Self expression

I did art tonight, rather than my essay or sleep. It's 5am.


Seeking Solace - 2007 by *Mambolica on deviantART

It's neat, because I don't usually do digital art and this is worked out entirely on the computer with stock images and serious reference stuff, and I painted it in photoshop7.

Call it escapism. It's my RoD character, Suliss, as an elder priestess, knowing her time is come. Yup, I think I'm killing her off.

Faith

I am writing this post as a personal response to an article in the LA Times, written by the paper's former religion columnist. It's a very moving piece of writing about a spiritual journey that took him in a direction he'd never expected: the loss of faith.

I have faith. In some ways it is deeply at odds with the rest of me, my doubt and skepticism, more than anything. I used to call it spirituality, what I possess, but let's be honest. It's faith. What I do not have, nor do I want, is religion. I consider myself, if pressed, a Judeo-Christian-Paganist. Haha. My little joke. I'm culturally closer to my Ashkenazim roots than anything else, but I'm no practicing Jew. I try to observe the High Holidays, not because I think it's my duty, but because I like to feel closer to my cultural roots. I don't beat myself up if I miss one. I also really enjoy Christmas. Not because it's the birth of Jesus, but because it's a beautiful and ancient holiday borrowed from several pagan traditions that predate any idea of "religion" common to the Western world. Even current polytheist religions don't quite compare.

My faith isn't tested by my belief in science, far from it, in fact. No, I look at the awesomeness of the universe, from the Big Bang to evolution to plate tectonics as facets of an incredible creation. Not Creation, as in the Bible, but I believe that something started it all off and put the ball in motion. Like I said, it's not spirituality, but faith. I choose to believe this.

Sometimes, I forget that I believe in the existence of something bigger than all of this. 'God' is a funny word. It doesn't seem quite right to me, mainly because I can't help envisioning a bearded white guy in the sky. I do not believe in that god. I don't want to say 'force' because this isn't Star Wars, but I prefer to think of 'God' as a something, intangible and invisible, but able to take the forms that people need in order to feel connected. Today, God is this rock. Tomorrow, perhaps God is you.

When I plead with 'God', I look up. This is not because I believe it is up above, but because, I think, by craning our necks backward, we are making ourselves vulnerable and in pleading to 'God', we are undoubtedly feeling vulnerable. I thought about this the other day as I wept in the shower. I felt, at that moment, as though my whole world had fallen in on me, Gareth had told me he needed a break. My plea was not to make him change his mind, but to give me strength to bear it, to be okay, because I believe that things happen for a reason, even though we rarely can see the why of it at the time it's happening.

No, I don't believe that 'God' actively intercedes in our lives, not really. I think it's more that 'God' has an unlimited energy or strength that when we are in need, and open to it, we can share. Does that sound strange? I am okay, and whatever the outcome is, I have to trust that it will work out. That's faith, not spirituality. But it's not religion. I do not need people to interpret for 'God'. People just screw it up. People get in the way. People have ulterior motives.

Among my friends I have counted Jews, Christians of many sects and stripes, Wiccans and Pagans, Hindus, Baha'i, Muslims, Buddhists, Atheists and agnostics. These people have been of various colours, creeds and sexual orientations. I tell none of them that by believing what they believe they are wrong, because they're not. I find no issue if they associate themselves with a particular religion or are lapsed, for our actions speak clearly about us as human beings, and there have been some awful people who did what they did under the mantle of religion.

When I was a teenager, I thought I would make it official. I had plans to study my Torah and have my bat mitzvah once I'd turned 18. I'd chosen not to when I was a child because I did not feel, coming from a multi-faith home, that I was ready to make such an important decision. Smart kid. Through my teens, I successively lost five relatives over the course of three years, not all close, but starting with my beloved Nana, and ending with my father. That final loss, when I was 18, threw my religious plans in a tailspin. I lost my faith, or so I believed. I was angry.

I hadn't lost it, it turned out, I simply put it somewhere safe and then forgot where I'd hidden it. It was two years later, maybe three, when I stumbled upon it once more. I don't remember what happened or where I was that triggered it, but I think that as a guess, it was probably my cottage. When I recovered my faith, I had found that my interest in associating it with a religion had disappeared. I was what I was and no brand name was going to change it.

