February 5, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
Showing posts with label Gibsons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gibsons. Show all posts
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
SIPPING DANDELION TEA, DIANA ROSS SINGING IN MY HEAD
February 4, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You should attract attention this morning -- but not in an embarrassing way. After the praise-fest is over, you almost certainly turn inward a bit and need to pursue somewhat selfish goals.
Laura’s Log:
Oh, how I love my horoscope! It really must know me. I’ll attract attention, but for once, it won’t be embarrassing in nature. So glad for the clarification. Perhaps I can get through the morning without blueberries stuck between my teeth or toilet paper clinging to my shoe. I feel I can face anything! Even The Drama that Is Jenny.
The weird thing is I’m in a place where attention of any kind really doesn’t matter. Jenny called me out of the blue after I’d had coffee with Estelle yesterday. She’s been in Roberts Creek for eight months and it seems like she moved to Jupiter. Never made it over there last summer and we hadn’t talked since October. I could tell Jenny was feeling down so when she invited me to catch the next ferry over, well, why not?
Tupper is in his glory taking in the new scents. When she picked us up at the terminal, she immediately took us to a beach in Gibsons where Tupper could run around and piddle on logs without other dogs out-marking him seconds later. For the most part, we had the entire expanse to ourselves. Two minutes into our walk, Jenny blurted, “I’m pregnant.” No exclamation mark.
“That’s great!” I said, trying to be cheery. “How’s Gus feel about it?”
“Gus left me three and a half months ago. It’s not his.”
“What?!” I didn’t want to throw in an exclamation mark there, but this was as shocking as things get. I met Jenny and Gus during my last two years at UBC. Harvey hated them. So earthy. Dreadlocks, tie-dye, incense,…everything Harvey and I weren’t. Still, I loved our regular meal gatherings at The Naam, in part to see Harvey squirm: no ties, people reading The Guardian instead of The Wall Street Journal and not a Hilfiger item of clothing in the entire restaurant.
Jenny and Gus were my rock, the standard for an ideal relationship. They were two souls completely intertwined, the poster couple for a good marriage even though they chose to live common law. What had the Sunshine Coast done to them?
Jenny appeared to read my mind, quite possibly a power she’d gained from drinking dandelion tea. “I met a folk singer. Gabriel.” She almost swooned. Was that the morning sickness or love? “At first, Gus and I welcomed him into our union, but then Gus kinda felt awkward.” Make that two. “He just walked away in late October and now he’s in Toronto, studying for his real estate license and going into business with his brother. Can you believe he’s stooped to selling land?”
There were things I couldn’t believe, but Gus’ new career path was far down the list. I didn’t know what to say, but she kept searching my face for a thought or, more likely being as it was Jenny, a feeling. “So,…you’re pregnant.” She nodded. And then I said that thing that all people say, even though I’d never ever actually seen it in anyone: “You glow.”
“Thanks!” Exclamation at last. And, of course, one of Jenny’s all-encompassing Mother Earth hugs. In that moment, I realized something else had changed. She’d given up on deodorant.
As Gabriel had a gig on Vancouver Island, Jenny and I had the rental cottage to ourselves. Well, Jenny, Tupper, the chickens, two geese, some heard-but-not-seen rats and I. We chatted long into the night, drinking an endless supply of natural teas, each of us dashing to the outhouse—yes, outhouse!—at regular intervals.
Around noon today, the Olympic torch is coming through. I’d thought Jenny would be just as anti-Olympics as Lucy, but no, she’s all for it. She’s even knitted a series of scarves and toques with the maple leaf on them. Jenny, profiting from the Olympics. Jenny, making a go of a three-way love fest. Jenny without Gus. Jenny pregnant. My head was spinning. She hadn’t spiked the tea, had she?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
MET W/THE BOSS 1ST THING THIS A.M. HE HAS A REAL (NORMAL) NAME, BUT INSISTS WE CALL HIM “THE BOSS”. GUESS SOMEONE MUST’VE DARED TO TELL HIM KING WAS TOO OSTENTATIOUS. I ACTUALLY LIKE CALLING HIM THE BOSS B/C IT AMUSES ME. MAYBE I’M SUPPOSED TO CONJURE UP SPRINGSTEEN, BUT I PICTURE DIANA ROSS IN HER DISCO PHASE INSTEAD.
