Walking for the Cure

Today I was one of 1100 people  who ran, walked or rolled their way over a 5 km course on a perfect fall day.  Together we raised over $165,000 towards finding a cure for this detestable disease, and as I held hands with my loved ones and friends, I was deeply moved by the strength of their solidarity and unwavering support.  

Wendy and I

Real men DO wear pink hats!   Rick and Cliff

      

We rode on a wave of pinkness and hope, laughter and tears and celebrated in the simple joy of a day well spent with very good folk.  Hearing the cheers from well-wishers and the friendly honks of bypassing cars made us feel invincible. 

I dedicated my walk to my mother-in-law, Margaret, a courageous fighter and breast cancer victim, who slipped away from us at sunrise yesterday morning.   We knew that she would have wanted us to carry on with the walk, and so we did, with hope in our hearts and gratitude for the time that we shared.  Life is so fragile, isn't it?  Treasure the moments.

"Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all."   -  Emily Dickinson

Critter Calamity

It's been a perfect week, not only because of the weather, but because I have had the warm joy of coming home to Bee's smiling face since Monday. Her week's holiday in Courtenay has given her a break from busting the bad guys, but it has also given me pretty much a spa holiday at home, including healthy gourmet snacks as soon as I walk in the door. Some kids really should never grow up and move away.

Yesterday we decided to take Chance and Piper down to the beach for an early morning stroll. Air Force Beach is beautiful, especially when the tide is out, with long stretches of smooth sand that go on for miles. We parked at the top of the hill then descended the long wooden flight of stairs to approach the beach, happily noting that there was just one other soul there with a couple of golden retrievers that were intent on stick pursuit and swimming. Piper leapt over the logs in excited anticipation of the long run ahead, and as I turned to check on Chance I found... nothing. Within the space of ten seconds, he had evaporated. I called him, not really worried.   And called again, then whistled. Had he snuck by and already gone to the beach? No sign of him down that long stretch of sand. Maybe he had returned to the car, mistakenly? Nope. We continued to search, trying hard to keep the image of a swooping eagle out of our minds. It was perplexing and getting frightening, and Bee commented that she had fresh empathy for those poor parents who say, 'I just turned my back for a few seconds...'

We decided to search separately - I would walk along the salt flats with their tall tufts of sea grass, and Bee would go up closer to the shore. Maybe there was a hole that he had fallen into, or maybe a lion got him or some aliens scooped him up in their spaceship (we were right beside the airport). We called, whistled, entreated him and then demanded that he COME immediately. All to no avail.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally heard, from far, far away, a pathetic little whimper. But it was impossible to tell from what direction, so we forced ourselves just to move quietly and keep calling. A few minutes later, another heart-wrenching cry, but this time we knew it was coming from the area of the stairs. Bee rushed over, and as soon as Chance heard her footsteps, he started wailing and caterwauling and very quickly, he was found. He was completely caught in a deep thicket of blackberry vines, paralyzed with his long, silky tail wound around and around the vicious hooks of the vine. He had obviously struggled hard and the more he struggled, the more firmly he was caught up. No doubt a bunny had crossed his path and he shot after it, quickly getting his long hair stuck.

Have you ever tried to crawl into a blackberry thicket? It's like one of those "Tough Mudder" races, where they subject you to electric shocks "for fun" as you cross the finish line. Just as we cleared one vicious set of barbs away, another would be in our path. Bee bravely ignored her wounds as she inched her way forward painfully, as I went around the back way to see if the path was less daunting. All the while the little critter kept up a constant moaning that had us convinced he was in the jaws of a crocodile. Finally, Bee was able to put her hands on him, but was unable to extricate him as his tail was so firmly caught. It was either time to cut off his tail, or slash up her hands by twisting the big vine until it broke.

Compassion won out and she set to work on breaking the vine, which took another few painful minutes until it split its fibres and surrendered. Chance flew into her arms, shaking and traumatized, and the two of them backed out of the thicket, getting more than a few jabs and barbs and a few deep slices on her legs on the way out. But at last they were free, and after a few minutes of untangling his tail from the barbs and a good brush down with the hands to get rid of a few other stickers, we placed him gently down on the sand, praying that he hadn't dislocated anything in his frantic efforts to get free.

And the little fool turned around and went right back after that rabbit.

I, for one,  will never eat blackberries again.

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The Festival of the Lanterns

What do all those people want?

