We spent several weekends helping our older son and his wife with their backyard and their fence. This weekend, however, was nothing but fun, no work at all! It started on Friday night when Dale drove me to two malls looking for sandals. It was a beautiful night and we were in the Mustang with the roof down. The Lougheed Town Centre was very quiet for a Friday night so it was easy to navigate but even so we missed the store we wanted the first time around. We backtracked and found it (that would be a reoccurring theme for the weekend, read on!). I didn’t find anything I liked there, but Dale bought a pair of sandals so the trip wasn’t wasted. We decided to try the shoe store at Brentwood Centre; remember it’s a nice night and we’re in the Mustang – Dale would have driven to Chilliwack if I had asked him to! The last time we went to the Brentwood Mall Dale turned into the wrong parking lot. This time he was thinking about that and wondering where he had made his mistake. Well, he overthought it and ended up back in the same parking lot (just part one of the wrong turns we would take this weekend). We drove to the end of it and it turned up towards Sears, so we parked there and found our way into the mall. I got lucky there and found two pairs of sandals I liked. Dale was a little bored by the time I had decided on the ones I wanted. He rolled his eyes and said that I had touched every sandal in my size. I hadn’t but he should know better that to think that a girl rushes through shoe shopping!

After our success we headed back to Port Coquitlam and to the Earl’s patio for a late dinner. When we arrived it was still light and warm. As we sat there with our drinks and appies, the night grew a little darker and a little cooler but it was still magical and very comfortable. I looked up and out,over the umbrella and across the strings of light. I could see a tall apartment building and a lightly clouded sky. We could have been in any big city anywhere in the world, but we were in our city. Sometimes I still have to pinch myself that we live here! We shared the fish tacos for our main and the server asked us if we were fine with cilantro. We both love it so we told her that was no problem. When the tacos arrived, one of them had one sprig of cilantro. We laughed about that.

On Saturday Dale puttered around in the garage, washing the cars and back windows of our townhouse. Then he came in and vacuumed all of the cottonwood fluff out of the screens on the main floor windows. I went off shopping for fresh tomatoes, cilantro and avocados. There is a wonderful farm market just a short drive away. When I got home I made salsa and guacamole for our younger son. He and his girlfriend had invited us to their apartment, as kind of a house warming and thank you for helping them to move in. I had made a gluten-free carrot cake and coconut macaroons the day before (his girlfriend’s mother has celiac disease). Around 6:00 we packed everything up, we had also bought them a microwave and a blender as a house-warming gift, and headed into the city. Our son met us at the apartment building door and helped us to bring everything up. His girlfriend’s family was already there. We had a lovely time getting to know her dad, mom and grandma. The conversation was easy and we laughed a lot. The evening included a birthday cake for Dale and our son as their birthdays are coming up soon. It was close 11:00 when we headed home, tired but happy. (We didn’t eat the carrot cake but the chocolate birthday cake was delicious and no one would have even been able to tell it was gluten-free. The batter for the carrot cake was very tasty. I still have some of the gluten-free flour mix left, I guess I’ll have to try another recipe with it to see how it tastes.)

The big day of the weekend was Sunday. We were in Langley by 9:45 for the Greater Vancouver Mustang Association car rally. The parking lot of the Colossus Cinema was full of Mustangs – vintage, collector, new and everything in between. By 10:30 the formalities were done and we were off! It was our first rally and we were not all that familiar with the area, but hey, we were game! The first part was fairly easy, but then we hit a little snag. We had to turn into the Derby Reach Heritage Park parking lot. We passed the Derby Reach Regional Park and panicked, not knowing that the Heritage Park area was just a little further down the road. We turned around and drove through the Regional Park parking lot looking for the heritage marker. Of course it wasn’t there. I quickly got onto google maps and found the second parking lot. We got there, read the information on the marker, recorded it and moved on. We made our way down towards Fort Langley but took a wrong turn. We drove for quite a while before we realized our mistake. We used google maps to get us back to the intersection we needed and then we were off again. We got into the first checkpoint late; we were car 11 and there were cars in the 20s ahead of us but we weren’t giving up. Even though we had made some mistakes, we got there in the end, and we were both still alive, still smiling and still having fun.

The second leg was short and easy. We wound our way down into a park for the second checkpoint. Thankfully there were bathrooms there because by this point they were needed! We did our business, in and out of the bathrooms, and soon were off on Leg Three. We missed another turnoff and went about two kilometres before I suggested that we turn back. The clue said we would turn right shortly after the bridge over a creek and we had driven farther than anyone’s estimation of “shortly”. We hurried back to the creek and saw the small road we should have turned on, this time it was before the bridge and on our left. Back on track we motored along, doing the math to find the right roads to turn onto, making sure we noticed the clues to the bonus points (what was the name of the farm on the right just before the “Royal’ Road, what was sold at Campbell’s Gold and so on). We didn’t get all the questions for the bonus points but we tried! Finally the last checkpoint was in range. We were looking for a house number. Unfortunately it was on the left, and I was looking on the right. But we soon figured that out, turned around and checked in. The rally volunteers took our last papers and sent us off to lunch.

