You want to see my WHAT?!?

Saturday saw my friend and I take the 'two and a bit' hour drive down to Seattle.
(Not to mention the hour-long wait at the border!)

I'm always happy to go to Seattle, and perhaps it's because it always feels a bit more seasoned than Vancouver to me.
Despite the fact that both are similar in size and age, it's rather like having a slightly older cousin who knows "what's what" and won't let the younger one in on the secret.
You know they know 'SOMETHING' but it's not anything that can be described; it's a kind of knowledge that's as elusive as a shrug and as tantalizing as a drag on a forbidden cigarette.

As far as beauty, I believe that Seattle really rivals Vancouver in the realm of natural wonder.
It is a city that is comfortable within the boundaries of water, forest and mountain.
Seattle (much like Vancouver) features a backdrop of glorious green forest and stretches of blue water and still manages to have a coffee shop on every corner.

As far as the few American cities that I've visited it remains one of my favorite.
When I was young, I used to think that Seattle WAS Canadian.
(Needless to say, geography eluded me when I was 8.)

So, to Seattle we went.

We ate at a great Italian restaurant on the edge of Pioneer Square ("Cafe Bengodi"), and investigated a few bookstores.
And of course, we walked through the multi-scented gauntlet of Pike Street Market.

Then we made a stop at an Irish pub ("Fado") for a pint of resuscitating ale, and that's when it happened.

"I need to see your I.D. please." He looked sternly at me.

"Uh..." I dug through my purse.

"Gosh, this is going to sound lame but...I left it in the car." I hurried to explain, "I had to have it out for the border crossing, I must have left in the car by accident!"

"You're going to have to leave then. Sorry."

"But I'm 34!"

"No I.D., no service."

"Oh THANK YOU!" I exclaimed happily and hurried out the door with the biggest grin.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" My friend Danny said dourly.

"Yup. Chances are the novelty will never wear off!" I beamed.

I love Seattle.

Who says you can't go home again?

Almost 11 years ago to the day, I packed my bags and left my tiny town of 5,000 people to move to the city of Vancouver.

4 years after that move my boyfriend and I broke up.

"Do you want help moving back to the Island?" He said.

"I'm not going back. I'll make my own way, thank you very much." I stuck out my chin, found myself an apartment and a job and dug my trench.

There was no way I was going back.

Nope.
I was staying.

I wouldn't budge despite the fact that my family and dearest friends all resided on Vancouver Island, and despite the fact that I sometimes struggled to pay my rent AND buy food.

At one point I actually considered a second job...to pay for my cigarettes.
But if I got a second job, when would I have time to read?

I quit smoking.

I would NOT go crawling back defeated.

So I stayed and had a good time.
I explored Vancouver within an inch of it's life.

If there's a particular kind of food you seek, in a particular kind of restaurant I can tell you it's exact address.

Want a sublime walking experience around Vancouver? I can point you in the right direction.

The view of the mountains with or without snow? Dawn, dusk or mid-afternoon I can take you to the best view.

Best nightclubs? I used to know them.
I don't do that scene so much any more...it really does look all the same given enough time.

So I must confess.
For the last year, I found myself wanting more and more to go back to 'my Island'.

I think I've conquered whatever it was that I was fighting.
Whomever I was trying to prove something too...I'm pretty sure I've proved it.

So now?

So now it's time to put aside the 'quest' and cool down the swagger, I don't need to fight anymore.
Whatever it was that I was waiting for? I'm not waiting any longer.

I've quit my job and put in my notice for my apartment.

I'm going 'home'. *

And not a moment to soon.







*Well, actually I'm going to Victoria.
I've never lived in Victoria before but it's a city I've always wanted to live in.
Don't worry Mom, I'm only two and a half hour drive away. No more ferries to contend with!
And there's always the train!

I'll be back on my island, and I'm so excited!

Can you just NOT touch that?

I've never been a fussy 'OCD' type person.
I know things in the world are germ laden...I realize that people have probably had their grimy hands all over the produce I may just buy.

Generally I can ignore that fact. I make my selection and then go home where the fruit and vegetables receive a thorough cleaning and I continue on my merry way.

Yesterday may have changed all that for me.

You see, I was standing before a large and succulent selection of nectarines at the Granville Island Market, imagining my breakfast the next day.

The two I picked out were given to the clerk to weigh.

"$2.23." She said, the nectarines shining at me from the scale.
Handing over a five I waited a moment for the change.

Then it happened.

She backed slowly away from the counter and sneezed a big wet sneeze into her cupped hands.
Then, hands still glistening damply with-what-lord-I-don't-want-to-know, SHE PROCEEDED TO PICK UP MY LOVELY INNOCENT NECTARINES to give to me!!

I recoiled. I must have grimaced.
"I don't want those, you just sneezed all OVER your hands and then picked them up!"

Visibly annoyed she dropped them right.back.into.the.bin.

"Nevermind. Can you give me my money back? Nevermind! Just don't touch it!"

I reached over and grabbed my money before she could get her mucky paws on it and made my escape.

Made me stomach turn, it did.

How am I EVER going to eat produce again?

To dream, perchance to sleep. *

What fascinating things dreams are.
In this amazing time of space exploration and genome mapping, we are still held completely captive and deeply puzzled by dreams.

What are they? What purpose do they serve?

No science has ever fully determined what a dream is, or why they occur.
Yet despite our ignorance, they continue to happen to each and every one of us every single night of our lives.
And we all dream; we may not remember our dreams in all their misty details, but we do dream.

How can it be that these multi-layered shows of light, sound and gripping emotion mean nothing?
How can it be that despite some of our most illustrious minds taking a stab at dream 'interpretation', we can't even know if they really DO have meaning beyond random brain spasms.

And how is it that not everyone dreams in the same manner?

I often wake with dazzling images of dreams still flashing full color in front of my alarm opened eyes, and blaring music (even AC/DC's "Highway to Hell"), echoing at full volume in my ears, while others claim to dream in only black and white and silence.

What about the raw, left over emotions that can grip one long into days afterward?
Who hasn't awoken, tears streaming down their face from grief?
Or smiled joyous throughout the day in remembrance of a particularly wonderful dream?
Turning bright red at the sight of a co-worker that one was involved with in a torrid affair not a few hours earlier isn't unheard of either.

