Love – Page 27 – Rant and Roll

Whiskers on kittens

I have a cat.

Her name is Nymeria.

This is not news to veteran readers of Rant and Roll.

But for all you newbies (WELCOME MY LOVES!) please let this post serve as a wee introduction to this little creature who takes up major real estate within the confines of my heart.

We adopted the little miss in February of 2008.

This was after five years of constant badgering on my part, to my brilliant (though long-suffering) partner Marc.

Writer’s note: Marc is now my brilliant (and longer-suffering) husband.

Seriously, I was unrelenting in vocalizing my desire to adopt a pet.

The first animal for whom I had ever before cared was a grey and white kitty named Sophie (named after the famed Sophie’s Cosmic Café here in Vancouver) who ruled my family’s roost for a number of years before she succumbed to her heart murmur at the relatively young age of eight.

Her death (which took place just before Christmas in my second year of my undergrad) was one of the most crushing blows I had suffered up until that point in my life.

I received the phone call mid-holiday party, and as I collapsed into a fit of tears, Marc ushered our well-meaning, though slightly confused guests out the door.

Wrapped up in his arms, I cried myself to sleep that night.

And the next.

My mum has since adopted two other cats – brothers Rufus and Simon who are as adorable as they are bonkers.

Simon is so sketchy, I often refer to him as a beetle, because anytime he is spooked, he will scuttle under the nearest couch, table, or bed.

Rufus is a consummate lounger – too cool for school, and utterly fabulous. Whenever I put on makeup in the bathroom, he’s right there in the sink, trying to massage his cheeks up again my blush brush.

And I love both of them, truly.

Like her cousins back east, Nymeria is also completely mad.

A calico, she speaks all the time, but especially as feeding hour approaches.

Sometimes I feel a little nuts, because I start to make noises in response her to mewls and meows, and before I really know what is happening, I’m engaged in a very strange conversation, without any idea of what it is I am hearing (or in fact saying.)

This is very similar to when I speak Russian with anyone beyond proficiency level 1.

(Babushkas man. They just love the chance to talk to anyone!)

Nymeria’s brilliant for the fact that she doesn’t destroy our furniture, but less so because she does a fabulous job of managing her stress on the carpet that covers our stairs.

She will sleep with me up until Marc gets into bed (he always retires much later than I) but then will return around 4 a.m. to sleep on my legs.

She loves to be brushed.

A giant ‘fraidy-cat, she will hunker out on our balcony, until she scares herself, and runs back inside.

She has such tiny feet, that more often than not, I will refer to her as Little Paws.

Other nicknames include: Beauty Cat, Big Eyes, Little One, Kitten, Douce Baggins (only used after a very, very stinky bathroom break), Duck (because when she sits a certain way, she looks like a duck riding the waves), and Dragon Cat.

I really, really like it when she’s Dragon Cat.

Anytime she hears a bag opening she will immediately run to the kitchen in hopes of a treat.

Anytime we come home from a trip she will shower us with the softest of kitten kisses.

Anytime I think about her, my little heart smiles.

Because she is, quite simply, our little gal.

All thanks to everyone; run runaway

This weekend we ran away.

We made our escape Friday afternoon: M commandeered the getaway car, stopping only briefly outside of my office building so I could throw my bags into the backseat, before sliding my little self into the front.

With the sun shining down on us, as well as lighting up the long-missed cerulean sky, we drove out of Vancouver proper and made our way to the, most aptly named, Sunshine Coast.

This, my friends, is a place filled with magic.

And I would like to share with you some snaps from our brief stint in paradise.

Fire.

Morning.

Games.

Ocean.

Trees.

Post-run.

View.

Beauty.

…

Sometimes I have great difficulty sleeping. I am either thinking too much, or I wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat. Whatever the case may be, my anxieties have a tendency to wreck havoc with my achieving the recommended eight hours.

Last Friday night, the night of our arrival, I slept better than I have for months. My head hit the pillow sometime around ten o’clock and I didn’t stir until eight the next morning. When I woke, I felt clear-headed and refreshed, as if emerging from a warm, safe, (and oh-so snuggly) cocoon.

Marveling at the early morning sunshine, M and I drank steaming mugs of dark, sweet coffee, and watched the families of ducks as they dived and dashed about in the water surrounding the dock.

