Home of the Afraid of Everything

Before I begin: Yes, I completely ripped the blog post title off from the now-defunct The President's Blog. Just giving credit.

And now....

Back in 2004, Marty and I ventured up to Alaska.


We had been dating for 7 months by that time, and this trip, in many people's eyes (including our own), was the true test of our compatibility. Alaska had many things to offer: stunning scenery, challenging hikes, and both flora and fauna we had never even dreamed of in our tiny prairie-raised brains.


But it also had its fair share of things that might put strain on any budding relationship: limited opportunities to bathe or shower, giant mosquitoes that wouldn't hesitate to bite you on the most private of body parts, and ubiquitous backcountry dangers that made it impractical and unsafe to spend any time apart. The fact is, in Alaska, sometimes the choice comes down to "stick together and live" or "go it alone and potentially die in the remote wilderness". It's the truth, and for two people who both generally believed that they required extensive alone time in order to thrive, the idea of spending 6 solid weeks together was a wee bit daunting...

Anyway, after driving thousands and thousands of kilometres northwest, we finally crossed into Alaska and were immediately alerted to some of the many things we should fear in that great land:

1. Forest fires. Half of the Yukon on the drive up had been charred by a recent fire, and we were warned that sometimes fires prevented access to "the only road back to Canada". We prayed that the road would miraculously still be open when the time came for us to return home.

2. Subhuman temperatures.


Sure, on the ground it was sometimes in the 20s Celsius/70s Fahrenheit, but on the alpine ridges, there were glaciers and icy rivers that necessitated the use of toques and mitts. We were warned to not freeze to death, for heaven's sake. That would only inconvenience the already-busy (and for the most part, volunteer) rescue crews, having to fetch our frozen carcasses from the top of a mountain. 'Amateurs', they would mutter as they strapped our blue bodies onto a rescue sled-- 'We told you not to freeze to death. Geez.'

3. Tsunamis/Earthquakes!


Alaska has a sordid history of intense weather events, including tsunamis, earthquakes, and oh yeah, the Exxon oil spill (wait- does that count as a weather event? No?! Sorry.) And even though it's beautiful (and encouraged!) to camp on a spit that stretches into the middle of the sea, it's also important to be aware that, in the event of a tsunami, there will be no hope of running to safety like the little man on the sign. You will be the first to die. Nice!

4. Sasquatches. Of course. Who doesn't fear the mighty sasquatch?

5. Mosquitoes. They are jokingly referred to as Alaska's state bird, but the authorities there were adamant that we stave off the dreaded West Nile virus by dousing ourselves in safe, all-natural DEET. Right... BUT WE DID IT! And then hiked for hours every day. And then didn't shower for a week afterward because there were no showers to be found in all of Alaska. So we were caked full of dirt, DEET, stink, sweat, and sunscreen. So classy!

6. Bears.


And even for the people who were well prepared weather-wise, and who didn't need to get back to Canada on the only road out, and who put no stock in make-believe things like sasquatches, and who had a 'live-free and die-hard' attitude in the face of potential tsunamis, and who wore DEET like it was going out of style-- as a god-fearing being, they had better be afraid of bears. They were everywhere. And they petrified me.

Some of you might be aware that in my pre-Marty time, I had hiked a total of zero kilometres and zero metres. There were many reasons for this, but the fact remains that this Alaska trip was a super huge deal to me. a) I was excited to put my new and still-fledgling hiking skillz to the ultimate test (in Alaska!!) and b) I wanted nothing more than to impress the love of my life with my madd trekking skillz. I was more than head over heels for Marty at this point (perhaps I was heels over head over heels), and there was absolutely no way I would jeopardize his returning love for me by being any of the following: slow, unskilled, awkward, unprepared, or afraid. More than anything, I didn't want to be afraid, but did I mention the bears? THEY WERE EVERYWHERE!

I suffered through a great many things in Alaska: cuts, bruises, aching muscles, collapsed arches in my feet, mosquito bites in every place imaginable (including at least 20 ON MY ASS!), up to seven days in a row without a shower (the stench of it all!), and even a first-time (and scorching!) case of hemorrhoids (not that y'all need to know that... I'm just illustrating a point). The truth is, I had a giant smile on my face throughout all of those afflictions-- Alaska was great, and I was having an amazing time! But the bears... I had an extremely hard time working through my all-consuming anxiety about bears.