Dreams contain everything we could hope for and all that we fear.
We understand so little about them that their shadowed secrets are safe for a long time, I think.
We can only lie back, settle into sleep and hope that we have 'sweet' dreams instead of the biting, chasing dreams we dread at 2:34am.

Of what do YOU dream?




*Apologies to W. Shakespeare of course!

Blog blog blog!

1) Are you happy/satisfied with your blog’s content and look?
I don't mind the look at all; simple and unadorned. As for the blog content? Well, sure! I write as I feel, and sometimes I don't and I don't have a single 'topic' I feel obligated to continue to revisit so I have a lot of freedom.

2) Does your family know about your blog?
Yup, but neither of my parents have a computer. Once in a while I'll show my mom. I think it amazes her that all you wonderful people from all over the world stop by.
She's particularly fascinated by the fact that everyone seems to like to say 'hi' to her via the blog.

3) Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog? Do you consider it a private thing?
No way! I love that I can share all of this with my friends. On the other hand, I don't share it with my co-workers. (They all think I'm right looney as it is!)

4) Did blogging cause positive changes in your thoughts? This is a rather oddly phrased question. Maybe it did. I prefer funny, warm blogs rather then negative angry ones (though those can be a laugh riot!) so MAYBE it's directed my thoughts more towards the positive?


5) Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or do you love to go and discover more by yourself? I LOVE comments (who doesn't!) and often bookmark my new 'friends' pages after exploring their blogs from their comments. Also, I like doing random jumping about...I've found some great blogs by doing that.


6) What does a visitor counter mean to you? Do you like having one on your blog? I like having a counter, but I'm not a slave to it. What I REALLY like is just seeing all the different parts of the world show up. That really entertains me.


7) Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures? Sometimes but not generally. It's always nice to have a face to go with the blog, but it's entirely understandable that someone would be reluctant to post it.


8) Admit it. Do you think there is any real benefit in blogging? Sure there are benefits. My writing (I think!) has improved dramatically since I started blogging (it's been what...almost 2 years?) and the connection with other like mind people is a definite gain.


9) Do you think that blogger’s society is isolated from the real world or interaction with events? I sometimes purposefully seek out external activity so that I can blog about it (is that counter-productive?) so I'd have to say that the fact so many people are blogging and 'reaching' out to others is not isolated at all.


10) Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it’s a normal thing? I don't know...I haven't been criticized about anything...that or I just didn't notice it.


11) Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them? Fear them? Um..no.


12) Were you shocked by the arrest of some bloggers? I didn't even know it happened.


13) What do you think will happen to your blog after you die?

This, too, is an odd question.

14) What song do you like to hear? What song would you like to link to on your blog? I like to hear many songs...I don't want any songs linked to my blog, thank you very much.

So. There you have it.
Blogging as seen by me.

If you want to run off with these, feel free.
I took it from Ian who got it from Moof.

Have fun!

Riposte...no that's not right. REpost! **

Mos*qui*to = A dark minion fresh from the dankest levels of hell.

MOSQUITO
Main Entry: mos•qui•to
Pronunciation: m&-'skE-(")tO
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -toes also -tos
Etymology: Spanish, diminutive of mosca fly, from Latin musca -- more at MIDGE
: any of a family (Culicidae) of dipteran flies with females that have a set of slender organs in the proboscis adapted to puncture the skin of animals and to suck their blood and that are in some cases vectors of serious diseases

TORTURE
Main Entry: 1tor•ture
Pronunciation: 'tor-ch&r
Function: noun
Etymology: French, from Late Latin tortura, from Latin tortus, past participle of torquEre to twist; probably akin to Old High German drAhsil turner, Greek atraktos spindle
1 a : anguish of body or mind : AGONY b : something that causes agony or pain
2 : the infliction of intense pain (as from burning, crushing, or wounding) to punish, coerce, or afford sadistic pleasure

HELL
Main Entry: hell
Pronunciation: 'hel
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English; akin to Old English helan to conceal, Old High German helan, Latin celare, Greek kalyptein
1 a (1) : a nether world in which the dead continue to exist : HADES (2) : the nether realm of the devil and the demons in which the damned suffer everlasting punishment -- often used in curses or as a generalized term of abuse b Christian Science : ERROR 2b, SIN
2 a : a place or state of misery, torment, or wickedness b : a place or state of turmoil or destruction


MOSQUITO TORTURE HELL

So, anyone gleaming what the general topic of today’s blog is going to be from the above entries?

If you guessed unmitigated mental (and physical) anguish in the deep dark corners of the night, you’d be correct!

Lucifer himself decreed that I should lie awake in endless torment, awaiting the whining, soul destroying 'zzzzzzzzttttt' that announces a host of mosquitoes set to converge on my poor, prone sleepy body and bleed me dry.

I was sound asleep last night, when I awoke with a start; something hurt!
Something on my body was burning and insanely itchy.
OH, it’s my entire right arm and left kneecap.
DRAT! There’s a horde of mosquitoes in my room!

“OH PLEASE PLEASE,” I begged out loud to the enveloping dark, tears streaming down my face in fervent supplication...my hands clasped at my chest in an age old gesture of humble and earnest entreaty *, “Please leave me be...look yonder,” I pointed at the prostrate body of my sleeping cat, “Take him. I have to work tomorrow!”

(At this point, I have to admit to a certain amount of guilt about that whole 'offering up of the cat' part.
But before you judge me too harshly, consider the considerable misery and torment that must have induced me to offer, as sacrifice, my cat to the demanding and vicious mosquito god...but he’s a right bastard (The "mosquito god" I mean...not my cat of course)! But I had no choice! I was tired and oh so itchy.)

That incident takes me back to the time I was riding a beautiful white horse across the plains of the Camargue in Provence.
I think it was lovely. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was.

The wild black bulls, the amazing and startlingly pink flamingos and vast green wetlands, all would have been a wonderful thing to see as I rode along that memorable day.

Unfortunately, the many flocks of MOSQUITOES that also grace the rough and rugged beauty of the Camargue got in my way.
All I could see was a great, black swarm of the blood thirsty agents of Beelzebub coming to carry me away to their pestilent leader.
The travel agents certainly didn’t mention THEM in their pamphlets, now did they!!

In short, I wage a daily battle against that wee terror.

I fight valiantly though, killing as many as I can with wild abandon.
I do, despite the knowledge that it's a war I'm destined to lose.






