Sploosh!

For the past few days, the rain in Vancouver has created huge pools on the sides of roads. I'd be driving along, peering out the windshield on extra high alert because visibility is so poor, and suddenly the right side of my little rusty tin can Toyota would shimmy through one of these pools and I'd almost lose control.

The best part is the fantastic wave of spray that completely douses the sidewalk, about seven feet high. I keep imagining someone walking along just at that moment, an unsuspecting victim to the accidental water wave by my innocent car.

Just think, you know that loud-mouthed guy on the cell phone at the coffee shop? I'd like my next victim to be him, especially if his cell phone is open. No, wait, better yet, the woman who stepped in front of me at the super-long line at the dollar store, and then pretended to not hear me when I protested. Yes, there she is, walking along the sidewalk with her oh-so-important dollar store purchases weighing her arms down and...SPLOOSH! Got her! Oops, sorry, didn't see the water there...

Then there are the random victims, who don't really deserve to be drenched but were just walking by at the wrong time. I was one, once, about two years ago.

A friend of mine was going to be baptised at her church one night. I didn't have a car at the time, and the church was in Surrey, but I wanted so badly to be there. I got dressed up and brought my umbrella with me since it was a miserable night - cold, windy, rainy. I left Vancouver and it took a skytrain and three different buses for me to get to the bus stop closest to the church.

I had to walk for about ten minutes along a very dark road. The wind kept snatching at my umbrella and I held it close to me, trying to see where I was stepping. Then it happened, so quickly and shockingly. A car went by, the wind gusted my umbrella up for a second, and SA-WHOOSH! A waterfall of cold water soaked the right side of my head and clothes, taking my breath away.

At first I was shouting obsenities into the rain, but since no one was listening or caring, I had to just plod along. By the time I got to the church, hysterical giggles were bubbling in my chest. When I saw my friend and her mother, I announced, "I got baptized, too!"

I went into the bathroom and laughed when I looked in the mirror. The whole right side of me was soaked, with black makeup splotched under one eye. I repaired as much damage as I could, and then went to find a seat. I felt appropriately ready for attending a baptism. I had been dunked underwater and was now ready to start anew!

There was that guy who I cut off in traffic one time, and he was screaming at me out his window and I ignored him. Maybe he is glad that I got splooshed...but I like to think that it was all some orchestrated event to symbolize my friend's baptism instead.

Maybe you'll be next...

Kevin and the Baby

We were at the annual family picnic on Sunday and at one point I found Kevin with this baby in his arms. The baby is Rory, son of Jennifer, who is a distant cousin of mine.

I wasn't really surprised, since Kevin is naturally drawn to children. This little guy had Kevin's thumb tightly gripped for a long while. It was very sweet.

Suzy and I descended upon the scene for a photo op. Look at us with our glamourous take-our-picture-smiles and Kevin just glancing up casually. I like the look on his face.

Grandpa's Garden

"When my Grandpa was in the hospital, he was an old man. He celebrated his 20th birthday a few days before he died."

Sometimes I present this riddle to my students and it usually doesn't take them long to figure out that he was born on a leap year. Grandpa was born on Feb. 29, 1908, in Allahabad, India. His parents were in the British army there at the time. He moved to Vancouver with his brothers and cousins when he was around 16 years old.

Grandpa's full name was Frederick Brunton Douglas. I'm not sure how old Fred was when he met Kathleen Crocker, but they were very much in love. He became very sick when he was in his 20's and he asked Kathleen to wait for him to get better so that he could marry her.

She waited for seven years. When they married, one of his lungs was shriveled and unusable. I remember Grandpa being very slow-moving. He didn't exert himself much, but was in good shape regardless. I think this gave me the impression of calm strength emanating from his form.

I began my fascination with sunflowers in Grandpa's garden. As a little girl, I would stand directly beneath one of those monstrous works of art and beauty, gazing up at the face of the sunflower and memorizing the maze of brown pods. I remember being happily surprised when they magically turned into seeds between my visits.

Grandpa and Grandma lived on an acre in the heart of Surrey, BC. They had every kind of berry, fruit tree, and vegetable that would grow in British Columbia. There were also chickens, a fish pond, a swing hanging from a huge tree, a hammock, rhododendron bushes, rose bushes, sunflowers, and many other flowers.

What I remember most is Grandpa's hands. To me, they were enormous and wrinkled and worn. He would usher me into the henhouse with great shushing to be verrrry quiet, and he would carefully reach under one of the brooding hens. In the dark of the henhouse, he would slowly bring his hand down to me and there would be a warm brown egg sitting there in his huge Grandpa hand for me to peer at. He'd smile at me, chuckle a bit with joy, and we would sneak out together to show Grandma the egg.

With those hands that moved with certainty, he showed me how to find the ripest berries, how to hold a can on a pole up to the apple tree to get an apple from the top, how to hold a baby chick gently. He opened sun-warmed peapods, carefully chose Scrabble tiles, read his Bible in his chair, all with my eyes wide and round on his big steady hands.

There is a beautiful love story about Fred and Kathleen, and I will save it for another time.

The other day, I bought some local raspberries from a produce market. I mixed them with some yogurt, and as the sweet berry taste exploded onto my tongue, I was instantly transported back into Grandpa's garden. Sadly, the property has since been bulldozed over and made into townhouses. Even so, with no effort I can still envision walking in the yard looking at the berry bushes, hammock, rows of vegetables, baby chicks, and the majestic sunflowers.

