The Things I Learned while on Holiday

I guess I learned about my mom.

She is the sweetest, most giving woman I know.Helping her celebrate her birthday was so important to me.

I've always know how much I loved her..but sometimes it amazes me how much.

Thanks to Spider and Jeff for dinner, and thanks for making my dear little mom feel so special...it's no more and no less than a reflection on how vital all of you are to me.

What else did I learn on this trip?
Well, thanks to my mother AND my father, I learned that the elusive and rare 'Pink Fawn Lily' and 'White Fawn Lily' grow happily and beautifully on Vancouver Island (as long as there is a river near by....)


















And the Rivers!!
Browns River, Puntledge River, Courtenay River, Tsoleum River....there is no end to the beautiful rushing water that surrounds my home town.














Hmmm.
What else did I discover that I didn't know.

It's hard to say.







I've always known that all of my friends are beautiful.

I've always known that we had a very special connection.





But being the only brown eyed girl amongst a gaggle of blue eyed beauties...well, it's not been easy!


I suppose it's safe to safe that tulips are important to a long term friendship!




















I think that one of the other extremely important things that I learned on this trip was how to balance a sword on my head.
oh Yes!

"If you go out in the woods today...."

May I suggest that you take the old Island Highway south, just past the Fanny Bay Inn and Cougar Smith Road; turn left at "Ships Point Road".

Then another quick left on "Little Way"
(Carefully, now. It sneaks up on you. You might just fly right past it like I did.)

Down "Little Way" following the road constantly to the left as you go.
Don't look for any signs; there aren't any.
It's a local thing; outsiders have to make friends with those 'in the know' to be shown it's secrets.

There, that mud-spattered pot-holed cul-de-sac. Park there!

Well, I suppose there IS a sign; it says "Boundary of Wildlife and Fisheries. Don't disturb plants or wildlife."
But that's not hint as to the wild dream-like world you are about to enter.

Just past that sign - can you see that wee cedar-chipped path...go down there a little ways.

Watch out!

Don't run into the flying fish!

If you need directions, perhaps you can ask the locals?








Then there's the interestingly overt religious connotations:



As you can see, this art also comes with strong environmentalist overtones!

(Yes. That IS an I.V. drip attached to that tree.)



Oh, and speaking of political controversy, how's this?

Yes, this little patch of woods carries a definite theme to it.

Though occasionally it's sort of hard to determine exactly what that theme is.

Oh, and worry about the rocks; they've been taken care of.

There were so many 'things' in this little corner of the world...some where obviously symbolic, and others, well, they just left you scratching your head.

But if you can find someone to show you this place...ask them to take you there.

It may not last very long; government isn't always partial to controversy on it's 'Crown Land'.

Happy Trails to You!

Yep...I'm on HOLIDAY.

Back to the outpost on Vancouver Island with my trusty horse, Blaze.

(If you ignore the bit about the outpost, horse, and the word 'Colorado' you'll get my drift. On the upside, I'll be spending tons of time with Spider and my mom; this of course means many more photos to come!) *

Also, as something fun, Spider and I are planning out a shared post about our adventure on Sunday...look for it coming to a blog near you!







*Please note, I now have photographic evidence of what I have to put up with just to be assured of a simple bed to sleep in. It's not pretty.
I mean the GARDEN is lovely, but OH! the toll exacted.

"Never Again"

I'm reading one of the most deeply moving and exhausting books I've read in a long time.

Called "Shake Hands with the Devil", it's a crushing account of Roméo Dallaire's time in Rwanda in 1994.

I sometimes wonder why I am reading it.
The images are so despairing and the brutal rememberances so vivid I have to put the book down and walk away sometimes.

But I think it needs to be read. I think it should be required reading in fact.

We failed almost a million people.
And in this day and age, we don't have any excuses.

But what did the salamander ever do?

I'm a generally amiable person.
I rather pride myself on being able to talk to anyone about anything at anytime.

In fact, I volunteered for several years at the crisis centre in my community; I like to think that experience gives me a little bit of an edge when talking to people.

Several hours a day I used to spend listening to complete strangers reveal themselves to me over the anonymity of the phone line; they sought help and solace and occasionally (oddly) recipes for mashed potatoes.

Nonetheless.
I do on occasion find it incredibly difficult to talk to some people.

So, here's a fine example of a conversation that I was completely unprepared for.

I work infrequently with a woman of indeterminate age (though I believe her to be in her 40's), who shared with me some of the most disturbing things as I tarried away in my cubicle the other day.

"Yeah, so my mom was named really good. Her name is 'Rita E-- GLADYS B---', cus her ASS is sure GLAD whenever there's a Tom Dick or Harry around. Get it? GLAD ASS. She was whatya call the 'town pump'."

I'm sure my eyes widened considerably at the announcement, because she proceeded happily. "Oh yeah. I caught her and the Fuller Brush man goin' at it in the car out by the shed when I was 12. Yup, then I went in and told my little sister so she went out and watched. Boy, did I ever get a beating for that one!"