*oh, I do go on so, don't I!

** I've been SUCH a deviant blogger these days that I'm reposting things. BUT, the same hell-driven insects visited me this year so it's not as if it's irrelevant.

POLYGLOT!

1) A book that changed my life: That's a tough question. All books to some degree have changed my life; they all leave a kind of adjustment behind...even if they're not directly recalled, don't they?
A book that changed my life...well.
I going to name a book that changed my life not so much for the content (though it's a great story) but more for the forward and for the fact that if it hadn't been written and I hadn't read it, an intrinsic and valued part of my life would possibly still be lost to time and distance.
So.
The 212 pages of The Tattooed Wolf by Ms. K. Bannerman gets to hold that title.

2) A book I've read more than once: "The Rebel Angels". Robertson Davies. I believe I've raved about it before!

3) A book I'd take to a desert island: Can't I just take my library card? Damn! Another tough question. I can't answer it. Not possible that one single book could suffice. (Though a book about survival on a desert island might come in handy, no?)

4) A book that made me laugh: "Monty Python's Flying Circus: Just the Words". (Nudge nudge, wink wink!)

5) A book that made me cry: See answer to question 1.

6) A book I wish I had written: I think any of the books by Robertson Davies would have pleased me to have written. Or maybe Carol Shields? Of course books by Carl Sagan and Joseph Campbell all could stand in that spot, too.

7) A book that should never have been written: They're out there, but fortunately I've erased them from memory so I don't have titles to supply!

8) A book I'm currently reading: "Salt: A World History" by Mark Kurlansky. I've experienced some mocking for this title, believe you me!

"You're reading a book about WHAT!?! Salt!!? Oh.My.God. Are you serious?

Mind, I've also been ridiculed for using the phrase "I'll keep you abreast of the situation."

I work with cretins, what can I say.

In fact, just yesterday I said something about being obtuse and this reply followed.

"Obtuse? Why do you have to use words like that? I guess I'm just not as smart as you Tai. Oh, wait. I am as smart, I just don't have to use big words to prove it."

I was, to say the least, stung.

"But I REALLY speak like that." I protested. "In fact, all my friends do as well. I can't help it!"
I spoke my defense to uncaring ears.
Sigh.
Good thing I didn't trot out my current favorite word, 'polyglot'.
That would have REALLY annoyed her.

But I digress....
Back to the books!

9) A book I'm planning to read: As many as I can. I figure I've got at least another 50 or 60 years.
I'll just have to plan my time carefully!



*Thanks Dagoth, I enjoyed this quite a bit!

Blogger come back...?

More like deadbeat blogger!

What do they call an old, unused blog?
A 'cobweblog'.

HA!

(groan, yes I realize that was awful and I beg your indulgences. What with this betablog thing they've set up I barely figured out how to get to this one!)

So.

How you doin'?






p.s. a wee picture of my lil' cat Attessa to amuse and entertain

I'm on my way to a blogging comeback...

...but until then the bubbles will have to suffice.
Oh. Right.
There were bubbles AND my mom as the 'White Queen' in a life sized game of chess.

And I found another one of these signs:
It won't be long...I'll be back.

"The Shakespeare Incident."

I want to share with you an amusing episode from the other night (now referred to as "The Shakespeare Incident").
Twas the night before I went to see the Shakespeare play "Midsummer Nights Dream" at Vancouver's "Bard on the Beach Festival" (for which I should include a link instead of being lazy, but alas, I'm expected for dinner shortly and so am pressed for time.)

Spider and her dear husband were visiting that evening, in preparation for said event, and we were all fast asleep in my wee apartment.

Suddenly, in the dark hours before summer's dawn, a voice rang out across the alley, "You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot
so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of
it: I loved you not.
Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst thou be a
breeder of sinners?"

"Hey," I started, "That's Hamlet!"

More sonorous quotes, more passages from Hamlet...something about balconies.
But it was the rocks that had Spider leaping to her feet in consternation.

Check out Spider's account. She made me laugh out loud!


(Also? I'm on HOLIDAY! Thus the questionable posting output. I'll be back sometime next week!)

Learning new things.

Early the other morning I believe I found one of the most stunning trees I think I've ever seen.

Oh! And I've seen some truly beautiful trees, I must mention that...there once was a Maple tree in a gently sloping field that I will never forget.
Remember 'Pol? Remember it's limbs that we drowsed in?
And the cows that followed us, hoping for dinner?

Anway.
I digress.

My friend and I happened upon a truly remarkable tree in the Point Grey area of Vancouver last weekend.
We were wandering about, admiring the stately old homes and August full-blown gardens when the most stunning of trees rustled softly over us.

Looking up through the green-glowing sunlight we stopped dead.

A white gray trunk 3 people around full with long delicate branches stood over us, filtering the morning light in a patched spectacle on the pavement where we stood.

Walking across the street to admire it from a distance, we murmured as if on holy ground, "I wonder what kind of tree it is...it's spectacular."
"It must be very old to have grown to that size. I wonder it's age."

As if the tree had sent a messenger to answer us, a non-descript middle aged man on a bicycle rode slowly near, then stopped by us.

Almost unbidden he said, "That's an American Beech Tree. The neighbourhood was established in 1912 and it's thought that that is an original planting."

And just as slowly, our thanks echoing after him, he rode on.
Of course, when I turned to look to see where he had gone, he had vanished.


I love learning new things.

I learned a marvelous tree I love lives at Dunbar and 1st, and that people sometimes still stop to chat with strangers.

Eureka!

It's possible that the entire free world is already acquainted with what I'm about to rave on about, but nonetheless. Here I go.

I have just discovered the very best FREE music site known to (wo)mankind.

At the risk of having all of you dear people raise an concerned eyebrow at me and quietly think to yourselves..."Um, yes dear. And here in North America we also have wonderous inventions called "com-pew-turs" and "in-tur-nets"", damn it. I'm willing to take that chance.

This site is easily navigable and fun. *
It has music on it that I listen to...this is an important requirement, certainly!
(Django Reinhardt is always a difficult one to find and they have it! Lots of it!)

And thus far, it doesn't seem to be the virus distribution site that other 'free music sharing' thing was.
Honestly, that was SO 3 years ago. I can't even remember what it was called! 'Sleeping' something? 'Ster' whatwasit?
Anyway!
This is better. Far, far better.