We were likely the only people in the entire state of Alaska who were not enjoying the scenery from the safety of a giant, fully-equipped RV. No. We were tenting it... every. single. night. And most of those nights, I would be worried about bears. Marty had an amazing knack for falling asleep the moment he closed his beautiful eyes, but I would stay awake most nights, gripped with fear until somehow I exhausted myself into a fitful sleep. Waking up to giant, fresh footsteps (like the ones pictured above) a mere 15 feet away from our tent did not help, nor did the ubiquitous pamphlets and posters that detailed in excruciating detail what you should do in the event of a confrontation with a bear (i.e. remember to cover the back of your neck when you're curled up in the fetal position so the bear's powerful jaws do not BITE YOUR HEAD OFF! BECAUSE THEY CAN!) In the end, I survived (and for the most part, LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF THE TRIP), but I must confess how deliriously happy I was to come home and sleep soundly, without fear of bears.

Moving to the island has been like a dream come true for this bear-fearing soul. Yes, I know that the island is still technically bear-country, but I like to think that it is bear-country in the same way that some chocolate bars could technically contain nuts or soy products. No big deal-- nothing to fear. Our hikes to date here have consisted of nothing but lush plants and stunning ocean views:




... and not once have I even been remotely afraid of a bear. Truthfully, they haven't even crossed my mind.

(cue foreshadowing scary music)

Yesterday, we jumped at the chance to soak in the first real sunshine of the year on the Coast Trail at East Sooke Regional Park. The weather was amazing, the views were delicious, and it was great to see Robertine again after giving her a mild anxiety attack when we finished our housesitting duties. (So sad!) We had a leisurely hike, choosing to sit on almost every sunbaked rock we came across (there were lots) and to simply stare at the ocean.

During one of the stretches we were actually hiking, we came across a HUGE pile of crap which was unlike any scat we'd ever encountered before. It was green, sludgy, and encapsulated in a jelly-like sac. (No photos to show, I'm afraid... who takes pictures of crap?) Upon closer inspection, we realized it wasn't scat at all-- it was a remnant organ (bladder? stomach?) of some sorry animal who had been taken down right on the trail. Tufts of fur and some (really pitiful) leg bones were off to one side, with most of the flesh eaten away. Surprisingly, me, the eternally-afraid-of-bears one, was not at all afraid at that point. Mildly disgusted, yes, but afraid? Not at all. I thought (rather naively, I might add) that some sick or old animal had simply crawled onto the trail to die and had then proceeded to be eaten by the crows and other non-threatening wild animals. We continued on the trail.

As we lounged on yet another rock a few dozen metres up, we gushed to each other about what a perfect day it was and how wonderful it was to be out on a hike. Then Robertine went completely silent and still. Barely breathing for a while, she stared intently into the thick forest and sniffed tentatively. A low and quiet growl came from her mouth.

Surprisingly, me, the eternally-afraid-of-bears one, was not at all afraid at that point. STILL. Who the hell knows what my mind was figuring then? That another dog-- a Yorkie, perhaps-- was hiding in the bushes, off the beaten path? That a chipmunk (the bane of Robertine's existence) was taunting her from a not-so-distant tree?! For some reason, it did not at all occur to me that something large and predatory, a cougar or even GOD FORBID A BEAR, was protecting what was left of its dead prey and stalking us for getting too close. Like I said, my mind has been completely wiped off all things bear or cougar-related since moving to the island. Blissfully wiped.

It wasn't until Marty, bless his heart, said something along the lines of us needing to keep moving so we could hopefully appease the jealous, hungry soul of whatever-it-was-that-killed-that-unidentified-animal-on-the-trail and let it know that we weren't at all interested in that leftover bladder that it hit me: THERE WAS A BEAR OR COUGAR ON THE TRAIL AND IT WAS POSSIBLY VERY UPSET WITH US!!!

Like a child who bears witness to a gruesome crime, my innocence was shattered. Suddenly I was afraid again. Very afraid. I did not want to die on that trail on such a beautiful day, or any day for that matter! I didn't want to curl up in any fetal position or to cover my neck with my hands! I didn't want to have anything bad happen to me, Marty, or especially Robertine! But most of all-- I didn't want to be afraid.

So I stopped. Consciously stopped being scared.

I was cautious for the rest of the hike, yes. But afraid? No. And sure, I felt more alert and more aware of any rustling sounds on the way back, yes. But I wasn't afraid-- not like I had been in Alaska. I figured: SCREW IT. Yes, I promise to be in awe of nature and to revel in the majestic and powerful creatures that roam in the forests. But no, I will not let fear of the unknown take control of me anymore if I can help it. It's simply too breathtaking out here to let the nagging 'what ifs' take hold of me. Screw it.

