People...couples, families...who dress alike have always deeply disturbed/annoyed me. It's just another way of showing THE WORLD to whom one is attached. Except with less bodily fluids. (On that note, we encountered another lovely young couple whose love was so great that they couldn't stop pawing each other and swapping spit in our local coffee hangout. It almost put me off my panini. Almost.)

When I see those couples, usually American, who dress alike, I always wonder if it was a conscious decision on their part, or if they've just been around each other for so long that they've just about become one. It's like the people who look like their dogs. Or the other way around. You know what I mean.

As I was ferrying my mother around today on her errands, while my dad lay in bed feverish and anemic (we found that out later), I observed an older couple. We had taken the dog for a ride in the car up to the Safeway. But I realized that it was too hot for him to wait in the car (and for me too), so I decided to take him for a stroll in the shade of the building. While we were waiting (impatiently) by the "out" door, this older coupled approached from the parking lot.

What struck me was not the fact that they were dressed alike. They weren't wearing matching running shoes, t-shirts, or hats. In fact, the man was wearing, just barely, a button up shirt, unbuttoned, exposing his horrific middle-aged man gut and manboobs. I looked to see what his wife looked like. If that had been my parents, my mother's embarassment would have been obvious, especially because she would have been visibly admonishing my dad and telling him to do up his shirt. But this guy's wife was oblivious. She was walking beside him like nothing was wrong. And that's when it hit me...as I looked back and forth between the two of them: they were physically pretty much the same person. They had the same gut, and their boobs were just about the same size.

I don't know if it was the heat, or my considerable intellect, but my inner dialogue switched to the topic of this couple. What makes it somewhat acceptable (yet thoroughly distasteful) that this guy can flash his gut and manboobs to the innocent public while his wife can't? His were either the same size or possibly bigger than hers. And which is more offensive? It is more natural, in some ways, for the women to have the boobies. Wouldn't that mean that his are more taboo, and therefore should be hidden?

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I wish that I had a neat little way of wrapping this up. Perhaps I'll suggest that that guy should have wrapped his up.

I envy some people (especially Meladuck and Maikopunk), and their seemingly effortless way of gathering moments from their day, the ability to reflect and assimilate those moments, and their ability to learn from them. As much as I try, I cannot do that.

My one main stumbling block is my memory. At the best of times, it's spotty. And lately, I've been blessed with spending too much time with my parents, especially my mother. She has this annoying habit of talking a lot (I have proof...her elementary school report card describes this tendency, and the trouble it has caused, in detail) because she thinks that everything she has to say is important, and because she often forgets what she has said just a few minutes ago. My patience has long ago expired. Her talking distracts me in a bad way. Any tidbit I have picked up during the day is usually lost from me by the time I have the chance to sit down and write. For instance, I had something I really wanted to write about tonight, but it's gone.

So, my dear role models, what do you suggest I do? What is it that you do? Do you have little notebooks into which you scribble cryptic yet meaningful notes? I'm eager to get your advice, because I do believe that I'm missing out on a lot. I think. I can't really remember.

But on a brighter note...I wore sandals today (no socks...shame on all of you who wear socks with your sandals). It was deliciously warm today. My toes were happy.

While roaming the HMV in the mall, looking for either new music or old music, I heard a pretty good song playing in the background. But I was still looking for the few ever-elusive cds that I have been chasing for a while. Finally, I found one of them: Prince's Sign O' the Times". The price? Over $40! I remember this record (because it was in vinyl form back then) from my youth. And even though I had played it a lot, I couldn't remember half the songs listed. So I decided to leave it there, come home, and listen to the samples on amazon.com before I decided to buy it.

But the songs in the background remained really good, so I decided to investigate. Being as clever as I am, I discovered that the singer of the pretty good songs was James Morrison, someone I'd never heard of. I went to the shelf, and found that his cd was less than $10. Normally, I'd run away from something like that. I'd tell myself that there is a reason why his cd was so cheap...probably because it's crap. However, now that I reflect on this logic, I realize that it's very faulty. I have plenty of cds for which I paid a hefty, full price, which totally sucked. I decided to take a chance.