"Fuller Brush man...oh." I squeaked out.

"Oh yeah. But it got really good when my Dad came home smellin' of some one else's perfume...and it sure in hell wasn't mom's, 'cus she didn't were none. And covered in lipstick. And that was Christmas."

"That's too bad. What a sad Christmas for you." I looked around cautiously, wondering who else was being regaled with these tales.

"Yeah. 'course, I always got the shit beat outta me. Both mom and dad, all they ever had was fists for me. Sometimes my older brother would try and pull them off, but that's only so's he could get a couple ones in there." She stopped for a breath ~or perhaps it was for dramatic pause?
"I guess the worst was being locked in the root cellar for 10 days around that Christmas. See, they didn't want me around to have presents or nothin' so they locked me down there."

I had to presume that 'they' meant her entire family.

"All I had down there was some salamanders to watch explode."

The questioning look on my face goaded her on.

"Well, 'cus salamanders don't have any salt in them so you sprinkle them with salt and they kind of explode."

"You were killing things to pass the time?" I queried, not very kindly I will admit.

"What else was I gonna do? There weren't nothin' else to do down there."

For once I was completely at a loss for words.
Flabbergasted might be a worthy descriptor to use in this instance.

But how does one respond to such statements?
Do you engage in a long probing conversation to plumb the depths of the dysfunction? Ask searching questions to determine to extent of her trauma?

Not possible!
This was my (and her) place of employment!

Then, as quickly as she came in the room and 'shared' herself, she left again.

And I still don't know what to say! *















*Besides of course..."Why me!?!"

I don't mean to sound callous...her life sounds so sad.
But I think I'm safe in saying that I don't believe her difficult/abusive childhood needs to be shouted across an office space to a relative stranger.

No matter HOW congenial I appear!

Jerks!

I woke up the other morning only to see that my neighbours white van had been vandalized.

No one broke into it or flattened the tires, nope; not these bastards.

Instead, they spray painted all over this man's vehicle.

So now he's going to have to spend several hundred dollars of his own money to have his vehicle repainted!

What the hell was the point of that!?!

It's not even my vehicle (though I've had my fair share of thefts and break-ins and other problems) but I'm so frustrated with this kind of asinine/destructive behaviour.

(Perhaps it's possible that it was an April Fool's joke played on him by friends and it'll actually just wash off? I don't know, but I doubt it.)

Bah!

Divinity in marble.

A few years ago I was extremely fortunate to be able to wander around Europe for a few months on my own.
One of the places I visited (and highly recommend the next time you're in Rome) was the Galleria Borghese.

I had read that it housed some of Bernini's * sculptures and I was very interested to visit the gallery.
What I had failed to completely understand however, was that when you went to visit, you had to visit at very specific hours.

The gallery only allowed 360 people in, once every 2 hours for ONLY 2 hours at a time (with a mandatory exit at the end of time slot).

Well! I didn't read the small print so when I arrived I thought that the 2 hour count down started when I entered the building.
Not so!
After 45 minutes everyone in the gallery (including uninformed me) was rather unceremoniously ushered out of the building.
I hadn't even had time but to run past the statues I had so longed to see on my way out the door; I was so disappointed!

I wandered morosely around the gift shop, finally settling on some magnets with photos of the statues in lieu of actually seeing them.
The gift shop clerk asked me how I had enjoyed my visit and I explained sadly that I had missed the very things that I had come to see.

"Well-a, we will-a see-a what we canna do for you." He smiled, suggesting I go buy a coffee while he finished up his duties.
Abandoning his post a few minutes later, he joined me for a coffee and quizzed me on my life, Canada, and what a lovely young girl such as myself was doing all alone in Italy, "The country of love-a."

We talked a while, until he suggested for me to follow him.
Not being one to worry about common sense or the wisdom of following strange men in foreign countries, I trailed behind him as we left the building and went around to the back of the gallery
There, a guard stood waiting at a back door.
My shop keeper (I had already taken to considering him in the possessive) said a few words to the guard who smiled, laughed and nodded, holding the door wide open for me.

I turned back, "Grazie, molte grazie!" I called to him as he walked away.
"A beeyooteeful woman-a, she must-a always get her-a weesh!" He grinned at me, turning back for a moment.
The guard chuckled and beckoned me in.

And so.
I was back in, with all the time in the world to re-explore the most amazing collection of art in a sumptuous and intimate setting.
All the art was truly inspiring, but it was the statues that held me.

Rape of Persephone















Apollo and Daphne
Bernini's sensual awareness of the surface textures of skin and hair made these statues truly come alive for me.
In the 'Rape of Persephone' (1621 or 1622 AD), you can see Pluto's fingers biting into the tender flesh of Persephone's thigh leaving cruel indentations as she struggles to escape.

The 'Apollo and Daphne' shows Daphne's slim toes turn to roots; her slender fingers give way to laurel stems and leaves in her bid to evade the dogged Apollo.
It's not discernable in this photo, but here too, Bernini captures Apollo's fingers digging into Daphne's belly in an attempt to restrain her; to stop the metamorphasis.