Oh, and for us Canadians?
Here's a little secret.
When they ask you to create an account (it's free) they'll require you to use an American postal code.
I've heard it rumoured that 12345 works wonders.
Mind...it's just a rumour.
~ahem~






*I must admit here and now that I suffer from a little bit of paranoia.

I worry that this site is just a cleverly disguised gambit to suck all the personal information out of my computer and thereby cleverly obtain a way to possess my soul. (Which, frankly, I'd be more concerned about if I hadn't lost it at a pool game years ago.)

Yet I soldier on.
Spreading the word.

I'm listening to the wonderous music RIGHT NOW.
All hail the amazing music site.
Let us bow down.

AND, a tremendous amount of thanks to M. Viking for bringing this to my attention.
Cheers!

I hate to sound like a nag but...

Be careful out there!

There were two occasions over this weekend where motorcyclists almost hit me, and neither my mom or I were impressed.

The first one involved a motorcycle trying to run a red light in front of me, almost causing a major accident (I don't think his girlfriend on the back was too impressed with him either).

The other incident involved a motorcyclist attempting to change lanes into my car!

C'mon guys!

As the driver of an enclosed vehicle I know to look out for you guys on two wheels (believe me, having also driven a motorcycle I know how vital that is) BUT you have to take care of yourself as well!

There's only so much I can do when you dart out in front of me or try to merge yourself into my car.

So don't do it...okay???

I forgot to mention the Scrabble!

This weekend was a veritable whirlwind of activity.

Suffice to say that my mom and I had the most marvelous of times.
We visited Granville Island where we 'admired' some Native carved heads and we picked up the makings for dinner which I cooked for mom later on Saturday.

Sunday we tore around Vancouver; we did go to the Powell Street Festival, but there was an odd juxtapostion between the people doing the celebrating and the indigent peoples sleeping around the outskirts of Oppenheimer Park.
My mom and I both felt uncomfortable; it rather felt like we were disturbing the people that called that plot of land home just so we could peruse expensive jewelry and eat food they couldn't afford so we left.

Instead we went to historical Steveston, where we watched a little play about the exploitation of immigrant workers at the turn of the century and admired the flowery doorsteps some of the business had put together.

We then explored the beautiful Buddhist Temple in Richmond.
So unused to anything more surprising than a deer by the side of the road, I suppose it's easy to understand that my mother gasped and stumbled when we rounded a corner to see a massive 30 foot gold statue of a many armed god/dess confronting her.

She recovered quickly, and obviously enjoyed the peaceful calm of the temple.

Monday we were able to get up early enough to grab a quick bagel breakfast from Tim Horton's and raced to Stanley Park to be there before the hordes of bus riding tourists hit the calm sea wall.
Ah, breakfast in the fresh air before our jaunt.

We walked a lot...after a 2 hour stroll around the sea wall, the next stop was lunch at the serene Van Dusen Gardens and a leisurely walk through the gardens.

Then off to the bus for the long ride home my momma went; happy, tired and stuffed full of memories.

I really did forget to mention the Scrabble!
My mom loves Scrabble so we bought ourselves a board and had a few games each evening after dark fell...I kept catching her giving me extra points by 'accident' so the truth of who REALLY won the games is forever lost.
But that's what mom's are for, right?

Visitations!

Well, lucky lucky!
My momma's coming to spend time with lil' ol' me in the 'big city'.

I'm very excited.

I really enjoy spending time with my mom, and it's so much fun when she comes over to Vancouver from the small town she lives in.
Having her here kind of allows me to see Vancouver with fresh eyes.

This weekend is a loooong weekend; Monday the 7th is a holiday in British Columbia and there are PLENTY of things to do in Vancouver over the next 3 days.

The Gay Pride Parade takes place on Sunday, as well as the Japanese-Canadian festival ("Powell Street Festival").
White Rock is having a torchlight parade too!
Not to mention the regular wonderful stuff in Vancouver.
The Stanley Park sea-wall, Granville Island, Steveston Village and on and on.

The only problem with my mom coming over to visit will be what, of all the fun things to choose from, we should do!

Even if we don't partake in any of those options, and just sit around and chat it'll be a great visit.

We have fun together...she doesn't come over often enough!

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend no matter what they do!

And speaking of reading...

My pirate name is:

Captain Mary Read

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. Even through many pirates have a reputation for not being the brightest souls on earth, you defy the sterotypes. You've got taste and education. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Thanks for sharing, Dagoth!
This pirate name couldn't please me more!

I've a confession to make.

I am a re-reader.

Yes. It's true.
Also? I don't regret it for a second.

I have hundreds of books and I think it's safe to say that I've read all of them at least twice, some even more than that.
This fact seems to confound people.
"You re-read them? All of them?" They ask, hardly able to contain their surprise.
"All the ones on my bookshelves I've read at least twice." I nod.
"Why?"
Of course they have to ask. Why?
I strive to be clear, "Because each of these books have several stories to tell. Each book can hold layers of meaning that a single read doesn't always reveal."
"Oh. I usually give all my Danielle Steele away when I'm done with them."
"Yes. I can see that."

So. Here's a little bit of what I re-read.

There are books I read at least once a year, books I keep around for reference, and books that I re-read just because they are so beautifully written that it would break my heart to be rid of them.

Books I read at least once a year:
Robertson Davies - The Cornish Trilogy ("Rebel Angels" is my favorite)
Irving Stone - "The Agony and the Ecstasy"

Books I keep around for reference:
Mark Kurlansky - "Salt: A World History"
Bill Bryson - "The Mother Tongue: English and How it Got That Way"
Simon Winchester - "The Professor and the Madman" (which I've just noticed seems to be missing off my shelf...I wonder whom I lent it to!)

Books too beautiful/interesting/entertaining to get rid of:
Timothy Findlay - "Pilgrim"
Carol Shields - most all of her works I admire greatly
Alice Munro - same as above AND she resides in Comox, which can't help but endear her
Anthony Bourdain - "Kitchen Confidential"
A. S. Byatt - "Possession"

There are SO many more though!
For instance, I really enjoy many of Anne Tyler's books; they aren't particularly deep, but they hold something that I enjoy (think Geena Davis and Kathleen Turner in "The Accidental Tourist").

