Pepper, pepper, pepper, salt.
Anyone remember that old ditty from the late, great Canadian trio Sharon, Lois, and Bram?
No?
Just me?
Onwards!
Here is what’s been kicking about our neck of the woods this weekend:
Dresser cat.
Flower bike.
Awkward t-shirts.
Shakespeare in the park.
Dream house.
Dream garden.
Bearded dog.
Otherwise it’s just another manic Monday.
And by manic I mean abso-fricken-fabulous.
What’s been knocking about your neighbourhood?
Holy frickmas.
DUDES.
IT’S THE OLYMPICS!!!
And hot damn do I ever love the Olympics.
Because hot damn do I ever love sport.
I don’t love corporations, or globalization, or nationalism, or any of the other buzzwords that Olympic detractors love to trot out at two and four-year intervals. I don’t love Coke, and I don’t love idiotic, phallic mascots (although my cat sure does love her Quatchi), and I don’t love doping scandals, or unsportsmanlike conduct – issues that are sure to plague these games as they do every other international amateur athletic event.
I don’t love any of these things.
I just love sport.
And I respect and admire these phenomenal athletes who have sacrificed so much – more than I’ll ever know or understand – to push their bodies to the physical limit in an attempt to (pretty much) attain the impossible.
And I cannot for the life of me understand how people can want to take away from this – take away from those who have trained their entire lives for a chance to perform in the world’s spotlight, for that all too brief moment when the collective mass of coagulated humanity turns away from whatever opiate that is currently keeping them apathetic, and docile, uninterested and disengaged – and watches.
If but for a moment, becomes re-engaged.
Ignore all the superfluous, gratuitous, pornographic background noise that is produced from the monolithic and terrifying Olympic machine; ignore the masturbatory circus that is the IOC.
Ignore everything but the events and the players.
At least I will.
I do.
Because when you do, it is magic.
Here are three memories (in no particular order) I have of watching this magic. They are events that helped shape me not only as an athlete, but as an individual.
1.) Donovan Bailey’s gold medal 100m final – Atlanta Olympics, June 24, 1996.
Location: The basement of my family’s house, Vancouver, wearing my older sister`s stretched and faded Los Angeles 1984 t-shirt, sun burnt, exhilarated, awe-struck, inspired. To this day whenever I see 9.84 I think of that moment.
2.) Myriam Bedard’s double gold, biathlon – Lillehamer Olympics, 1994
Location: The TV room of my family’s house (different from the previous post), Vancouver. I remember the how tight my chest was, as if my pride has someone squeezed all the air from my lungs. I was so happy for not only my fellow country woman, but for all Canadian women. I cried when my mother told me Myriam had been selected to carry the flag at the closing ceremonies. (It’s very unfortunate that her horrible actions post-games have come to define her memory for many.)
3.) Matthias Steiner’s gold in the 105+ kg weightlifting – Beijing Olympics, 2008
Location: My tiny 600sq foot home as a newlywed, Vancouver. Completely sleep deprived due to staying up all night to watch live feeds on cbc.ca I wept when Matthias won, having learned that his wife – a German woman from Saxony – had died in a car accident just months before his Olympic triumph. He receives his medal holding a picture of her as tears stream down his face.
What about you cats? What are you excited for?
Oh, and as a postscript (and counterargument to this entire post), take a look at The Hater’s Guide to the London Olympics. As someone who has lived in the UK, and who LOVES the Olympics, it is bloody funny as HECK.
From my friends.
Today I spent my lunch hour with my beautiful, brilliant friend and colleague J, walking the streets of downtown Vancouver and trying on pretty things from the various clothiers that lined our route.
We hadn’t seen each other for almost six days, which is an exorbitant length of time what with how closely we work and how much of our work days are spent communicating with one another.
It was really grand to catch up and find out what has been swimming around in her neck of the pond.
I recently purged my closet of a number of pieces that no longer grace the length of my body, and were instead just clogging up my wardrobe and dresser drawers.
Lucky me that my two fabitty-fab sisters are in town visiting (or should I say lucky them?) and they got first pick all of the items that otherwise will be heading over to the nearest Sally Ann.
It is so great to have them here, as becomes increasingly more apparent, as the years press on, that the times when the three of us find ourselves in a room together grow ever more few and far between.
Very difficult to have those much needed late-night gab fests when one of us lives in Vancouver, one lives in Halifax, and one lives in New York.
Tonight I ate dinner with the younger of the two (I hold the much coveted position of middle sister) – at Guu, a Japanese izakaya restaurant I had yet to try out.
