Francine & Darwin

Fran and Dub got married tonight in Chehalis, in a traditional wedding ceremony. The whole thing lasted about four and a half hours (in the woods, mosquitoes no extra charge), although I left early, for all I know festivities continue as I type. I’ve been to countless ceremonies over the years, but this is the first traditional Sto:lo wedding I’ve attended. As with all things of this nature, the less intimately you are involved in the ceremony, the more interminable it seems, although for the most part things moved along… The mask dancers were there, that was pretty cool (go see them if you ever get the chance)... So here’s what I love about native ceremonies. No one’s invited, everyone just shows up. Kids are always welcome, and no one freaks out if they make a little noise. There’s always, always food…
So far as I know, Fran and Dub have been together for years. Their son (little Dub) must be just about four by now. I suppose marriage was the logical next step... I mean, I guess... Actually I see nothing wrong with living in sin forever, but that's just me... So congratulations Francine and Darwin, may your marriage be a happy one.

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Stupid Duck

I have a small flock of India Runner ducks. One of them, Giselle, is living in segregation (in my vegetable garden) as she has been nearly raped to death by the drakes (she’s a bit gimpy and apparently easy to catch). They ripped her head right open, you can see her skull... She’s really lonely in there and spends all her day walking up and down the fence that separates the chicken pen and the garden.
Today I went to Langley to buy a “companion” duck for Giselle. Since I couldn’t find anywhere that sells Runners, I bought a Muscovy instead (they're ugly as sin). Her name was Tootsie. She cost me $12. When I put her in the pen she took about two seconds to look around. I guess she decided it wasn’t for her. She flew off over the freakin HOUSE (two stories high). Perhaps I should have mentioned that I asked the person who sold her if muscovies could fly. She said not really. HA!
So tomorrow I’m going to load up my kayak and head on down to the slough to see if I can find good old Toots. If I do, and by some miracle catch the ugly duck, I’m giving her to my neighbour Fanny, and we shall dine upon BBQ Muscovy…

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India

So, I’m leaving for India on October 5th, for six weeks vacation. What seemed like a truly brilliant idea way back in March now appears to be the height of foolishness…People have been full of helpful advice, and pithy little comments: “never smile at a monkey”, “ride an elephant, just don’t fall off”, “what the hell do you want to go to India for anyways?”… And my all time favourite (so far): “you know, they put sugar on all their food in India” (if in fact this is true, India sounds like my kind of country)…
Last year, on the spur of the moment I went to Ecuador. Everything went smoothly, from booking flights to getting vaccinations. Despite warnings from other travellers and Ecuadorians I met en route to Quito, I didn’t meet a single bloodthirsty, just-waiting-to-rob-you-blind Colombian the entire time I was there (not too sure why Colombians, but that’s what they would have you believe). I spent nearly three weeks there, and had a blast.
So back to the India trip… Nothing has gone smoothly... Booking flights has been a nightmare, and I haven’t even been to the travel clinic yet (with my luck, I’ll contract some hideous disease as a result of this oversight).
Yesterday I went to pick up my ticket for a flight to Kathmandu from Delhi. Somewhere between booking it online, and having the ticket mailed to me, the flight time was bumped up two hours…. I won’t be in Delhi in time to make that flight… Just my luck… Have to be in Kathmandu by that evening… What the FUCK am I going to do? Go to India and take it on faith that somehow, I’ll make to Kathmandu by 6 p.m. on October 21st… Surely Ganesh will smile down upon me, and make it all come together…
I have included a picture of a monkey I saw while in Ecuador. I did not smile at it...

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Timmy

In my third year at university I got a dog, which I named Timmy. He was a Staffordshire Terrier cross, and while I have never much been one for dogs that could potentially kill you, he was pretty darn cool. I lived on campus, and used to walk Tim on the miles of trails in the woods behind the residence. One of my favourite trails circled a small lake. The main trail was a fair distance from the shore, but there was a network of random criss-crossing paths that connected it to the lake. I never gave much thought to what was responsible for the making of these paths until one day I heard a loud rumbling sound coming down one of them from the woods. I turned my head just in time to see a huge beaver come tearing along at an incredible rate of speed, heading straight for poor Timmy, who was not 10 feet in front of me. At the time Timmy was only about three months old, and not very big. The beaver slammed into his side, and he was tossed a good four feet into the air. He hit the ground running, and chased the oversized rodent straight into the water. It was the beginning of November, and thought he water hadn’t yet frozen over it was a good 5 degrees below zero. I had to carry Tim home in my jacket.
Sadly, the following year, Tim had to be put down. I still miss him, even though he’s been gone for the better part of a decade.

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David

My brother David is about one and half years older than me, give or take a few days. He always seemed larger than life to me as a child, far braver and daring, not to mention wiser, than I could ever hope to be. Of course he took advantage of my state of awe, and often bullied me into doing things I didn’t really want to do (apparently even back then I was a bit of a pushover).
One of my earliest memories of David is the time he convinced me that he could painlessly remove a loose tooth, thereby speeding up the “get money from tooth-fairy” process for me. I don’t really remember the conversation leading up to the event, and god knows I was probably overly eager to get my grubby mitts on that shiny quarter, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that David had talked me into giving him a cut of the tooth-fairy’s payoff. However the planning stages were accomplished, I have a crystal-clear memory of the attempted tooth extraction itself. We went downstairs, dental floss stealthily concealed in David’s pants pocket. He carefully tied one end around the loose tooth (one of my top front teeth) and after stretching what seemed like an eternity of floss out of the container, he attached to other end to the handle of the playroom door. What happened next has the power to make me cringe even now, nearly 27 years later. The draft of air created by the closing door wafted across my ankles. The force of that slam pulled me to my knees, and I hit my nose on the ground, good and hard. Needless to say, the tooth didn’t come out, at least not that day. I don’t remember getting into trouble over the whole affair, although as I’m pretty sure that my screams could be heard in the next solar system, my mother must have found out...
I have long since learned to take any pearls of wisdom from David with a grain of salt. Perhaps in the end it was merely a case of divine retribution. My mother tells me that I kicked out one of his front teeth when I was about three years old. Sadly, I don’t remember that stellar moment…
The picture I've included here is David, age six, criminal master mind of the "fleece the tooth fairy" scam.

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Root Canal

Last week I went for a root canal. It was a thoroughly unpleasant experience, can I just say. I sat in that chair for two and a half hours watching star trek reruns with my mouth wide open, while my arse went to sleep and the muscles in my back cramped... I brush and floss like a demon… I use fluoride rinse… Where’s the fairness in that, I ask? Boys and girls, eat all the candy you want. Don’t worry about brushing. So far as I can tell, it makes no difference at all.
And lucky me, I get to go back four more times this month…

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First Attempt...

Testing, testing 1, 2, 3...

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