Shannon and Sue go to Africa...kinda...

Yesterday my cousin-in-law and myself took a bus tour to Spokane to see the musical The Lion King. It's the road tour group of the Broadway production, but I was a tiny bit leery because the road versions of things never seem to be very good. It's like the understudy of the understudies and the stages and sets and costumes always seem to be a bit tattered and worn. Well. Was my foot stuck in my craw, or it would have been if I had voiced my doubts to anyone. This was, without a doubt, one of the most impressive shows I have EVER seen. I can't even explain how vivid and crisp it was. It was like the difference between HD TV and local cable. I kept blinking my eyes because I just could not believe how bright and beautiful and breathtaking everything seemed.

From the opening moments when Rafiki sang (in a tremendous voice) as the animals paraded through the audience to Pride Rock, to the closing moments as the curtains droppped I was completely enthralled. I was extremely tempted to use my camera to take a little video clip, but I didn't want to risk being tossed out on my ear.

Another "Before & After"

Poor little ducks. You can see their webbed tracks all across the pond as they look for an open spot. It's early for them to fly south, but I guess they'll just have to adjust their schedual.

The difference a day makes...

The same spot, just a few days apart. The top picture is this morning, Oct 14, and the bottom picture is the day before yesterday, Oct 12. The top picture I am standing on the bridge and facing left, and in the bottom one I am standing on the bridge and facing right.

I love this picture. If you enlarge it, it's much easier to see the deer. They blend in so perfectly.

A world without who?

So I sold liquor to a kid the other day who looked like he was about 16...blond and baby-faced. I asked his for ID and he said: "I always get ID'd, and I'm 21, I was born in '88." He said it with such tiredness, as if the 88 he meant was 1888 and he was on the verge of death.

But, it got me thinking, being born in 1990 makes you legal to drink here in BC. 1990?? How can that be? That's like yesterday! I have meat in the deepfreeze older than that, I have underwear older than that, I have books that I set aside to read in a pile that is older than that.

Kids born in 1990 live in a world where Freddy Mercury and Bob Marley have always been dead. They vaguely know Woodstock as "some rock concert, wasn't it in the mud?" (seriously...go ask some young folk what they know about Woodstock.) They laugh at the stories I tell of the excitement in our house when I brought home a rental disk of "Alien" and we played it on the forerunner of the DVD, I can't even remember what it was called, but you had to turn the 'record" over half way through. We thought it was amazing that you could actually watch a movie at your leisure...turning it off and on and pausing it willy-nilly.

All this musing makes me think of my Grandpa, who was born in 1900. He was born before the Wright Brothers flew that plane at Kitty Hawk. And when he died, he had seen men walk on the moon. I wonder if there will ever be another period of time in which such massive strides are taken?

Duck, duck, goose.

I love watching the birds as they get ready for winter. The ducks just kick and scrabble around, paddling like mad to balance as they try to find bugs and other treats under the water. The geese just regally swim by, looking down their long, elegant necks as if to say: "Hmph...how plebian...I simply couldn't be bothered, dahling, I'll wait until something passes by."

I think that I shall never see....

I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree. A tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair. Upon whose branches snow has lain, who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.

This is Gus, who belongs to a friend of mine and I think this is one of the best dog pictures ever!

These are our empty Christmas Child boxes. We picked 2 up at the hockey game last night, and what a good idea that was! They had volunteers at every exit, with boxes of these boxes and a pamphlet on how to properly fill it. No one wanted to walk by and not take one, so I imagine they gave away 2,400 (that was the attendance of the game last night) If only as few as 10% of the people return their box, well, that's 240 kids that will have a brighter Christmas. I looked up their website and watched the little video, which of course tugs at your heartstrings, but it seems like Samaritans Purse is one of the better Christmas box companies. It does have a bit of a religious bend to it, but they also mention that some areas where they send the boxes do NOT want any religious training or teaching, and that is respected. We will each fill up a box for a Boy 10-14. Everyone seems to want to do a box for a little girl, and from what I have heard and read, the pre-teen boys have the least amount of boxes sent to them. I'll post a picture of the filled box when it is done. Meanwhile, I suggest that you check out the site: www.samaritanspurse.ca and consider filling up a box of your own. It's the least that any of us can do, and I feel like $25 or $30 is such a little amount. I spend that once a month on a pizza, and some of these kids have NEVER had a gift.