I do not love 'God', but I have respect and I believe that 'God' is there when we need it.

Larry Bagnell = Love

There's just something about Larry Bagnell, Member of Parliament for the Yukon Territory. Even people who normally profess their hatred for the Liberals love Larry. Larry's a cool dude. He has some incredible magic ability to be everywhere all at once, at tons of community events and still be in Ottawa when the House is sitting. He's nice, personable, fun, comes across honest and good-natured and... well, everyone loves Larry.

Last night I went to his annual summer barbecue, which while a grill was grilling skewers, it was more of an Asian thing than burger thing, in that the Filipino community was out cooking and doing sort of generic Asian yummies. It was nice. Oh, and it was free. I was really impressed at the cross-section of people that came out for it, and all the different sorts shaking Larry's hand. Good times.

In other news, this has been a bad week, which I'm not going to talk about right now. Instead, I present you with a two-nosed dog !!

No pressure

It's kind of nice to be posting to my weblog without pressure. I really did enjoy the Blogathon and I hope to do it again next year. I almost made 400 bucks this year for the Humane Society of Canada, which is great, but I hope next year to do better. Maybe a different charity, too. I really would have liked to do it for the local shelter, but they have no online donation form, so that made it impossible according to the rules of Blogathon. Oh well.

We were interviewing today for the Internship position with the Gallery. We had thought (hoped?) that we'd have had a clear leader in the candidates, but following the interviews, we were kind of hard-pressed to decide. This is why we ask for references, I guess. Anyway, all the shortlisted candidates really have something going for them.

Anyway, I don't actually have a lot to say, but I thought I'd better post an entry or I might lose interest again, and I really don't want that to happen. I've been writing in the blog since October 2001. It seems so long ago; certainly it is a lifetime ago, based on where I was then, and what I was doing at the time.

So, what was I doing? I was attending Seneca's digital media school doing computer animation. I had hopes of a career in video games or film. I'm still in touch with one of the students, Brian, and he managed to score the job, working at Bioware. I was not, however, living at home and rent-free so I couldn't devote all my time to creating mods with him. I had to work and an apartment to pay for.

Today, after work, I went shopping and found wild pink salmon on the store shelves. Once in a while, living in Whitehorse has its perks. I barbecued the little pink steaks, made a white/wild rice base and salad and finished it all up with a fresh fruit salad that included the strawberries I'm growing on my porch. Yummy. And, sure, rent is still a struggle, but a lot less of one, and I own a new car and pay my bills myself, mostly without the help of my mother. Ya, I guess I've come a ways since 2001.

B:45 The End !

This is my last post for Blogathon 2007. I'm pretty impressed with myself, I must admit.

My total? 15 pledges for $376.04 !! You have until Tuesday to pledge for me and the Humane Society of Canada if you haven't already, but wanted to. You can contact me or click this link.

As it stands now, I'd like to thank:

Claire
Liz
Al & Carrie
Lucy
Kelly
Pat
Hosh
Scott
Aislinn
Shecky
Didier
Tammy
Dodo
Megan

THANK YOU ALL !!!

And would I do it again? Hell yes. See you next year, Blogathon !! And Goodnight !

B:44 Second-to-last post !

HOLY CRAP. The end is in sight !!!! You know how I'm going to make this last half hour go by really quickly? I'm going to take a long, incredibly hot shower. It's going to be grand !

Catch you on the cleaner side of things !

B:43 All-Nighter

When I was in university residence, the cafeteria staff always knew when I'd been up all night. Those were the only mornings I made it for breakfast. I loved those breakfasts. Back then, I usually was up all night writing essays. Only occasionally did I stay up all night doing the party thing. I didn't drink at all in my first year. In my second, I started drinking, but still, I usually stayed up all night only to write papers. Social activity and clubbing was best followed-up by a good lie-in the following morning.

When I was basically addicted to playing Realms of Despair (a pretty fabulous text-based roleplaying game), I willingly pulled all-nighters to roleplay all night (go Drow Elves, yeah !). Hell, I'd mastered the Drow dictionary, even. That's some serious involvement. And there were also the all night parties now and then. Then, around the age of 25, I suddenly found it really hard to do it. I suddenly hit a wall around 4am and had to go to sleep. I've discovered that this is not unusual and lots of people suddenly can't pull it off come their mid to late twenties.

