Sep 4

Schooldays… finally

Back to School

Nine weeks of summer holidays has flown past (no, really), and here we are in the “OMG One Week Left?” phase.  The Weasels are either going to try and pack in everything they thought they would like to do 10 weeks ago, but have been too lazy to organize, or they are going to lie about like dead bumblebees, complaining of boredom.

Laurel is going into Grade 9, her second year of high school, so she is looking forward to sneering at the terrified Grade 8ers, but still junior enough to be a newbie herself.  Katie will be in Grade 6, two years off graduating from elementary and still very much at home in the laid-back lifestyle of the junior school.  Lily is in Grade 3, with years before she needs to worry about anything much.

At dinner tonight, Dim asked where Laurel would have been if we had stayed in England, and we were all brought up short by the answer, once we worked it out.  She would be Year 10, her final year of intense tuition before her GCSE year which is mostly revision and exams from January onward.  She would be one year off the magical “Sixteen” when, according to UK 15-year olds I have spoken to recently, the Government recognizes you as an adult, you can leave school, leave home, get married, legally smoke, and generally put aside all childish things, including any pretense at respect for your parents.  Phew.

Katie’s friends in the UK are preparing themselves for their first day at Secondary School; all those tiny, skinny, prepubescent kids, mixed in with the giants of Year 11.  I look at my little girl and shudder at the thought of her trying to find her way in that world.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m not overprotective, but I want my weasels to enjoy their childhood, to play and have fun for as long as possible.

So, when Laurel’s friends in the UK are finishing their A Levels, she’ll just be graduating from high school, ready to start 2 years of college courses, followed by at least 4 years of university.  While she is doing that, she will volunteer for charity organizations, take leadership roles in summer camps, find work in retail and sports, and develop a (hopefully) impressive resume.  We also hope that she will continue to spend time with us and her sisters, waiting to fly away when she, not society, feels the time is right.

Aug 26

I Love Denman Street

Amazeing* Laughter sculpture at Denman and Beach

When we first moved to Vancouver, we lived in an apartment at Rosellen Suites on Barclay, just off Denman Street, and during that first, cold, wet, bewildering month, we were often on Denman doing our grocery shopping, opening bank accounts or just looking for a warm dry place to stop and think.

Today we were back there, doing one of our favourite things – just hanging out at English Bay and Second Beach, and enjoying the crazy bustle of the Street.  In the sun, Denman is so colourful it is sometimes hard to take it all in.  The restaurants and cafes are so many and so inviting, I can never choose where to go and there are bike hire shops and book shops and art shops and cupcake shops and shops that really don’t seem able to decide what they are, not to mention crowds and crowds of people of all types.  There is a library and a community centre, which gives you a good idea that this is a nice place to live too.

As we drove home along Denman I realized that many of our key places in Vancouver, the ones that bring those first memories back, also remind me of my confusion and frustration in those days, and the panic bubbling just beneath the surface, but Denman Street felt, and still feels, well, comforting.  That sounds a bit strange for a bustling trendy tourist zone, but that was our experience and that is why, when I have saved up enough, my retirement plan is to move to English Bay and spend my days in Stanley Park, on the beach and trying out every single restaurant on the Street!

 

*this is not a spelling mistake, it really is spelled Amazeing, honest

Jul 18

To Bear or Not To Bear… That is the Question

“There was a bear and 2 cubs here last night,” said our neighbour, and thus starts the terrible dilemma.  I have decided that this is the year I will see a bear, reasonably close up and not be terrified.  Cautious, yes, but not utterly freaked out.  After all, I am very nearly Canadian and all Canadians deal well with huge, clawed, jawed, hungry omnivores, don’t they?  Last year we (almost literally) bumped into a couple of small black bears on the cycle route in Whistler and the year before that, we stood in our sitting room and watched as a largish teenage bear crossed our lawn.  This year I am determined to do some real bear-watching.

So this afternoon when I heard that we had been visited, and might again, I was quite pleased.  Then I got to thinking.  The last bear in my garden tore apart my compost bin and I had to move them both into the shed (the bins, not the bear) for the summer to prevent tempting the bear back – luring or feeding bears is against the law, and once they become accustomed to garbage and compost, they are nearly always destroyed.  When I got home today, my compost bin was in 2 halves, but nothing had been taken out – was it bears last night, or the meter man who visited today and might have been really really clumsy?  If I close the gates, will that keep them out?  And if they get in, will they stamp all over my lovely garden, which has finally woken up and started growing? Worse, do they like peas?  Will they eat all my baby vegetables?

Perhaps if I string up bells and get an air horn, I can frighten them off if they come.  But I don’t want to frighten them off, I want to watch them and photograph them.  Argh!  What should I do?

I think tonight I shall sit out on my balcony, within easy reach of the door, with my camera , air horn, pepper spray, bear bells and camouflage netting and see if they come back.   If nothing else, I might be able to surprise the neighbours.

Jun 13

Grow, Dammit, Grow!

This is the first page of our Migration Book.   We wrote it together to keep track of our feelings and dreams about our adventure moving to Vancouver.  On one page it says… “I’m going to have a GARDEN again!!”  Nearly 20 years of moving every 2 years has meant that countless times I have cut beds, made compost, dug in fertilizer, planted out and moved just as the soil gets good and the vegetables ripen.  I was really looking forward to getting a place with enough garden to make something special, and having enough time to do it.

Of course, our dream house is blessed with an aspen tree on one side, nearly 80 feet tall with roots that run through the lawn, surfacing every few feet like cresting dolphins.  So, raised beds it is, then.  My sister explained that, although we are on a similar latitude and the climate feels the same, one can’t just plant the same varieties as in England.  She bought me a book, Growing Vegetables West of the Cascades by Steve Solomon, which I read.

What it doesn’t tell you, but your neighbours will, is that everything is so bloomin’ late.  We’ve had a rotten couple of years, but even so, my innate English gardening sense goes off in March – “Brrrrring!  Spring Is Here!  Lambs are born!  Daffodils are out!  Plant something!”  I just can’t help myself – I gather the seed packets, and start preparing the soil.  Then I wait for soil to warm up.  Maybe Easter….. or late April….. I can wait until May…. Mothers Day, 13th May, still too cold….. my brother in law doesn’t plant out until late May, I can wait….. Where the F*!@ did June come from?  And why is it still cold?

Spider babies on jasmine

May 25

Buying a Used Car

Great post from our friend Frank and Sue; they have 4 teenagers, so must be well practised at buying used cars and giving driving lessons!