We arrived at the restaurant to find we were by no means the last to arrive. We sat at a table with some fellow participants. We shared our stories of missed turns and missed clues, laughed and had a great time. The club will announce the winners on the website. I don’t think we were in the top 10, but we may have won a prize for the most mileage! It was a very fun way to spend an afternoon: we were together, Dale was driving his Mustang and we were seeing more of this wonderful area in which we live. All in all, another very successful weekend.

When I was younger I took my body for granted. It did everything I wanted and needed it to do. As a kid I walked to and from school, sometimes twice a day because we came home for lunch in the olden days. All the neighbourhood kids did. We rode our bikes all over the countryside. We played our version of baseball for hours during the day and then kick-the-can until our moms called us in at night. We worked too. I remember clearing brush and shovelling horse manure. We picked vegetables and fruit. We were busy from sun-up to well past sun-down and I don’t ever remember thinking about my body.

My body has walked through forests, climbed up and down mountains, swum in creeks, rivers, lakes and oceans. It has skied down mountains and across wide-open fields. It has been in every kind of high school sport tournament. It has thrown rocks and swept ice in bonspiels, it has paddled through white water and in an international dragon boat competition. (I have to qualify that last one, we weren’t at all competitive, we were dead last in every race, but we were there, in Hong Kong, with Canadian flags on our jerseys.) My body has grown, pushed out and nourished two human beings. It has stood in front of classrooms; teaching, wrangling, inspiring and sometimes infuriating students. It has walked on and off many theatre stages, embellishing characters with a look or a wiggle or hand motion. It has worn bell bottoms, mini-skirts, crop tops and bikinis. It has served me well for almost 57 years, even though injuries from my sporting past have left me with severe osteoarthritis in my left knee.

So, given all that, why don’t I see all that strength, resilience and beauty when I look in a mirror? I see it in others. When I look at a woman I don’t see her size, I see her. I see the sparkle in her eyes, her smile, her style and her spirit. I remember watching a young woman in Mexico. She was rocking a 50s style two piece bathing suit. She was frolicking in the pool at our resort with her young man. She did not have a model’s body and she was beautiful – confident and sexy as hell. She had curves and rolls and wiggly bits and she was amazing. However, my curves and rolls and wiggly bits don’t evoke the same response in me. Why is that? How can we be so accepting of others and so judgemental about ourselves? I have a scale but I don’t use it that often. I store it under the bed. Some mornings I will pull it out and step on it buck naked. If the number is down, I rejoice. If it’s up, I feel worthless and ashamed. And then what happens? My self-confidence plummets and I eat, which makes me feel more worthless and ashamed. However, through all of this, my clothes still fit and I look exactly the same, because really, a couple of pounds don’t make that much of a difference, except in my head.

I remember having a conversation with a friend. She mentioned how proud she was of Whatshername for losing all that weight. I said I hadn’t noticed. My friend looked at me with surprise, how could I not have noticed, it was so obvious. Another time another friend commented on how Whatshisname had gained weight. Again, I hadn’t noticed. I see my friends, not their weight. Changes in hairstyles register with me, new glasses, new clothes, but changes in weight, nope. Not unless the change is really dramatic. I remember seeing a friend I hadn’t seen in about a year and a half who had lost a lot of weight. He didn’t look great to me, he looked sick. I was so worried about him, afraid he was going to tell me he had cancer or some other life-threatening disease. But if you lose or gain 20 pounds, I’m not going to notice. I had a conversation with someone at a theatre once. She was complaining about her weight. We were about the same height, and she said she would love to have my body, my shape, not hers. When she mentioned her weight I was floored. I was heavier than she was, but she couldn’t see that. When I told her, she didn’t believe me.

Perception is reality. If you perceive it, you believe it. You think you’re fat and you’re fat. No one can convince you otherwise. But luckily the opposite is true, if you think you’re fantastic you are. Nothing is more flattering, more sexy, more appealing than confidence. I think we are winning the fight over body image. Models come in many sizes and ages now. We know that thin doesn’t mean fit and fat doesn’t mean unhealthy. We celebrate all women, all body types. We call out people who body-shame women, but we don’t give ourselves the same respect. I have a friend who won’t buy anything but dark pants. She is beautiful and stylish and classy, and she thinks light coloured pants make her look fat. She isn’t fat, not in anyone’s world, but she will never even try on light coloured pants because of what she perceives about her body.

I am trying to change my mindset about my body. I do yoga every morning. I feel my body moving into and holding poses. I push myself to move deeper into the poses, to build my strength and flexibility. I try to get out every day, walking to the park or taking a bike ride. My knee hinders my speed so I don’t work up a sweat, but I’m out, moving and that makes me feel better. My body isn’t going to change much from this, but my mind will. I will feel more positive about it and so I won’t need to push down that negative body image with the cookies in the cupboard. And that will change my body.