This all-nighter, for the Blogathon, is the first all-nighter I've willingly pulled in probably about four years. It's been fun, too, in a strange sort of way. There's no way I could do this regularly, though. But dancing around in my living room has decided me on getting physically active again, so there you go. Go Blogathon !

B:42 Life, the Universe and Everything

I've reached Post 42, which means I'm in the home stretch. There are only another 90 minutes or so to go.

So, as is fitting for the number, I guess I should talk about my love of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a very fine book, and the first in a five(?) book trilogy. ;)

It belonged to Tracy, but she and I shared books all the time. I guess I was about 14 or 15. One of us, probably her, dropped it in her pool. I remember reading it and all the pages were crinkled because I think she may have kept flipping the pages to dry them, and maybe even used a blow-dryer at one point.

The things we remember.

Tracy is still my best friend in the whole world. I love her. She's expecting her first child in September, and though I had initially planned to be there for the birth, I realise that probably won't happen. I miss her.

B:41 Music

There was a time when I knew all about who was new on the music scene, especially if they were British. I'm listening to the BlogExplosion Radio and they just played Kate Nash's Foundations. Who is she? When did she turn up on the scene? I rather liked that one song. It's a bit tongue-in-cheek, but then again, it's 4am and maybe I have no ability to discriminate. That's definitely possible. But come on, this is fun stuff:

Your face is pasty ’cause you’ve gone and got so wasted, what a suprise.
Don’t want to look at your face ’cause it’s makin’ me sick.
You’ve gone and got sick on my trainers,
I only got these yesterday.
Oh, my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this.

B:40 Gareth

I just got off the phone with Gareth. That may be one of the only good things about living eight time zones apart. When it's the middle of the night here and I need to talk to him (which doesn't actually happen that often), I usually can, because it's going on noon there. Anyway, we just managed to mostly talk about nothing for about forty minutes, which is why this post is a bit late. I wasn't going to get off the phone with my love, who I see every four to five months for only about two weeks at a time, just to blog, you know? I do have some priorities.

Anyway, I miss him a lot and hope I can see him sometime soon... but it just seems less and less likely that it will happen this summer. Oh money. I have promised him that when I leave Whitehorse, I will move closer to him, not farther away !

B:39 Blogathon on the radio...

Internet radio. Thank God. They are tailoring their music for the crazy people who are in the last three hours of the blogathon.

Here's a crazy person:

B:38 Something a bit more serious

I promised I'd talk about some of the things that have effected my life over the last few months. Hell, I never even finished writing about my holidays with Gareth or anything. I've been a shitty blogger in the last couple of years.

But in the more recent past, the last entry I posted was about nasty Mr. Jerry Falwell who died. More importantly to my life, a very close friend of the family died in May. Some of you may remember in 2003 when I went to New York because Robert passed away. His father, Alfred, was one of my mother's closest friends and she was a foundational person in Robert's life.

Alfred died in May. My mother went to New York in the last two weeks of his life. Initially, it was to help get his place cleaned up for his return in case he needed to get in home care, etc., but by the end, it was clear that he would not be coming home. He died the night after she left.

I dropped everything and got a travel agent to find me a "reasonable" flight from Whitehorse to New York. It was very expensive, but less than had I booked it myself. Half the price, in fact.

Going back to New York, staying in Alfred's apartment... without Alfred... it was very discomforting. I spent nearly no time in the living room because that is where he and I would have been hanging out laughing and talking if it were a normal visit. I stayed holed up in the guest room, formerly Robert's bedroom. There was no Alfred, no Robert, no cat... it was so strange.

And it was not only a goodbye to a beloved friend, but to a neighbourhood. A home away from home. I might write more about this... I don't know. I still hurt thinking about it.

In the last couple of weeks, Don, Alfred's close friend, and ours, too, closed up the apartment and turned in the keys.

It hurts my heart. I don't think I can write any more about this right now.

B:37

Oooh, another Blogathon game. This one is the "I Hate That Song" game. There aren't a lot of songs I actively hate. There are some genres that get up my nose, but hate is a strong word.