We would have sat outside had the temperature not hovered around zero degrees celcius. There are only so many blankets in which a person can be swaddled.

Around ten thirty I set out for my weekly long training run. It’s always a bit of shock to the system, the first few minutes of the run, as the fresh, cool, coastal air, rushes in my nose and down my throat, frost tickling my heart and lungs.

But eventually, as always, I adapt, as does my stride and pace – although never my hands. My hands ache from the cold, and warp into hard demi-claws, that chap red and painful.

I run facing traffic, although on a Saturday morning, there is little to be found. I often smile to myself, as I am fooled again and again by the strong wind in the trees, that I too often mistake for an approaching engine, or tire.

The specter of a car.

I ran fifteen kilometers that morning.

I felt as though I could have run forever.

It’s like I said.

It’s magic.

Putting on a show

On Wednesday I pulled a King Lear and went for a run in a storm.

(Unlike Lear however, I managed to keep all of my clothes on.)

There really is something to be said for powering through totally crap weather. But then again, there is also something to be said for knowing when to say ENOUGH.

Of course, today is absolutely blooming gorgeous (though still chilly to the bone) so I’m excited to be out and about, actually feeling some of that sunshine on my face.

In other BIG NEWS – yesterday I purchased tickets for this year’s Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

YAY!

This makes me SO EXCITED.

Oh Ashland – I love you with so much of heart that none is left to protest!

This of course means, that the I won’t need to keep running in the rain to get my regular dose of old Willy Shakes. This year we will be seeing King Lear (my absolute favourite tragedy, I CANNOT WAIT), along with Cymbeline and A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

MEEP.

I love this production company SO MUCH it is hard for me to appropriately communicate just how much I am looking forward to this trip.

Much like last year, we will be camping, but unlike last year we will be driving straight to Ashland (with perhaps a stop in Portland because, you know, PUT A BIRD ON IT) and staying the length of our trip in the town.

This will be my fourth time at the festival, (and somehow my third time seeing Midsummer!) and I am basically already bouncing off of the walls just thinking about it.

Because dudes – I LOVE SHAKESPEARE.

Lovelovelove him.

It.

His plays.

(Or what you will.)

See what I did there?

Fry-up time!

Don’t give me that lip.

Currently I am obsessed with red lipstick. If I could only wear one piece of make-up for the rest of my life, it would be my choice.

HANDS DOWN NO CONTEST.

(Although you would probably also have to pry my NARS blush from my cold, dead hands.)

There is just something about a strong lip that makes me feel like a super hero. I like to imagine that when I am getting ready for work in the morning, I am magically transformed from glowering ork to ethereal Galadriel – so terrifying and mesmerizing I am, in all of my splendour.

ONE LIPSTICK TO RULE THEM ALL.

Uh.

Reign it in there lady, reign it in.

But serious, if you were to look in my purse at any given time, I can guarantee that you would find on average three different lip products, of varying degrees of red (I like blue undertones the most – nothing too orangey or brown because GALADRIEL DOESN’T MESS WITH THAT STUFF.)

And I really wouldn’t have it any other way.

Coming attractions.

I love Jean Reno.

Is that weird?

It might be a little weird.

But seeing as though I cannot properly answer this question, if you lovely people could weigh-in, provide your two cents, opine on the subject, etc., etc., it would be much appreciated.

But I really love him.

Like, a lot.

Playing dress-up.

One of my favourite books of all time is The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi. I could wax long and eloquent FOR YEARS about why this is one of the most brilliant and beautiful stories I have ever read – so while that post percolates away in the recesses of my brain, take my word for it when I say that you must read it IMMEDIATELY.

One of the characters Eva is always waltzing about her East London flat in these amazing maxi dresses, so when I saw this piece the other day, my immediate reaction was:

BUY IT! PRETEND TO BE EVA!

BUY IT AND THROW GLAMOUROUS EAST LONDON PARTIES!

I mean, I would probably have to procure some headscarves, and maybe a couple of pairs of over-sized earrings to really pull off the entire ensemble, but I think that owning this dress is definitely a step in the right direction.

I’ll let you know if I take the plunge.

…

So there you have it beauty cats!

Are any of you planning on catching any of the Bard this summer? And what makeup (if any) turns you in a battle prepped warrior?