I was married young, actually we were both young, too young; I was 21 and Dale had just turned 22. I had completed my teacher training the weekend before the wedding and I believe Dale had started his apprenticeship at Cominco in Trail earlier in the year. Being married young and living in a small town meant we had our children quickly, that’s what you did back then. I’m not complaining. Having our children when we were so young meant that they were grown and gone before we were out of our forties. However, I did expect that we would have been young grandparents, seeing that we started so early. But our boys had other ideas. And times have changed. No one, and I mean no one, finishes school at 21 years of age and gets a job in his or her chosen field in just months now. I was 22 when I got a permanent, full time job with the Trail School District. That just doesn’t happen now. I know some young people in their early 30s still waiting for any type of permanent employment, other than serving or working retail. By the time Dale was 26 he had finished his apprenticeship and was working as a tradesman, with skills and abilities that would allow him to progress as far as he wanted to go. We know people in their forties waiting to get apprenticeships.

But let me get back to the grandparent issue. Both our boys are over 30. One is married, the other has a steady live-in girlfriend. When we question them about the possibility of grandbabies, they each point to the other. One even teased us that he would never have children. However, he also said he would never get married and he is. So, we knew that in his case the babies would come along when his wife decided. After all, she was the one who decided they needed to get married after they had been together for seven years! So we waited, and we made not so subtle hints about our readiness to be grandparents. We made them all the time and our boys laughed them off. Our daughter-in-law told us they wanted children, but we worried about the timeline. Getting pregnant in your 30s is harder than getting pregnant in your 20s. I joked to a friend that if my kids waited much longer, I would be carrying my grandchild around on the front of my walker. We stopped dropping giant, subtle hints in favour of watching. Was our daughter-in-law having a drink? Yes, rats! She must not be trying to get pregnant, that’s the first thing you do when you start trying, you stop drinking. Every time we were together we looked – yup, still drinking.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day. Our son had been away on business and we had invited our daughter-in-law over for dinner while he was gone. She had begged off but now that our son was home they wanted to take us up on the offer. I was working on dinner when they arrived. Our daughter-in-law sat herself on the stool at the island, like she always does and our son got everyone drinks. I pointedly looked at the drink and raised my eyebrow to my husband. In that silent language that long-time married people have I shouted, She’s drinking, no baby! We continued to chat until dinner was ready and then we sat down and ate. I don’t remember what we had, but we had ice cream cake for dessert, it’s our daughter-in-law’s favourite treat. So we were eating our ice cream cake – which for the record is not cake, it’s just ice cream – when our daughter-in-law got up, saying she had a valentine’s gift for me. I was flattered, and a little worried, as I hadn’t got her anything, but I accepted her gift, a little blue birdie on a wooden spool. There was a ribbon around the spool saying “A little birdie”

I looked at it in surprise. I don’t like birds, but little birds are okay, I guess. I held in my hand and thanked her. Our son was on his phone, as he always is and he was clearing his throat. He had a bad cold and had been sneezing and wiping his eyes all night. Our daughter-in-law smiled and told me there was a message, to unroll the ribbon. My heart started to beat a little faster and I noticed my son was now holding his phone up. I unrolled the ribbon and read – A little birdie told me you’re going to be a grandma! October 2016.

I was up out of my chair and hugging my daughter-in-law almost before I had finished reading, tears in my eyes. Dale was wiping his eyes and so was our son, who had captured the moment on video. Amid tears and laughter we chattered away, and then I remembered – the drink! My son shook his head smiling. He hadn’t made her a drink, he just pretended to, because he knew we were always watching. She was just five weeks along, so she asked us to keep it a secret for another seven weeks. While we wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to take out ads in papers, we agreed and held the information close to our hearts, smiling at each other at random times, whispering “Hey Grandpa, how’s it going?” or “We’re going to be grandparents!” All of our friends and family knew we were hoping for a grandbaby and so of course during those seven weeks they asked us about it. We deflected, bobbed and weaved, and then outright lied. We didn’t tell anyone, we waited for their go ahead. On the way to 12 weeks we got a text with a sonogram photo. It was so hard not to share that! But we didn’t, we saved the text and looked at it often. Several days before the 12th week milestone they told us we could tell other family members. I called my mom to tell her she was finally going to be a great-grandma. Dale called his dad. Then the Facebook announcement was made, and I could finally write this blog entry.

To say we are excited is the most massive understatement of all time. I want to rush out and buy carseats for all of our vehicles, to buy all the things the baby will need to have our house. We will take that precious child whenever we can, heck, part of the plan of us moving here and me retiring was to help them with daycare costs, if our daughter-in-law wants to go back to work. If not, we’ll take him or her to give them a break. At our age it’s not a good idea to wish your life away, there’s more behind us than ahead of us, but if a spring and summer were ever going to fly by, this would be the year for it.

We live in a lovely new building in Port Coquitlam. It contains five completed townhouses but recently there was another building on the property under construction. A pair of crows had started building a nest between where the downspout comes off the roof and down the end of the building. I saw the first bit of construction about a week ago. We had just finished a strata council meeting and had walked outside to see where we could put up a gate on the north side of the property. We looked up and saw some sticks wedged between the downspout and the brick wall. I mentioned it to Dale later and when I showed him he said they had probably just blown there in the most recent windstorm. I was very skeptical but I went along with him, after all, if it was a nest, what could we do? It was at the top of the second storey. We would need a very long ladder to reach it, and I’m sure the crows would have put up a fight.