However, after thinking about this for a few minutes, I can name two songs that get up my nose sufficiently that, under the circumstances, I can probably say I dislike them intensely.

Patio Lanterns, by Kim Mitchell, is perhaps one of my most disliked songs. One summer, when I worked for the Ontario Government, it literally haunted me. Everywhere I was, it was played, or it seemed that way. Just the mention of 'patio lanterns' as objects make me shudder.

The other song is a little harder to nail down, but I really dislike The Macarena. I mean, really. I tend to eschew songs with dances attached to them at the best of times (anyone else remember the Achy-Breaky dance?), unless it's the chicken dance, because that's just silly.

When I get married, I have two rules for the DJ: 1) under no circumstance is he to play White Wedding because it is NOT A HAPPY MARRIAGE SONG and, 2) his life is forfeit if he plays The Macarena. Uhg.

B:36 Home.

Now my boys, Choco and Twee, are sitting at the screen door, watching intently as the rain pelts down outside. It's been a while since it's been completely dark at night. And it's sure dark out now. If it weren't completely overcast, the sky would probably still be tinted dark blue with a kind of greenish-yellow tinge along the horizon beneath which the sun was moving. It's a nice trade-off on the whole, four hours of light in the winter thing; the near complete daylight thing at the height of summer.

You know, I'd like the Yukon more if I were only here in the summer months. I'd have a summer cabin up here, although I'm not sure I could get used to swimming in the frigid water. Of course, that is all hypothetical, since we already have a summer cottage in Quebec.

Watching my cats whacking bugs on the screen makes me think they would really love it there, too. I miss it. On a night like tonight, with the rain pelting and bouncing on the earth and wooden structures outside, it reminds me of many a cool, wet night at the cottage.

More than any place I've been or lived, that is the one I most closely identify as "home".

B:35

I am now officially tired. The movies are done, it's raining again, and I'm sending Andrew home. He's going to try to take Twee. He really likes Twee. Twee is a great cat, though, so I fully understand.

Also, Choco just sat mewing outside the bathroom door while Andrew was inside. Heh.

B:34 The Pastorale

I forgot how poignant the scene with Sol in the euthanasia chamber is. God, it's so good. Sol is such a sweet character, too. And you know, the idea of the euthanasia chamber is really beautiful. It's possibly the most humane thing in the entire film.

B:33 Soylent controls the food for half the world

Sorry, did you say Haliburton? Oh, right, they don't control food. Just most of everything else.

I see the parallels. Well, the movie is pretty prescient, I guess. Except maybe the whole women as furniture thing, but ... then again, the human slave trade is booming, so maybe not.

B:32 People.... PEOPLE !

Whoops, is that the punchline? Sorry. SPOILERS ! Ya, time to watch Soylent Green, classic sci-fi. I'm looking forward to it. I shall discuss it as I go, I suppose. Andrew's never seen it and I haven't seen it in about 15 years. Awesome.

B:31 Seven hours

Seven hours to go. Wow, I've been at this for a while. Doing this while watching movies is kind of hard. Andrew is wrestling with my cats. He'll have bled all over my couch by the time he goes home.

B:30 Happy Movies

Hosh and I need to watch more happy-fun movies.

My cats love Andrew. And now he's bleeding.

B:29 Boogie woogie

You know, for a movie about the porn, this is really not a movie about porn. It's a movie about people and social issues and pornography happens to be its backdrop. And there are some great performances in it. Someone tell me why I haven't seen this in its entirety in its ten years of existence?

However, I don't actually recommend it for people who are easily offended.

B:28 uhhh.

Choco is sitting between the Hosh and me and is purring. He likes it when people sit on the couch, because though he is a shy little cat, he loves being part of things. I'm glad I adopted him.

B:27 Rollerskates

Ya, I had rollerskates when I was a kid, you know, several years before Rollerblades hit the market. I had a very steep driveway and was klutzy. Not a good combination, really. So, ya. But I've always had this weird desire to rollerskate... rollerdance, even.

Huh.

B:27

I'm watching a movie about sex. Sorry, about porn. In the 1970s. Some days are weirder than others. But mostly it just makes me wish I could rollerskate.

