It's a Story! I wrote another story! Yeah!

After 40 years of marriage, you'd think he'd learn by now not to drive past a garage sale when I'm in the passenger seat, but yesterday he did. He thinks i have enough boxes in the basement already, he thinks i have enough books, enough records, enough everything .... when I tell him he has enough beer, he usually shuts up.

Anyway, I can drive, so when we got back home and unloaded the groceries, I just turned right around and headed out again.

'Where ya off to now?'
'Nowhere.'

Seemed as good a response as any.

Of course he knew where I was going. It was just as well for him to go clear away a spot in the basement. However, he didn't know that this was going to be the last time I'd head out for an elusive treasure.

The weird thing was, I drove around for almost an hour, backtracking, detouring, my brain spinning as fast as the tires on the truck, and couldn't find the damn house. And it shouldn't have been hard to find, not a weathered  barnlike edifice that stretched from fence to fence in a rambling fashion, a tall tower sprouting from the middle like a giant beanstalk. I couldn't believe I had never noticed it before, and thought there should have been a whisper of fog shadowing the giant elms bracketing it. I was just about ready to give up and go home empty handed, when all of a sudden, I noticed the silhouette of the tower against the huge harvest moon.

I was just as surprised to find the gates wide open, and extra lights hanging over the outdoor tables. There didn't seem to be any other prowlers there, nor did there seem to be a seller, but I parked anyway, and headed over.

I wasn't surprised to see the regular stuff - chipped dinnerware, tarnished flatware, boxes of shoes tangled up in a last dance, but one thing did catch my eye. It was an old box radio, the kind my grandpa listened to way back in the days of the Great War, and right away, I knew it was going home with me. Assuming, I thought, if the price is right.

'How much is it worth to you?' Well, I almost jumped right out of my skin. I don't know how, or from where, but he had sneaked up to my right shoulder, and I could only thank God I hadn't peed my pants right then and there.

I turned and looked up ... and up ... at his face. He seemed to be around 7' tall, but then, I always swore I'd make a lousy witness. Sleek locks of black hair surrounded pale cheeks and a pointed chin; a high seamless forehead sat above two thin eyebrows, and eyes as dark as a raven's wing stared
unblinking at my face. A shiver of cold air danced around my ankles, and for once in my life I was rendered speechless. Sort of.

'Um ... um .... ' I stepped back. He stepped forward. I had the crazy thought that he was keeping me in his shadow, but even though he was standing in front of a hanging light, there didn't seem to be a shadow. I turned my head around slightly, just enough to see my cowardly freaked-out shadow shaking warily behind me. I blurted out, 'I've only got $20, would you take $20 for it?'

He finally stepped back, and grunted. Or laughed. I'm not sure which. 'Yes, madam, $20 was my asking price. With pleasure.'

I grabbed $20 from my ass pocket, and he reached over, picked up the radio, and passed it to me.

'A fair trade is no robbery,' he continued, 'I wish you many years of listening pleasure. But remember, what was, will always be, and what is to be, will always be.'

I almost threw the money into his hand, and hightailed it to the truck. He had frightened the bejeesuz out of me, and let me tell ya - I was pretty glad to get home.

For once, my hubby was a tiny bit interested in my find. I placed it on the only available space on my kitchen counter (I'm an appliance junkie), and plugged it in an outlet. After a few seconds, a faint hum eminated from the front speaker.

Grabbing my readers, I popped them on the end of my nose and bent down to see the dial, really wanting to get the sounds of the Golden Oldie station drifting from this baby. However, this vintage dial didn't have numbers, so finding YAH(Young At Heart, fyi)102.3 wasn't as simple as you would have thought. Instead of numerals, there was a big blue dot in the middle, a black one about an inch to the left, and a red one to the right. Odd. Really odd.

I turned the knob until the hand stopped on the blue dot. Right away I heard the current forecast from an unknown station, but one obviously from nearby, as it was giving the lowdown for our town. Clear skies, calm winds, temps hovering around 18 degrees ... ho hum ho hum. I heard all that on the radio on the way home, although obviously not from the same weatherman. This voice had a very unusual accent, one I could almost but not place. Strange.