Kevin

This is Kevin. He and I are engaged to be married!

In case you're wondering, who is this guy? How is it that I have fallen in love with the perfect man for me? Read on...

Kevin is warm, compassionate, generous, kind, affectionate, sensitive to people's feelings...you get the picture. Kids are magnetically attracted to him. He is a hit with my nephews and nieces.

He has a good job as a longshoreman. He's respectful of all people. Family is important to Kevin, as it is to me. We are looking forward to having our own children someday soon!

Things we like doing together: riding our motorcycles (he has a Shadow Aero that I drool over...okay okay I drool over both him and the bike), walks along the seawall, looking at homes on the MLS pages. Yesterday we had a hilarious tennis game. We both hadn't played in a long time and I laughed so hard at one point at his "Kevin Dance" that I could hardly move.

One rainy afternoon we took Freddy and Jakey to "Go Bananas" and had a great time with them. They alternated between climbing around the indoor gym and drinking slushies with us at a nearby table.

We don't have a wedding date set yet - we are enjoying spending time together and we figure it will fall into place naturally. We aren't even sure where we want to live yet, but there's no rush.

Today, Kevin and I had coffee with my mom. I'm sure that being squished between two exuberant Hutchins women can be a little overwhelming, but he's getting used to it!

More pics to come soon...

Crazy guy in Hope

I went to Kamloops last week-end to visit Paula & Mark and Lisa & Rob. On my way there, I stopped at the Dairy Queen in Hope for some lunch.

A man somewhere in his fifties I'm guessing, came up to me to chat about my motorcycle. This happens to me a lot - older men reliving their glory days telling me about a bike they used to have. So I humoured him as he told me about a great ride he did in Australia "a few years back."

When I got my tray of food and looked around, I realized on a hot day like this that of course the Dairy Queen would be jam-packed full. The man I had talked to waved at me and invited me to join him. I thought to myself, "This will be entertaining at least," and I sat across from him at his booth.

The guy was nuts.

We introduced ourselves properly and I found out his name was Erik. Do you remember the sinister "Hannibal the Cannibal" from The Silence of the Lambs? Well, I think this Erik guy must have watched it a few times and was trying to be extra spooky on purpose. He had Hannibal's shortly-cropped grey hair, piercing blue eyes, and mysterious "knowing" way of talking.

I had echoes of Hannibal saying, "Do you really know what you want, Clarissssssse?" while Erik said, "Traccccey, but what's your other name? For you do have one - I'm psychic and I know...."

I nonchalantly ate my burger and gave out vague answers to his absurd questions. He acted superior, trying in vain to give off the impression that he knew me better than I knew myself.

He asked, "So tell me Traccccey, in your opinion, where is paradisssse?"

I looked at him thoughtfully, slowly finished chewing, and serenely replied, "It's inside of you."

He was a bit taken aback. I think he had hoped I would say, "The Bahamas" or something. He then pontificated about the nature of paradise for a while, talking about the various places he'd traveled to. He really liked Figi.

He then tried some psychic ploys on me for a while, trying to guess which musical instrument I played. He also wanted me to join him in Australia to help him start up a worm farm or a snail farm. I was amused.

I really knew he was crazy when he asked me if the Paladians had visited me. They were aliens who were here on Earth to observe us. They didn't usually make their presence known because they had a rule of not interfering. (This reminded me of Star Trek.) Yet they had revealed themselves to Erik because he was special in some way. Also, somehow they were here to teach us about love.

By this time I had had enough and I stood up to go. I assertively declined his offer to visit him in Mission. He offered to see me off in the parking lot while I rode away. I told him I had a phone call to make. I said good-bye as he followed me and stood at my bike ignoring him while I phoned Kevin, who was not exactly thrilled to hear that a weird guy was following me.

He got in his car and drove away; I didn't see him again. I really did think he was harmless. My father would say it wasn't too bright of me to encourage conversation with the guy for as long as I did. But it sort of evolved in a way that I hadn't expected. Initially, I thought I was going to eat my lunch while swapping motorcycle stories.

Entertaining at least? Well of course!

Clunk

One of my favourite moments...

...the "CLUNK" sound when I shift my motorcycle from neutral into first as the light in front of me turns from red to green.

Mastication

I told B. the mastication story today and we had a good laugh.

A few years ago, I was at Scott's parents' house for a birthday dinner for Scott's sister. They also invited some family friends who had a baby. We were all in the dining room. Scott's parents had prepared a celebratory meal and the table was set with good china.

The baby was at the stage of just starting to eat baby food. The couple who had the baby had this philosophy of chewing up their food in their mouths and spitting it out into their fingers and feeding it to the baby, neatly masticated.

I was completely grossed out beyond belief! They acted all natural and carried on with casual conversation while I restrained myself from kicking Scott under the table to show him how badly I wanted to giggle. If I remember correctly, they responded to the surprised looks on everyone's faces by informing us of the benefits of mastication and how normal it was. I imagine they probably had a placenta planted under a tree in their back yard somewhere, too.

When B. heard the story today, his immediate response was, "Buy a food prcessor!" Then he said, "Who do they think they are, birds? Hey, what they should do is drop the food right out of their mouths into the baby's open mouth!"

I told the masticating story a couple of week-ends ago at Frances' party and the hilarity was endless. They got onto this whole thing of having a mastication factory with workers who chewed up organic food and put it into jars.

I think masticate is the best word ever.