My sis is a professionally trained chef who owns a butcher shop and as such has a much more discerning palette than I (I assure you that, unlike yours truly, she doesn’t EVER drink diet coke or eat five cent candy on a regular basis) and as such, was the one making the gastronomic decisions for the both of us.
My other sis will be back on Friday and we – along with our two partners – will enjoy a weekend of Kids in the Hall, beaching, spies, Star Wars references, singing, dancing, and of course an over-arching theme of general bonkerdom.
Just the way we like it.
Summer just seems right with sisters.
I’d like to share with you some pictures from our adventures of late:
Lattes night snacks.
Booksbooksbooks.
Otter.
See food.
Umbrella.
Wedding reception.
Happy Wednesday to you all. I’ll help you get by anyway that I can.
Close your eyes.
I dreamt I met a boy
with deep set eyes
and sand scrubbed skin,
sitting in the grass
that tickled my knees –
while he played hide and seek
with the fishes.
I blinked when he kissed
the pink skin (on my shin)
smooth like a skipped stone.
Looking to the sky,
drinking still-sweet raindrops
whispering and
waking
memories
of windswept walks
and Easter egg Sundays.
Clicking our heels
on the cobblestone streets,
we saw sunshine
stretch its strong arms
across a lake of lace.
And our hearts raced
when we remembered the sensation
we had tore from our
fingertips
and drank from our
lungs.
And when I woke,
I cried
for the boy, with a heart
warmed by the heat of one thousand
dragon sighs
who traced my shadow
with his powdered chalk
from when he was but six
and pebble sandwiches
were all the rage.
Hey you beauty cats.
Today the sky is filled with sunshine, and it is glorious.
I have been a bit knackered as of late, as for most of the week I have been staying up way past my bedtime and knocking about the place like a social butterfly with vertigo.
On Monday Mr. M and I kicked some serious general knowledge butt with our friend A’s pub quiz team (otherwise known as Taking Care of Quizness. And hey! Don’t hate. With a team jam packed full of physics PhD’s, literature masters, classics keeners, and poli-sci pros, our nerd quota was so high that Steve Urkel actually showed up and put in an application to join the group.)
We ended up winning the top prize (and fifty bucks!), much to the chagrin of the Philoso-rapters, and the Sandy Vaginas.
(What a name. Doesn’t really make you want to head to the beach anytime soon, does it?)
Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if every time the former team answered a question correctly they would look at each other and say, “Clever giiiiiiiirl.”
(Before, you know, ripping that person apart, and eating their dismembered corpse.)
Erm, just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, please see exhibit A:
Onwards!
Today I had an amazing lunch – a calamari sub from the absolutely dee-lish travelling wagon of culinary delights know as “Slingers.” It’s a food truck that specializes in gourmet sandwiches, and this offering near but knocked my socks off.
If any of you folks are kicking about Vancity in the next little bit (Ms. Audrey I am looking at you my darling) do yourselves a favour and tickle those tastes buds of yours at this here joint.
I promise that you won’t regret it.
Speaking of which, I was skulking around the hallowed halls of H&M yesterday, trying on far too many sundresses for my own good, when I came across a little blue and white number, with a fitted bodice and a hem line that wasn’t completely scandalous.
I tried it on, but wasn’t feeling it one hundred percent, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.
Well, I woke up this morning unable to get it out of my mind. So as I threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed I exclaimed (just like General MacArthur before me), “I SHALL RETURN!”
Okay. So that didn’t happen at all. (Wouldn’t that have scared the crap-ola out of poor, unassuming Mr. M.)
But I did return, and I did buy the dress.
I plan on wearing it all weekend long, paired with this fabulous grey cardigan I picked up at Zara earlier in the week.
It has elbow patches guys. ELBOW PATHCES!
Meep.
The only ever fly in the ointment about going away (for any length of time really) is that I always hate saying goodbye to our little gal.
This is how I found her this morning before heading out to work:
Good grief, she is so adorable, I actually sometimes feel as though I grow drunk on her cuteness.
It’s a liability man! She could rule the world if only she could 1.) speak and 2.) sleep less than fifteen hours a day.
Cor. What a life.
I gave her as many chin scratches and belly rubs as I possibly could, before my elaborate love-in made me late for the train.
There will be extra snuggles when we arrive home on Sunday night.
What are you fabulous folks up to for the weekend?
I wish you nothing but love and laughter, always.
Rant and Roll 