As I was pondering the accent, the dj (I don't think they're called djs anymore) started spinning records (although I'm pretty sure they don't do that any more, either) and yes, this was a country music station. The kind of country music station that plays only new country. Luke Bryan. Sam Hunt. They're fine, but not so much for a Merle and Waylon junkie. So I decided to go hunting myself, and turned that dial a little towards the black dot.

Just a little. And found a bit of Alan Jackson, who isn't old old, but somewhat old, and fits my ears well. I decided to listen for a bit while I puttered around the kitchen, doing the dishwasher thing, the watering the plants thing, and the broom thing. But what made me stop in my tracks was the 8 o'clock News bulletin .... and the top story of the day was President Bill Clinton declaring 'There is not a sexual relationship or any other kind of improper relationship.', and then going on to his argument that his statement 'depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is.'

I reached over and unplugged the radio. I turned on my computer and googled this piece of historical fiction, and yes, this was the news of the day ... in 1998.

I don't usually drink, but I do have an emergency bottle of gin I keep in the freezer, for times like this when I figure I'm losing my mind anyway. I'd just as well finish the bottle before I end up in the care home.

By this time, my early-to-bed-early-to-rise (which by the way, makes one neither healthy, wealthy, nor wise) husband was already fast asleep, so I decided I would just leave this radio alone for a night. If I was indeed losing it, I would just as well finish losing it in my own bed, beside my snoring husband, with a light coating of gin lining my stomach.

The next morning, as I downed my toast and coffee, I noticed that radio staring at me as if I were possessed. I gave into its beckoning, and plugged it back into the outlet. Bending over a bit, I twisted the dial a little more to the left, towards that magical black dot.

Waylon Jennings. Willie Nelson. Kris Kristofferson. My own personal perfect Trifecta. I lost myself in that good old 70's music, until the clock struck 9 and once again that news bulletin cut in.

Oh Lord. George Harrison is now organizing a benefit concert for Bangladesh. My son is in his 30's now, but I remember telling him to eat all his supper, because there were a lot of children in Bangladesh with nothing to eat.

For once, I didn't care that Willie Nelson was on the road again. I hauled that plug out of the wall, grabbed my purse and headed to the mall. I hate malls, but at that moment, anything was preferable to sharing the same air as my garage sale treasure.

I didn't find it hard to finish my day. I window shopped, tried on clothes I had no intention of buying, and had a Tim Horton's coffee and a Krispy Kreme donut for lunch. Then I went to a movie and had a small popcorn, diet Pepsi and a pack of Smarties. By then, I knew my husband would be home, and we could spend a nice quiet radio-less evening watching The Weather Network and The Food Network.

But of course, when I did go home, he was in the kitchen, making a stir fry for supper. For some reason, I wasn't really hungry. For another reason, my stomach was rocking and rolling - to the sounds of Hank Williams. Not the Third One. Not even the Second One. But the original one. And then came Kitty Wells.

I rushed into the bathroom and threw up all these snacks, my mind wavering between all these calories I was getting rid off (thank God), and what the hell was happening with that radio. When I went back into the kitchen I was met by a confused glance from my husband, as he stood with one hand on his hip and one hand on my new pink spatula. He turned to the radio again, as intent as if he were seeing the news unwind in front of him.

... assassination attempt on President Truman ....

Once again that plug gets ripped out of the wall. I'm amazed it's still attached to the cord, to tell the truth.

And I'm even more amazed my husband asked me what was going on. Half the time he thinks I'm not very smart anyway, so why did he feel I was smart enough to figure this out? We did have quite a short discussion though, which I won't go into here. He got the last word.

'Throw that damn thing out..'

And now he's gone to bed. And I'm just sitting here, looking from the dial to the plug that's nestled comfortably in the socket. Wondering what would happen if I turned that dial to the right, all the way past the innocent big blue dot at the top of the dial.

Life is a Walk in the Park ... or at least it was on Friday.