I was loath to leave that gallery
Blissful days could have been spent amongst its treasures.
But, I am again fortunate.
Next year I shall be returning to Rome, and I will most certainly revisit that divine space.







*More about Bernini and his work here.

Tee hee!

I found this delightfully fun site the other day...self driven entertainment, it's the best kind!

Look at me! Look at me!

I had been trying to decide for some time now, if it would be okay to post some pictures of myself on my lil' blog.
Initially, I suspected it might be slightly vainglorious of me...but as my dear friend Spider pointed out...it IS my blog!

Besides, I thought it might be nice for people to put a 'face to a blog'.

I'm particulary fond of that blurry, unfocused picture of me at the top there...I suspect it's the best one yet!





(Nonetheless, it still seems very strange to me. Posting ones own image for the world to view. I feel both exposed, and oddly okay with it.)

Cliched terms.

Well, this morning as I was driving to work through the heavy low clouds, I could see across a flat plain of farms to a ridge in the distance.

The grey parted and I could see on the horizon, tall buildings.

The only thing I could think was "Great ghostly images of civilization cut through the gloam."

Yawn...boring!

I need to read my thesaurus more, I think.

The problem with cliches is that they are fairly accurate.

"White as snow"

"Strong as an ox"

"Hard as a rock"

What, exactly, is the point of this post?

Nothing.
It's as dry as toasted rice cakes!
As boring as ummm...something really boring!

I gotta go.
I'm making myself as crazy as a loony person!

Art where ever you may be.

I spent beautiful sunny Saturday last, at the UBC Botanical Gardens here in Vancouver discovering many lovely and interesting things.

One of the things that REALLY fascinated me was the way in which the gardeners had created complicated geometric designs out of their fruit trees.



You can see the amazing shapes they've managed to configure; in one area they had a whole 'fence' made from intertwined trees.
It was nice to be able to take these pictures before the foliage came out as it gives an excellent view of what they've done.















This PINK magnolia was astounding, as well:

It was part of several trees that were framing an interesting architectural design that lead to a viewing area: out there in the blue distance, the ocean.


One of the things that I loved so much was discovering another statue by Sophie Ryder.
I first saw some of her work her in Vancouver in 1998 in Stanley Park.
A year later, during Spider's and my trip to the UK and Ireland, we found her home base in Bath and I was amazed again by her.

I stumbled on yet another of her works,
quite by suprise in the gardens.


















As his feet lay a lovely turf labyrinth, which I took the time to walk.
I'm sorry I don't have a picture of it, but alas, I had no where high enough from which to view it.

And, for your final viewing pleasure, a picture of English Bay, Vancouver B.C.




*My apologies if this looks crappy on your end...it didn't seem to want to fit together the way I wanted, and as a result it may appear a bit choppy.
Hope you manage to make heads or tails of it some how!

So That's Who I Remind Me Of.

When I consider men of golden talents,
I'm delighted, in my introverted way,
To discover, as I'm drawing up the balance,
How much we have in common, I and they.

Like Burns, I have a weakness for the bottle,
Like Shakespeare, little Latin and less Greek;
I bite my fingernails like Aristotle;
Like Thackeray, I have a snobbish streak.

I'm afflicted with the vanity of Byron,
I've inherited the spitefulness of Pope;
Like Petrarch, I'm a sucker for a siren,
Like Milton, I've a tendency to mope.

My spelling is suggestive of a Chaucer;
Like Johnson, well, I do not wish to die
(I also drink my coffee from the saucer);
And if Goldsmith was a parrot, so am I.

Like Villon, I have debits by the carload,
Like Swinburne, I'm afraid I need a nurse;
By my dicing is Christopher out-Marlowed,
And I dream as much as Coleridge, only worse.

In comparison with men of golden talents,
I am all a (wo)man of talent ought to be;
I resemble every genius in his vice, however heinous--
Yet I write so much like me.
~Ogden Nash


I love this poem.
I can feel the corners of my mouth curling up in a smile as I read it!

Slainte!

Looks like I missed wishing everyone a Happy St. Paddy's Day. Always a day late and a dollar short!
To make up for my faux pas, I tell you about my favorite Irish Castle.
Fair enough?

In 1999, Spider and I decided to embark on our first trip overseas.
As neither of us had set foot much further than Disneyland, we were understandably exhilarated.

Spider was always more adept at 'planning' than I, so she took charge of the itinerary.
First stop, London.
From there we jumped on a direct train to Edinburgh...a few nights there, including an 'under the city' ghost tour and then off to Glasgow.
A mere day in Glasgow, on to a speedy trip south through Carlisle and Chepstow, over to Holyhead in Wales and THEN!

Ireland.

We had spent so much time in castles through out England and Scotland that by this time the trip was in danger on turning into an ABC trip; you know, 'Another Bloody Castle' tour.

But there was one castle I hadn't counted on...Blarney Castle.



