Dear diary, today was a good day.


It’s been almost a month since I’ve last put fingers to laptop in an earnest attempt to pen the CRAP out of a blog post.

But things be happening.

At the beginning of August I traveled to the lush and magical land of Hawaii and spent eight days hiking, running, swimming, snorkeling, attending weddings, and waking up at the crack of dawn in order to witness the most spectacular sunrises of life (again, and again, and again!)

I mean, if there is one thing I can say about crawling out of bed every day at 5:30am – on vacation at that – it’s just that there are some things in life that are hands down worth it EVERY TIME.

I mean, why wouldn’t you want to get up early everyday when you’re viewing things like THIS:



Some other snaps:


Travelling home I was so incredibly knackered from all of the physical activity, coupled with the early morning beach trips, that it was all I could do to keep my eyes open as the flight attendant prepped myself and the other folks sitting in the emergency exit row. As soon as she left, I put up my hood, wrapped by arms about my body, and settled down to (what I hoped to be) a relatively uneventful five and a half hours of airplane rest.

I was just drifting off to dreamland, when another flight attendant woke me up with a look of grave concern on her face.

“Yes?” I asked.

She looked at me and loudly whispered, “I’m sorry, but I just need to confirm before we take off, as you’re sitting in the emergency exit row, that you are over sixteen years of age?”

Oh how I laughed (and thanked her, weirdly?)

However, I did want to clarify that she was asking due to my physical appearance and not, you know, in reaction to my general comportment.

She just looked at me weirdly and then told me that I looked young for my age.

(I probably shouldn’t have used the word “comportment.” I think it REALLY aged me.)

However, I won’t lie and say that I didn’t smile and smile as I drifted off to (my much needed,) thirty thousand foot, recycled air dreamscape.

Strangely, these early morning events never curtailed after arriving home from Oahu.

In fact, for about two months now, I’ve been getting up before work and running like a loon, mostly in preparation for my marathon on November 2nd, but also because the weather has been so darned hot I cannot fathom leaving the office in the afternoon and belting out a 10k in 25+ celcius temperatures.

Because gross.

Also. Man. November 2nd.

Let’s not beat around the bush here folks – that date is very soon. And what with how quickly days seem to be slipping between my fingers, I’ll probably take a long nap in a week or two and wake up on race day fretting about the fact that I’ve forgotten to pick up my race package in time.

Good grief.

OKAY. What else has been hammering at the proverbial workbench of life…

I have been doing quite a few speaking engagements and interviews for work, hosting the radio show, Big Sistering it up, and trying to get my head wrapped around the idea of sifting through approximately 400 blog posts in the attempt to MAYBE put together a book proposal based on all of these insane musings.

Because you know – everybody has to have a goal right?

Or else what the heck is the point of chewing through those leathers straps every morning!?

Since being gifted with free HD cable, Marc and I have been watching a crap ton of US Open tennis because everything else on the ol’ boobtube is absolute garbage, and the only thing that will ever get me to turn on the television is electric athletes and their incredible displays of strength and agility.

Anything and everything else? Just GTFO.

On September 16th my AMAZING friend Alex and I are headed to the Kaiser Chiefs concert and I have all of the excitement.

Equally because Alex is truly one of the greatest people I am lucky to count as a friend in my life, and also because the Kaiser Chiefs are such tip-top groovemeisters and I cannot wait to get my epic dance moves on to their fab tunes.

The last time this band was in town I was forced to go to the concert by myself, which in retrospect wasn’t all that horrid and turned out to be quite a blast. However, in my nervous state, I drank half a bottle of wine and ended up speaking in the absolute worst British accent of all time to the teenager who wouldn’t stop pestering me for my phone number on the skytrain home.

Because I am the worst and desperately needed him to shut up, I just threw in the towel and gave him Marc’s cell phone number.

(Which I am still laughing about to this day.)

(This may also be why I am mistaken for sixteen year-olds on airplanes.)

Finally, I have been reading some absolutely excellent texts of late, including the newest Murakami (melancholy and beautiful, as always), some old Henning Mankell (that I somehow missed? P.S. I am planning a trip to Sweden next April so STAY TUNED), some Jo Nesbo (that stuff is DARK!), some Lev Grossman (TERRIBLE STAY AWAY – dude is an amazing writer but absolutely crap at storytelling and character development), some Carl Sagan (my imaginary boyfriend), much Dostoevsky and Bradbury (my two literary husbands), and will next be venturing into a biography on the late, and utterly devastatingly brilliant Alan Turning.

Lev G

Like so many things in this bonkers world of ours – I cannot wait.

And I leave you all with this little ditty:


sept is an English word for a division of a family, especially of a Scottish or Irish. The word may derive from the Latin saeptum, meaning “enclosure” or “fold”

Ember: a small piece of burning or glowing coal or wood in a dying fire.

ERGO – September = fireplace.

And that has been your piece of monthly trivia.

Pun intended (of course.)

Published by

Vanessa Woznow

Writer, runner, ranter, reader. I write about all things.

12 thoughts on “Dear diary, today was a good day.”

  1. You’re gonna be in SWEDEN?! If I do say so myself, quite an excellent choice. I have some tips about Sweden:


    and here:

    Of course I accept all forms of questions and consider myself to know everything about Sweden (I don’t care what the Swedish people have to say about that).

    I also have a list of things to do in Sweden…but I’m trying to hold off on too many shameless plugs…

    It happened anyway.

  2. Your idea of vacation and my idea of holiday differ tremendously in that I actually like to relax on holiday rather than run, run, run. Hiking? Check! Shopping? Check! All kinds of other adventure-filled fun? Check! Snorkeling? Check! Swimming? Check! Running? I’m sorry, what was that? Running? I still can’t hear you. And then I lay down until the thought of running runs right out of my head, amazed that the thought got into my head at all in the first place.

    I must say, you really don’t have much to do to fill your days, do you? Get a goal, get a dozen goals. Do something with your life already! I’m quite amazed you have anything to write about at all.

    And let me say that giving the teenager Marc’s cell number: brilliant!

    Will have to pick up some of the things you’re reading to compare notes. And why say you’re reading a crap author? That just makes me want to read him all the more. How can someone be an amazing writer and be crap at…writing? (even if it’s plot and/or characters, that’s all part of the writing…of the writing.)

    I do question your allegiance to Bradbury. At once, he is your grandfather AND husband? I believe I read in an earlier post or perhaps in this very one that you think of him as a grandfather, yet he is one of your two literary husbands. This is becoming a very strange family tree.

    1. Lady, your comments are seriously the best. I love getting them. They are witty and wise and never, ever fail to give me a giant goofy smile. Thank you for continuing to visit my little spot of the internet, and I apologize it takes me six million years to respond. Please know I appreciate it! :)

      Please also note that I am heeding your advice and looking into some productive ways to spend my excess time. I will keep you posted as to the activities I choose!

      Haha, oh my gosh, I felt like such a jerk handing out the number but the hilarity completely outweighed any guilt I did feel. I crack up today just thinking about it…

      It’s weird re: Lev Grossman. The guy is a really amazing writer, like, technically. He’s too is obviously a smart guy. But as a storyteller he is balls. And he has no way of crafting characters of whom yo want to know more/follow of their journey. They are all such one-dimensional arseholes that it’s maddening. Such a weird contrast!

      And good eyes with regards to Bradbury!! I should probably stick at grandfather, no? It does get a little squicky when I start to mess around with my literary familial relations! A strange tree indeed!!

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