Let's Discuss: Hugh Grant

If there is one (more) thing you should know about Marty, it is that he cannot stand Hugh Grant. At all. He has no tolerance for the man-- for his pretending- to- be- bashful- when- he- is- probably- incurably- conceited- in- real- life movie star smile, for playing many a slimeball, potentially without even needing to act, and for umpteen other reasons that Marty cannot clearly articulate-- it is enough for me to see his exaggerated eye rolling and to hear his hiss of sheer disdain to know without a doubt how Marty feels about Hugh. (It's like me with J. Lo movies.) The thing is, Marty is mostly unwavering in his anti-Hugh Grant stance, even when faced with persuasive movies like Love, Actually, which make it nearly impossible to feel anything but lightheaded and decidedly pro-love afterward. (In that case, Marty felt goofily pro-love afterward but still very much anti-Hugh. Some things never change.)

I certainly sympathize with Marty's feelings about Hugh Grant. I have an extremely hard time getting into movies where he is the object of attraction or affection-- I just don't find them believable or even plausible. I also don't actively seek out Hugh Grant movies when I'm going to the theatre or renting a movie, like "Oooh, Hugh Grant is in this?! Let's go see it, hon, pretty please???" Not a chance. Here's where Marty and I differ in our views on Hugh, though: I think Hugh does a pretty great job in his more smarmy roles. So what if he's not acting in them? I get a kick out of Hugh Grant playing scum.

Seeing as we have an unspoken 'no Hugh Grant' rule in our household, I usually only see his movies when Marty is away. (And for the record, this isn't because I'm 'finally casting off the yoke of Marty's irrational and totally unfair decree that thou shalt not watch Hugh Grant movies in my presence', it's more like I go to library to rent some DVDs while Marty is gone and a Hugh Grant movie just happens to be there. Let's get one thing straight, OK? I have no overriding urge to see Hugh Grant movies at all cost.) Anyway, back to the point:
one of my movies- to- watch- while- Marty- is- living- like- a- king- at- training- camp- in- California * (sniff!) was American Dreamz. Can I just say how much I loved this movie?

Tongue-in-cheek spoofs of American Idol + tongue-in-cheek spoofs of American politics = Recipe for a perfectly entertaining movie on a Sunday afternoon

Yes, it did technically star HUGH in a leading role, but I think that jazz hands, Superfreak, and Dennis Quaid using 'Gee-dammit' as a swear word have the potential to soften up any resistance, even Marty's stalwart "Just Say No To Hugh" stance. Just a thought.


* And to confirm: Yes, Marty is on his way to beautiful and sunny California for an intensive cycling training camp as we speak. It's not all roses, though-- he is expected to endure a 100- 160 km bike ride each and every day he's there. But anyway: as is always the case when he leaves, I sobbed like a little baby while I was bidding him farewell. It's like a reflex, this weeping: I have no control over it whatsoever, and even if I resolve that I will be stronger and less overcome by emotion the next time he goes on a trip of sorts, it never happens. Part of me wants to be more 'grown up' and stoic in the face of his leaving (especially because seriously: it's only for a few days!), but another part of me secretly never wants to become somebody who doesn't feel any sadness, even if it only lasts for a little while, when the person they love departs. I miss you, my dearest! xoxo

Snowshoe Sabbatical

We have lived on this glorious island for over a year now, but I'm (obviously) still pretty clueless about it. There are too many examples that I could use to illustrate this point, but allow me to select just one: this weekend we went snowshoeing, but up until that point (pretty much up until we pulled into the Mount Washington parking lot), I had no idea there was anywhere close-ish that boasted enough snow to merit us strapping on the snowshoes! This was despite the fact that many of my friends go up to Mount Washington to ski... I just assumed that the 'ski hill' they spoke of was a C.O.P. special-- full of freshly made 'snow' to attract all the hard core 'skiers'. I'll admit I was wrong about this. Very, very wrong. Sure, it was no 45 minute jaunt to Kananaskis, but even the 3 hour commute to and from the resort here was worth it- we love to snowshoe!!


Marty celebrated his big 3-7 yesterday, so snowshoeing was a perfect way to usher in his special day. It was also the perfect antidote to a less-than-perfect week, in which I grumbled nonstop about my job being boring and proceeded to take a self-proclaimed mental health day on Thursday. I literally walked into the door, signed myself in, paused for thought, signed myself back out and said 'SEE YA' to the non-profit world. At least for the day-- the next day I was back in my desk (but so productive! I should take a mental health day every single week!)