Of course it was a nest. We saw the crows in the park in front of us picking up sticks and flying to the location. They often flew right past our window, sticks in beaks. They pulled dead twigs out of the trees in front of us and once we watched as one pulled off a living branch. However it was too big for the crow to fly with so it stayed on ground. When I went out to get groceries I would stand on the walkway in front of the building and look at the nest. It was huge, with bits of grass and paper interspersed throughout. I despaired, thinking we would have new neighbours, ones I didn’t want. Then as luck would have it, a crew arrived to look after some remaining issues with the outside of the building, and they had a lift! They were more than happy to pull down the nest. Dale took the sticks away and it seemed to me that the sun was shining a little brighter. Until… the crows started to rebuild. Dale thought about getting some bamboo poles and taping them together so he could poke at the nest. But the crows were experienced now and the nest went up a lot faster. He was afraid they had already laid eggs in it, so we left it. On Saturday I went to put some food scraps into the green compost bin and I saw the nest was down. I thanked Dale, but he said he hadn’t done anything. I was hopeful, perhaps the crows weren’t as good at building as we thought. Dale took the twigs and put them into the green bin, so they couldn’t be used again. However, the crows weren’t to be stopped. They started rebuilding.

Again, they were more experienced and the new nest went up amazingly fast. And it was bigger, much bigger than the last attempts. I gave up hoping that they would go away. They were determined to build a nest there. I resigned myself to not going around to that side of the building until the eggs had hatched, the baby crows had fledged and the abandoned nest had fallen down in the autumn windstorms. However, I couldn’t stop myself from staring at it in horror whenever I walked to get groceries. It was a huge eyesore that, in my mind, detracted from our beautiful building, that lowered its value and made it feel dirty and old. It was like a scab, a wart, a huge pimple that you couldn’t help staring at.

Well, today was garbage day and the blue recycle bin was collected. We keep ours outside at the back of building and when I put it back I saw a huge pile of twigs on the ground. I walked around to the front of the building and along the pedestrian walkway. Imagine my delight when I saw that the nest had fallen again! There were only a few twigs still stuck on the downspout. I texted Dale and continued to town, my steps a little lighter. No nest! No baby crows about to be hatched! No parent crows protecting them! Again, the sun started to shine a little brighter. I had been home a while when Dale called. He told me to go pick up the twigs so that they couldn’t be used again. I said I was afraid the crows would bother me if I did that, but he said when he did it they were nowhere to be seen. I didn’t want the nest to be rebuilt so I agreed. We chatted a little and then said good-bye. I gathered my courage and put on my shoes. I opened the garage door and walked around to the north side of the building. I couldn’t see any crows. I walked tentatively to the pile of twigs. It was easy to gather up. I was just about to stand up with it in my arms when the first crow swooped. It cawed loudly and flew up to the roof, continuing to scream. Its mate swooped at me and then joined it on the roof. Both cawed loudly. I ducked my head and ran to the green bin. I shoved the twigs in and slammed the lid down. I ran into the garage, my heart pounding. I was sure they were going to follow me into the garage. The door took forever to close. I stood near the door to the house, ready to jump into the hall and slam the door shut. Of course, they weren’t following me but that’s where my mind went.

There are stories about crows who remember people who touched or bothered their nests, who attack only certain people, the people they feel were mean to them, or who were perceived as threats. I wonder if I am now in that group. Those crows saw me. I was picking up their fallen nest. In their minds, am I now inexorably related to their fallen nest? Do they now see me as the reason it fell? Will I be dive-bombed and have my head pecked whenever I leave the building? Probably. That’s why I will only be leaving the building through the garage in my car, with the windows up and the sunroof closed, for the rest of my life. I kid you not. Because the thought of that happening is enough to make me want to throw up. If it really happened I would probably pass out and then heaven knows what those crows would do to me. I can’t risk that happening.

Oh dear, a crow just flew by the window with a twig in its beak… Here we go again.

Getting away is always nice. I don’t really need a vacation, as Dale says every day is a vacation for me, but Dale does. His life is stressful, mine, not so much. My biggest decision every morning is whether to get dressed before or after “The View”. Not much stress involved in that. But Dale has stress and so a weekend away is a necessary thing for him.

Now, having said I don’t really need a vacation, I was recently away from home for over a week. First I had a lovely four days with my darling BFF Kim in Victoria. I walked on the ferry on Sunday morning and she picked me up in Nanaimo. We had a restful stay in Victoria, sightseeing and shopping and eating out. On Wednesday I went home with her to Port Alberni and Dale picked me up there on Thursday morning.

Dale had booked a lovely little cabin in Ucluelet. It was delightful, with a hot tub on the deck and a queen-sized bed in the loft. We chilled for the weekend, reading by the fire, taking walks and chatting in the hot tub. The best walk we took was the Lighthouse Loop on the Wild Pacific Trail. It is an easy trail to walk and the views that open up are breath-taking. We took our time and enjoyed every viewpoint bench, drinking in the sights. We had a great day for it, the sun was shining and the wind was relatively calm.

The first part of the trail goes through thick rainforest. The trees are close together and covered in moss. Some of the moss hangs from their branches and blows in the wind. All of the vegetation is clearly affected by the prevailing wind coming in off the ocean. They lean and have grown in twisted forms, trying to avoid the constant onslaught. The trail makers did an amazing job of highlighting this. The path was clearly built around some interesting trees, making the trip through the woods very interesting and enjoyable.