Yes, I know...a complete and unmitigated tourist trap if there ever was one!
But I managed to find something really magical there.

We climbed around the base of the castle first, exploring the damp caves under the castle and pitch black hidey-holes with slick stairs leading nowhere.
And then up we went.

Up circuitous narrow stairways where only the goat-footed could go, and the elderly tourists in high heels feared to tread!

On to the RAMPARTS!

The view was commanding from there; golden green swaths of field cut by low gray stone fences and lush trees.


We wandered all over that castle...free to climb where ever we chose; nary a velvet rope in sight.

Then back down to the surrounding grounds, well kept and vastly amusing.

Little signs showed how to get to the 'Witches Kitchen', and where the 'Fairy Glen' was.
The 'Wishing Steps' were fun, down them forward first, the back up to the top you went (backwards!) repeating your wish as you went.

I even found a fine tree to climb, but alas, we were not digitally set up back then...so I have no pictures to share.
(But I'm pretty sure you believe I ended up in a tree, right!?)

I adored all of Ireland...did I mention that I had my first Guinness there?
(I also had my second, third, fourth...!)

There's no doubt in my mind that I'll go to Ireland again.
There was just too much happiness there and not enough time to explore it all.

(Oh, and the old guy dancing a jig in the pub? That was very cool. Did I mention the Dingle Peninsula? Breathtaking! Grab a bike and go for a ride! Cork was lovely too. Did I mention all the sheep?)

I love Pippi Longstocking!

There was something mentioned about the author (Astrid Lindgren) of those fabulous children's book on the CBC today and in a flash I was 10 again, reading all about Pippi's amazing house, Mister Nilsson the monkey and the horse that lived on her porch.

This very interesting article talks about Pippi as a role model for young women.
Ms. Lindgren changed a potentially helpless little 'orphaned' girl into a self-sufficient, fun loving and capable person.

Interestingly, Pippi wasn't approved by of by adults when she first showed up some 60 years ago.
Some how, shooting revolvers and sailing pirate ships on the high seas* just didn't seem like a great thing to encourage in children, and particularly NOT in girls.

As it was to be expected, Pippi rebelled against the stern and disapproving adults so that she might still be enjoyed today.

I'm so glad for it.

Pippi really was a very influential character in my life growing up.

She truly did teach me that 'despite' being a girl growing up in the still gender-biased world of the '70's**, I could do whatever I wanted!

If in fact I felt that I needed to climb trees and lift horses, then I bloody well would.
(Truth be told, I still climb trees today! Never did get the lifting horses thing though.)

So HIP HIP to Pippi Longstocking; thank you for being the strongest little girl in the world.
Oh, and thank you for helping the rest of us girls learn and remember that we really CAN do what ever we want in this big old world.
And thank you for showing us that we can be anyway we want with humour, joy, our hair in pigtails and hanging upside down from a tree!









*So, ever wonder where my pirate fascination came from? Wonder no more!

**Who am I kidding...it's not all that much better these days, but it is improving (I add grudgingly).

It's all in a name.

Because I've been so slack in the blogging arena as of late, I thought I'd just write about something simple.

Like why my lil' blog is called "delusion of tai".

First of all...it was supposed to be delusionS of Tai. But yeah, I mistyped and forgot the 's' at the end of delusion.
Amusing little tidbit of blog trivia, no?

And the "Hello? Is this thing on??" That just speaks to my general computer illiteracy.

So just where did Tai come from?

It's a very long story, but it involves a book, a language my dear friends and I made up when we were young, and dash of pure whimsy.
....from my 'full' nickname Deirdrea-Tai; pronunciation DEAR dree ah TAY.

Yup, it's pronounced TAY, not TIE.

And it's stuck ever since.

In fact, I'm more likely to respond to Tai than my real name* these days, and truth be told...I much prefer it!

OH! and uh...GNOMES!

(gracious, I'm lacking inspiration these days!)










*my real name? you really want to know?
ahem.
It's Laurie.

May I proudly present...

...Little Ms. Zoe Ophelia Pigott!

Kim and Shawn will be fine and loving parents to you, so here's lookin' at you kid!

Hooray!! HOORAY!!!

My darling friend just had the most beautiful little baby...and I want to shout it to the roofs tops, but what's the blog protocol?

I think I will refrain, and allow her and her dear husband to post the grand announcement and beautiful pictures themselves.

I will only allow myself to say:

WELCOME ZOE!!
You've been born into a wonderful home; your parents will love you and cherish you for all of your days!


(I'm SO HAPPY, I just can't wait to met her!!!)

No wonder inadequacy issues amongst women are rampant!

Check it out.

Wine is my friend.

The "Vancouver Playhouse International Wine Festival".

Starring: "FRANCE"!

Wow, where does one start??

The festival was completely sold out.
Given the jostling elbows and slightly tipsy crowd, it was surprising that I didn't end up stained head to toe by the end!

