Falling in the General Direction of Up

I just got home from the most amazing vacation I've ever had. It was short - 4 days 3 nights - and it was aboard a 34' Hunter sailboat owned and captained by B3's friends, Ed and Sue. We were invited along their little excursion up to Desolation Sound then south to Texada Island. Now - I have to say this - a sailing trip for me would have been epic enough. I love the ocean. I love to sail. I love our coast line. And the little adventure of pulling into port to some of these teeny-tiny communities is delightful (Refuge Cove...I could have visited you longer). We even saw a pod of 3 humpbacks just to our port side, in the distance, travelling north while we travelled south. I had never seen whales in the wild before and declared it the Best. Day. Ever. I took a boat-load of pictures you might say, and if you had talked to me in the early morning hours of day 4 I would have told you my vacation had been excellent. Beautiful. The best. All the superlatives.  Then things go...

Of all the crazy random things I've blogged about thus far, this might be the silliest.  But it's been bugging me all day long.  Remember I wrote that little post about the fashion industry and how their random assignment of sizes are proof this world is six shades of crazy?  Well - I've decided there is still another layer of crazy. The "underworld" of crazy, you might say. And that layer would be women's underwear. Seriously.  OK - so here's the thing. I've been pondering my underwear drawer for a few months now. Every time I do my laundry and fold my underwear I tell myself - it's time to invest in some new undies there Miss Annette. Some are too big for me and just slide down my butt. Some, the elastic has broken free hanging in strands or even winding itself into a snarl - as if it has aspirations to be something greater - like a golf ball or something. I keep telling myself that I still have plenty of good underwear to ch...

I'm not complaining.  But there is something sad and contemplative about the smoke filled skies and the red rimmed sun that has me fighting off the blues. Without question, the people that should feel sad and blue are those who are in the fire zones. The people that have had to evacuate their homes. Lost their homes.  But I feel like I was going full tilt into summer. Blazing hot days, clear blue skies, vegetation still bursting forth all around me despite the drought conditions. The spattering of rain drops we felt this weekend and the low rumbling of thunder were just a tease that we might find some refresh.  Crickets have made their appearance - a sure sign of cooler nights. Blackberries are burgeoning on the vine. Fall is right behind the last ripe blackberry. So I've put August into high gear to squeeze in every last moment.  This eerie aura though...it's making me feel a little anxious. Outside my window are the industrious little citified farmers ...

It’s been a hot one this summer. Lots of 30+ days back to back. It’s made my house suffocatingly hot. It also means the heat rises on my temperament. I have a tipping point where I lose my patience and good humour.   A few weeks ago, with the August long weekend looming before me, I realized that summer was nearly half over and I hadn’t really vay-cayed yet. Oh yes, I had done some fun things on the weekends (Hello! Bocci Ball Champion, remember?), but I hadn’t left the Valley. Changed the scenery. I hadn’t taken a breath. So - near the end of July - I said I would help B3 on his grown up paper route and I trudged all over parts of Victoria I had never seen before. I had booked us into an Air BnB for those days and because it was the middle of summer, finding a place with the certain specifications I was looking for (Read: a private suite with enough room for the two of us and not sharing a bathroom with some creepy people from Arkansas) for the entire week proved challenging....