I'm starting to find history interesting as well (especially the racy bits about the courtesans!).
And there are some books about physics and quantum mechanics (like those by Richard Feynman) that I feel compelled to read again and again.
(Yeah...I know, 'quantum mechanics'. I do recommend Feynman though. His love of science and of his 'job' is truly contagious. Carl Sagan falls neatly into that category, as does Joseph Campbell.)

I find as I grow older, books that captured my attention for one reason or another develop a different flavour as the years pass.

That my world changes, and thus the fact that my views change certainly factor into this...but a well-written book can be returned to (should be returned to!) over and over; always with something new to exclaim over.
Robertson Davies is a great example of an author who is able to write one story containing a multitude of layers.

I first introduced myself to "The Rebel Angels" * when I was about 12 or so.
The story was fascinating...a defrocked monk, a gypsy family and a secret affair between a teacher and his student.
What wasn't there for a 12 year old to enjoy?
But as the years went by I saw more; I saw sexual relationships beyond the 'sex'; observations about religion that my young eyes couldn't comprehend, and a view on history that my 12 year old self didn't even see the first time 'round.

So.
I guess Robertson Davies is the reason I re-read.

Books that don't stand the test of time, that don't deliver that depth or an exciting revelation I don't hold onto for very long.

But the ones that spark that fire?
They keep burning and burning; there's no end to the fuel they add. **



And p.s.
That first picture in the top right hand corner? Not me!
Also?
Despite the fact that laryngitis has turned into a stuffed up nose?
I can tell.
Some one nearby has pissed off a skunk.
It's rage is drifting over my balcony and into my living room.
You know...if I have to have a stuffy nose, couldn't it be good for something!?!







*Thanks for all those books laid out at my finger tips, Dad.
I don't always scrub my hands before I read 'em, but I sure do love 'em.

** NO! I don't mean in the literal sense! My apartment gets cold in the winter, but not THAT cold!

Laryngitis: It's cause and effect.

"WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW: Laryngitis (LAIR-in-JIE-tis) is an irritation and swelling of the voice box and the area around it. It may cause your voice to change, or you may lose your voice entirely for a short while. The problem is most common in late fall, winter, or early spring. With or without treatment, you should be well in 7 to 14 days. "

That information is helpful (sort of) but there is one thing that it DOESN'T explain.

Why the HELL does everyone think it's so damn funny??

All day long people were laughing and whispering at me; pointing at their throats and silently ridiculing me and my sore throat.

The other intriguing reaction? Some would start speaking softly to me in broken sentences as if I was some kind of foreign deaf person who suddenly couldn't understand regularly spoken English.

Oh.
And some of them even threw in some sign language for good measure.

So what is it about laryngitis that turns everyone else into annoying mockers?

humph.

What a skunk.

Once, many years ago I lived in a tiny little hamlet surrounded by forested lands and glacier fed lakes.
Those lands held many many wonderful creatures...very few of which I ever saw.

There were deer, wolves, elk and cougars sharing (uncomfortably perhaps) the sprawl of wild wood.
Raccoons and their cousin the black bear proliferated in the local dump.
Otters and muskrats swam in the rivers and ocean...seals of all types lounged and sunbathed.

I saw most of them, but rarely.

To glimpse a bear was a fine treat, and you never saw a cougar unless they were spotted running amok at the Empress Hotel in Victoria in '92. (I looked high and low for the news story, but couldn't find it anywhere!)

No sir, animals knew their place on the Island and they stayed there.

Not in Vancouver though.
I remember the first time a saw a coyote casually strolling out of a mall parking lot. I just about choked on my own tongue in my excitement.

And oh, the skunks.

I had never seen a skunk before.
To me they were a creature more rare than the elusive wolf; even the wolf you could occasionally hear calling in the dark distance.

Until I moved to Vancouver.

Suddenly, skunks were ubiquitous.
They were every where!
And if they weren't actually around their odor certainly was.

I've seen countless squished skunks, skunk families, skunks bustling about in vacant lots, and one very angry skunk standing on his/her front paws insulted by a passing bicyclist.

I confess that I rather like watching them chundle about in their little busy body way.
They look so inoffensive and mild mannered.

Till you get too close.

I can smell angry skunks all over my neighborhood; their rage is carried on the drifting breeze and straight into my bedroom.

Some people just haven't figured out how co-exist with them.
Okay, you drive a 4000lb car, but guess what?

Skunks should ALWAYS get the right of way.

Are you SURE I can quote you on that?

(I found this at whyihatemyhusband.com but the link wouldn't work. Nonetheless...credit where credit is due!)

Sure you read it...but did you get it?

I saw a group of people standing around at the back of my car as I returned to it after lunch.
They appeared to be mildly confused by my bumper.

I can only surmise that they had noticed my bumper sticker and either found it thought provoking, or plain ol' puzzling.

"You're of the edge of the map, mate."

"Here, there be monsters."

Having just seen the "Dead Man's Chest" but mere moments ago, I feel obligated to write a word or two about it. *

(Now don't look to me to provide an in depth movie write up here.
It was fluff...you couldn't possibly do anything of import with it.)

But first let me say that I realize that I'm WAAY behind in my movie viewing; this movie was SO 2 weeks ago, but in my defense? I do that on purpose.

I don't like the crush of all the I-must-be-the-first-person-ever-to-see-this-movie types. I want to have a good seat, far from the teenage boys and tittering schoolgirls.
I don't want to sit with my nose pressed against the screen, or at an angle that chiropractors cringe at the thought of.

In short, I like to actually SEE the movie I'm going too. Anything else is irritating.

But I digress.

As far as fun action movie's go, it was okay.

Lots of very interesting special effects and a make-up artists dream (or nightmare depending on how you look at it) come true.
Plot holes large enough to keep everyone talking and some of us wondering (I must confess, I'm referring to myself here) if they missed something vital as the tale unfolded.

I feel safe divulging all the bits, as I suspect everyone who wants to see this movie already has.

The Kraken was well done...and I very much enjoyed the Dutchman's ship as it submerged and unsubmerged (what's the proper term for a large, crustacean encrusted galleon rising up out of the surf anyway?)

But my very favorite part?
The part that made me really glad I had spent $12 dollars (and this is Canadian dollars, mind) and 1 hour and 35 minutes of my time?

My favorite part was the last 4 minutes.