BIG MTG THIS P.M. WITH GENERAL CONTRACTORS, ARCHITECTS AND SUCH TO MAP OUT A TIMELINE FOR THE BURNABY DEVELOPMENT. EVERYTHING’S A GO AND THE BOSS WAS HEAPING PRAISE ON ME DURING OUR MORNING MTG. HE’S POURING IT ON NOW B/C HE’LL KEEP THE SPOTLIGHT ON HIMSELF WHEN EVERYONE ELSE CONVENES. (THEY, OF COURSE, GET TO CALL HIM DAVE. AS LONG AS THEY DON’T LOOK HIM DIRECTLY IN THE EYE.) I’M SUPPOSED TO BE SATISFIED THAT HE ACKNOWLEDGES MY CONTRIBUTION IN ANY CAPACITY. BUT I’M NOT HERE FOR LONG. CAN’T BELIEVE HE DIDN’T BACK UP THE PRAISE W/A RAISE. JACKY, LUKE, WENDY & I NEED TO MEET AGAIN TO PLAN OUR NEW VENTURE. MY DAYS OF BEING IN THE SHADOW OF THE BOSS ARE NUMBERED. ANOTHER DIANA ROSS SONG COMES TO MIND: “IT’S MY TURN”. (NOTE TO SELF: ASK THERAPIST IF MY KNOWLEDGE OF DIANA ROSS WARRANTS ANALYSIS.)
BIG DATE TONITE. DECIDED ON BISHOP’S SINCE MARIBETH LIVES IN KITS. I’M THINKING THIS CLD BE THE START OF SOMETHING AMAZING. CAN’T WAIT TO LEAVE CLARA IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You should attract attention this morning -- but not in an embarrassing way. After the praise-fest is over, you almost certainly turn inward a bit and need to pursue somewhat selfish goals.
Laura’s Log:
Oh, how I love my horoscope! It really must know me. I’ll attract attention, but for once, it won’t be embarrassing in nature. So glad for the clarification. Perhaps I can get through the morning without blueberries stuck between my teeth or toilet paper clinging to my shoe. I feel I can face anything! Even The Drama that Is Jenny.
The weird thing is I’m in a place where attention of any kind really doesn’t matter. Jenny called me out of the blue after I’d had coffee with Estelle yesterday. She’s been in Roberts Creek for eight months and it seems like she moved to Jupiter. Never made it over there last summer and we hadn’t talked since October. I could tell Jenny was feeling down so when she invited me to catch the next ferry over, well, why not?
Tupper is in his glory taking in the new scents. When she picked us up at the terminal, she immediately took us to a beach in Gibsons where Tupper could run around and piddle on logs without other dogs out-marking him seconds later. For the most part, we had the entire expanse to ourselves. Two minutes into our walk, Jenny blurted, “I’m pregnant.” No exclamation mark.
“That’s great!” I said, trying to be cheery. “How’s Gus feel about it?”
“Gus left me three and a half months ago. It’s not his.”
“What?!” I didn’t want to throw in an exclamation mark there, but this was as shocking as things get. I met Jenny and Gus during my last two years at UBC. Harvey hated them. So earthy. Dreadlocks, tie-dye, incense,…everything Harvey and I weren’t. Still, I loved our regular meal gatherings at The Naam, in part to see Harvey squirm: no ties, people reading The Guardian instead of The Wall Street Journal and not a Hilfiger item of clothing in the entire restaurant.
Jenny and Gus were my rock, the standard for an ideal relationship. They were two souls completely intertwined, the poster couple for a good marriage even though they chose to live common law. What had the Sunshine Coast done to them?