Fortunately the crowd, while eager to get their fair share in, was also relatively polite.
Many a murmuring of "Excuse me", and "Please, go ahead" could be heard sifting through the noise.

Mimes, Can-Can Girls and happy-hearted accordion music were visible and audible throughout the 3 hour affair.

(I ran away from the 'Mimes'.
I suspect I'm not the only one they creep out.)

Like any good mime however, they hunted me down and forced me to participate in a one way, stilted bizarre conversation.
(And why, exactly, was I indicating things with my hands and not just speaking to the pale face in the black and white tight shirt? Ugh. Apparently it's contagious.)

Almost every wine producing country was represented that night.

There were 60 producers from France alone!

But from Australia to the United States, they all showed in fine form.

As France was the star of the show, though, that's where my group of friends and I began.

Off to Champagne...what better way to begin than with the delights of Moet & Chandon. The Brut Imperial n/v (non-vintage) was divine.
"Full and rich, hints of warm brioche."

I also tried their Brut Imperial 1999 which was lovely, but I did prefer the non-vintage. *

On to Maison Michel Laroche, and to some VERY good Chablis.
I've never had many experiences with Chablis, but that's going to have to change as they presented several fine examples.
I was particularly fond of their Chablis Grand Cru Blanchots 2003 & Chablis Laroche 2004.

oh!
Over there is Baron Philippe de Rothschild! Must go!
Their Mouton Cadet Blanc 2004 was okay...but I wasn't surprised by it. I uttered no cry of glee.

I tried Serame Viognier 2004 and was pleased, but not thrilled.

I have to say the star of the whites for me was the Laroche Chablis.

And now?

More whites and more champagne and watch the dancing girls with their flounce and legs kicked high into the air; grab some french bread to chew on, a few pieces of aged white cheddar and back at it.

Time to switch to reds though, before the palate is demolished!

Whew!

This post is entirely long enough, and I'm a red wine FAN, so I'll save it for another day.

I'm sorry, I don't have any prices for those wines...I was to busy drinking them to even begin to note cost.

After all, when you're getting pours off of $100+ bottles of wine, stopping to look at the cost seems time consuming and counter productive!











*no...I don't know what that means. But DAMN it was good!

I'll never catch up at this rate.

Well, I didn't post anything about the Olympics.

I'm not planning on posting a single thing about the Academy Awards.

And I haven't even SEEN "Brokeback Mountain".

Hmmm, modern life seems to be careening along quite nicely without me!



I'm working on a post about all the delicious wines I tried at the Vancouver International Wine Festival to share with all of you.
But I'm at work and I left all my precious notes at home, so I may end up doing two posts today (though I would hardly call this a real post!).

Now where's my glass?

If anyone's looking for me...I'll be over here, at the Vancouver International Wine Festival.
The feature country this year is France...am I ever looking forward it!

(Oh, and don't you dare call me any time before noon tomorrow!)

Yeah, that sounds about right!

You Have a Sanguine Temperament

You are an optimistic person who is easily content. You enjoy casual, light tasks - never wanting to delve too deep into anything. A bit fickle, it's easy for you to change plans or paths when presented with something better. You enjoy all of the great things life has to offer - food, friends, and fun. A great talker, you can keep the conversation going for hours. You are optimistic and sure of your success. If you fail, you don't worry about it too much. At your worst, you are vain. You are obsessed with your own attractiveness. A horrible flirt, you tend to jump into love affairs and relationship drama easily. You're very jealous - which just magnifies the craziness around you.

What Temperment Are You?

I was wondering what was taking them so long.

I read "Holy Blood, Holy Grail" ages ago.

Then I read Dan Brown's the "Da Vinci Code", and I was so surprised by how much it reminded me of "Holy Blood..." that I went back and re-read it to ensure I wasn't imagining things.

In a nutshell, these are the questions that Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh ask in "Holy Blood, Holy Grail":

Is the traditional, accepted view of the life of Christ in some way incomplete?

• Is it possible Christ did not die on the cross?
• Is it possible Jesus was married, a father, and that his bloodline still exists?
• Is it possible that parchments found in the South of France a century ago reveal one of the best-kept secrets of Christendom?
• Is it possible that these parchments contain the very heart of the mystery of the Holy Grail?

According to the authors of this extraordinarily provocative, meticulously researched book, not only are these things possible — they are probably true! so revolutionary, so original, so convincing, that the most faithful Christians will be moved; here is the book that has sparked worldwide controversey.

"Enough to seriously challenge many traditional Christian beliefs, if not alter them."
— Los Angeles Times Book Review

And sure enough, Michael Baigent and Richard Leigh are suing Dan Brown, claiming he more or less directly pilfered from them.

I don't blame them, frankly.

Even from my distant viewing, the similarities were so noticeable as to be more than coincidence.

Rock on!

My dear friend Spider has written the MOST delightful post about our all-to-brief time as ROCK STARS!

And this is how it happened.

Each day we attended our junior high school we were constantly reminded of our inferiority, our ugliness and our general undesirability.

