And the itsy bitsy spider

Dear readers,

It’s May 5th.

I am sitting on my couch. There is a sleepy cat in my lap, and an even sleepier husband dozing in the sunroom just behind me.

My butt is sore from all of the jump squats I completed yesterday.

Strangely enough, I feel no side-effects from the seventy-fish push-ups.

This must mean I am getting stronger.

(At least arm-wise; not ass-wise.)

In the past two months these things have happened:

Marc and I sold our townhome and bought and moved into a new house. We have a beautiful garden and grassy yard, with a large patio and gas bbq. On days when the weather cooperates, we like to sit under the sun’s strong rays and wax poetic about our little piece of heaven.


Our home was built in 1907.

If there are ghosts, they are friendly.

On April 6 I ran a personal best in the Sunshine Coast half-marathon. Completing the course in 1:31:13, I came 11th overall for all of the ladies, and 7th in my age group.


It ended up being a very warm day to run 21.1km. Regret, they name is an Under Armour long-sleeve shirt.

(I need to really remember that start-line gooseflesh is fleeting.)

I’ve been re-reading quite a bit of Robertson Davies. Six months ago it was the Salterton Trilogy, and now I’m halfway through The Depford Trilogy.

Oh! For that man’s way with words.

Marc and I have also made a budget.

Things be serious, folks.

In June I am visiting Chicago for four days. In August, Hawaii for nine.

Tough Mudder is June 21.

I will be the strongest.

(Seriously, I am Linda Hamiltoning this race like a bamf).

The one true fly in the ointment is that I haven’t been sleeping very well for the past month. In fact, there are only two days since perhaps the birth of the New Year that I can remember sleeping soundly through the night.

Sometimes I believe it might never happen again.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with work, and life, and thoughts, and fears, and loves, that there is no room left over to live (let alone sleep).

What I want is to live purely and plainly, without early-morning heartaches, without bed sheets soaked through from my rising panic and clammy sweat, without the sensation of a lead weight pressing down on my chest, through my chest, into my heart, through my heart.

Only I’m not sure how.

Dear readers,

Today is June 16th.

I recently returned from a five day trip to the land of deep dish, skyscrapers, and wind.


Seriously, Chicago is the best.

(The only thing that isn’t the best is Chicago baseball. But take my word for it when I say that this opinion isn’t a knock on the White Sox themselves per se, but more so on the sport in general. Because good grief is that crap ever boring.)



I’ve been sleeping much better of late – trying as I might to get my anxiety in check and buckle down on long-term, effective coping mechanisms that will quiet and quell the run-run-running of words throughout my head on a second to second basis.

It’s a work in progress, but my nose is grinding away on that stone like a grinding thing.

Of late I feel like I could run forever.


Of late I like to imagine myself as swift-footed Atalanta, charging past her would-be suitors (and in the act, signing their death warrants), racing free from all worldly constraints. The only difference of course being my penchant from outlet mall spandex and race t-shirts.

One day I will spend a whack load of cash dollars on expensive beautiful running gear.

But until that day, I’m going to keep on keeping on looking like I belong on the cover of a 1979 copy of Runner’s World.

And that’s hot stuff.

I’ve never once stopped thinking about all of y’alls.

Thank you for your comments, emails, and words of concern and encouragement.

Tune in next time – same bat time, same bat channel.

(Same batty writer.)


I’m climbing up that spout.


Just beyond the garden gate

A little over five years ago, in front of friends and family, Marc and I pledged each other our troth. Our celebration took place at Minter Gardens, an absolutely amazing space just outside of Vancouver.

Here, plants and flowers of such a wide variety create a kaleidoscope of colours vibrant and breathtaking.

It’s a beauty that will make your head spin.

It was the perfect place for us to publicly proclaim our love for one another, celebrate with our phenomenal guests, and dance the night away.

So you can imagine how sad I was to learn that on the 14th of this month, these incredible gardens will be closing to the public.

Closing forever.

It would seem that we no longer live in a world where people visit gardens as a weekend trip, or family getaway.


In an attempt to say our own goodbyes to this special place, Marc and I drove out to Agassiz last Saturday and spent a few hours wandering about.

It poured like the dickens as we strolled along the different paths, our umbrellas gently knocking each other, our coats slick with rain.

Afterwards, we warmed up in the cafeteria, sipping mushroom soup and milky tea, while our hearts went out to the wedding party congregating at the gardens’ entrance.

The bride and groom had obviously gambled on an end of summer West Coast outdoor wedding.

But a little rain isn’t anything a lifetime of love can’t cure.



IMG_20130928_123927 - CopyQuote.










IMG_20130928_125110Love, redux.


‘If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”

Just one second, I’ll draw you a picture

Hey friends,

M and I have just arrived home from four days spent out and about, bopping along the BC coast.

Here are some snaps from our travels:








So there you have it kidlets, a brief look at the last four days spent running, hiking, boating, cooking, and building (woodsheds!).

I got some pretty serious sun on my face (M told me that I should probably stop wearing those sunglasses for the next while because it’s starting to look like I have a wicked goggle tan!), watched the meteor shower – so amazingly beautiful, and learned that a cow has six teats and that the UN General Secretary during the Cuban Missile Crisis was was U Thant (oh Trivial Pursuit…)

Now we’re watching Star Wars and eating blizzards after a simple, delicious dinner of garden grown beans, squash, and local Island gruyere cheese.


What did you cats get up to for the weekend? I want to hear all about it.