Mule Deer

Last week this mum was walking through our neighbourhood with three young ones. This week we have seen her with only two.

If you click on the top picture, to enlarge it, you can get a good look at how sweet the baby is. Those eyes!

Memories.

I was Google-Earthing the other day and ended up being linked to this picture, which is the small airforce base of Moisie, in Quebec. It's where I grew up, and I was so surprised to see how small the base is. I remember it being rather large, large enough that I was lost more than once.

See the long long buildings at either end of a field? (you can see a square, which is actually the skating rink, to the right of the building in the bottom picture.) Those were the 2 schools, one was for Protestants and the other for Catholics...I kid you not. This was in about 1964.

When we first moved there, there were no PMQ's available so we had to live in the TQ (teachers quarters) in the Catholic school. You can see the tiny attatchment in the middle of the building, it was the sweetest little house, and one door opened right into the hallway of the school. My mom used to let me play in the hallways of the school, and I'd go into the classrooms and pretend I was a teacher. However, I was Protestant, so every morning I had to leave our home and walk through a crowd of Catholics and run across the field to the safety of the Protestant school, thinking as I ran, that I had played in "their" classrooms and "they" had to work there.

Eventually we got a PMQ that was right across the street from the Protestant school and I always felt a little sad that my time of actually living in an elementary school was over.

It was an adventure living there, you can see in the top picture that we were indeed at "the end of the road", it went no further. We were allowed to bring our clothes and I think a box each of personal effects, a few toys, books etc and that was it. My mom and I flew to Montreal and my Dad drove there (From Vancouver Island) so that we could at least bring a few more items that he packed in the car, although it was a Volkswagon so not a lot fit in it! He picked us up in Montreal and off we went, to this tiny little village in the middle of nowhere.

Everything else went into storage for 3 years and we lived on what we could buy at the Canex. There was no TV and all the radio was French and there was certainly no computers, DVD's, cell phones and that sort of thing. I think that's where I really developed my love of reading since there was nothing much else to do, especially in the winter, which lasted until June.

My dad was manning the DEW Line, the Distant Early Warning Line, that would let us know if the Russians were sending missiles and/or troops over. You can just make out the 2 radar domes in the top picture, on the upper left. We used to get to tour them once in awhile, or maybe my Dad just used to bring me there to let me see what was going on because I don't recall ever seeing anyone else in there.

Whaaat?

I just read about this, is it creepy or what? This is called a "pirahna pedicure" and while they aren't actually pirahnas, they do eat dead human flesh. It's the latest way to get smooth clean, feet. The fish are kept in warmer than usual water, which inhibites the growth of food, therefore they are quite hungry and since they love dead skin....you pop your tootsies in the water and they will nibble all the dead skin off (which they love) and they leave the live skin alone because it's too tough for them to chew. What a strange world we live in.

Neither of us have ever seen deer in the water like this. Normally they just stay at the edge and drink. These ones seemed to actually be playing and having fun. Nature just never ceases to amaze me.

Ummm...what?

About 10 days ago I spotted this odd creature outside the front door and when I touched it, it seemed really squishy. I didn't want to pick it up in case I actually squished it, so Steven tossed it into a grassy area. A few days after that, he (Steven) was outside and called me to: "See who's back." Sure enough, it was this guy. Or a lookalike. So he once again took him behind the house to a grassy area. Now today I came home and here he (she?) was, yet again, in the same spot on the front step. I poked him gently with my finger and he (she?) still seemed fragile and squishy so I just decided to take a picture. When I put the camera close, it reared up on it's tiny little legs and waved some of it's front feet at me. Funny little thing. I should have put my finger beside it, it was easily the size of my index finger. PS. I just found out that this is a Tiger Swallowtail.

Heads or tails?