B:26 The Hosh

... has arrived. He's late. What the Hell... that's MY job. The lateness, I mean. He comes bearing dessert - wooo !

B:25

It is pouring with rain. This is depressing. I must change into something warmer, as it's cooling off quite a bit, too.

Poop.

B:24 Soylent Green drinking game

Here's the quote from Wil Wheaton's article that I referred to in my last post:

Drinking game: Whenever someone looks sweaty and stinky, take a drink. If you're still vertical when Heston delivers his famous ending line, you have to shotgun a beer, and declare that the beer is made of people when you're done. Bonus points if your friends film it and put it on YouTube.

Anyway, sometimes this blogging every 30 minutes or so is really jarring. It's hard to get a good run on stuff, but I'm managing.

Also, here is a Lolcat.

B:23

Looks like Hosh will be coming over with a couple more movies tonight, so that's exciting. I think he's bringing Boogie Night and I might just make him watch Soylent Green, which, if I recall from a Wil Wheaton post might make a very excellent drinking game.

I am not condoning the use of alcohol.

(I'm not condemning it either, for that matter.)

Gotta do me some more homework before he comes over, though. And then sometime around 2 or 3 in the morning, I must remember to call Gareth. Damned eight hour time differences.

B:22 Blogathon Game 3

Game #3: I remember
RECEIVE BY: 6:00pm Pacific
PRIZE: $5 sponsorship
WHAT I WANT: Post your earliest memory, and send me the permalink.

My earliest memory comes from when I was extremely young. I'm one of those people who can clearly remember much of their early childhood but a couple years ago might be hazy. And never mind what I did yesterday.

Anyway, this memory is so old I don't even recall it in vivid colours. It's kind of like that 6am light that's all bluish. In it, I can see a spoon coming toward me, with something kind of squishy in it. I can remember opening my mouth and then a sensation of pleasure.

Yes, I've apparently been a 'foodie' my whole life, even when I was a baby. I loved to, and still do, love to eat !

B:21 Lying in the sun

I am home and it seems the sun's back. I'm going to bask in it for a bit. One tries not to miss opportunities for such behaviour when one lives in Whitehorse. Especially not this summer.

I need to consider my dinner, too. I'm thinking sliced veggies, possibly fried, with bacon and eggs. And maybe a bit of the leftover ice cream in my freezer before it gets weird and burnt. Also, there will be more homework. And possibly some work for... work.

B:20 Mask making in the Yukon

Still here. At work. I was just touring some people through the building. The were looking for First Nations masks and I was explaining the confused history/tradition of mask making in the Yukon. The short answer is: Westerners arrived and messed up the First Nations traditional way of life and then the government and missionaries banned ceremonies such as potlatches and dances, where ceremonial objects such as masks were used. Also, masks were never meant as commodities, they were objects imbued with life and at the end of their cycle they were allowed to return to the earth.

So, take fifty years of Western mucking and that's about two generations right there. Ergo, mask making tradition was interrupted. The masks that are made now are influenced mainly by Coastal First Nations and historical motifs that had been preserved in photographs and museums. Many modern mask makers look to other aboriginal traditions and some have invented their own styles, divergent from the more coastally influenced norm. Anyway, that's the nutshell version. I suggest you look up the carving of Keith Wolf Smarch and Eugene Alfred to get a good idea of Yukon carving, mask or otherwise.

This entry may have to double for both 4:30 and 5pm, because shortly I'm going to leave and may well be in transit at the next appointed time.

B:19 Organising some more

I may be here longer than I'd anticipated. One hour isn't going to cut it. But the reference and major retrospective shelves will be done when I go. That's certainly a start. Then, I'll grab what I need from my office and I'll be off. So maybe the 4:30 post will be delayed.

B:18 Organising the Shelves

This is not quite the simple task we thought it would be. We've had to start sorting in more catagories than planned. Hahaha, wouldn't it be great to catalogue it all digitally, too? Ya, right.

YAC Gallery Library so far:

General Reference
Art & Culture Theory Reference
Museum & Gallery Administration/Policy
Northern Themes
Major Retrospective Catalogues
Artist Catalogues
Exhibition Catalogues
Photography
Architecture
Magazines
Miscellaneous

Yes, sometimes this is what it means to be a curator.