I could do this every day:

Exhibitionist

The Christmas season is always busy for us, but not in the traditional 'Christmas shopping, Christmas parties, and holiday get-togethers' sense. No. (Thank god!!) Rather, as the holidays descend upon the frenzied masses of eager shoppers, we (and by 'we', I mean "Marty") traditionally gets inundated with commissions for custom pieces of artwork. 'Tis the season for all-nighters spent creating the perfect gift for your loved ones!

Work in progress: Log cabin in Field, BC. © Martin Machacek 2006-07

This year, in addition to his usual special orders, Marty was also invited to display his artwork at a Christmas Home Exhibition in Sooke. What a great idea! Over twenty-five artists participated in this particular exhibition, and even though I'm biased and somehow always seem to like Marty's artwork the best (I know, I know...), I got into the festive spirit and came home with a pretty snazzy new necklace!

Mini canvas necklace by Lisa Riehl, who by the way might just be my second favourite artist here on the island, after you know who!

The necklace is for myself. No gift-giving or Christmas knitting here... I'm great with spontaneous gift-giving, but tell me that it's expected to give somebody a gift because of such-and-such an occasion, and it just won't happen. Apologies to all of the babies who have gone without toques and booties because of this quirk of mine. Not to mention all of the friends who have wondered where various birthday/Christmas/housewarming/bridal shower/wedding gifts are... Just you wait until you get spontaneously gifted!

Ewok Anniversary

Well, we're back from a positively MAGICAL anniversary weekend. I've never been much of a 'fairy-tale-princess' kind of girl (in the sense of pretty dresses, ballrooms and high-heeled shoes-- did my wedding attire give that away?), but I'm definitely a fan of magic. And what could be more magical, I ask you, than an anniversary spent high up in the trees in our very own spherical treehouse? I'll tell you the answer if you don't already know it: nothing.

Looking out from our sphere to the spiral staircase.

Detail of the sphere from below

The sphere from afar!

Tom and Rosey, the genius minds behind this whole Ewok operation, did absolutely everything they could to make our special evening even more special. There was a sparkling 'Happy Anniversary' sign draped across the front of our door (like a disco-esque produce code sticker on an onion!), complimentary strawberries, champagne, and baked goods, and of course, the sphere itself!!




I planned this evening as a surprise for Marty, and even though: a) he's really good at guessing and b) I'm not very good at planning surprises, he had no idea where we were going until we walked to the back of Tom and Rosey's property and saw our room for the night gently swaying in the breeze. (Yeah! One point: Dana!) If only I had the camera to capture the look on his face! Alas, you'll just have to see some more photos of the sphere instead:

The view from our bed.

The sphere at dusk.

Marty using the sphere as creative inspiration.

I can't even describe how magical this experience was. If any of you are ever in the Qualicum Bay area on the island, definitely see if you can spend some time in the sphere! (But be warned: I was only able to book one weeknight in August when I phoned them in May, and when we asked about their bookings for the 'down season', the response was something like "Well, we still have some days open in November"... meaning there's probably a random Tuesday night available but every other night has been booked! NO KIDDING!)

Random graffiti on the walls in the composting toilet chamber.

Happy Anniversary! (To Us)

OK, everybody-- don't go calling me on Friday night, because I won't be home. On second thought, don't call me on Saturday, Sunday, or Monday, too -- I won't be home on those days, either. I'm totally stoked, because tomorrow ushers in our EXTENDED ANNIVERSARY WEEKEND!! Marty and I will be celebrating our big 0-2! (I know, doesn't have quite the punch that the big 2-0 or even 1-0 has! Ah, well...)

Many people have already heard the story, but for those who haven't, here goes: (This is the story we sent out to friends and relatives around the world right after we got married, many of whom have limited comprehension of English, so don't mind the Grade 5 format of the details. On the plus side: if you passed Grade 4, you can feel included!)

We planned a kayaking trip off the north tip of Vancouver Island to see the orca whales migrate and to spend some much needed time together in the outdoors. However, our trip brought with it much more than whales—we ended up getting married in front of our group on the evening of Thursday, August 4th!

It's obvious from this shot who wore the kayaking pants in the relationship... Marty's all working hard, I'm just relaxin' in the back, taking in the scenery!