Every single day we were subject to some form of cruelty, and sometimes on the weekends if we happen to run into our despised enemies after school hours.

So it was an incredibly brave thing we did, signing up for an 'air-band' contest to take place in front our entire school.

Yup, we were going to lip-synch in front of the very people that picked apart every single aspect of our personality, clothing, and behaviour.

We were setting ourselves for total public humiliation.

On purpose!

And you know what?

We stood up there, flung aside our roles as 'nerds' and we totally RAWKED that day.

My cheeks still burn hot with dread and excitement just remembering!

(May I highly recommend you head over to Spider's blog and revel in the eighties?)

'Un'evolving.

The day that Alfred Russel Wallace took note of the astonishing variety of birds he was continuously surrounded by during his time in the Malay archipelago, marked a crucial turn in man's knowledge of the world around him. *

Of course, it was only when Charles Darwin published his new-fangled theory about evolution that it would have the world gasping out loud.
(Some would say it's a purloined theory, a notion removed from Wallace's poor, uneducated and un-connected hands by Darwin and his well-to-do society cronies. But that's a tale for another time.)

No matter who gets to take the prize for putting the two and two together, it's evolution that has decidedly and dramatically changed (and in some cases polarized) human understanding of the planet and our place on it.

This post, however, is not exactly about that.

Bear with me!

I was watching David Attenborough's "The Life of Mammals" on the Knowledge network last night (nerd alert, nerd alert!), and was struck by the super-specialization that some animals (birds and mammals alike) have developed to take advantage of their given surroundings.

Take for instance, the Koala.

It survives singularly on the leaves of the Eucalyptus tree.
True, there's more than one variety that they dine on, but generally they restrict themselves to the leaves of only 2 or 3 varieties for all of their nutritional requirements.

Now, eucalyptus leaves are not particularly nutritious, nor are they easily digestible.
The Koala actually spends the majority of its waking hours (which totals only about 5 hours on the best of days) just trying to get enough to sustain itself.
So.
Why only one type of sustenance?

Here is another example that I can't quite wrap my head around.

There's a type of bird which is so highly specialized that without the male or female in a mated pair, the other would die.

Here's why.

The male bird has such a specialized beak that it is really only capable of cracking the nuts that it finds.
Unable to pick out the pieces of nut meat, it relies on the female birds more delicate beak to pull out the nutrients and actually share the contents with him.
Without him, she is incapable of accessing the meat.
Without her, he is unable to benefit from the contents.
(I have looked high and low on the internet to find the name/bioregion of this particular bird, and even called several friends. Does anyone know which bird this is, what it's called, or where it could be found?
I don't have a reward to offer...will my eternal gratitude suffice?)

So. Anyway.

Here's my query. The true reason behind this post.

Why would any creature evolve to such a point that a single change or deviation from the norm might result in the total devastation of the entire population.

I thought that evolution was supposed to give creatures the MOST ability to cope in their environment, not restrict it.

Can it be that some creatures are 'devolving' into oblivion?

What accounts for the creatures that specialize themselves out of existence?








*If the story of the intertwined lives of Alfred Russel Wallace and Charles Darwin seems interesting, may I humbly recommend "A Delicate Arrangement: The Strange Case of Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace"?
It's a really elegant, well researched book on the life of Mr. Wallace and his major contribution to the 'theory of evolution'.

I don't like SPAM!!!

But oh! How I LOVE me some Monty Python.

Oh yes.

I do.

#?*!

The other day, I stopped my car (nary a crosswalk in sight), to allow a middle aged woman and, (presumably) her daughter to cross the street.

I sat quietly, patiently as they started off the curb…watched silently as they crossed the mid line, and passed along in front of my car.
And then I couldn’t take it anymore.

I was furious and it wasn’t pretty.

I honked at them.

I honked as they stepped up to the other sidewalk without once acknowledging the fact that I stopped mid-street, for no good reason other than to allow them to cross safely.

I honked because I was frustrated.
Probably I shouldn’t have.
But I felt this insane need to capture their attention; to make them LOOK at me and see that there was someone other then themselves on the planet.
I honked because I wanted them to say thanks, or nod, or in some little way notice me sitting there.
Waiting for them.

When people waltz through doors as I hold them open without even a sideways glance, I have no problem saying loudly and sarcastically, “Gosh, you’re welcome!”.
Occasionally it works; sometimes they half turn, sheepishly, grudgingly muttering ‘thanks’.
More often than not, though, they continue on their way, oblivious.

Well, Lynne Truss has written yet another insightful book on this very topic.

Entitled, Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door, Ms. Truss applies her razor sharp wit, fiendish sense of humour and real concern as to the epidemic that is the unmitigated 'jerkish uprising' that's quickly taking over the world.

And I'm not some grumpy old lady.
I'm 33.
(Just to prove that it's not just older people who shake their canes at the terrible crassness of the youth these days.)

And, as my initial example demonstrates, it's not just the young who seem to be increasingly rude, it's people who should know better, too!