My favorite part of the entire movie was watching Captain Barbossa step agonizingly slowly down the stairs (set up so everyone would think it was Jack of course, saved from the Kraken by the miracle of two sea turtles) eating his beloved and long cherished apple.

I mean, OF COURSE J. Depp was fun to watch scarper about; though in my mind the only role O. Bloom has done justice to (so far) was Legolas.

It is my firm belief that Geoffrey Rush stole the first "Pirate's".
"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request."
"Means 'no'."

And in the last 4 minutes...I do believe he stole this one too.
"Now tell me, what's become of my ship?"

I hope that the very obviously set up third "Pirate's" movie casts him in every single scene.

ok, ok...I have a small Geoffrey Rush crush. There.
I said it.

Happy now?






*Also, I may or may not have mentioned the fact that since the tender age of 8 I've wanted to be a pirate.
Quite seriously in fact.
My friends are capable (and probably more than willing) to vouch for that.
Not sure if it's relevant, but let's just consider it another little bit of Tai trivia...or should that be 'it's my realitai'?

(I mean, good HEAVENS! My blog pic is me with a sword on my head under a jolly roger bandana! Oh! Dead give away!!)

Making music.

I can hear the woman next door practicing on her violin.
Mostly it's just simple notes and scales in a scratchy and uncertain hand, but for some reason I just love to listen to her.

It doesn't matter that it's not concertos soaring to the heavens, or grief-stricken gypsy wails.
That she is putting bow to string is all that matters.

And on that note, for several months now I've had an earnest and genuine yearning to pick up the clarinet again.
After all these years, I suddenly want to play the instrument that dogged my childhood.

Perhaps it's because I've grown older; I've come to realize how versatile the clarinet really is.

The self proclaimed "very difficult man" Artie Shaw is a wonderful example of a clarinets use in the jazz world, but the classical world has it's own repertoire of famous music and equally famous musicians.

Maybe it's just because I remember some of the warm, full sounds that I could elicit from the clarinet that call me back.
Or perhaps it seemed like speaking a different, more melodic language that encourages me.

At any rate, I hope my neighbours will feel as kindly encouraging towards my attempts at study as I do towards the neighbour with the violin.

(That is...when I finally get around to finding a clarinet! They seem rather elusive and expensive at the moment!)

Summer.

Summer has arrived at last in Vancouver.
Shimmering oases of water gleam on the black pavement, and condensation pools at the base of glasses holding a cold liquid heaven.

I love summer.

That idea that murders and crimes of passion increase in the summer astounds me.
Where does one get the energy for such an activity as murder?
How can rage ignite when weekend afternoons seem to slide on and on in an endless sleepy nod?

Drowsing in the slow dripping lassitude of summer's intensity seems to me to encourage the opposite of intense emotion...instead, a carefully composed languor seems more to suit.

Cool beverage within easy grasp, a gentle breeze stirring the hairs on the back of the neck, and a softly swaying hammock in the dappled shade.

How does rage fit in amongst the wafting scent of flowers in full bloom and dragonflies darting with aimless abandon?

I suppose that not everyone shares my adoration of the voluptuousness of summer, but I wish they could.
There might be less crime.

I thought there had been a death!

My last questionable post reflected the fact that I thought that 'delusionoftai' had bit the proverbial big one; had gone to the great 'bloggerbeyond'.

It's not true?

"Delusion of Tai" lives on!?!
I thought that almost two years of ideas and thoughts had suddenly vanished.
I thought that the last two years of this venture had ended as a sad example of literary seppuku.

Well, butter my butt and call me biscuit!

If you were worried, panic not.
I haven't gone any further than the 'great blogger incident' has pushed me!



*And thanks to dear Jeffye for helping me FINALLY get a picture up, and apologies to hoping4more for accidently deleting one of her comments.

kjghiguyg

I'm ALIVE!

I realize I've been blog deficient, but it's not 'cus I don't have things to say.

It's WORK!

Bleedin', crazy-makin' work.

But I'm still stalking about, make no mistake.

Maybe I'll tell the tale of my hospital visit one day, or of spending a long lazy day dozing in the sun listening to jazz by the water.

In the meantime though...I'm off; I can hear the crack of the whip as I type.

Well, HUZZAH!

June 24 marked my 2 year anniversary of being a non-smoker.

So how did I celebrate my hard won, relentless struggle against the evil, insidious demon nicotine?

Why, by having a smoke of course!

Sometimes I'm such a contrary little thing.

Why would I do that!?!
Hey, don't ask me! I hardly understand myself at all.

However.

I didn't inhale!
That counts, right? You believe me, right?

Anyway, the next morning I awoke on my cousins couch at 5:30am with the most vile stench on my person.

The stink alone has reinforced my desire to be a non-smoker! *

So, despite the fact that I 'fake-smoked' a cigarette, I still like to consider the 729 days that I didn't as high achievement!

HUZZAH!

(I think I still need a smack though.)






* Well, that's not quite right. My desire to be a non-smoker hasn't wavered, but after all this time it's almost like I sort of take it for granted.

Thus the nicodemon-taunting...
"Neener-neener, I've been quit THIS long no way you can get me now! I'll just have this one and show you!!




Uh-huh.

We know THAT doesn't work.
It's a slippery slope straight to tar-lung hell, and it's not a trip I care to pay to take.

So perhaps I ought to say that my RESOLVE is stiffened! My choice to NOT smoke is deliberate and firm!

No more of this "teasing the beast".

He haunts and skulks and looks for opportunity everywhere. I've fought him for too long to be so careless.

For sale, cheap!

Well, I'm garage saleing (that word looks so wrong) on Saturday with Kimber.

She's moving far away, so she believes (as do I) that selling some of her voluminous amounts of 'stuff' is a better idea than hauling it around.

I, for my part, am not vested with a lot of 'stuff'.

Pack-ratting has never been a problem for me. If I like something, I use it, display it, eat it, read it or wear it.

If I don't, it's gone.
"Chuckaphobia" I do not suffer from!

I looked around my little place the other day to see if there was anything I could contribute to the garage sale; aside from a few books that I have more than one copy of, and some old electronics crap, I LOVE everything I own.

(Okay, well I don't LOVE everything in my place, but something like my couch isn't easily packed up and sold at a garage sale.)

So, I'll pawn off my little collection of 'junk' and be happy for the extra $10-$15 I hope it'll garner.

Wish us a sunny day and many acquisitive customers!