Monday and Tuesday of the trip were spent learning how to (pack a) kayak, exploring the various islands of Johnstone Strait, and watching for any signs of wildlife. In the first two days, our group was fortunate enough to see a bear, many eagles, pods of dolphins and porpoises, and of course, orca whales. The scenery and the animals were breathtaking—it is difficult to put into words the feeling we got watching an orca male breach against the stunning backdrop of blue sky, ocean, and lush green islands.


On Wednesday, we paddled to a new camp on the north shore of Double Bay. One of our guides shared with us that he planned to propose to his girlfriend there in the near future. As soon as we landed on shore, we understood why: the camp was very private and the view was amazing! We sat high in our tents on a cliff of mossy rocks, overlooking the ocean and surrounded by other small islands and harbours in the distance. Later that evening, our guide asked us if we wanted him to make some phone calls to arrange a wedding. Given that he had been known for his practical jokes up to that point, we didn’t think his offer was serious, but we took him up on it, knowing that we were looking forward to getting married some time in the near future. Lo and behold, our guide took this new challenge very seriously, calling nearby islands on a satellite phone, cashing in numerous favours from his friends, and spending considerable time and effort tracking down key contacts to help a wedding idea become a reality.


The first obstacle we came across had to do with documents: we were out in the middle of nowhere, deciding on the spur of the moment to get married, and we did not have the license needed to get married in British Columbia. As well, given that we had left our car at Alder Bay not knowing that we would be planning a wedding, we did not have any identification on us, except for bank and credit cards and driver’s licenses. No birth certificates, no social insurance numbers, no other government ID. After speaking to a marriage commissioner in Alert Bay, however, we learned that we would only need to answer a series of questions about our parents to be able to get the marriage license. That led us to our next obstacle—how were we going to obtain the license from the middle of nowhere?

Our guide determined that the woman who was able to arrange for a marriage license was also qualified to perform a wedding ceremony. That left us wondering how we could make it to Alert Bay, get our license, and bring the woman back to marry us on Double Bay. Our guide phoned one water taxi company, who wanted to charge us close to $700 to ferry us to and from Double Bay. We were devastated. Our guide’s enthusiasm had been contagious, and we were starting to look very forward to “our big day”, but $700 for an hour and some of water time seemed a bit excessive. Our guide wasn’t about to give up on his quest, however, and he ordered us to unload a kayak for him. He paddled off to the nearest port to look into the possibility of us renting a motorboat for the day. Alas, he came back with the news that there were no boats available. Later, though, after phoning another water taxi company, our guide arranged for us to be picked up from Double Bay, dropped off at Alert Bay, and brought back to Double Bay with a marriage commissioner. This company was also able to ferry the commissioner back to Alert Bay after the ceremony, all for a fraction of the cost. It was set, then! We went to sleep that night, amazed that we would be married in less than 24 hours, and excited to catch our water ferry the very next afternoon!

The next morning, we helped the rest of our group prepare for a day paddle to a nearby island. After they left, we spent some time deciding where we wanted our “altar” to be and wondering if we would be getting married in our neoprene wetsuits! Marty artfully and skillfully carved us out a “Just Married” sign on a piece of firewood in no time, and he left it behind our tent flap for after our ceremony.

Our group came back from their paddle just in time to send us off on our private water taxi! Our guide helped us into the boat, piggybacking Dana across a brief stretch of water so she could climb the ladder into the back of the boat. With enthusiasm, Marty leaped onto the boat soon after, eagerly joining his bride-to-be. En route to Alert Bay, the boat driver took some time to play with a large pod of dolphins, much to our delight! We arrived in Alert Bay in around 20 minutes, and the driver pledged to meet us back at the dock once our license had been secured.

We met with our marriage commissioner, Joyce Rigby, right off the dock. She pulled up in an old, wood-paneled station wagon, and had us fill out our forms on the hood of her car. Much to our surprise, many of the islanders watched us curiously as we huddled over our forms. We then remembered that their curiosity was brought on because the news of our wedding had been broadcasted by satellite across the entire north coast of Vancouver Island! After our forms were signed and completed, Joyce headed home to type up the necessary documents. In the meantime, we had a quick pineapple juice in a café in the harbour (where we were congratulated by the staff for our upcoming ceremony), splashed our faces with soap and running water (!! Our first in five days!), tried to style our greasy hair, and hurried back to our taxi to head back to Double Bay!

Our wedding guests self-styling their hair with excessive grease in preparation for the big ceremony.