Four hopeful and only marginally inebriated ladies managed to make their way to Fisgard Street, after a few false starts (one of which that led them almost all the way back to Sidney).   We were eagerly anticipating the showcase of the celebration of 150 years of  Victoria's Chinatown lantern festival, including moon cakes, Chinese dancing and music, and all the dark and sultry mysteries of Fan Tan Alley.  That's why we got there early.  So we could get a great parking spot.   Which we did - right on the first floor of the parkade.  Which should have been our first clue. 

 We amused ourselves for half an hour while waiting to rendevous with Bee under the Gates of Harmonious Interest.  The vendors were busy setting up booths in the middle of the street, as two blocks of Fisgard were cordoned off to traffic.   There were a few displays of cute children's clothing, an entire booth of carpentry  tools (we could not elicit a connection with the Ming dynasty) and well... not much else.   We dutifully filed up and down both sides of the street, peeking into mildewed shops filled with glittering trinkets, glistening roasted ducks, delicate china and bamboo toys.  We thought by stopping to have dinner at Don Mee's (a long, leisurely one) that the real action would begin by the time we were finished.  So we split a good bottle of Australian Pinot and took some time spinning in the table centrifuge, which was loaded with delicacies.

Not too sure how we missed all the action, but by the time we had walked a few blocks back to rescue Bee's Coco from getting a parking ticket then returning to Fisgard (via the inner harbour on a fall evening so warm and perfect it belonged in a Fellini movie), all the vendors were busily packing everything up.   By 8:30 the stage was dismantled, the moon pies had eclipsed, and there was a great scurrying from within, like everyone needed to get back home by 9 p.m. so they could catch Seinfeld before bed.

Fortunately Bee had thoughtfully picked up 4 honeybuns on Yates Street, and the Three Sacred  Aunties and Benevolent Mother inhaled them in the parkade before making the long trek home in the moonlight.

Today?   We are continuing our harbour duties, fueled by  home-made butter and caramel.   And leg of lamb.  Because honestly, it's just so hard.

Sidney by the Sea

I decided I'm going to blog a POD instead of a POW, along with a little synopsis of our ongoing adventures here in paradise. We are desperately busy manning our positions on the patio and counting the boats in the harbour. Sometimes we get mixed up and lose count and then the only thing to fix that is to have another beer or glass of wine and start all over again. So you can understand my  current time constraints and I hope that the thousand words that the pictures portray will make up for my lack of volume. Because I'm already a few days behind, here's a couple of pictures to catch you up, starting with our view.

How many boats can you see?

It's important  to  keep an accurate count at all  times, even when sitting indoors....

You can understand my dilemma, right?  It's hellishly stressful.

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Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile

I see September as January's better half. Both months hold the promise of new beginnings, goal-setting, sharp pencils and resolutions, but September wraps herself in vibrant beauty and perfumes the air with the evocative aromas of baking apple crisp, wood-burning fires, and the pungent smell from a crunchy carpet of leaves. As much as summer soothes us with its long, lazy days and the smell of coconut suntan lotion, fall puts the energy back into our step and makes us feel like we are waking up from a particularly lovely nap.

 This week I'm happy to report a good check-up with my GP, an event that will now be semi-annual rather than annual (not like in the past, when I went on the rare occasion that I ran out of plausible self-diagnoses). Summer, my time of recovery, will now give way to the work of fall, that being dealing with the more annoying side effects of Tammy Ox. My earlier, flippant reviews of this seemingly innocent and life-saving drug have been grumpily revised. We're still friends, of course we are, but I'm getting a little fed up (ha!) with her role as devil's advocate in the food department. In short, one of the side effects has been a hunger that would shame a sumo wrestler. I'm not eating several chickens at one sitting, but there are days when I believe I could. Starting with that crispy skin.  A little research has unveiled the disturbing fact that about one-third of women quit Tamoxifen due to side effects of weight gain, and even worse, over a third who do stay on it are prescribed antidepressants to mitigate it's meaner mental tricks.  I don't want to be one of those women.

 So, in pretty short order, I will revisit the South Beach Diet, a plan I have had good success with in the past, and one that I believe is solidly doable. Hopefully Tammy can be outwitted and put back into her place. But first!  Summer's Swan song:  A fabulous week spent in an oceanside house in Sidney with three of my favorite gals - a week of long beach walks, uninterrupted reading, exploring, great conversation, creative cooking and vats of wine by the fire or in the hot tub. I'll be blogging from there next weekend.  It's my last blow-out before I crash back into reality and deal with the challenge of detox. Coming down from chocolate is not for sissies, but I intend to wrap up this summer in style.  Woot woot!

Through the curtain of color, Filberg Lodge

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