But I suppose ones sense of 'entitlement' changes to whom you are courteous, or whom you blatantly ignore?

Mine is a kind of moral outrage too.
I want to wail out, cry outloud at the snub.

"I'm good enough, damn it! My kind actions deserve to be noted!! Hello?? I'm worthy of your nod of thanks!!!"

It seems like an over the top reaction, I suppose, but I despise being looked through.

So.

Please.

Read "Talk to the Hand".

And thank you in advance!

And now, for something completely different!

Possessing a rare combination of wisdom and humility, while serenely dominating your environment you selflessly use your powers to care for others.

Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.




Who knew!

Thanks Nancy!

mmmm Tuna Tataki!

Like Nancy, I love to eat out.
Fortunately for me, Nancy writes a great 'foody' blog all about the fabulous restaurants to be found in Vancouver.

That girl knows what she's talking about!

After having seen her post several times on the little piece of heaven known as 'Yuji's', I decided to try it for myself.

Even if you don't like raw fish, there are plenty of other dishes to be had...I happen to love sushi and so was treated to some very fresh, fabulous examples.

I had the tuna tataki (thanks for the pic, Nancy!), hamachi sashimi salad (try saying that three times fast!), grilled black cod, toro sushi, unagi, and a VERY delicious spider roll.

I really liked the room, too. The walls were a slate blue, warmed by the rich honey-colored wood wall segments, tables and floor.
It's not a large space, so I think my friend and I were lucky we got in without a reservation, but next time I'll be sure to call ahead.
I would hate to show up and not be able to get a seat!

So thanks Nancy!
Your insightful restaurant reporting lead to a delicious recommendation.
I look forward to reading many more (and even more forward to trying the ones you suggest!)

What would happen if you gave a war, and no one came?

I was just reading Ruben's post today.

He wrote how frustrated he was that he didn't speak out when people around him were making "offensive, idiotic comments", and it got me to thinking....

I recently saw a show on A&E about racism and the neo-nazi movement occuring in some of the southern States: Alabama was the particular focus of this show.

The A&E crew was given 2 months to interview and tape members of one of the larger groups (I can't be bothered to remember the name of it) that is spawning in the backwoods there.

All I saw was an hour dedicated to a bunch of un-educated, pimply-faced, scrawny teenagers drinking beer and slam dancing.
I saw a young man sitting on a BMX bike, holding a rifle; he was a 'guard' for the compound.

May I reiterate? He was on a peddle bike.

Their 'leader' was a ex-felon of undeterminate age who appeared to enjoy hugging his youthful charges a little to often.

The only thing they did with enthusiasm was yell the 'n word' and voice some filth about hangings.

Their sentences were made of little more than hate and the 'eff' word.

Oh, and they had a little birthday cake with Hitler's picture on it; they all saluted it before digging in.

So where am I going with this?

Well, Ruben, if I was to be put in front of a small gathering of those neo-nazi's, I don't know what I would say.
All my eloquent words and heart felt arguments would fall as snow on a raging volcano ; I would not be heard.

My heart would know, though. My mind would, too.
The friends I choose share my beliefs, and if ever I should have children, they too, would learn.

What to do with those who are full of hatred and ignorance?

I don't know for sure.

But sometimes, perhaps turning away is the best thing.
If you take away their 'audience', maybe you take away their power?

VANQUISHED!!!

Evil rotten little minion from the vilest levels of FLU HELL!!

I swear, I'll not show you mercy a moment longer!

AVAST AND ARRRRGH!!!



I win I win I win nyah nyah!

I left it dead, and with it's head, I went galumphing off. *

Regular blogging will resume eventually, in the meantime, have a marvelous weekend!









* with deepest and most heartfelt apologies to Mr. L. Carroll.

Bwhahahaha!!!

"Don't you know who I AM?!

Yeah, that MR. Flu Bug to YOU.

I've got yer little friend.

Don't worry, I won't hurt her. MUCH!

Relax.

I'll toss 'er back when I'm good and done with 'er."



help meeee!

Welcome to my nightmare.

Dark sends his minions of sleep to come find me; to seduce me into their arms of dreams and sighs and slumber.
I go. Easily.
Slipping hastily into realms unimagined during the day.

But you know, given the cataclysms and catastrophes my night time meanderings bring, it's surprising that I dare to sleep at all!

For instance.

I awoke this morning remembering a particularly bizarre dream.

My head had been severed from my body.

Alarming enough, no?

But it gets better. (well, worse, but you know what I mean.)

Whatever agents did the severing, and for whatever (unexplained) reason, they also decided to keep both my body and head alive for exactly one day.
After that one day, my body was going to be allowed to die.

My head, however, was to be kept alive.
They were to place a mirror placed in front of my face, so that I may watch the rot and decay take over.
They were going to have me watch my face literally disintegrate in front of my eyes.

Damn.

Now what did I do to deserve THAT!?!




Look closely at this picture...it's really rather deceiving.

My favorite painting.

This ISN'T exactly the painting I own, but it's darn close.