Jenny appeared to read my mind, quite possibly a power she’d gained from drinking dandelion tea. “I met a folk singer. Gabriel.” She almost swooned. Was that the morning sickness or love? “At first, Gus and I welcomed him into our union, but then Gus kinda felt awkward.” Make that two. “He just walked away in late October and now he’s in Toronto, studying for his real estate license and going into business with his brother. Can you believe he’s stooped to selling land?”
There were things I couldn’t believe, but Gus’ new career path was far down the list. I didn’t know what to say, but she kept searching my face for a thought or, more likely being as it was Jenny, a feeling. “So,…you’re pregnant.” She nodded. And then I said that thing that all people say, even though I’d never ever actually seen it in anyone: “You glow.”
“Thanks!” Exclamation at last. And, of course, one of Jenny’s all-encompassing Mother Earth hugs. In that moment, I realized something else had changed. She’d given up on deodorant.
As Gabriel had a gig on Vancouver Island, Jenny and I had the rental cottage to ourselves. Well, Jenny, Tupper, the chickens, two geese, some heard-but-not-seen rats and I. We chatted long into the night, drinking an endless supply of natural teas, each of us dashing to the outhouse—yes, outhouse!—at regular intervals.
Around noon today, the Olympic torch is coming through. I’d thought Jenny would be just as anti-Olympics as Lucy, but no, she’s all for it. She’s even knitted a series of scarves and toques with the maple leaf on them. Jenny, profiting from the Olympics. Jenny, making a go of a three-way love fest. Jenny without Gus. Jenny pregnant. My head was spinning. She hadn’t spiked the tea, had she?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
MET W/THE BOSS 1ST THING THIS A.M. HE HAS A REAL (NORMAL) NAME, BUT INSISTS WE CALL HIM “THE BOSS”. GUESS SOMEONE MUST’VE DARED TO TELL HIM KING WAS TOO OSTENTATIOUS. I ACTUALLY LIKE CALLING HIM THE BOSS B/C IT AMUSES ME. MAYBE I’M SUPPOSED TO CONJURE UP SPRINGSTEEN, BUT I PICTURE DIANA ROSS IN HER DISCO PHASE INSTEAD.
BIG MTG THIS P.M. WITH GENERAL CONTRACTORS, ARCHITECTS AND SUCH TO MAP OUT A TIMELINE FOR THE BURNABY DEVELOPMENT. EVERYTHING’S A GO AND THE BOSS WAS HEAPING PRAISE ON ME DURING OUR MORNING MTG. HE’S POURING IT ON NOW B/C HE’LL KEEP THE SPOTLIGHT ON HIMSELF WHEN EVERYONE ELSE CONVENES. (THEY, OF COURSE, GET TO CALL HIM DAVE. AS LONG AS THEY DON’T LOOK HIM DIRECTLY IN THE EYE.) I’M SUPPOSED TO BE SATISFIED THAT HE ACKNOWLEDGES MY CONTRIBUTION IN ANY CAPACITY. BUT I’M NOT HERE FOR LONG. CAN’T BELIEVE HE DIDN’T BACK UP THE PRAISE W/A RAISE. JACKY, LUKE, WENDY & I NEED TO MEET AGAIN TO PLAN OUR NEW VENTURE. MY DAYS OF BEING IN THE SHADOW OF THE BOSS ARE NUMBERED. ANOTHER DIANA ROSS SONG COMES TO MIND: “IT’S MY TURN”. (NOTE TO SELF: ASK THERAPIST IF MY KNOWLEDGE OF DIANA ROSS WARRANTS ANALYSIS.)
BIG DATE TONITE. DECIDED ON BISHOP’S SINCE MARIBETH LIVES IN KITS. I’M THINKING THIS CLD BE THE START OF SOMETHING AMAZING. CAN’T WAIT TO LEAVE CLARA IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR.
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