saw Groupon had a 4-week intro class for two in dragon boating, I jumped on it.
We started the Friday before last.
Now, let me first say some things about Vancouver. Continue reading
I have had this blog for about three years. Or is it four? I like it. I am not dedicated to it. It has never been my dream to be a writer and I more or less started it on a whim. Sometimes I just don’t feel like I have anything to say, so I disappear for a while.
That, my friends, is not something they recommend in the good blogger handbook. It is not how you get followers or comments or views or any of the other things that the statistic page makes you care about when previously you had not been aware that they were even things. I don’t get a lot of views. After however many years, I have 99 followers, and maybe 10 who interact regularly. (Love you guys!) Continue reading
I took my macaron class last weekend. It was good fun. And instead of building up to it, I’m going to put my photo right here:
I put them with the tulips because I was feeling arty. Aren’t I clever? Don’t they look good? Well guess what? They taste even better.
That there is probably the most misleading post title I’ve ever written. But I can’t say that I care. (I’m afraid I’ve become a bit apathetic about the old blog lately. Can’t really explain it, but I like to think it’s a phase.)
I am not currently tangoing. For one thing, I’m home alone. For another, I don’t even know how to tango. I took some lessons once. They didn’t go well. In fact, if they had carried on, they may well have ended my marriage. And I wasn’t even married yet then. Either that or we might have eventually learned to tango. That would have been cool. I’d like to know how to tango. Like the parents on the Addams Family. Hmm. Maybe we should try tango lessons again. Ack! No! See, folks, this is how you get yourself in trouble even though you know better. Continue reading
So, in book club the other week, we read this book (I’m not telling you what it was, because I’m going to give away the ending here and I don’t want to wreck it for you.) It was a lovely book about star-crossed lovers dealing with a major impediment to their being together. There was some magic involved. The ending was somewhat convoluted and a little melancholy, but the gist was that they more or less sorted it out and kind of/sort of died/became immortal and were thereby able to live together happily ever after.
Because they were immortal.
Until the end of time.
So, my evil gallbladder has been annihilated, and good riddance. I survived the terror that was surgery and learned that being stabbed by a doctor does not change the fact that you have been stabbed. It still hurts and your body still has new holes. (I did not ask to keep the gallstone. For some reason, this is a question that I have been asked several times. Only by guys though. Odd.)
I’m pretty sure these guys don’t have gallbladders either.
Another surprise was that when they told me I’d be able to go back to work after a week and a half, I somehow took that to mean that I would be completely healed and better after a week and a half, but I was wrong (which, in retrospect, I should have known, considering I’ve had paper cuts that took more than ten days to heal.) It just means I am well enough to go back to my desk job. I am going back to work tomorrow, but I am still being held together with tape, which is a disturbing thing for me to look at in the mirror. I am also still very slow-moving and if I bend to the floor to pick something up, my belly button feels like someone stabbed me again, which is irritating. But I improve every day, so I’ll not complain about that any more.
I really thought I would be writing a lot of blog posts for you while I was on leave. All that extra time without anything else to do – my expectations were high, I tell you. But the thing is, I was on pain killers. I was napping a lot. Also, when you aren’t doing anything, it’s awfully hard to think of things to write about. For me anyway, since my blog is mostly just show and tell. And being confined to a small apartment meant I didn’t have much to show or tell.
Also, laziness begets laziness. Continue reading
I believe in celebrating. Life is good. Any excuse. But sometimes the traditional methods just don’t work for me.
Take today. Today is St. Patrick’s Day. But I don’t drink. And I don’t own any green clothes. I don’t think Vancouver has a St. Patrick’s Day parade, and to be honest, even if it did, I probably wouldn’t go because I’m not a big parade fan anyway. (Except that parade they have in the evenings in Disneyland. That’s pretty wonderful.)
Photo from The Independent
So what does that leave? I think maybe not much. And really, there should be more options. Here is my list of possible suggestions: Continue reading
When I was in high school, someone decided the theme for all the literature we would read in grades 11 and 12 English would be “imprisoned lives.” We did read some great books, but it was a gloomy couple of years.
One of the more painful offerings we studied was “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich” by Aleksandr Solzhentisyn. In case you’ve missed this one, (spoilers) it’s about a day in the life of a guy in a Soviet labour camp in the 1950s. It’s a rough day, by our standards. He’s sick and hungry and cold and he lays bricks and life is hard. But at the end of the day, he’s kind of happy because it was a good day, comparatively, I think because he wasn’t beaten and maybe someone gave him a cigarette. I don’t completely remember. I can’t say I loved this book. Continue reading