Just another day in Victoria, BC.

Gargoyles...not just in Paris anymore! This fellow was frowning down from an old bank building.



The view from the inner harbour in Victoria. This is the view from very near the famous "Empress Hotel".



The view from the Malahat. This is from the very top of the Malahat...driven to travel from Victoria to places north on Vancouver Island. In this case, it was for me to get to Nanaimo to visit my darling friends!



Oh look! Me fixing my car!



Ah, Darth Fiddler. Every city needs one.



A Dragon in silhouette.



And tonight...Weird AL!!
I'm so excited. Hope he does "White and Nerdy". I'm thinking about making that my personal theme song!

Hell.

I just read a book that described exactly what resides in my most horrific nightmares.

Alexia sine agraphia: the inability to recognize the printed word.

Howard Engels' book, "The Man Who Forgot How to Read", is a short memoir with a view into a published authors trip into a very dark world.

One morning he discovered that, due to an unnoticed stroke in the night, he was no longer able to recognize words.
He describes that mornings Globe and Mail looking as though it had been translated into Serbo-Croatian.

A self described 'omnivorous' reader.
Unable to read.
Interestingly, he retained the ability to write.
But he couldn't read his own words either.

Now, I recognize that in the larger scheme of things, simply not being able to read isn't truly 'the end'.
But for me it would be close.

I recommend this book.
Though Engel is a cheery, 'make the best of it' sort of fellow, you can't help but feel his constant sliver of fear that he may have read his last word.

Perfect.

This is my favorite time of day and my very favorite part of the week.

It's the Saturday morning of a l-o-o-o-ng weekends.

The sun is (trying) to shine, I've got a fresh cup of coffee in front of me and several interesting books waiting to be read.  

And that's not to mention a Fall Fair to attend and a few local farmers markets as well...3 glorious days stretch ahead, filled with possibility.

Does it get any better than this?

I hope everyone has such a wonderful time ahead of them!

"...the Iraq, everywhere like, such as."

Geez, I almost feel sorry for her.

"Friends".

Facebook.
You either love it or you hate it, I've heard it said.

Having an available 'database' to which you can voluntarily add all your vital (and not so vital) statistics seems a pretty good idea.
You can find people, people can find you.
Your 'profile' can outline everything about you, or very little, depending on how you feel.
Social status and general interests to education, work experience and sexual orientation.

I do have an account, but I can't say I love Facebook.

On the one hand, it is nice to be able to find people who you've 'lost touch' with over the years for one reason or another.
I found one of my old roommates from years ago (or rather, she found me) and I was happy to have some other old friends who had gotten lost in the shuffle find their way back into my life.
But other people have tracked me down as well, and I'm not always so pleased about that.
For instance, an old boyfriend of mine contacted me through this network recently.

What I can't figure out is why.
We didn't part particularly amicably.
Also? It was almost 17 years ago that we dated.
I only reflected on him occasionally over the years, and that was to chastise myself for being such a fool.

So why did HE feel the need to look me up? Why did he need to contact me? And, even stranger, to contact Whatsisface and say to him, "I'm Tai's ex-boyfriend. I don't mean any harm."

Maybe he remembers that 3 months of our lives differently from me, after all 17 years have elapsed. Hmm, nah, it ended poorly. Surely he didn't forget that!

Other people, too, have contacted me and I find their interest in writing to me just as odd.
People I never spoke to in school are sending me 'friend requests'.
Others with whom I had but a passing acquaintance (as in, 'I passed them in the hall at school') seem eager to share with me their life stories.
I don't get it! It baffles me.

Some folks are left in the past for good reason, and I'd rather like them to stay there, thanks very much.
Surely others would like me to stay in their past, too, and I will happily stay there.
Far be it for me to intrude on their present lives, especially if I barely knew them then, and don't know them at all now.
(Though if everyone thought like me, Facebook would surely be a flop instead of the amazing success it is.)
Could just be I'm a misanthrope.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if my distaste for the whole thing is derived from my feeling that I haven't really done all that much to tell anyone about.
No cure for cancer, no space walks and no lotto wins here.

My life HAS been interesting and wonderful in it's own way, but it seems odd to me to pull out these individual incidences and dog and pony them for people who I probably wouldn't recognize in the street.
Seems too much an accounting of my life for people that I don't know.

And, it seems like way too much obligation to me.
When these veritable strangers contact me, my inner 'nice girl' requires that I politely accept their 'friend request' and say 'yes'. But all I really want to do is holler "NONONO, I don't want to be your friend. I wasn't then and I don't want to be now."
They tell me about their children, and enquire about mine (I don't have any), tell me about their camping trip (I don't like camping) and ask if I'll join a group (no) they've set up.
I'm a wretch and I don't care.