The ride back to Double Bay was spent mostly worrying about how we would manage to get Joyce onto the island. She seemed to be over 80 years old, and she was dressed nicely in a blouse and dress pants. Double Bay, however, had no beach or shore whatsoever—cliffs and rocks that were covered in slippery seaweed simply rose out of the ocean at a steep angle. We wondered whether we would be having our ceremony in the water taxi after all!

You can see our guide carrying the wedding commissioner if you look closely!

We arrived at the island, pulled up close to the rocks, and our guides helped hoist a good spirited Joyce up onto the campsites. As we came out of the boat and onto the island, our group members trumpeted on horns they had made out of bull kelp, and they presented us with seashell necklaces! We were informed that the group had dove into the frigid waters of Johnstone Strait (which are, on average, 10 degrees cooler than other waters) especially to retrieve the bull kelp.


Dana was presented with a bouquet of wildflowers that the group had picked out for her during their day trip paddle earlier on! We were surrounded by our group, who took pictures and eagerly awaited the ceremony. Dana changed into her “gown” (which was Marty’s sarong skirt over top of her week-old shorts!), and we both made our way to the altar, which had been built and decorated so beautifully by our group members. It was made of wood, covered in vines and leaves, and flanked by two pillar citronella candles. Evening was approaching, and we were slightly backlit by the setting sun in the background.

The blushing bride-to-be... People actually had to remind me to take off my sunglasses for my moment in the spotlight. Um... other things on my mind, perhaps?

We walked down an aisle lined by seashells, and stood in front of our altar. Joyce began the ceremony, and we said our vows and exchanged rings. Our friends Jasmine and Denko graciously acted as our Best Man, Maid of Honour, Ring Bearer, Flower Girl, and witnesses. Dana managed to get through the entire ceremony without weeping loudly (which was an amazing accomplishment for her!), and both of us felt so happy to be confirming our commitment to each other in a most amazing setting!


After the ceremony, we had our pictures taken with Joyce and the “Just Married” sign. One of our group members presented us with an eagle feather that he had found on our island. In a very touching tribute, he told us that the feather was a good omen and that eagles find mates for life. Dana took the feather and included it in her wildflower bouquet.


It was our night to cook for the group, and although they offered to cook our meal for us, we were more than happy to prepare a meal and share it with our wonderful group members! One couple on the trip shared their chilled white wine with us and the rest of the group, so we all had a beverage to use when our guide gave us a heartwarming toast. (He toasted us with beer, though- wine apparently made him ill!). We had a wonderful dinner, a tasty dessert of apple and pear flambé, and then we were serenaded into the late hours of the night by our guides, who did wonderful karaoke-style versions of the entire Dirty Dancing soundtrack, as well as classic hits such as “The Chicken Dance” song and a few Bon Jovi numbers!


All in all, our wedding ceremony was so much more meaningful and beautiful than anything we could have planned in advance. We were so thankful for everything our guides and group members did to make our wedding a special event, and we were thrilled to have our wedding take place at such a beautiful location! We paddled back to Alder Bay the next morning with our “Just Married” sign affixed to the back of our kayak, and then all the way back to Calgary, we looked forward to sharing this wonderful story with family and friends!

Double Bay is for lovers!

OMG!!!

Forgive the pre-teen title of this post... I'm just freaking out a little bit. Why, you ask? Well, because as we speak, I have an effin' HAM roasting in my effin' OVEN!!! (And it's not for some random meat-eating guests, either-- the plan is for MARTY AND I to eat it-- EEP!!!!)

I know, I know-- Ham is not normally that big of a deal. Perhaps it's a bit more exciting than chicken, but it's certainly not something to write home about, right? Unless, of course, you're like me, and you haven't had anything to do with ham or any other meats for more than HALF YOUR LIFE!! Seriously. I've *officially* been vegetarian since I was twelve, but if I had been given the choice when I was 8 months old... I probably would have been vegetarian back then, too.

So how the hell did this ham end up in my oven, then? Well, a couple of weeks ago, Marty and I trekked into Vancouver so he could have a live blood analysis done. The results were not good. Specifically, instead of having rich red blood cells wrapped with thick black ropes of protein, Marty's blood was a weak pinkish-blue shade and sported hardly any evidence of protein.

See the difference between healthy (above) and non-healthy blood (below)? I was sad to see that Marty's looked more like the bottom picture than the top one.

Anyway... We've been vegetarian for years and years, and even though we're pretty good at getting our alternative sources of protein (huzzah for legumes!), Marty's body wasn't absorbing nearly enough. The doctor even went out of her way to e-mail Marty a few weeks after his appointment to remind him that (quote): "Your body is grossly lacking protein". Hence the ham.