It turned out to be a good roll of the dice. I really like the cd, especially the title cut. As I was walking the dog this morning, I was able to reflect on the words. They apply to all of us: "I'm not lost; not lost, just undiscovered. And when we're alone we are all the same as each other."

See you all tomorrow night at the coffee kvetch. I have a shiny, unhappy story to share.

Sorry to you all for not making the coffee kvetch tonight. As I told Xine, I went to Mission/Harrison today for various reasons, including getting my mother a late Mother's Day present and to see the sand sculptures. I will post about that tomorrow after I get the photos off my camera.

Even before that field trip, today was a good day. My dad went to the oncologist this morning and was told that there was "significant shrinkage." Men don't usually like to hear that phrase, but in this case that was a good thing to hear. It means that the chemo is working really well. The doctor went added that they can "safely say that the cancer has gone into remission." This doesn't mean that it's gone away entirely, but that the symptoms have been subsided. That's a good thing.

It's so easy...you can do it with your eyes closed

The biggest lesson I've learned lately is how to be able to laugh about most things, especially things that happen to you. This is why I am, in this post, drawing attention to this instead of shying away from it.

Normally, I'd cringe at the thought of having thousands (who am I kidding...maybe a dozen...if I'm lucky) of people looking at me in a t-shirt and shorts. But such is the suffering one must endure to be a writer.

If you had asked me any time in the past if, in the future, I'd be giving out exercise tips, I would have asked you if you were high. But there it is...me giving exercise advice. And by the looks of it, the exercises I'm advocating are sooooo easy that you can do them with your eyes closed. The truth is that the bucolic scene you can see in the window behind me is sunrise, and that I'm very, very tired.

Oh, and the other truth is that there is a dominant gene in the family, which is passed through the generations, which gives us the ability to blink at precisely the time the photo is taken. It's not a glamourous ability. None of us will be saving the cheerleader or the world. But it's ours. That, and crooked fingers.

I like doughnuts.

Today, Rita and I decided to meet for a healthy walk. We had started a semi-regular routine of walking to train for the Sun Run. But since the run, we've both kind of let that routine slip. Or more precisely, after we were both let go from that place, we've let that routine slip because we met with co-workers after work to walk in the park across the street.

So we decided to meet today, and go to Crescent Beach for a walk to, up-and-down, and then back from the 1,001 Steps.

I've lived here all my life and have heard a lot about the 1,001 Steps. It has always been a popular hangout for the teens. It's secluded, and apparently kids would meet there, start a bonfire, and drink. Sounds like fun! My friends went there a few times. I've never been. Rita goes to Crescent Beach a lot, especially to walk the dog.

We met at the most convenient place...Tim Horton's...and then Rita drove to the beach. Today was a lovely day; the sky was full of fluffy clouds and the sun was shining. It was very picturesque, which is why I was so annoyed that I didn't have my camera with me. That, and all the bald eagles and baby bald eagles we saw. Stupid camera. Anyhow, we walked to the steps, hiked up them (which didn't take as long as I had expected) and back down, and then walked further around the point. That's where we saw the bald eagles. Then we walked back on the sand, our steps popping seaweed on rocks, trying to find the dryest route back to the car. There were so many sea critters in the shallow water. We saw the bluest sea star. It was very pleasant.

Then we drove back to Tim Horton's. I fought the almost overwhelming impulse to buy an icecap, but I did give in and buy some Timbits. They're so yummy.

On Guard

This post is a companion piece to the Prairie Queen's post of April 16th. What can I say...I'm slow.