The trail breaks and goes through a parking lot and across the lighthouse road. It still wanders through the woods, but the breaks that allow you to see the ocean are more prevalent and they are breath-taking. Again, the trail builders took full advantage of the natural surroundings. It seems that the rocky coves extend right up into the forest and there is less vegetation there. We sat on every bench, listening to the waves breaking and enjoying the view, as well as letting people go past us as we were moving slowly because of my bad knee.

When we got back to the lighthouse we sat in the direct sunshine. We heard several accents around us. The Ucluelet/Tofino area is a place many tourists want to visit and the Wild Pacific Trail and the Amphritite Lighthouse is on every list. We have this little jewel of a place in our backyard and I’m glad we’ve enjoyed it many times.

There is something so restorative about the ocean. You cannot sit there with the sounds of the waves and the wind in your ears and still hold a thought in your head. It’s like every care, worry and concern gets blown out and swept away, taken from you on the wind and over the waves. It cleanses you and leaves you feeling empty but glad of that emptiness. There is a reason we seek out the ocean in times of overwhelming stress or grief. It’s like we are returning home, coming back to a place where we can be made whole again, where the waves and the wind scour the negative away and replace it with peace and acceptance. The very act of breathing while at the ocean is amazing. It’s like you breathe in the good, while expelling the bad, and the bad goes far out to sea and is lost, never to return. People are drawn to that. Go west young man, go west. Tofino and Ucluelet are as about far west as you can get.

Of course, once you are restored, you have to get back to the real world. The West Coast is a lovely place to visit but I couldn’t live there. It’s too laidback and casual for me and it’s too far off the beaten path. While that might be someone’s dream, it’s not mine. But Dale looked after me because we left Ucluelet and headed for Victoria where he had booked a room in the Empress Hotel. Before we left the cabin we made a reservation online for a last dinner in the Bengal Lounge. The bar/lounge is going away, moving to the front of the hotel where it will merge the old woodwork with new features, more modern and upscale. The room the Bengal Lounge is currently in will be cleaned and updated and used as an event space. We have a great many memories in the old Bengal Lounge and we were happy we got to say good-bye to it.

Our stay in Victoria was just overnight. In the morning we headed to the ferry, worried about the traffic on the busy Easter weekend, even though it was already Tuesday. Our worries were confirmed as the terminal was very busy but we managed to get on the 9:00 ferry. We don’t often take the ferry from Victoria so it was nice to sit and enjoy the ride for the first little part through all the little islands. Once we were in the open strait we went back to our books.

When we got home, we were thrilled to see the cherry tree in the park in front of us was in full bloom. We are so lucky to have this view in front of our living room window. However, inside our townhouse we discovered that the painters who had been working on touch-ups while we were gone hadn’t had time to clean up. But that’s a long story for another time.

It’s been raining a lot lately. Not just in terms of time, but in terms of volume. It’s been pouring rain for what seems like weeks. And it’s been windy too. We left the bedroom window open a couple of days ago and we had to move the dresser to get to the soggy carpet. I had to roll over the bed with the towels then squeeze between the long dresser and the wall. We caught it early so the carpet dried quite quickly but we had to keep the window closed all night. I love to have a window open all the time in the bedroom but with torrential rain being lashed by the rough wind, we had to close it or risk having it torn off during the night. As I occasionally feel the need to throw off the covers several times a night to let the air coming in through the window cool my body, I found it hard to sleep that night. Not only because it was warm in our room but because the rain was quite noisy on the window in the howling wind. It’s dark now but earlier in the day it was raining so hard I could barely see through the windows. I felt sorry for the person who delivered our take-out dinner. He must have been soaked running from the car to our door with our food. Dale tipped him well.

I find it hard to do much when it’s rainy all the time but I try to get out. I have a lovely new umbrella with van Gogh’s irises and sunflowers on it. It is a sturdy umbrella that can withstand the wind. I also have a pair of lined rubber boots. They are perfect for the wet, cold winters of the coast. I recently bought a bright pink, although it can look purple in some lights, raincoat. It is completely waterproof, not like the two fashion raincoats that I have. Even with all that protection, when it’s raining I want to cuddle up on the couch, turn on the fireplace and sit all day, drinking tea and reading. Or playing games on my iPad. Or watching TV. I want to hole up like a hermit and wait for the sun.

But I can’t. If I did that, then from November until April I wouldn’t leave the house. So every day, I convince myself to get outside. Sometimes I put my wallet, phone, glasses and keys in my little purse, or in my pockets, and I grab some cloth bags and head out. I go to the local food stores and bakeries and look for inspiration for dinner. I try to find something to make me feel like it’s not dreary outside. I look for fresh herbs to cook with, or fruit to put into a spring salad – anything that tastes of sun. I smell tomatoes to see if they smell like tomatoes yet. I squeeze avocados to check if fresh guacamole is a possibility. Sometimes I get into my little Bug and drive to a shop, to see the spring fashions, to find something to brighten my day and my mood. I don’t usually find anything, but at least I’ve been off the couch for a while.