So I think I'm going to take myself off Facebook.
I just can't handle any more "friends".

Overheard in the Police Station. *

Police Officer (PO): "Hi, can I help you?"

Older man (OM) with a soft English accent: "Well, it's a bit silly I suppose. Sorry to trouble you. I've come in because of my wife, you see. She asked me to come down else she won't be able to sleep."

PO: "Yes? What can we do?"

OM: "It's about that boy in the paper this morning. The boy they found? The murder?"

PO: "Yes?"

OM: "Well, it's just that my son has been missing for a few months now. My wife sent me down to see if it...if this might be him."

PO: "What is your sons name, sir?"

OM: "Dale M-."

PO: "Let me check for you."

OM: "Thank you. My wife just gets so worried. She wanted me to ask."

PO: "Well, sir, that's not the name of the man we found."

OM: "Oh. Well, that's a relief. My wife will feel better about that. Of course, it's terribly hard on her, you see. He's been missing for some time and you always have to wonder.

PO: "I understand, sir. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

OM: "Oh no. That's just fine. Sorry to hear about that other boy though. Blow to his parents."

PO: "Yes sir."

OM: "Right, I'll be off. Won't take up any more of your time."




*I was there to fill out an application for a criminal record check for some volunteer work I'm doing.

Bits from the Island

I've been working and working and moving and cleaning and volunteering and tidying and weeding.

Whew.

I'm beat.

My job started on Monday. It's a short walk from our new place which is wonderful, but OH the filing!

Oddly, I don't mind filing. There's something to be said for a job that allows you to put pieces of paper into alphabetical order and see a sort of accomplishment at the end.

My co-workers gasp at the tremendous piles of paper in front of me (stuff going back 4 years!) and wonder at how I keep my sanity. "Oh, you must be so bored, poor thing!" I nod and smile, back bent to my task.

What they don't know is that I actually like it.

They don't understand that the repetitive task allows me time to think my own thoughts and escape in to my own worlds. Of which there are a great many marvelous and varied creations to keep me occupied.

In other news.
Our neighbours mowed our lawn the other day, which was nice of them.
It was looking rather weed infested (honestly? I don't think there ARE any bits of grass in that poor lawn. I suspect it's 50% dandelion, 30% morning glory and 20% rock) and nasty. And with no trees or plant (besides a rather ill looking Chestnut tree growing much too close to the house) it's in definite need of some tender loving care.

I'm really enjoying this new house of ours, despite the lawn. The kitchen is taking some getting used to as the stove and the fridge are in a different room from the sink and counter space. Odd, no?
But interesting and lovely.

Anything else?
Nope. Not at the moment!
Hope all is well everywhere else!

Meme time!

Big Brother decided I didn't have enough to do in my day what with moving and trying to find a new job, so he tagged me. That's okay, a little aided procrastination never hurt anyone!
Good vibrations...I need to formulate a list of 5 things that take me to my happy place.
It's tough!
So many things give me pleasure.

Well, here's 5. But believe me, they are just the top of a very long list.

Driving. Driving is one of my ways of sorting my head out, clearing out the cobwebs and letting go of problems that have been plaguing me.
When I drive, all my attention is on the road, on surrounding traffic and on the scenes flying. It's about being in the 'now'.
I drive standard, and shifting through the gears on a stretch of open road, windows wide open and music playing wipes away anything that was cause for concern very quickly.
And speaking of music...

Jazz. I love jazz.
I love old jazz. I adore live jazz and new jazz and funky jazz and soulful jazz. It's the music that so easily reflects my moods. How to describe my love of it. Words seem inadequate. Jazz can make me joyful and then break my heart. It kept me company when I was alone and it weaves it's happy magic when I'm with friends. It's a language I understand.

Books. Ah, books. A day without reading is time without oxygen. It's that important to me.

Friends. I'm one of the luckiest people I know when it comes to friends.
I have had my closest friends by my side since I was 11 years old. Nothing in my life is true or real until they know about it. The bad things in my life were eased and softened by my friendships. They give what they have freely and expect nothing in return.
I can't say enough about how my life is made so much better by those 3 being in it.

My mom. I just love spending time with my mom.
I've written about how important she is to me before, so those of you who have read my blog will know.
I want to write about her, but what comes out seems to me be too saccharine. And while she is very sweet, she's also very strong and independent.
She's pulled our family through some incredibly hard times and been through some things that might make other people crumble, yet she retains a warmth and genuine concern for others happiness.
My mom is my reminder that you can go through hell and still be able to love unconditionally. (Damn, this was supposed to make me HAPPY, not make me cry!!)