Both of us are a little nervous about what will transgress... we're trying to do this scary thing together, partly for moral support, but also because it's way more practical for people who live together to eat the same things. I know that a big part of my identity is tied up with the fact that I've been vegetarian for so long, and it seems so strange to me that I'll be cutting into a slice of meat in about a half hour from now. But on the other hand, a teeny tiny part of me is suddenly starting to crave meat. (!!!) Maybe I'm just trying to psych myself up for it... because I had an extremely hard time taking the ham out of the plastic and putting it in a tray to cook. I even got ham juice on my hands-- YUCK!!!!!

Well, I guess it won't be the end of my life to end my meatless streak. If I don't like it, I don't have to eat it again. I think I'm actually more afraid that I will like it and that my days of being a vegetarian will be over.

A Beautiful Day in the 'Hood

The forecast called for rain and cloud this past weekend, but it turned out that Marty's parents were right when they said of the meteorologists : "they be always lying". Guilty as charged.


This weekend has been a bit windy in Victoria, but the sun has been blazing and we've managed to get a lot accomplished. We hung out at a local coffee shop and then moved our relaxin' asses over to the oceanfront to take in some beautiful scenery:



Here, we were voted by some random guy as the "two people with the best T-shirts on the beach". (Marty was wearing the classic Take A Hike shirt from Threadless. Not to be outdone by a subtle bird design, I was sporting a more garish weeping Virgin Mary on my chest. We're not sure if this is a daily, weekly, monthly, or annual award... nonetheless, we were honoured to have been given the day's nod.)


I finished knitting a(nother) sock for Marty. This time around, the wool is from a local yarn shop, so if I happen to run out near the end of the second sock like I did last time, I don't have to boot it to Eastern Europe, though a little vacation would be nice... I swear, the 'ex' in Ex-Nomad gets fainter and fainter every day!


I was hoping to try out the famous Jaywalker sock pattern this time around, but Marty loves his Thujas. If I ever get around to knitting myself some socks, you can bet they'll be Jaywalkers. But beware: it may just be a snowy day in hell before I ever knit myself something. What can I say? Marty is probably the most excited and appreciative recipient of knitted items on the planet-- I must be addicted to his gleeful exclamations and proud flaunting of the socks once they're done.

Anyway, back to my Grade 4 diary style recounting of our weekend... Both Marty and I had a hankering for pancakes. So we did the unthinkable... we went to Smitty's!! I think I must've been to Smitty's at least once before in my lifetime (though memories of my mom and dad cooking up homemade pancakes and waffles almost every Sunday after church make me hesitant to say this is true). In any case, if I ever did happen to eat at Smitty's before, I would have been about six years old, and hence I would have neglected to remember crucial details like the fact that the pancakes there are gross!!! Seriously, Marty and I are used to eating our pancakes from the illustrious Diner Deluxe in Calgary, so Smitty's was a serious (and expensive!) let-down. Dry like cardboard (no butter!), and the fruit on top was one of those nasty artificially-enhanced things. Sick. That was the worst $30 I've ever spent on breakfast. Ever.



As you can see, my expression is one of those 'well, we're already $30 in the hole on nasty pancakes... might as well pretend to enjoy them' ones. The forced smile does a bad job of masking my pain and disappointment. Never again.

Boy Toy

OK, for those of you who don't already know it: I don't drive. There. I said it. I get a lot of flack from other people about it, but seriously, there are many reasons why I choose not to drive, and honestly-- it's for the safety of everybody involved. Anyway, up until yesterday, Marty and I had three vehicles, two of which were nasty gas-guzzling pollution-mobiles. There was the tiny Honda Civic, for regular city driving and excellent highway mileage; the Nomad (ah, the Nomad), to move our crap from city to city; and the 1964 Dodge Fargo, the pride and joy of Marty's dear little heart.



I liked the Fargo as much as Marty did, with its groovy beaded curtain and its rollered-on paint job. (Hey, at least it was red- my favourite colour!) It had one of those retro crystal doorknobs as the handle on the stick shift, and I must say, we had many an excellent camping trip in it (even that time when the driver side front tire blew out in the middle of nowhere... en route to Radium of all places... because that steep downhill is always such a great place to lose control of a vehicle! Haha- yeah right.)