Do let me know – because after all, we’re in this good fight together.

We’re such good sports

Gather round friends!

Let me tell you a story.

When we were sixteen, my doubles partner Kristy and I were invited to compete at that year’s Boston Open which was being held at MIT.

Important background information: I used to play competitive junior national badminton. YES I AM AWARE OF HOW NERDY THAT IS SOUNDS – YOU DON’T NEED REMIND ME.

This invitation was very, very exciting news for us.

One, the tournament was taking place on the cusp of Spring Break, so our attendance was basically guaranteeing us an extra long vacation from school, plus the opportunity to spend said extra days IN BOSTON BLOODY MASCHECHUSETTES.

(OMG! I JUST SPELLED MASCHECHUSETTES CORRECTLY ON MY FIRST TRY!)

Ed. update: Okay, obviously I didn’t spell it correctly. But why the fresh hell did it not come up on my spell check? What weird Canadian word of ours is MASCHECHUSETTES!?

Ahem.

MASSACHUSETTS.

Two, we were just at the point where our parents were letting us go to away tournaments by ourselves, and we couldn’t think of anything more fun than bopping about Harvard in between our matches SANS CHAPERONES.

And third, as highly competitive athletes, we wanted to bring our special brand of Canadian kick-ass States-side and see just what kind of damage we could bring to old’ Beantown.

I honestly cannot describe to you how excited I was when our parents gave us the okay to go.

And when I say that the trip was totally bonkers, that, my friends, is no lie.

1.) Flying to Boston on the redeye Wednesday night, deliriously tired, I turned to Kristy and said, “Look how close the moon is!”

She just stared at me, before responding, “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THAT IS THE WING LIGHT.”

Good times! Also, this trip took place pre-9/11 so we actually got to go visit the cockpit and chat with the pilots. Can you believe it?

I can’t.

2.) When we arrived in Boston we were picked up by our homestay family, only to quickly learn that we wouldn’t actually be staying in the city proper, but a suburb located approximately forty-five minutes (to an hour) outside of the downtown core.

This was a surprise to us.

3.) Normally homestay families provide meals (usually breakfast and dinner) for the entirety of the athletes’ stay. We were gifted a bag filled with a dozen frozen bagels and a giant fruit salad from Whole Foods.

I ate quite a bit of dried cereal bought from 7/11 over the length of the weekend.

And by cereal I mean penny candy.

4.) Upon arrival at the house we were told that we would actually be driving ourselves to the tournament. Our billets had recently won a car in a fundraiser raffle, and we were to use this car to transport ourselves to Boston and back. We liked to refer to it as the cardboard car.

We had two pages worth of directions, one “new” drivers license (Kristy) and one “learners” license (me) between the two of us.

Driving in that first morning was harrowing and a half.

Oh, hello giant semi-truck encroaching in our space in this turnpike!

5.) I forgot all my shorts at home and had to play the entire weekend in the spandex shorts I would normally wear under my regular shorts to keep my muscles warm between games. Because of this some guy wearing a “YALE” t-shirt sat at the back of every court on which I played, watching my every move.

To this day I just refer to him as the YALE CREEPER.

6.) One afternoon we went to a coffee shop at MIT and the flirty barista gave us a GIANT plastic bag filled with six years of Canadian coinage.

7.) I beat an ex-junior national champion in my quarter final singles game and she threw one of the most impressive post-game tantrums I have ever witnessed. Broken racquets and everything.

8.) On our last night at our homestay, their son Don asked Kristy if she wanted to go down to the river and watch the moon with him. She politely declined.

9.) I started reading Catcher in the Rye while in Boston and finished it on the plane ride home. This EXPLODED my brain and as such, I spent the next three months pretending to be Holden Caulfield anytime I wrote ANYTHING.

10.) I made it to the semi-finals in singles, and we also made the semis in doubles. All the rest of our time was spent shopping (I bought a number of sundresses and peasant shirts – remember them? – at Target), walking around the campus, laughing at everything possible, and just generally being the silly, sixteen year old girls that we were.

Twelve years later I remember this trip like it was yesterday. We still laugh about it anytime we get together, and goodness knows the myth of the cardboard car will live on and on for the remainder of my days.

I would also love to return to Boston.

But this time, I’ll stay right in the heart of the city.