(P.S. Anyone want a terribly ugly brown couch with a gaping great hole in it? It's really comfy!
For the incredibly low price of $20 bucks and the promise that you'll be able to wrestle it out of my apartment without destroying anything, it's yours! Must provide own muscles and vehicle.)

Another year in my life.

If anyone would have told me when I was 12 that I would make it to 34 I would have been astounded.
Frankly, I thought 26 was plenty old enough for anyone!

Fortunately, I remain firmly on this planet as it spins around on it's axis for yet another year of my life and I'm DAMN glad of it!

33 was a great big year; full of wonderful things and growth and sometimes hard things and sadness.

I expect nothing less of 34 now that it's here!

So. Coming along for the ride?

Colour me squeamish.

I've eaten a good many 'odd' things in my day...alligator, bear and snake for instance.

But I believe I will have to draw the line at the recipe I recently came across in M.F.K Fisher's "The Art of Eating".
(The book itself is so divine though. I recommend it strongly for anyone interested in some of the most beautiful prose I think ever written about food and love and travel.)

So here it is, in all it's congealing glory; pictures NOT inlcuded for which I think you'll thank me.
(Really, if you have a sensitive constitution...turn back now!)

CALF'S HEAD A LA TORTUE

Bone, blanch and trim a calf's head, cut it up into large scollops, keep the ears whole, neatly trim the pieces, and toss them in the juice of a lemon; put them in a stewpan, with carrot, onion, celery, half a bottle of Madeira or sherry, and two large ladlefuls of good stock; cover with a well-buttered stiff paper, and put on the lid; set the whole to braize on the stove for about two hours.

When the pieces of calf's head are done, drain them on a napkin, and afterwards dish them up, in the form of a close wreath, round the base of a fried bread croustade; place the ears at the ends and on the flanks: if the party be large, two extra ears should be procured, as the four make the dish look much handsomer: next, place the tongue, cut down it's centre, and spread out on top of the croustade; on this put the brains, which must be kept whole and white, and round these, on the croustade, should be stuck six ornamental silver skewers, garnished with a double cocks-comb, a large mushroom, a quenelle, a truffle, and a large crayfish; sauce around with a well made sauce a la Tortue; garnish the dish round between the spaces of the ears with four larded and glazed sweetbreads, and eight decorated quenelles, and send to table.

I was sort of okay until the bit about the brains. *

Now, I do realize that tongue and brains are recognized members of some very important dishes.
But something deep inside me rebels at the thought.
(Truth be told, it's not that deep inside me. It's right at the surface in fact.)

Oh, and if anyone knows what a cocks-comb is for sure, please let me know. Extra points for the explanation of a 'double' cocks-comb.









*This reminds me of the one and only time I watched an episode of "Fear Factor".
The participants had to eat a cow's muzzle.
That was promptly the end of my contribution to the ratings for that show.

To read a poet.

"My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light!"

Familiar, yes?

It's Edna St. Vincent Millay's.
One of the most famous poets of the Jazz Age...she smoked in public, had affairs with men and women, and generally rocked the early 1900's all the way through to 1950 when a tragic fall ended her life.

I don't know a lot about poets...and though it could be said that I like poetry, it's a rare occasion that would find me purchasing a book of poems.
Thus, when I came across a biography of a modern poet at the library I thought, "Well, I've got nothing else to do."

What a wonderful, moving surprise of a book.

It's Nancy Milford's "Savage Beauty."

I don't just recommend it as a book about a poet, or a book about an interesting women: it is unto itself a fascinating look into the world at that time; perched as it was between wars that engulfed the world.

And Miss Millay didn't just write within her time, she wrote for all of our times.

This book was so artfully written, I really do recommend it based on that alone...and I'll leave you with this:

I had a little Sorrow,
Born of a little Sin,
I found a room all damp with gloom
And shut us all within;
And, "Little Sorrow, weep," said I;
"And, Little Sin, pray to God to die,
And I upon the floor will lie
And think how bad I've been!"

Alas for pious planning--
It mattered not a whit!
As far as gloom went in that room,
The lamp might have been lit!
My Little Sorrow would not weep,
My little Sin would go to sleep--
To save my soul I could not keep
My graceless mind on it!

So I got up in anger,
And took a book I had,
And put a ribbon in my hair
To please a passing lad,
And, "One thing there's no getting by--
I've been a wicked girl," said I;
"But if I can't be sorry, why,
I might as well be glad!"

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Not bad for $40 bucks!

This was it. The 'before' pic of my balcony garden. Truthfully, it's just a few leftovers from last year.











Not much too it!





So I bought me some plants. This here pitiful little thing was the last of a sale for Clematis...the saleswoman actually just gave this to me; so poor are it's prospects. I've never grown one before, but 'free' is a hard bargain to walk on by!



I put down some cut-open garbage bags to make the potting mess a little more containable.
Once you're finished, it's short work to pick up the bags and toss them; loose dirt and all.





It's really not a very big space to work in...that wee island of uncluttered black plastic was just enough room for me to sit crosslegged to pot everything up.
I decided to do a succulent 'mini-garden'...I've never been overly fond of sedums until recently so this is rather new to me. I think this looks alright, the small white rocks sort of add a structual element too the over all look. (ooh, don't I just sound like I know what I'm talking about!)
I took the wee snapped off bits and made an even minier mini-garden. It might not take, but that's okay.


Et voila! Okay, you're right. My balconey is stained. But darn it all, can't I continue to live in the fantasy that time has worked it's magic and given my balcony a fine patina?

I planted Nicotiana, geraniums...some lovely pink and white cosmos and something else I don't remember the name of.
Oh, and the succulents of course; one of the varieties is called 'Edge of Night', which is lovely.
There's also a 'wind flower' (Japanese Anenome?) that's not in bloom yet; it has delicate pink nodding flowers.
When I get around to it, I'm going to put in some night scented stock as well, for it's delicious perfume...and maybe some herbs.

It's not exactly the 'Tuileries', but it's mine!

Blogger Issues.

Well, that was irritating wasn't it?

On the other hand, it gave me perfect excuse to be lazy for the last few days; provided a perfect alibi!

And still does.

I'm going to blame the blog problems directly for the fact that I don't have anything exciting or witty to write about.

So...um.
I'll toss in a random picture.

Have a great weekend!

