The sniggering is NOT becoming.

Over here in Victoria, we pride ourselves on the fact that we have the mildest climate and recieve the most sunshine in Canada.

Sometimes (and I'll grant this is rather mean), we like to call people who live in other, colder parts of Canada and casually mention that our daffodils have been out for about a week already.
In February.

We're a cruel bunch.

However, we too suffer at the hand of fate; 'lo...we received our first snowfall of the year.

Under the storm.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon driving around the seaside outskirts of Victoria. I wasn't sure where I was or where I was going exactly; my trusty map didn't show the borders of this city, only the heart.

It wasn't raining here yesterday, though the clouds looked imposing and dark. The wind had picked up as the day wore on and I could feel it pushing my little car about as I drove.

I picked an old boat ramp to park and look out from.

The hurling wind pushed and pulled, the waves furled and crashed. Seagulls seemed to think this was a fine time to be out and let themselves ride the gusts over the turbulent water.
As gray and foreboding as the storm seemed, across the strait glowed the coastal mountains.
The sun had still found a way to light them up.

I sat for a long time, watching the sea crest and drive towards the rock. One of the things that kept coming to mind was how glad I was to be back on 'my' Island.

My time in Vancouver seems almost a dream. I forget that it was 11 years of my life that I spent there, growing up and learning.

Oh, I'm so glad to be here again.

It's been said 'you can't go home again'; I suppose it's true.
You can't retreat back to your life of innocence and inexperience...but you know, you really CAN go home again.

If you're lucky, it's just as good as you remember it.

And if you're really lucky, it's even better.

I just can't believe how lucky I am.

Why are there no job descriptions under "Lara Croft"?

Funny thing this, looking for a new job.

What is particularly odd is being someone who has job skills that none of your friends can imagine you doing.

Yeah.
I push paper.

I'm damn good at it, too.
To the left and to the right, I make paper do my bidding.

Frankly, I never thought I'd be a paper pusher.
It has always seemed the least likely thing in my life I would ever do.
"Administration".

I had my dear friend 'Pol have a look over my resume a while ago, and she exclaimed that it was very strange to see an old friend of hers have a very different type of working life outside of our relationship.
A kind of working life she never really expected to see, there in black and white in front of her.

Let it be said that my working life does not truly reflect ME.

So what did I want to do with my life, exactly? I mean, before this 'other' office-type persona took over.

Well, it involved things like swashbuckling and swinging from vines; race car driving and flying helicopters.
I'm really very good at walking across fallen logs that span rocky chasms, and I can scramble along damp, mossy cliffs that fall straight down to shallow river beds without a second thought.
To mention nothing of the sword-balancing!
There's got to be a job with that kind of description somewhere, hasn't there?

Surely Angelina Jolie needs a stunt double now that she has a multitude of children to care for.
I'm more than willing!

Hollywood stunt person.
I think I missed my calling.

Oh, and the other thing I'm really good at?
Reading.
Give me a comfy chair (minus the Spanish inquisition) and a hot cup of tea or a good glass of red wine and I can read just about anyone under the table (on so many levels).

Aren't there jobs out there that simply require someone to read a book and say, "This was great" or "This totally sucked"?
If so, I'm the hot ticket.
I can't spell and my grammar is atrocious but, "Hire me!"

So, anyway.
Back to my original thought.

Finding one's place in the world.

How is it done?

Some people seem born to be able to do what they love best.
In grade five, I knew a girl that everyone just knew would be a rocket scientist. (As an adult she's a microbiologist. Kind of the reverse of outerspace, she studies innerspace, but my point is not lost.)
And then there was that nine year old I went to school with. Everyone, teachers included, knew he was going to be a criminal.
Sure enough, he and his little brother are often featured in the 'most wanted' portions of the local papers.

And so I keep returning to my initial query.

How do you know what you're called to?

AND, if you're called to something that there's no 'calling' for, how is that translated into a viable, life sustaining 'career'?

So...if anyone has any logs that need walking over, or a filing system that needs overhauled, I'm your girl!

Oh, and I just found out today that I can type 69 words a minute. Wonder if I'd be able to do that with a sword on my head. Gotta be a market for that...right?

Welcome to the world, little Snarl!

Since I was 12 years old, I have been a "Transformers" fan.
I am sure this is Kimbers fault, but nonetheless.

I bought one the other day.
His name is "Snarl".

"What's to stop a 34 year old, intelligent woman from figuring out how these wee toys work anyway!" I thought this in a fit of self-confidence.

But there's so much plastic and binding and twirly things holding it in...I can barely get past these impediments!!
"Come to me, my little toy! I release you from your twirly-binding plastic things!" (Hey, I might be able to use those for later!)