The Union Club.

This evening I spent some time at the club Whatshisface and I recently joined.

It's one of those elite and snotty clubs that boasts memberships of political representatives and parliamentary movers and shakers.

It was 'Ladies Night' this evening.

An evening not as risque as the title might imply.

No, nothing lascivious going on. It is simply a weekly occasion for the wives of the elect to sit together and play bridge in the 'Card Room' or have a cocktail on the patio overlooking the harbour.

The only "Chip 'n' Dales" I saw were the desks.

And anyway, they wouldn't have made it past the doormen. Dress code in effect. Sparkly thongs are NOT approved.

The 'Reading Room' is one of the largest and most well appointed rooms I've ever seen dedicated to the sublime art of reading alone. Elegant leather couches, giant palms and a collection of daily newspapers from around the world all centered around a grand fireplace.

My dinner guest was a lovely woman. Someone I don't really know all that well, but would like too know better. Being relatively new to a city, finding companionable people is pretty important.

Boy, does she know how to swear.

I have to admit that I've been know to cuss. (Hey, you. Stop rolling your eyes!)

However, when I'm in a place that is designed to hold elderly women and their old friends, I try really hard to 'fit in'. To belong.

To not scare anyone.

And speaking of being scared, I have to admit I found the place intimidating at first. Lots of liveried help. Obsequiousness seemed to be a job requirement.

Takes some getting used to.

But part of me felt like I was being a snot because I looked around guiltily every time she cursed though the rest of me thought, "What the hell do I care?"

So what is the point of this post?

Well, mostly it's to say that I had a nice time, not sure if I fit in and I feel bad that I care how my friend expressed herself.

And boy-howdy, good thing there weren't any strippers. It might have become truly rowdy...some of those ladies were hitting the tea pretty hard.

Theft 101

Along with everything else going on in my life, I'm moving! Not far (a mere 3 blocks) but into an abode that is charming and old and unique and completely renovated.

Spider Girl took some pictures last weekend, for which I'm grateful, as I took pictures too but I seem to have lost the cord to my camera and so can't post them.

Thus the title.

I'm stealing the pictures she took and posted on her blog and directly applying them to mine. Seems fair, no? Her pics, my house?

And anyway, I served her a bbq'd steak to die for last weekend so it's entirely fair, right!?

(Right?)

The house was built in 1914 and, as of late, was vastly abused by the onslaught of tenants that just didn't give a damn.

The bathroom was demolished (completely unusable I've heard), the rooms had been spray paint 'tagged' and the yard was a catastrophe (still kinda is, but I'm working on that!).

Since we've started moving in, all the neighbours have poked their heads out their doors and cautiously asked, "Are you moving in? How many of you are there?"

The look of relief on their faces is interesting and disturbing all at the same time.

I mean, how bad could it have been?

Well, if the mail is any indication, there have been a multitude of folks coming and going. Ben Fudge, for instance.

He was sent mail to our new house.

And Guangdao Yang too.

Not to mention a whole host of others.

I cordially put "MOVED" on the mail and dump it back in the mailbox.

Hope they get it.

So, anyway.

New house.

Hope the ghosts are friendly!

Canada Day, minus the Mountie.

Hey world, we're 140 years old now!

Just babies in the whole scheme of world history.

We didn't spare any time selling out the rights of our precious 'mountie' image to Disneyland, however.

Unfortunately, I can't find any information on the innernets, but I know it to be true.

Why would we do this?

I have no idea.

If anyone can explain this to me, I'd be thankful.

BUT, I still love my country.

Happy Canada Day everyone!

Venice ti amo molto molto!

What can I possibly say about Venice that hasn't been said in a dozen better ways? Well, not much, except that I really really love it.

So, without further ado, I present for your viewing pleasure: Venice!

“If you read a lot, nothing is as great as you've imagined. Venice is -- Venice is better.”
~Fran Lebowitz


“Venice is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go.” ~Truman Capote

"Though there are some disagreeable things in Venice there is nothing so disagreeable as the visitors." ~Henry James

Streets flooded. Please advise. ~Robert Benchley, telegram from Venice to his editor

"Prosecco! Ti amo molto molto! Heywaitaminute...that's the bottom of my glass!" ~Tai

(Spider and Jeff took some of these pictures, too. I felt secure in the knowledge they would want me to use them, as they are splendid!)

