So many balls in the air

So lately Marc and I have been watching a ton of World Cup soccer. This of course means that we’ve been hurtling back and forth from one crisis to the next, wrapped up as we are in the drama and beauty of this incredible sport.

(Seriously, I’m still not sure that I took a single breath during the last five minutes of the Belgium/USA game this afternoon. And I definitely didn’t sit down for the last ten.)

Because just when you think that a team has sealed the deal – KABLAM-O!

The soccer gods are right there to wipe any and all of your silly pre-conceived notions of victory straight from your mind.

(Or any silly, victory-assumed smiles straight from your face.)

Simple mortal! You thought it would be that easy? HAH!


But one of the great things about soccer (and there are many great things), is its constant inconsistency. The fact that you are never guaranteed a victory until those final three whistles is the very thing that makes it so thrilling.

Anything can happen.

And it often does.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes a little heart-pounding, “will they, won’t they?” action is just the thing one needs.

It adds a real spice to your otherwise vanilla afternoon.

The only real downside to this, is when a massive dump of paprika manifests itself in multiple late-in-injury-time Swiss crossbar deflections.

At that point I could really do with less drama and more equalizing goal scoring.

But I digress.

(And fully acquiesce to the fact that if there is anyone out there who really deserves to win a World Cup, it’s Lionel Messi. FO SHO.)

A few other notes about the beautiful game:

1. The Heat.

Watching athletes careen about a massive soccer field in the excruciating Brazilian heat immediately negates any excuse I might have for not strapping on my running shoes and heading outside.

I mean, these dudes are sweating. There is absolutely no reason that I cannot slip on a sweet pair of sunglasses and just go out and give ‘er.



2. ABS.

Oh my goodness gracious.

That’s all I have to say about that.

(Oh, and I also like all of those blogs that just post pictures of the players hugging. Hugging each other.)


3. Costa Rica.

I nearly burst a blood vessel cheering for these fellas over Greece.

(Or Hellas, if you’re really into rhyme schemes.)

(Because let’s face it, who isn’t?)

Sometimes, you just need to root for the underdog. Especially when said underdog played the majority of the game a man down and has a goalie who dances like he’s got a colony of ants down his trousers in an effort to confuse and intimidate his opponents come penalty shots.

Because that – that is just excellent.

So well played sir.

And hard won boys.

4. Mexico’s Coach.

Is a Digimon character.


Nuff said.

5. The jerseys.

They are awesome this year! What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on a Belgian-Swiss combo.

(If there are any enterprising and generous readers out there who may now be thinking “care-package”, I take a woman’s small. And thank you!)

I am also partial to how the fit of these shirts really highlights item #2 on this list.



Okay, now that I have officially outed myself as a creeper McCreeperson, I am wont to bid you goodnight.

But before I do, I must ask –

Are any of you World Cup mad? And who is your team of choice?

I’ll try my very best not to sit down with you for the next ninety minutes that they play.

But breathe – that I’ll have to do.

Sunglasses at night

So I says to Mabel I says: Going to work in the dark and leaving work in the dark is definitely a bit crap. 

I find myself heading out at lunch time, just to breathe some fresh air, (fresh life!) into my lungs and bask in the limited-time-only daylight that seems to be available only between the hours of ten in the morning until two in the afternoon.

Working within this time frame makes me thing that whoever in charge of allotting Vancouver’s daily sunlight ration must also be affiliated with the Swiss consulate (as they seem to keep the same hours.)

It’s quite a trip looking out the window as I exit my office building and see the moon, shining down on myself and all the other commuters at 4:26 in the afternoon.  It makes me want to yell out: “JUST BECAUSE I LIKE THEM, DOESN’T MEAN I EVER AGREED TO LIVING INSIDE A PHILLIP K. DICK NOVEL!!!”


(Or Heinlein, or Asimov, or Herbert, or – okay hopefully you get my drift).

That tiny dot on the left? THE MOON! At 4:30pm!

The one plus to this perpetual darkness?  The view walking to transit in the morning can be utterly breathtaking.  The sky is engulfed by a brilliant mosaic of blues, and greens and oranges and purples – like the most beautiful bruise you have ever seen – and Mount Baker stands stark, back lit, like an American Mount Doom, looming in the foreground.

One view to rule them all.  One view to find them.

[Please sir – may I be an elf?]

Okay, in all honesty I really shouldn’t gripe.

There is something almost romantic to getting up, and getting out, in the early a.m.

The world is quiet, still.

Because it is so early, each person who is up, are themselves quiet.  Although they move, they exude, are even defined by, a pristine stillness, becalmed by the early hour.

We are awake, but are still, very slowly coming alive – stretching our arms, wiping away the sleepy cobwebs in tandem with the molasses-slow sunrise as it heralds the official break of day.

Standing on the metro platform, our breath is a thick fog that hangs suspended in the morning chill; no one talks, no one looks at each other.

We are like living statues, meditating on the start of the day (or perhaps just counting down the minutes until hot java will surge through our system and jolt our brains into activity.)

This sunrise took my breath away (sorry for bad quality!)

I actually don’t understand those who prefer waking up later and therefore staying at work later – why would anyone want to leave work at a time when it doesn’t just look like night, it actually is night time?


Even if the daylight has faded, I would prefer to have the afternoon and evening to myself – go to the gym, prepare dinner, read, spend time with my husband and cat, go for a walk, watch a movie – all in the same night if need be.

I can’t imagine accomplishing any of these things, let along all of them, if I was leaving work after eight o’clock at night.

Plus I really hate doing laundry anytime after seven o’clock – eight MAYBE if I’m really pushing it..  I get this crazy anxiety that the clothes won’t have time to dry properly and everything will end up moldy and smelling like the boot bin at one of the Annapolis valley Frenchies.

(a.k.a. THE WORST EVER.)

Also, I am paranoid about the neighbours having a conniption about the late hour of these washing exploits.

Having worked shift work for two years, I am familiar with very early mornings and very late nights (that I suppose should also be classified as early mornings.)  I know about sleepiness on both ends of the tired spectrum and I promise you, that if I was forced to chose between the two, I would pick early mornings ten times out of ten.

So Mr. Morning Sauron! Bring on the 6 a.m. starts!

I’ll name my first child little Vanilla Bean Gamgee  if need be.