When I finally freed him from his plastic torture, I was too afraid of doing anything with him for fear of breaking him!

I can't quite figure out how to transform him; I know, I'll pretend to follow the step-by-step instructions.

Hmmm....seems to me it's indicating that I need to stick some kind of photon gun up his (ahem).
OH! It's his TAIL! His tail is actually a projectile launching "magnetic induction cannon or sword"!

This is so exciting!

Okay. One 'projectile magnetic butt thingy" and What?? Now I have to remove the butt projectile thingy to proceed?
Okay.
Alright. And now...rotate his hind legs so some guys head appears.

It was getting very strange.

Where's an eight year old when you need one!?!

Oh my.

My Snarl appears to have several wavering heads and a few limbs that are as of yet undetermined on this planet.

Egads!!

I've created a monster!
But c'mon.
I mean, he's a bit pigeon-toed and has several odd malformed heads shooting off in all directions, but he sort of inspires fear. And dread.
Dontcha think?

I know I'll be having nightmares.

Bowels of Hell.

Last week while I was in Cumberland I decided to have my hair done.

It's far less expensive to have it done at the particular salon I go too then anywhere else I've found.
BUT.
I may have to request that the dog who appears to be the shop mascot not be there next time I go.

You see, the dog farted the entire time I was there.

Loudly.

Repeatedly.

And what a tear-inducing stench it produced.

The owner didn't appear to be very chagrined about her dog's overwhelmingly bad odor.
She merely explained it away by saying, "It's because he hasn't poo'd in two days. That's why he's farting so much."

Seriously.
That was all she had to say.
I was expecting a horrified apology and a rush to put the dog outside or something.

I don't think I'll go back.

That smell was bad enough, but I really didn't need to be made aware of the state of the dogs (desperately foul) bowels as well.

It's a shame, really.
There were VERY cheap.

(And I suspect that she might want to take her pooch to the vet. Anything that smells that bad HAS to be rotting from the inside out. It's gotta be a sign of imminent death or something.)

Lest we forget.

"God help our first contingent if this continues." - Gunner, Frederick Rawson, from postcard home, days before he was gassed at Ypress, 1915

Less 'ouching' more sweating.

Since spending time with Spider Girl at the gym whilst in the valley, I've found that healthy living is sort of catching.
It's so catching, in fact, that I sussed out the Oak Bay Community Centre here in Victoria and bought myself some passes.
And not only that, I actually used one yesterday!
It's not the same without a friend to go with, but there's still value in it.

I go so that I develop a habit of being healthy for the rest of my life...something my teenaged self (who despised 'gym' class) would have cringed over if she knew I would one day actually enjoy treadmills and lifting weights.

What I hope to never emulate is the female weightlifters who get all ripped and oiled and look...well...kinda scary.
(Truth be told, I'm not fond of the appearance of any hardcore weightlifter. Popping veins rather alarms me.)

So that, in a nutshell, is my time in Victoria to date.

Oh. And looking for a job of course!

There goes the neighbourhood.

Here we all are!
Pol, Kimber, and Spider Girl and me, all congregated in Cumberland.
We've gathered to celebrate our collective 'Un-Birthday'.
It's a bit late this year.
Normally we hold it in the summer, but due to life-stuff like moving and babies, things got put on hold a bit.
Which is entirely acceptable of course.
That's what the 'Un-Birthday' is all about!
It's simply a time for all of us to make time for each other whenever that may be.
In lieu of presents and angst, we decided a few years ago to stop stressing out over birthday's and Christmas.
Instead, we gather together for dinner, drinks and a terribly fun sleepover at the hosts house.


Nothing outrageous going on here, just a nice dinner out with friends. Really, twenty years of friendship is certainly something to celebrate!Here's me and Spider. Fairly normal, non?

But add a wee bit of wine, a bright moon shining through the clouds, eyeliner and red lipstick and suddenly, nothing is as it seems.

Between the bears using the backyards of Cumberland as their own personal toilets, and us hiding in the trees, Kimber's neighbours must be ready to cut and run!


(I think I'll write more later...we were up till 3:00am this morning and I'm exhausted! But I wouldn't change a thing.)

Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

I'm still here...really!

This changing of ones life is more time consuming than I thought.
That, and all this time off is certainly putting a blogging damper on things.
(Not to mention the flat tire.)

Oh, and SpiderGirl has been cracking the whip and making me go to the gym on visiting time.

"It's good for your health." She says.
"I want you to live for a long long time." She says.

Some friend.
"Here, bike for 7.5 kilometers and then run another 3. It's good for you."

The sting of her whip burns still.

I think I've foiled her attempts to improve my health though.

Beer and pasta!!