Among the ruins of Ostia and one lone Bernini Angel.

This is a detail from the face blocks at Ostia Antica (you can see in the last post that I'm casually leaning against them. I really did enjoy my time there!)Interestingly, it reminded me of another place I hold fond in my memory.

And it was, oddly enough, Blarney Castle in Ireland.

Beautiful Blarney Castle, where Spider Girl and I roamed free in '99. Climbing trees, scrambling through dark under tunnels deep below the walls and scaling the ruins of the castle itself, free from red velvet ropes and warnings not to touch. (Also very free from handrails and other safety features that are so predominant in other places more concerned about litigation!)
(Pssst, I didn't take that picture. It's from Wikipedia. It was "Taken by Valdoria august 2006").

Most other countries (it seems to me) have their history and precious artifacts tied up, nailed down and encased in plastic only available from viewing at a great distance.

Not so Ireland, and not so Italy!

No, my experience with both countries was a general welcoming to experience first hand the art and architecture. (Lounging was obviously encouraged as seen by the strategic placement of low lying walls, placed most advantageously for weary Canadians.)

It said to me, "Here. Here is how we lived. What we walked upon and the things we saw. It's been here for hundreds of years before you arrived and will be for many more centuries after you pass."

That being said, I understand the necessity of 'protecting' things from humanity.

We'd be fools to allow all our precious objects exposure to the elements and religious dictate (witness the loss of many fine genitals to mallets, chisels and fig leaves), but sometimes history really needs to be touched to be understood. (And no! I'm not referring to the aforementioned lost genitals!)

So I'm really grateful to Italy for allowing it's history to absorbed in a more visceral manner.

And I'm really thankful to Gian Lorenzo Bernini (1598-1680) for carving the angels on the Ponte Sant'Angelo! My friends may laugh, but I've been crushing on Bernini since my last trip to Rome, and this trip just reinforced it.

We even made the trip to the church Santa Maria Maggiore to see his extremely modest tomb. In fact, it was so modest it was no more than a 'step up' to the main alter.

As that area was under some kind of restoration all I could do was wave and say 'thanks' to the man who took Baroque art and architecture to such marvelous heights in Rome.

(I didn't take that picture either. I couldn't even get near it! Thanks to mcsmith.blogs for this one!)

Returned!

Oh yes, I'm BACK! And I'm TIRED!
We travelled in Italy for three sublime weeks.
Rome, Venice, Stresa, Cinque Terre, Florence, Siena and back to Rome for a final week where Spider, Jeff and I rented an apartment.

I wrote this post last night whilst still very tired so I thought I'd come back and fill in some gaps:
Spider Girl, her husband Jeff and Pol' and I all decided several years ago that we should go travelling together. We decided this was the year.
Pol had to leave after week two from Firenze (Florence), but the remaining three of us went on to spend a day in Siena and then on to a week in Rome in our very own apartment.

There are SO many pictures to choose from I can hardly decide on which to post.

I was thinking of doing a post for each city/town we spent time in...maybe I'll do that.

So to begin.

2 days in Rome and Ostia Antica *:

This is first picture is a detail from the fountain in the Piazza della Rotonda (outside the Pantheon)



And this one is me and one of the three 'faces' on display at Ostia Antica. I loved Ostia Antica. You could climb on the old walls and race around really exploring the grounds close up and personal. Though, truth be told, there wasn't much 'racing' going on as it was hot. Damn hot.


And the next two are from the forum. Blue sky, ancient marble and poppies.

Thanks to Spider for this picture, it's beautiful!

There will be more to come, I promise! But right now jet-lag has me cornered and cowering sleepily in a corner (yes, jet-lag. Still. But I think the cold I caught just before we left might have something to do with it as well.)

*Ostia Antica stood as a major port town for Rome from about the 3rd century BC. It was even larger than Pompei; about 3 times the size at one point. But times changed, of course and the Tiber began to silt up making it's use less reliable. By the 9th century Ostia was almost completely abandoned. Then came the tourists!

Oh, here's an interesting fact: The Leaning Tower of Pisa (never did see that, though we were at the train station in Pisa for about an hour!) was entirely built of material originally belonging to Ostia.

If you go out in the woods today.

My dad and I went for a walk in the forest behind his house yesterday. We found a beleaguered old bridge, a lake and some very large trees.
It was a nice dose of 'wild' before a very civilized journey to Italy tomorrow.

To the opera we went.

Saturday saw WhatsHisFace and I going to the opera for Mozart's "Don Giovanni".