Enlarge this picture and tell me who looks more solomn...

Last weekend we took a trip to Creston, about an hour west of here. Every time we go there I want to stop and take a picture of the goats that live on the roof of the soap factory. Yes, you read that correctly. There is a small "town" called Yahk on the way to Creston and there is a place that makes really excellent soap. And they have goats that live on the roof. It seems like whenever the goats are hangin' out on the roof I have no camera, and when I DO have my camera, the goats are hiding somewhere. This weekend it all finally fell into place, not only were the goats there, I had my camera, and if you enlarge the bottom photo you will see a sweet baby goat too.

This goes with the story below....it was SO yummy, the picture does not even begin to do justice.

Nina's garden

What a treat I had today! A friend wanted to take me out to lunch (that's a treat all in itself!) and she said we were going to Nina's Garden in Kimberley, a small town about 20 minjutes from here. I had never heard of this place before, but Kimberley is full of little boutique-y and trendy type places, and I enjoy them all, so I figured it would be fine.

Well, we drove up to Kimberley (the highest city in Canada I might add) and through the town and up into an older section. She pulled in front of a house, an older looking nice home, nothing special, very 50's style and said: "The restaurant is in her backyard, it's all outdoors, only open in the summer."

I'm thinking:"This is sort of odd." and followed her through a small arch into what can only be described as a Secret Garden, a little fantasy Wonderland. There are probably 10 or 12 tables, all tucked away in tiny, shaded nooks, with statues and flowers, waterfalls and ponds. It was INCREDIBLE! You need to enlarge these pictures to get the full effect. The yard is terraced and you can follow the trail as it switch-backs down to the bottom, and every step has little hidden houses, gnomes, and an entire Swiss village in miniature.

How come I have never heard of this place? Why isn't it written up in every guide book?

She is open from the end of April, weather permitting, until the end of September, also weather permitting, daily from 11-3. There is no menu, just a daily special of soup and a bun...but WHAT a soup, and WHAT a bun! Today we had potato-leek soup, and 2 bun halves, one with the creamiest bree I have ever tasted, and the other with procuitto and melon. The buns themselves melted in your mouth. Some little radish roses and a bit of friut completed the lunch. And homemade lemonade. Roland, her husband is a pastry chef and you can choose from 4 different tortes for dessert. I had hazelnut...mmmmm.

You know, there are a lot of sounds from my childhood that I miss. What got me thinking about this was the neighbour mowing the lawn today and then apologizing to me since he noticed I was on the deck, reading. He thought it might be annoying to me. It wasn't, not really, because I have always liked the summer sound of a lawn being mowed. Then, I thought to myself: "Well, not THIS sound, not this roar and rumble of gas mowers. What I liked was the chittering sound of those old push mowers, that tinny sort of musical sound. THAT'S what I like." And I liked the tingley jingle of the Ice Cream Truck, and the rythmic murmer, "swish-shoosh, swish-swoosh" of the old wringer washer that my Mom used ("Don't get any closer...you'll get your arm caught in the wringers and it will get torn right off!") Every Mom had a horror story about someones child/neighbour/relation who had that arm torn right off. And the sound of my Dad making popcorn...not microwave popcorn, not even the hot air poppers, and certainly not Jiffy-pop (that was for camping only...the other two types were unthought of at that time.) but the tinny scrape of the heavy cast pot that Dad used for "real" popcorn. He'd put oil in the pot and then drop in three kernels. As soon as one popped, you knew the oil was hot enough and you had to quickly dump in the rest of the kernels and then put the lid on and shake and shake and shake until all the popping was done. Then it was quickly dumped in a large brown paper bag, salt & melted butter added and shaken until all the kernels were coated with melty goodness. Everyone had a cupboard that was filled with folded paper bags, we got them with our groceries, no plastic back then.

I wonder what sounds today's kids will remember? The chime of a computer starting up? The beeps of their favorite Playstation game? How about the "ding" of the microwave announcing that dinner is ready...or the chime/buzz/humm/Dixie Chick song/ of their infernal cell phone?