The artist, Brian Scott, is a vital fixture in the valley. His lively, richly painted interpretations of the aging homes that proliferate in the valley are much sought after around the world.

At the bottom right-hand corner is a red-roofed building; it's the United Church that Spider and I used to sneak into in the dead of the night and thump away on the old organ housed within.

Yup, it's my old hometown.

It's CUMBERLAND.

Chances are, you've never heard of this little town on Vancouver Island.

The population is only around 6,000 people.
No malls or movie theaters.
8 streets one way and 7 the other...pot holed and mostly sidewalk free.
Truth be told, it's not much of a town.
In fact, when I resided there it wasn't even classed as a town, it was (no kidding), a Village.
"The Village of Cumberland."

On the other hand, I do owe Cumberland a real debt.
Spider, Kimber, and 'Pol, are by far the best friends anyone anywhere could ever dare to ask for, and Cumberland's exactly where I found them!

(BlackCrag and OB Juan will also know EXACTLY what I'm talking about; both having survived their own trials and tribulations there!)

This painting looks just the way I like to remember that old place; crooked fences, bright coloured houses, and a brilliant moon illuminating the spaces where the streetlights miss.

As you drive into the tiny little valley, especially in the evening, you can see the smoke drift and curlique about the treetops; ghosts gathering silently over head.

Sometimes I go back in the fall.
I go back simply to walk around at dusk to smell the smoke pouring forth from the woodstoves and fireplaces; it's a rich, memory-inducing smell for me.

I love that painting.
(Darn, I guess I kind of miss that little place!)

How EXCITING!

It looks like I'm well on my way to my 10,000th visitor! *
In fact, only 50 more visits will take me over the edge.
(Hey, I can hear you laughing! Stop that!)

I do realize that some people get that many visits in a single day, but frankly?
I'm still happy.

So thanks to all you brilliant, articulate, funny and charming visitors to my dear little blog.

Thanks to all of you willing to translate my 'unique' spelling and unusual use of the much-abused apostrophe into something other than sheer doggerel.

And heck, thanks for all your witty comments. Those are the best part of this whole blog!







*Sadly, it's highly likely that six thousand and sixty four of those vistors are ME repeat-visiting my own blog.
But that's a tale for another time.

Just a brief note.

Oh look, a post to say I haven't got a THING to post about.

OH! Okay, well, that's not entirely true.

I purchased a long sought after book the other day.

The Art of Eating by M.F.K. Fisher.

I had read one of her books before, "The Gastronomical Me" and simply fell in love.
This 'The Art of Eating', is a collection of her 5 books rolled into one delicious tome.
I am SO looking forward to drinking in her words.

If you're a 'foody' of any kind, I truly and highly recommend her books.

(I realize that this isn't a very good 'book review'. It lacks everything a good review should have. Like information on what the book is about for instance.)

Okay, here.

I'll try this.

She writes about food. And her life. And food in her life. And...uh...travel and food. And she throws some recipes in too. She writes darn good.
Does that help?

Jabberwocky!

I thought I'd leave my FAVORITE poem here for everyone to enjoy.
I adore all the made-up words used, and I suspect that's where I got my love of making up my very own words.
And while I'm at it, can I blame Lewis Carroll for my atrocious spelling, too?
(This poem just gave the old 'spell check' a run for it's money!)

I memorized this from start to finish, just because.



JABBERWOCKY

Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Bird Brain!

Red-Tailed Hawk



Bald Eagle



Ducks



Blue Heron



Red Winged Blackbird


I love my drive back and forth to work.
The building that I work in lies on a flat, delta-like area of farms and flatlands...perfect for birds.

The above are just a few that I see almost daily.
I always catch my breath watching the hawks drift over the fields.

Once, when I was a child, I was standing in my backyard trying to decided how to spend my afternoon, when out of the sky a pigeon fell, bloodied and broken.
I froze, unsure what to do.
Before I had a chance to do anything, a hawk came whistling out of the blue sky and struck the bird at my feet.
Trying desperately to get the pigeon air born, he flapped in front of me for a few moments, lifting it a few feet off the ground.
Little hawk, big pigeon...he dropped the bird again and flew up to a tall tree to consider his alternatives.
There weren't any; he wasn't big enough to fly off with the pigeon, and eating it while a little girl stood there stunned wasn't an option either.
He flew off, leaving the tattered bird behind.

We had to put the bird out of it's misery, of course.
Well, my dad did.

But that was my first encounter, up close and personal with the amazing birds.
What an experience.

And then there are the little Blackbirds; they have such a delightful trill when they set up shop in the reeds and rushes that line the ditch-banks. I look forward to them every spring.

I'm a lucky girl; happy amidst all this wildlife.

I do have to give credit were credit is due...I was inspired by Ms. Spider On The Road and her recent post about African birds.
I got to considering how varied and amazing our local wildlife is here in British Columbia.
Thus, what you see here.

Thanks Spider!

* Side note...I didn't take any of those pictures, though I wish I had!