Don't EVER speak to me again!!

Last year I had a strange and uncomfortable encounter with a man from my neighbourhood.
I wrote about it at the time under Safe and Sound.

After that particular incident I continued to see him off and on around the area.
It sure felt like he was just circling around looking for me.

When he did just happen to see me, he would just stare and stare.
And I don't mean a quick glance to 'check me out', or a querying look as if he knew me; no this was a full on gawk.

Yuck.

Over the winter he seemed to have disappeared (I had hoped for good), but an evening stroll tonight proved me wrong in an even more annoying and alarming fashion.

As I set out on my evening constitutional (does anyone ever call it that any more?) I noticed the man in question driving in the opposite direction.

And staring at me.

Of course.

Trying to think nothing of it I continued along my way, turning right at the corner.

I managed to get half way up the street when SCREEECH!

There he was.

Blocking my way!

He had just rocketed around the block to find me, and was now PARKED halfway in a driveway deliberately blocking my way!

Pulling down his sunglasses he gazed over the top of them, "Do I know you?"

"Just from the neighbourhood." I replied; my dark sunglasses hid the daggers I was shooting him.

"Oh, 'cus I thought you gave me a big smile as I drove by."

'You wish'. I fumed silently.
Out loud I ever so cleverly replied, "Oh."

I started to go around the back of his vehicle just as he asked, "What's your name?"

"Tai." I answered instinctively, then promptly cursed myself to all the ends of the earth.

Why oh WHY did I say that???
Why couldn't I have said "None of your freakin' business" or pretended I hadn't heard him and kept walking?

Damn damn DAMN!!!

"I'm Brad. Nice to meet you." He simpered on, "Sure is nice to have neighbours like you."

"Okay, have a nice evening." I finally marched my inanely polite self* around his vehicle (which was still firmly parked in my path) and didn't look back.

So.

There it is.

A creepy man is following me around MY neighbourhood and doesn't have any qualms about pulling his vehicle to an abrupt halt in front of me to FORCE me to stop.

I'm a little worried.

But here's something that he doesn't know.

Last year I was concerned enough about his actions to have made note of his license plate number and the make and model of his vehicle.

I also pointed him out to a friend of mine who would have no problem making very short work of him indeed.

Am I nervous?

A little.

But frankly?

He's got a lot more to be worried about.







*So what the HELL was I thinking??

What held me rooted to the spot, unable to channel some good old righteous indignation at having someone force me to do something?

I'm surprised I didn't just give him my damned address and invited him over for tea!

What the hell WAS that??

Oh.
Right.
Years of being instructed to be polite, no matter what the cost.

I'm really going to have to unlearn that.

The hard part is, being polite comes completely unbidden.

When put in a situation that I'm unsure about I resort to being polite.
Oh sure, I can invoke some cold icy politeness, and even a solid tight-lipped smile to indictate (barely) my disapproval...but that's HARDLY the effect I'm going for.

Rats.

What I should have done would have been to say in a loud and imperious tone, "Get your filthy car out of my way, and NEVER speak to me again."

Ah well. Wait till next time.

No...on second thought...
I hope there isn't a 'next time'.

Just say "Hi."

I was thinking about shyness today.
Pondering what value it has; why it seems so prevalent today; how much it affects peoples life (in a generally negative manner).

I'm not talking about the ubiquitous feeling of nervousness at interviews, or being reluctant to address a large group of people assembled in front of you.
Hell, if you don't feel a little anxious about those things then you are a super-hero and need to be immortalized immediately!

What I'm referring to is a cold-sweat-panic-inducing fear of meeting new and unknown people in what most would consider a relatively harmless gathering.
Like 'a friend of a friends' birthday.
Or you know, when a date invites you to a big going away party for his old roommate?

Unfortunately, I didn't come up with any great insights to my questions.

Being shy never occured to me.
I had a black time of it socially in school, but that didn't stop me from talking to people...and it didn't prevent me from meeting my very best friends. (Whom I still proudly count as my best friends to this day, 20+ years after the fact.)

After the hell of school ended, being even more out there and open just seemed like the only way to be.
"The world is so much bigger than this little town; there must be more people out there like me!" That was my general philosophy and what I took with me as I ventured forth.

It wasn't strange to me to go alone to places, eat out at a restaurant alone, talk to strangers, or sit and chat with people for hours after I had just met them (Hmmm. I didn't stop to think if they enjoyed that or not. Ooops!)

My heart really goes out to those who feel that people are judging them poorly; staring at them with distaste or suffer with thoughts that they aren't good enough to engage this crazy world.

But.

You are.

You are enough.

And who knows.

Maybe that person you decide to bravely chat with at the next 'required work function' might be a person like me.
And who's to say...we might end up the best of friends!

"I'd like to thank the Academy...."

It appears that QueenieCarly has nominated my post "Fear and Loathing at Age 33" for May's "Perfect Post Award."

It never occured to me that my ditherings would be considered worthy of award!

Thank you Carly, I am flattered indeed!

It is just me?

I was just looking up the town 'Celebration' in Florida* in Wikipedia and came up with a variety of statistics.
It included the following information:

There were 952 households out of which 45.1% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 66.5% were married couples living together, 6.3% had a female householder with no husband present, and 24.7% were non-families. 20.2% of all households were made up of individuals and 3.6% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.82 and the average family size was 3.30.

"Uh-huh", you might say.
So?

Well, let me ask you this.
Where is the information that tells us how many men are the householders with no wife present??
Is it so bizarre that a woman might own her own home that it needs to be a stand-out statistic?

BAH!

(Yeah, it's probably just me.)



*I just do these things. I don't know why.

I need covet no longer!

This was my highly anticipated purchase this weekend!
Spider first introduced me to the French butter crock last year and I've coveted hers ever since.
It's such a clever idea!
Before the age of refrigeration, butter was often kept in earthenware pots large and small, sometimes submerged in water. The modern water-submerged butter crock is thought to have first appeared in France in the Middle Ages, and many (not all!) French have been using them since.
The water creates an airtight seal that preserves the freshness of the butter while keeping it at room temperature.

I love my handmade butter crock. *


*As a P.S...Darrel Hancock is the talented artist that created my beautiful and functional butter crock.
He is from Qualicum Beach on Vancouver Island, B.C. Canada.
Here's his website!
Darrel Hancock
Check out his beautiful work!