We knew coming back to the coast of BC meant coming back to rain but this late winter seems worse than usual. Maybe it’s because in the past this is the time of year when we would have headed south for a hit of sun. For several years in a row we spent a week in late February or early March in Mexico. We didn’t get there last year because Dale had just started his new job and we couldn’t ask for holidays in his first month. This year other things got in the way – unexpected bills, the theatre, keeping holidays for the summer. The bottom line is unless the sun starts shining soon, the only way we’re getting vitamin D is in gelcaps.

So, we’ve decided to embrace the wet, windy, west coast end-of-winter. We’re going to the very west west coast, to Tofino and Ucluelet. We’re going to put on our raingear and head out to walk the windy beaches. We’re going to listen to the crashing waves as we sit in the hot tub on the deck of our cabin. We’re going to ride our bikes along the trails, the raindrops dripping from the cedars onto our shoulders. We’re going to sit inside cozy restaurants supping on fresh seafood and sipping fine spirits as we look through rain-spattered windows. There is invigoration in the fresh salt air and we are literally going to soak it all in.

The sun will shine again, some day, and if you hear me complaining about the heat, slap me and remind me of this February and March.

Awhile back I got an email thanking me for my audition for the third show this season at the Surrey Little Theatre but they didn’t have a part for me. I showed the email to Dale and after a few token words of condolence, he asked if he could now start planning weekend adventures for us. I had to smile. I had been rehearsing or performing every weekend since early September so I guess we were due for some couple catch-up time and some friend catch-up time. I barely had time to nod before he was emailing around, making plans.

Our first weekend was to Vancouver Island to see some friends we hadn’t seen since the kids’ wedding in July 2014. On Saturday we headed to the ferry to catch the 10:30 to the island. Of course the ferry wasn’t on time, and we had a small errand to run (flowers and champagne for our hosts) so we got there a little late. You know what’s great about old friends? You may not have seen them for years, but you fall right back into your friendship like you had seen each other just last weekend. As we chatted and got caught up, we realized we hadn’t visited with each other, aside from the wedding, for six years. We had them over to our house in Port Alberni just before Dale moved to Sechelt to start working at the Howe Sound Pulp Mill;, and that was 5 houses ago! It was a lovely visit, even though Dave was a little under the weather. I know he blamed the men’s loss at Trivial Pursuit on that, because it couldn’t have been that Pat and I were smarter. It was a lightning visit because we had to be back home by 4:00 on Sunday for a meeting. As we hugged them good-bye we all promised to make sure we would get together more often. Dave and Pat often end up in Vancouver before flying off to England so we offered our spare room for whenever they need it. I hope they take us up on the offer.

The next weekend we headed off to the ferry again, but this time we parked at Horseshoe Bay and walked onto the ferry to Langdale. As we parked the car and got out we noticed a lot of people heading to the walk-on terminal. There was quite a crowd buying tickets, either from the ferry personnel in the ticket booth or from the computerized kiosk. We all headed to the same waiting room. It was so full that we had to stand quietly at the back, just inside the doors. However, when the ferry to Nanaimo was announced, the room emptied and we were able to move up to the seats near the front. We shared a bag of chips and then got on the ferry.

We were able to sit right at the front but there wasn’t much to see. It was very foggy and it was raining very hard. The trip over to Langdale isn’t very long and soon we were queuing up to walk down three flights of stairs to the bottom car deck. Walk-on passengers leave the Langdale ferry from the deck, before the cars. We walked up the ramp and through the covered pedestrian walkway to where Ron was waiting. We hugged him and then got into the car. A short ride later we were warm and dry in the house. Unbeknownst to us, it was Ron and Stacey’s anniversary. Luckily we had brought them a lovely bottle of champagne. Two other couples joined us for dinner. It was a wonderful evening. One couple headed home after dinner and after a little clean-up and a little more visiting, the rest of us headed to our rooms. On Sunday morning we had another visit over breakfast. Soon we saw the ferry arriving so we said our good-byes and Ron drove us back to the ferry. The ride back was a bit nicer as the weather had cleared a little. The drive home was uneventful.

Next weekend, on Sunday, I’ll be heading to Horseshoe Bay to walk on the ferry again. My bestest friend in the whole world will be picking me up in Nanaimo and we’ll drive down to Victoria for a visit. My plans include tea at the Empress and dinner in the Bengal Room (which will be disappearing in the renovation of hotel). I’ll find out what Kim’s plans are when I call her later. I’ll go back to Port Alberni with Kim and Dale will pick me up on Thursday. We have a long weekend planned in Tofino and Ucluelet, where we hope to see some late winter storms. Of course, we’ll be taking the ferry to get back home.

It’s funny how life follows patterns. For months I drove at least 3 times a week to Surrey, back and forth over the Port Mann Bridge. Now it’s taking the ferry. Dale has some business trips coming up and then in early June we’ll be heading to the Maritimes, and guess what? We’ll be taking the ferry from Nova Scotia to New Brunswick! History repeats itself.

