Good Morning Sunshine

It may come as a surprise to my cadre of rabid followers (2 readers total) that I am not, in fact, a morning person.  I have 'not been a morning person' for my entire life, including my birth, for which I was 2 weeks late.  Even then I didn't bother showing up until 4 in the afternoon.

Don't get me wrong. Lot's of great things happen at morning time: Christmas... dew... sunrise...birdsong... wood.  No, it's mornings in general that I can do without.  The cat jumping onto my face at 5:30 AM to tell me the dog has been sick.   The chill on my skin when I struggle out from under the blankets.  The sight of my cat peacefully sleeping on my pillow the moment my head vacates it.  Tripping over the Rotwieller.  Wincing in the bright lights of the mirror.  Stairs.

I firmly believe that people who commit random acts of violence would never do so if they hadn't first been ripped from slumber by a harsh world and forced to face the dim reality that they completely forgot to buy more cream for coffee the day before.  The only reason I am not currently naked in a tower with a deer rifle is that I found some coffee whitener in the camp box.

Mornings remind us that our bodies are rapidly moving through time.  They show us the forgotten debris from the night before.  Mornings are usually when appliances break and loved ones become expansively ill on the kitchen floor.  Mornings are when you remember the things you have forgotten and wished you hadn't.  Mornings are the Universe saying: Now I bet you wish you'd stayed in the trees.

Humans are not meant for mornings.  We are meant to be clinging peacefully to the branch, 30 feet above the jungle floor, safe from predators, gently snoring through the dawn chorus.  Not sitting here in an
un-ironed shirt, sipping camp coffee and secretly envying the hell out of my cat.

Ode To My Cat

My worries and troubles tangle in your whiskers and are brushed away with the flick of an ear.
Nose to nose, we stare at each other, unblinking.
Your soft paws pat my chest in a sleepy rhythm.
Do you have to wake me up twenty minutes before my alarm every damn day?

The Little Douche Coup

It is a sad day for me today friends.  My trusty car, The Red Wonder ('I wonder if it will start today') is on it's last legs, so to speak. This is not something that has happened overnight.  It has been a very gentle decline, a sort of coast downhill in Mexican overdrive.

It started with a glitchy ignition, which only engages if the moisture content of the air is just right, i.e. whatever is the exact opposite of that normally found in a temperate rain forest.  Then the horn died, which means I occasionally lean on the airbag in silent outrage when I get cut off.  This is far less satisfying than you think.  

After the horn went, the rear driver-side window followed soon after.  It didn't go anywhere, but it just sort of floats around in the door.  I spent 45 minutes locked out of my car one afternoon before it occurred to me that having a window I can slide down while outside of the car is a great feature, one I wished I'd recalled about 44 minutes sooner.

Once the ignition, horn and window all began shirking their duties, I think the rest of the car just got lazy.  The passenger door sticks.  The interior light won't turn off unless I remove the bulb.  Something is squeaky under the hood.  The muffler rattles.   The only thing that seems to be functioning is the little orange light on my dashboard which assures me that, yes, it has checked and there is an engine.  

But Husband, who would rather ride a Pogo stick to work than take a car in to a garage, finally stepped in and offered help when I fired her up this morning and a sound like the sins of angels came screaming from under the hood.  The squeak has suddenly became an ear-piercing shriek which disturbed Husband  from his morning's slumber and seriously put a passing eagle off his breakfast.  

I am not in the market for a new car. I have faith in Husbands' ability to repair everything from a roof to an electric cheese grater.  A mere car is no match for his skills with the Duct Tape and blow torch.  And I have no problems driving his van in the interim. 

I just wish it had a loose window, since I've already locked the keys inside it.

  

Sweet Goodbye

Summer's over.  There can be no doubt about this.  I woke up this morn to discover that at some point during the night husband had stolen all the blankets.  This is a sure sign that Summer is on her way out.  I could also hear the sound of rain pounding on the roof through my cat, who had wrapped herself around my head like a turban.  All cats know this survival trick, employed when they are in grave danger of having to spend a night indoors in a well-furnished home.
Yes, there are signs about which tell me that while Summer may not be completely gone, She is certainly standing on the front porch, nervously jingling her keys. And as I sit here nursing the first cold of the season I have a chance between sneezes to think over the summer's adventures....

I tried climbing again-for-the-first-time with Husband, who learned that if you buy a girl new shoes, she will do just about anything to wear them. Even if that means scale a craggy mountain side.

We went to Wild Play in Naniamo, an adventure park filled with ropes and bridges suspended in the amazing canopy of the local old-growth forest. I learned that Husband will do anything I ask him to do, if it costs less than a pair of climbing shoes.

Tubing! I could write an entire piece on tubing and still not have said enough about soaking the heat of the day out of your bones as you float down the river.  Each time was a little different from the last as the river winds along its' course.  There is nothing more pleasant, more quintessentially BC than tubing. The fact that it is also moderately low cost (tube:$26; Gas:$10; beer afterwards: $6) means I was on the river 3 days out of every 7 since June.

Camping on Quadra Island clearly made an impression and will hopefully be repeated before we are posted away.

Husband surprised me with a trip to the Pacific National Exhibition (PNE) which was fantastic.  It reminded us both of every great fair we've ever gone to as kids.

BBQ's, backyard parties, dinners on patios, helping friends move, cycling, swimming and generally ignoring the phone were enjoyed to the fullest.  Farewell Summer.  Until next year, I shall think fondly of you as I sit, sipping Neocitron (TM), sneezing and wearing a cat hat.
Cheers.