Well, I'm sad to report that the Fargo had to be given up. Marty sold it yesterday to one of his brother's friends, because there really was no way we could still have three vehicles in Victoria. The Nomad will be put up for sale as well, as soon as it makes it back from Calgary with our remaining crap. Then, we'll be left with nothing but the Honda That Never Dies. (It's true.)



I was disappointed to hear about the Fargo being gone, but I wasn't even close to Marty's level of distress. Seriously, having to sell the Fargo ranked right up there in Marty's List of Sad Life Events-- probably up with the death of loved ones. :( Let's all take a moment of silence, then, and wish the Fargo all the best in its new home.

A Day in the Life of Dana L.

So I've been wracked with guilt for being MIA in blogland (or, as a former schoolmate used to call it, 'the blogosphere'... blech! Some things are best left un-academicized... though I suppose 'un-academicized' is as much of a made-up schoolish word as blogosphere. Nevermind, then.)

I'd like to say that I've been consumed with incredibly interesting adventures in between my intermittent posts, but unfortunately, things have been pretty much same old since I started working. You know: eating, sleeping, working, catching playoff hockey, and watching harbour seals. That kind of stuff. Plain old, boring, everyday seal watching.



I've also been knitting, though. Back in January, I promised my dear husband that I would knit him a sweater for his birthday. We borrowed some books from the library so he could pick out the perfect pattern. Then we went to the *cough* incredible local yarn store so he could pick out the perfect yarn. Since then, I've been knitting and knitting. Hopefully, the sweater will be ready in time for his birthday next January! (Slow and steady wins the race, right?)

This whole process has enlightened me about one of the key differences between Marty and I. He's much more aware of his likes and dislikes than I am, and he's also much more able to articulate them to others (whereas I often leave things unspoken, for fear of offending, bothering, or otherwise putting off somebody else. Stupid gender socialization.) This sweater situation is a prime example. Had Marty offered to knit me a sweater, I would probably have picked something plain and simple-- something not too intricate or difficult to knit, especially for a first-time-sweater-knitter (which, by the way, I am). Marty, however, went straight for the cabled fishermen's patterns. He also opted for a button-up sweater instead of a pullover, which means I have to learn how to make buttonholes! And oh yeah, he wondered if I could alter the v-neck pattern to a regular crewneck style. And could the sweater and sleeves be longer? 'Sure, honey! Anything for my sweet love.'





Well, I have to say that ultimately, I'm glad he chose the sweater he did. I'm learning many mad knitting skillz as I go along (lattices 4-eva', yo!), and every successful row feels like a significant accomplishment on my end. Plus, I figure that by getting him to buy into every little detail of this sweater, I'll be able to avoid the dreaded Sweater Curse. (Granted, Marty and I are already married, and the curse normally applies to unwedded significant others, but still... I would hate to knit a whole cabled sweater and have him not like the fit/style/wool/colour/whatever else.) This way, if anything goes wrong with the sweater, it won't be my fault. After all, he was the one who picked the pattern, the wool, the specific length, the buttons, the crewneck (when I get there), and everything else. I'm just the knitter in this situation. Don't shoot the knitter. Everyone knows that.

The Other Woman

Last weekend, as we took a stroll on the rainy beach, I was startled to discover another woman gazing lovingly into Marty’s eyes. She had a dark complexion and deep brown eyes, and her body seemed strong and sleek, like she spent all of her free time pursuing rugged outdoor adventures. I was taken aback by the brazenness of her stare, and perhaps a tad intimidated by the intensity of it, but I reassured myself that Marty only has eyes for me. That is, until I glanced over at Marty and saw him returning the woman’s gaze with the same passion...

It turns out that Marty and Robertina have a history that dates back about 4 years (he and I have been together for about 3.5 years now, natch). They had a short but adventure-packed relationship when Marty last lived in Victoria, and it was obvious from Robertina’s forwardness and unabashed excitement when she spotted him that she had never forgotten the special times they shared. Who knew I was a rebound??

Being the type of person I am (i.e. passive-aggressive with an overriding desire to please everybody), I tried to be courteous to this other woman (though I can assure you the fires of jealousy were well stoked inside). As we walked together on the beach, though, I discovered something even more startling: not only did Marty still love Robertina, but I did, too! In fact, we promptly made arrangements to see each other again every week from now on, and also to spend three weeks with her in April when her roommate goes to Arizona.

Me + Marty + Robertina = One happy threesome!

(Note: Anybody who knows even a little bit about Marty would not have been fooled by tales of wandering eyes or infidelity. I promise not to use cheesy hooks like this any more!)