The other day the rain stopped and the sun came out. I found myself drawn to the window seat so I gave in and I sat down, with my legs up, in the sunshine, like an indolent cat. My script was on my lap but it stayed closed. I just sat there, watching people go by on the pedestrian walkway in front of our building. I love people watching. It is one of my favourite activities. I don’t know why but I love it. And this house allows me to do it all day long if I want to.

As I sat there, watching, the Harry Chapin song “Circle” came into my head. I reached over and grabbed my iPad and soon the song filled the room.

All my life’s a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls through the nighttime;
‘Til the daybreak comes around.

All my life’s a circle;
But I can’t tell you why;
Season’s spinning round again;
The years keep rollin’ by.

It seems like I’ve been here before;
I can’t remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we’ll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There’s no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.

I found you a thousand times;
I guess you done the same;
But then we lose each other;
It’s like a children’s game;

As I find you here again;
A thought runs through my mind;
Our love is like a circle;
Let’s go ’round one more time.

I wondered why that song suddenly came into my head and why I needed to hear it. I knew there was a reason so I sat quietly and waited for it to come to me. I watched the people going by and slowly it dawned on me. I was seeing that circle in the people going by.

I saw young women pushing strollers, striding along, happy to be out in the sunshine. Perhaps they were off to run errands. Perhaps they were taking cranky babies out for a ride, hoping they would fall asleep. I saw old women pushing walkers, slowly making their way along the path, happy to be out in the sunshine. Perhaps they were on their way to the market, or perhaps they tired of being indoors and were taking advantage of the break in the rain to get out.

I saw young men riding their bikes, some like daredevils with no hands and no helmets. Most of them had backpacks, carrying whatever they needed. Some had bags hanging from the handlebars. I saw old men in scooters. None of them were daredevilish. They all had their hands firmly on the handles but none of them wore helmets. They too had things with them, in the front baskets. Some also had baskets on back.

I saw young couples strolling along, hand in hand, feeling the need to be close. Sometimes they would stop and chat on one of the benches, leaning in for a kiss before heading on their way again. I saw elderly couples walking arm in arm for emotional and physical support. They too often stopped at the benches, sitting to catch their breath before moving on. Sometimes they shared a tender kiss too.

I saw a homeless man wandering along, pushing his shopping cart full of his earthly goods moving to a new location. I saw busy businessmen and women, often on the phone: I’m sure their briefcases or purses were full of important papers and they were on their way to high power meetings.

Young couples with little children; old couples with little dogs. An old man walking alone. A young man sitting by himself on the bench. A young woman waiting while her dog sniffs in the grass. An elderly woman stopping to chat with her, asking if she can pet the dog. Two young couples, each with two toddlers, exchanging telephone numbers, setting up play dates. An old woman making her way slowly to the extended care home nearby to visit her infirm husband, stopping to wait for her daughter who has just parked her car on our street.

Life is a circle. Dale and I are on our own again; we have no one to answer to, no kids to make arrangements for, our time (and our money, mostly) is our own. We’ve been some of the people on the pathway, and one day we will be some of the others. Yes, life is a circle and our place on it is perfect for right now.

I’ve been involved with the Surrey Little Theatre for about six months now. The people there are amazing. Everyone is so talented and so welcoming, it has been a joy. However, I don’t want to write about them or my experiences there today. I want to write about my drives getting to there.

Most of the time my drive there was nothing to write about. It was often dark and rainy, with heavy traffic. Getting on the Port Mann bridge from the on ramp could be interesting, especially when people were in the lane I had to merge into and they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, move over. The drive was almost always the same. I had to concentrate on getting into the right lanes to exit or merge and so I didn’t get to see much. Add in rain and darkness, and really, there was nothing to see except taillights in front of me and headlights behind me. There was always less traffic on the way home, but all I could really see then were the lights of the city. On clear nights the city lights were amazing but those clear nights were few and far between.

However, sometimes I got to make the drive during the day, usually on the weekend. Then the traffic was lighter and there were many more things to see, especially if it wasn’t raining. BC has done a great job with keeping trees and undeveloped land close to the road. It’s been interesting to see the changes in that land from season to season. The view from the bridge is magical at night but during the day it’s amazing to see the mighty Fraser and all the activity on it.

Yesterday we had a matinee show and so I drove to and from the theatre in daylight. I noticed old nests in the branches of trees. I saw several hawks sitting on fence posts or in trees. In folklore, seeing hawks means we should pay attention because a message or blessing is coming to us. They represent clear sightedness and bring courage, wisdom, creativity and truth. Every trip that I’ve made in the daylight I’ve seen more than one hawk. It could be that the time I was travelling was the best time for them to be out, sitting up high looking for the movement of little creatures in the field, or it could be that all those wonderful things are coming to me. I’m open to either possibility.

Yesterday’s drive also allowed me to see the beautiful snow-capped mountains. It’s been raining a lot lately so between the fog and the clouds I had almost forgotten we even have mountains . But yesterday, they were there, in all their grandeur. There is something so wonderful about seeing mountains, snow, bright blue skies and green fields all in the same glance.