Friday, May 15 - payday is the reason we headed to Steveston, and Steveston was the reason we walked around Gary Point Park. What a beautiful day, and after the hassle of trying to find a parking spot in the village so I could run into the store and then the bank, it was so nice to drive a few minutes farther west and choose one parking spot out of many at the park.

There were a few people around, but not many. Everyone seemed to be at the village itself, or at least, their cars were. Parking is a huge big deal at Steveston - people drive around forever waiting for a space. Most of the previous free parking has been turned into pay lots, and that deters some visitors. 

However, the park is, as always, the perfect spot. Believe it or not, Howard saw a big big ship way off in the distance here ... and we noticed the Pilot Boat scooting out with a pilot aboard, so this unseen (to me) big ship would get a well-practiced ride up the river.

Here comes the ship - according to the Man Who Knows, it's a  car carrier, which is equipped to carry 500 cars, and is heading to Annacis Island. How he knows all this, I'll never figure out, but I won't argue as he's almost usually right.

 We walked by the Japanese garden ...

 

... and came across a Raven (?) on a bench. Now, I would have thought it was a big crow, but He said it was a raven. I don't believe we have many ravens in the Lower Mainland, but I was pretty sure I had seen one several years ago while I was riding bike to work. That one looked like a crow on steroids. This one didn't seem so big. However, if I could have thought I had seen one years ago, I'll give Howard the benefit of the doubt, and call this one a raven, too.

One thing about this fellow, he was not shy at all. I did not have this shot zoomed it - I got this close, and he still didn't budge. I wouldn't try and get closer in case he decided he didn't like me.

We soon came to the second beach, which is edged with a whack of driftwood. The tides were low, and there was lots of sand and lots of rocks, but since I was wearing sandals, I didn't want to walk on the sand and get all these little sand grains stuck between my toes.

And here comes the ship ....

At this point, it seemed to be the only thing on Howard's mind ....... so I went to visit the lupins in the field. Love lupins - they remind me of 'back home', where they grow wild during the summer.

As we walked up to the farthest point on the beach, we came across this huge trunk - I have no idea why it has all these tags nailed on.

 And the boat gets closer!  How exciting!

 Zoom in a little bit ....

My attention span is short. What boat? Here's some pigeons on a big rock ... there were actually three of them, but one was camera shy.

 If I had been attacked by killer pigeons and ravens, he never would have noticed, I'm sure.

I picked up these two pieces of dried up wood - so dry they felt like cork - and I was going to take them home, but realized they were full of carpenter bugs and God knows what other entities. So I posed them for a photo shoot instead. We have enough pets at home. I almost always find at least one bug or spider in the downstairs bathroom every time I go there. It's panic time when I'm already in the shower and realize I haven't done a spider scan.

All the excitement wore off after the boat ... I mean ship ... passed by, so we headed back to the park entrance. Howard did notice another ship in the distance, and we saw the pilot boat heading out again, but I just kept on walking. One ship a day is enough.

Aha. Pajo's. The best Fish'n'Chip place in Steveston, for sure, so we decided to celebrate the season with a picnic.

We shared a 2 piece cod and fries (which was actually 3 pieces of cod), coleslaw, onion rings, and water. And I'm pretty sure we didn't even eat half of it .... neither one of us is used to eating a lot at lunch time, and I'm trying to watch my waistline. At least I would be watching it, if I could find it.

 Burp.

To The Park, To The Bank, To The Store ... ta da...

Thursday, April 10. After two beautiful sunny 19 degree days, I decided to wait until Thursday, with a temperature of !0 measly breezy degrees to bring Breehy out on the road again. All wrapped up in winter fleece and fingerless mittens, I dragged her out of her winter hibernation in our basement, and climbed on up.

Oh oh. Something didn't click right ... actually the gears were clicking way too much. I thought maybe the panniers were somehow interfering with the chain, so I took them off, but no difference, so back in the house I went.

However, Steve to the rescue. He rode that pretty pink bike up and down the driveway, changing gears and figuring everything out perfectly. Seems like one of the sprockets in a low gear was sort off damaged, so as long as I didn't change gears, everything would be fine. I'm not one to change gears, anyway, so it was all good, and off we headed to the Hydro line path and Holland Park.