In a hotel, with a view of the moon.

A lot of ins, a lot of outs

Hi kids!

A little while ago the lovely Runningwithoutsocks made me all shirty and blushy by letting me know that she dug my blog.

And what do you know? The feeling is completely mutual.

Her blog is terrifically awesome sauce, and I really encourage you to go and check out her stuff.

She was also fab enough to pass along some questions that I was encouraged to answer if I should wish.

And I do. I do so wish.

So as my knackered little bones sink down into the recesses of our big comfy couch, I present to you, dear readers, my answers:

If you could have any super power, what would it be and why?

Oof. This questions has (and will continue to) plague me for years. Because on one hand, it HAS to be the ability to fly, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve been having flight dreams since as far back as I can remember, and it has always been soul-crushing to wake up and realize that I don’t have this ability in real life.

But on the other hand, invisibility would be AMAZING. As would the ability to read minds.

AND SHAPESHIFT.

Urg.

You see? This is why I totally suck at this game.

Can I just wish for more wishes?

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

This is another hard one. It’s hard to paint a concrete picture, because in all honesty, I have no idea what the next six months, let alone five years has in store.

So I will say this: I will be with the love of my life, and we will most likely have produced a little human being. I will be a world-famous stand-up comedian, and M will be an internationally renowned curriculum developer.

It’s either that or shacked up in an chalet somewhere high up in the Pennine Alps, raising large families of St. Bernards and eating a crap ton of Gruyere cheese.

Chocolate or vanilla?

I once ate a Mars bar covered in ants.

I was two years old at the time, but I’d like to think that little girl still lives somewhere inside of me.

So…NEXT!

Favorite movie?

Ooer. Also a hard one. I have many favourites: A Fish Called Wanda, Love Actually, The Bourne Trilogy, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Three Colours (though White is my favourite), Amelie, Never Let Me Go, La Femme Nikita, The Fifth Element…

I COULD GO ON.

But, if I was told that I was going to be sent to a deserted island and I could only bring one movie with me, then no question, it would be The Big Lebowski.

I love this movie more than I can properly communicate. Nothing will ever be more brilliant, or as funny as this film.

EVER.

Summer or winter?

Summer. No contest.

Sundresses, hiking, biking, patios, cold drinks, warm nights, barbeques, beach days, sunglasses, the smell of sunscreen and sand, running in the early morning…

GET HERE NOW DAMN YOU!

What’s your fondest childhood memory?

Yowza. This is a toughie.

I have a million and a half memories that all could easily qualify for top billing.

I’ll share just one: driving around with my two sisters in our old brown van, singing out hearts out to The Beatles’ “Drive My Car.” It’s nearing the end of the school years, so the weather is warm and sunny. I’m in grade six, Jess is in grade four, and Kate is in grade eleven. Kate has just bought us slurpees and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Remembering everything about this scene just feels like pure happiness.

Favorite band?

Ack! Also too many. Franz Ferdinand, Hot Chip, Kaiser Chiefs, Queen, Pink Floyd, Simon and Garfunkel, Peter, Bjorn, and John, Matt Anderson, The Rolling Stones.

This question is impossible!

But to pull out the desert island reference again, I’ll have to go with The Beatles.

Because THE BEATLES.

If you could live in any city in the world, which one would you choose and why?

Probably Edinburgh. I loved living in the UK and this was my favourite city that we visited. I would go back in a heartbeat.

What do you dream about?

My dreams are CRACKED. I don’t want to scare anyone off so I’m pleading the fifth on this one.

Your most distinguished trait (could be physical or character trait – or both!)

Distinguished, eh?

I feel like I should leave this one up to the judgement of someone else.

Character trait(s) – my passion, dedication, and drive.

Psysical – my long hair and even longer legs (which allow me to tower over people.)

Why did you start blogging?

Because of said passion. And because if I didn’t find a way of communicating all the thoughts running around my head on a daily basis I would have run off to the woods never to be seen from again.

(Until, that is, Werner Herzog decided to make a documentary about my life.)

…

So there you have it you fab chaps!

In lieu of the regular Friday Fry-Up, a little insight into my mad self.

We’ll be back to our regular scheduled program next week.

In the meantime, drop me a line highlighting your answers.

I will read and relish them, as I rest awhile.