The day drives also give me the chance to see details that I miss at night. I didn’t know there was a walking/running/biking path along the road just before Exit 53. I looked it up, I think it’s the Tynehead Perimeter Trail. It’s quite a long trail that hooks up with other trails in Tynehead Regional Park. On the Pacific Highway, also known as Highway 15 or 176th Street, there are several farms with many buildings. At night most of them aren’t lit, so I didn’t know they were there. When I turn up on the Fraser Highway, there is a greenhouse/nursery business close to 184th Street, where I turn to get to the theatre. I had no idea it was as big or as busy as it is, only having seen it at night.

Thank goodness the traffic is usually lighter during the day. I just love looking around to see the details that I can’t see on those drives at night. I’ve made a mental note of all the places I want to visit – the parks, the trails, the businesses. And as soon as I don’t have shows on the weekend, I’ll do just that. However, I hope that won’t be until much later in the year. Maybe several more months of driving to and from the theatre will reveal even more details. Then in the summer I can go to all those places, when there’s no show to be in.

I remember when the new century started and everyone was talking about how much change someone born in the early years of the old century would have seen. Their world went from steam ships to rocket ships, from horse and carts to luxury cars. Well, I think those of us born in the mid-century have seen some pretty massive changes too.

First of all, we were the original free-range children. I remember a group of us getting on our bikes and riding for miles. We had bags of food, knives, matches and can openers. We rode up into the forested hillsides and spent the day building a fire pit, cutting sticks to roast hotdogs, opening cans of pork and beans, all without adult supervision. We also walked down to the creek and spent days making the old swimming hole deeper by moving rocks to create a dam. Not all of us could swim, and some of us were quite young, but off we went, all alone. I also remember epic neighbourhood games of baseball in an empty field. We played for hours. We made up our own rules, regulated ourselves and had fun. When we played baseball in school, we all knew the basics of how to throw, catch and hit, which is not the case now. We also had massive games of kick-the-can, a game that seems to have disappeared. It was so much fun to hide in the shadows, trying to get close enough to kick the can and free those who had already been found. We drank out of hoses and creeks, we rode our bikes along the main roads, we built huge forts in the woods and in the snowbanks along the driveways, we were outside more than we were inside.

We were outside more than inside because there was not much to do inside. We had a black and white television that got two channels. I remember my dad on the roof moving the antenna to improve the picture quality. In the winter we got into our pyjamas and put on boots and winter coats to trudge next door to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and other Christmas specials on our neighbour’s colour TV. I remember watching Mr. Dress-up when we came home for lunch. Who goes home for lunch now? Neighbourhood schools are too far away for most kids to do that, and there are rules about leaving the grounds. We were six and seven year olds, walking to and from school twice a day. There were older kids around, but no adults. At night we would play board games and eat popcorn Dad made on the stove. He would put it into a big brown paper bag to soak up the oil. He’d salt it and shake it and then roll down the top of the bag. It was delicious!

We went to high school in a bigger community and most of us took the bus. There were no late buses to take us home after basketball or volleyball practices. Some of our friends had cars so if we were lucky we’d get home that way but sometimes we hitchhiked home. We didn’t really think anything of it. After tournaments the team bus would stop by the side of the road to let people off. No one checked to see that we made it home safely. We just got off and walked home, in the dark, late at night, all alone.

Long distance phone calls were a big deal. I remember my dad shouting down the phone, timing every second because it was so expensive. Heck, regular phone calls were a big deal. We had a party line with the neighbour, the same one with the colour TV and if you were on too long she’d pick up and tell you to get off. We had one phone in our house and it was on the wall in the kitchen. Everyone heard everything. If you wanted privacy you would have to pull the receiver around the corner, which stretched the cord and made Dad mad.

Our graduating class was huge, Most of us girls went on to traditional female jobs – teachers, nurses, secretaries.  That’s what was expected of us. I think we had one lawyer, a couple of pharmacists and maybe an optometrist in the mix. Most of us got married a few years out of high school. Our weddings were relatively simple affairs. We rented the local union or church hall, decorated it with balloons and crepe paper banners and flowers and had the ladies’ auxiliary of one of the fraternal groups, or the church ladies, cater it. Most of the guests were family members and friends of our parents. The only theme to our wedding was the colour choice – blue and yellow. The weddings we had and the ones we went to were a far cry from the spectacles we go to today.

We didn’t have video games or cell phones. However, we still managed to find something to do and people still got hold of us to tell us what we needed to know. We had to get up to change the channel or adjust the volume on the TV. We didn’t have loads of expensive toys to stimulate our imaginations. We had to say please and thank you to adults and those adults didn’t think twice about bopping us if we were rude. If we got into trouble at school we got into trouble at home. We had to change out of our school clothes when we got home. We had daily chores. Now, I’m not going to tell you life was perfect. We knew of fathers who beat their wives and children. We drove in cars with drunk drivers. Kids with learning disabilities dropped out of school in Grade 8. We said and did things that today would be unthinkable. Society was guilty of almost every “ism’ there is – sexism, racism, ageism –  it was a different time. And 50 years from now will be another different time and children from this century’s mid-point will look back with nostalgia at their primitive video games and hand-held cell phones and their children will find it hard to believe they could have actually lived like that. However, they will believe them because there will probably be some TV show, or whatever the equivalent is, glorifying the rocking or cool or whatever 2050s.