There was tons of spring colour here, not counting my red nose and fingertips.

Spring is by far the prettiest season here on the Lower Mainland of BC.

Back home in Newfoundland, Autumn wins by a country mile.

It looks like Autumn in this pic, even though it's not. But I wonder do you see what I see? Something that doesn't belong in a beautiful place like Holland Park?

A dandelion! My goodness. Someone call the Weed Police. (No, not that kind of weed. I think that other kind is legal in Holland Park, according to the aroma that abounds in the air.)

So, on we rode. Our first mission of the day was to go to the Royal Bank, because a certain someone who I gave my bank card to so he could go to the beer store so my husband wouldn't be cantankerous, forgot I changed my pin number, causing my card to be useless. (I know that's illegal, both bankwise and grammatically, but let's not bother with either.)

Once again in Surrey, our bike-friendly city, there was no bike rack near the bank, so I wheeled Breehy in to the lobby. No security guard there either, so I just kept wheeling her into the bank itself and we got in line. That's when the security guard came over and told me I couldn't bring a bike inside.

I said, 'There's no bike rack.'

She said, 'Leave it in the lobby.'

I said, 'No. If I can't lock her one, it's staying with me.'

(I have enough sense not to refer to Breehy as female when talking to strangers. I don't want to see the nice young men in their nice white coats waiting by the door for me.)

Anyway, the guard just walked away. If the bank has to hire security for their patrons and cash, I'm certainly not taking chances on someone walking away with my bike. 

Next stop was Save On Foods for a red pepper, some mushrooms, and some delicious Cheese Buns. I decided to check my blood pressure while I was there. I must say, it's never been this low before - if anyone reading this knows anything about blood pressure and realized I'm about to keel over and die, please let me know. I'm sure it's okay. However, it might explain why I get dizzy sometimes. 

So, shopping accomplished, we headed home, along King George Boulevard. I didn't realize there was construction on the way, but all that meant was I had to walk a bit of uphill sidewalk to pass by, and that was all right with me. My leg muscles were a bit wishy washy by then anyway.

This new piece of architecture is right beside the sky train station. I'm not sure my thoughts exactly, but I don't think I'd want to work in a top floor. I'm sure I'd feel like hanging on with every step I took. Strange looking edifice, if you ask me.

This wasn't an adventure, really, but I'm hoping some real humdingers will follow. Keep tuned.

January 12 - Monday, Monday, Monday .... What else can I say?

It's well into the New Year, so thank heavens I'm over the urge to make New Year Resolutions. I would never keep them anyway, especially if they concerned losing weight, not eating chocolate, or exercising more. Forget the more. Just exercising.

However, I really do want to get back into the writing thingie, even though most of the time there's not enough words floating around my head to fill even one page of a children's dictionary. But I'll try. I know I can always find something to complain about, so maybe that's a good starting point.

So .... needless to say, it was Monday morning a few hours ago, and it certainly bit me and thousands of other commuters who needed the Sky Train to get to work. I don't understand how a power outage way way out in Vancouver could affect the trains that were leaving Surrey, but somehow it did. Because I piddled around this morning, doing silly useless things like my New York Times Crossword puzzle ( weekend archives - the daily beginning of the week ones are too easy for my big fat brain), and having a shower, I missed the bus I should have taken. It was just after 7 o'clock when I got to Surrey Central Station, where I got to mingle with a huge crowd of waiting people. And, alas, when the train came, it was already packed to the gills -

 

- however, everyone who could suck in their gut got aboard, somehow. I was lucky enough to be close to a post I could sort of kind of grab with my poor fingers, although I really didn't need anything to grab. There were people on all sides, and I was thinking if I had a massive heart attack, no one would even know I was a goner until whoever was spooning me from behind got off the train, and I would literally drop dead.

But I survived. I was at work for about half an hour before my stomach started rolling, and it became a Gravol kind of day. But - I suffered through it, and now I'm home in my nice flannel nightie and my nice flannel jammie bottoms, with a nice shell-shaped chocolate sliding down my throat. And tomorrow I get to do it all over again!