I really enjoy this particular opera. It is dark and morally pointed, yet contains some true moments of puckish humour to lighten it.
Opera Buffo, I believe, is the original description given a few hundred years ago to describe it.

I'll not get into the story here, suffice to say Pacific Opera Victoria did a splendid job of presenting this particular opera.
Their production was visually beautiful (taking place in a large 'grand hall' of an obviously splendid mansion) and thrilling to the ear. The principles were talented and delightful.

Was there anything to complain about?
Fortunately, the opera company itself is above reproach.

Some of those in the audience, however, coulda used some edu-ma-catin'.
Honestly.
Wrinkled shorts coupled with socks and sandals? To the OPERA!?

Simply Scandalous!

Far be it for me to suggest that white tie and tails are required (although it's a lovely holdover) but a tuxedo, and at the very least a suit, should be de rigeur, no?

As WhatsHisFace points out, it seems improper to show up looking less well dressed than the help.
And it certainly doesn't do the fine production any compliment to appear as if one was expecting hot dogs and a baseball game instead of a demonstration of months of practice and talent.

Am I being too fussy?
Well, maybe.
But socks and sandals?

The peasants are revolting.

Dreams to comfort?

The heron stood, waiting.
My camera clicked softly but I still worried that the sound might disturb his hunt, might draw attention to me.

Minutes passed slowly, and with every click I held my breath.
The heron ignored me and I took a series of stills.

Finished, my partner and I moved away from the shallow pond and further down the trail through the woods.

Then I could hear it in the background, against the silence of the trees.
Yapping. Barking.

There they were, the two of them. Emerging between the thin trunks.
Wolves. Threatening. Circling.

Standing up full I growled and lunged at them.
I knew this trick.
Stand up and reverse the threat.
Gnash teeth and bare fangs.
That stopped them for a moment.
My partner stood by me, unsure what was required.

Looking around I found a long log I might use against them. Picking it up I hefted it in my hands.
It was light and rotted through.
But it would have to do.

Turning and swinging, I hit the the closest one square in the head, breaking the rotted stick but sending him scurrying away.
The second didn't seem daunted.
I had to find another weapon.

An antler. It was blood damp from the felt sloughed off.

I swung at the last wolf. And swung again.
This didn't make sense.
I should be striking it every time. The distance between us was less than a foot.
Then I figured it out.
This was a ghost!

This wolf was a ghost.
It had incited the other true wolf into trying to attack us. That's why all my blows fell false. That's why I couldn't understand why a wolf was attacking me.
Wolves don't attack their own kind.

Realizing this, I just turned and walked away.
It faded into the back ground, no longer believed in.

My dreams just get curiouser and curiouser.

You wanna see my WHAT!?!

"I'd like to buy this lottery ticket, please."

"Can I see some picture i.d.?"

"Oh no, I don't have any i.d. on me. I left it at home. I'm almost 35 years old, honest! "

"Sorry! Come back when you have it."


I so do NOT look like I'm 19, or even under 25 for that matter. What gives?
Must be the zit on my chin.

Conversation.

As I exited the grocery store the automatic door hesitated so long I almost walked straight into it.

"This door is a little slow on the uptake." I commented over my shoulder to the two employees who almost ran into me when the door had neglected to react quickly enough.

"It does that to me, too. I think I don't have a soul." The taller man said.

I laughed. "Yes, that's definitely MY problem."

But where's MY little black dress?!?

I've been looking for clothes to take travelling as of late, and have felt less than encouraged by the racks in the malls.
In fact, I'm this close to spinning around in the aisles a la fetal position chewing on my own hair.

Are there no reasonable travel clothes(I'm not talking kahki's here, I want casually comfortable, yet sylish clothes) that will be able to see me walk for miles and miles around Italy and then still be comfortable going to a decent restuarant the same evening?

My friends and I are going to be doing a LOT of walking. But I don't necessarily want to look like the stereo-typical backpacker (which is what I am) when I'm out.
Italy is the centre of fashion, the 'bella figura' is very important.

Love my jeans, and they will be accompanying me (even though every single guide book counsels against them, I don't care. I've always taken my jeans with me on all my travels and I've always been glad I did), but I want something OTHER than jeans to take, as well.

Ah yes, the little black dress.

I can't FIND one. Or, more to the point, I can't find one that will look good on me and that I want to pay actual cash money for.

To long. To short. To revealing. To dumpy. Won't look good unless I'm wearing heels. Don't want to wear heels as they are too inconvenient and impractical to pack around for a single 'special' occasion.
Ugh.

Don't the stores sell anything between 'whore' and 'gramma' any more?

We may never know.