If I recall correctly, it was a lovely day. I started by getting up too early to join the some of the alive crowd for the Vancouver Sun Run, an annual shamefest that I'd never participated in before. Once again, I had been misled by the folks at alive; I had understood that it was a mandatory event for everyone, especially we, the lucky makeover guinea pigs. I had heard that there was to be a group photo. There was no way I could get out of it.

So I put on my happy face, my team t-shirt, and went. And it was really kinda fun. We waited too long to start, shivering in the shadows of the tall Vancouver buildings. We saw all kinds of people, including a guy wearing a watermelon on his head, bunny ears, and clown shoes. We later (proudly) passed him. We also saw James' mom, Josie, who waved and then scurried away. I had completely forgotten about that until right now. Hey James...we saw your mom.

After starting an hour late, and after walking for half an hour before crossing the start line (where my personal trainer, Kerry, was one of 6 - 8 cheerleaders dancing to th e wigged band way up on the tall podium), Rita, Josie, and I finally started. No sooner had we crosse the start line, and one of them wanted to use the potty. They held out until half way through, when we stopped in Stanley Park for a pee stop. Eschewing the port-a-potties (yes, I used "eschew"), we decided to check out the Park's facilities. The women's washroom was open, and there was a line. The men's was closed, so the men used the facility's wall for a quick whiz. An excellent plan, but not for me. Instead, I sat on a bench, clenched, watching the boats in the harbour. It was quite peaceful, except for the bloated bladder.

We finished with a respectable time, and then parted ways. I'd coerced Josie to give me a ride to UBC. She was looking for an excuse to avoid her kids (bad mother!!!). Seriously, her kids had been working her last patient nerve, so she needed a little break. We stopped at Liberty Bakery for a quick snack, and then she drove me out to UBC.

I was meeting Sara for the Great Canadian Song Book concert at the Chan Centre, featuring Ron Sexsmith, Sara Slean, Veda Hille (whose step-daughter goes to school with one of Josie's sons...she knows EVERYBODY), and some French guy. All performers were good (except the French guy, whose awkwardness and bad singing forced me to close my eyes...which resulted in a quick nap). But for me, the stunner was Ms. Hille. She had to work with some crazy arrangements, and she rose to and above the occasion. I have one of her cds. I'll have to check it out again.

After the concert, Sara and I decided to take a bus back into the city and go to Sophie's for dinner. Sara had never been, but had heard good things from Good Christine at school. I've been several times, and I do like Sophie's chicken burger with satay sauce. Yum. We walked to UBC's bus loop (yes, I was taking transit...which made the day even more special). While waiting for our bus to come, I caught site of this crazy guy in the distance behind Sara. He was stabbing a telephone pole with a sword. We were next to the pool, so I guess that there was some sort of gym nearby where this guy had been fencing. That made sense. But still, it was funny to see some guy sneak up on a tree and stab at it a few times.

At Sophie's, Sara and I shared a chocolate shake (not Lady and the Tramp style, just split into two glasses). We both had burgers...Sara's a burger kind of girl. I was shocked when she didn't finish her meal. It had been several hours since she had eaten, and I've seen this girl eat a burrito an hour or two after having lunch. I think that the food was good...I ate mine.

The funniest thing happened while we were at Sophie's. Some guy must have lost something in the crack between the bench seat and the wall. We looked over, and he had found a sword...this one double-bladed, not a single, thing spike like the fencing sword...and was using it to poke down between the wall and the bench seat. I have no idea where he found the sword, but it made the day into a 2-sword day. Weird.

Then, we went out and waited at the bus stop, where we saw that guy looking for his keys with his tongue, shoved down his girlfriend's throat. Sara escorted me to the Skytrain station, and I went home to Surrey.

Sara thanked me for letting her know about the concert. I must thank her for convincing me to go. I'm a bit of a social-phobic, and the thought of going to a concert alone (her seat was on another floor), really wasn't the ideal situation. I almost didn't go. But I did, and I had a great time.

Sorry, this was a big one again.