B: 17

Well, I'm at work and the sky is threatening rain. Yes, a thunderhead is rolling in. So much for doing my homework in the sun. I'm now helping the intern reorganise the Gallery bookshelves. And boy, do they need love. Serious love.

It's kind of mindless and enjoyable, though. Then I have to pick up some stuff from my office and I'll go back home to work on it from there.

B:16 Spoke too soon...

Damn, it seems to have clouded over entirely. The standard in Whitehorse is kind of like, "don't like the weather? wait ten minutes." I'll see if it clears again, but if this is how it's going to be, then I think I'll roll into work for an hour (and post from there), because there's some stuff I need to do.

Well, make-up, first.

B:15 For the Birds

For now, it is beautiful. Even as a cloud has passed in front of the sun and shrouded the yard in shadow, it's beautiful. It is warm, about 22C but it feels like 27 in the sun, and I'm doing my homework in my hammock.

Around me, the myriad of birds are chirping and singing and flitting about. Today I got glared at by a pine siskin and unlike in Southern Ontario where the white-throated, white-crowned and chipping sparrows are mellow and shy compared to the English House Sparrows, here, where the latter does not exist, the others are ballsy like all get-out !

It took more than six months, but it seems the birds have finally accepted my bird feeder as a "good thing". I also sprinkle seeds on the ground and my cats get a real kick out of watching the birds hopping around outside.

B:14 Underwear !

Just heard on CBC's DNTO:

Dad: "Why does 'underwear' make you laugh?"
4 year old: (whispered) "Because there's a bum under it."

So true, so true.

B:13 Coffee

I love coffee.

When I was a child, I wanted to be like my mom and drink coffee, too. So, God love her, when I was about seven years old, she started making me coffee with my breakfast. She maintains that it was mostly milk at the time, but considering I never quite grew as tall as her near 6' height, I think it must have stunted my growth (I'm 5'10").

Starting my day without coffee is like, for some, not showering in the morning: I just don't function as well without it. For the record, I have my showers before bed at night because I'm not functional enough in the mornings and prefer to spend those extra ten minutes under the covers.

Back to the coffee. I'm not a big fan of the cafe latte, I much prefer a cafe au lait or cappuccino. I like my coffee dark roasted, even though there is less caffeine in it, because I love a rich taste.

I am currently enjoying my coffee very much.

B:12

Edit, edit, edit. I'm now editing my Blogathon posts to reflect ... well, to give them titles.

Yes, I've actually put a title field in my template, now. Shocking.

B: 11

Wow, after six years, I've just given this weblog a new template. Huh. Must be because I anticipate all kinds of traffic on it, or something, now.

It's a beautiful day. I've eaten and showered and I've got things to do. You know, other than blogging. :)

B:10 Humane Society Mission Statement

From the Humane Society of Canada website:

Mission Statement

The Humane Society of Canada works to protect dogs, cats, horses, birds, livestock, lab animals, wildlife and the environment. They carry out hands on programs to help animals and nature, mount rescue operations, expose cruelty through hard hitting undercover investigations, work to pass laws to protect animals, funds non-invasive scientific research, support animal shelters and wildlife rehabilitation centres and spread the word about how to help animals and nature through humane education.

A registered charity, The Humane Society of Canada depends entirely on donations to support our programs to help animals and the environment. All donations are gratefully acknowledged with a receipt for income tax purposes. If you would like to support our campaign to protect animals and the earth, please make a donation here. Because when it comes to fighting cruelty, we don’t give up. Ever.

B: 9

Okay, this one's gonna be a bit early and the next post will prolly be a bit late, because, dude, I need to eat and I firmly believe in eating real food. Also in being clean, which I'll do after eating.

Cats are still sleeping curled on the bed... I'll be moving into the kitchen and living room, though, so they may follow. It's nice that my cats like to hang out with me. :)

B:8 Brazilian films

The two films I watched last night at Andrew's were City of God and Carandiru, both Brazilian films. The first was one I had really wanted to see when it was released in Canada about four years ago, but I never got a chance, or maybe it was that I wanted to see it with someone... whatever, I didn't end up seeing it. The second, I'd never heard of.

The two films are similar in many ways and initially I thought they might have been done by the same people, but a quick check on IMDB this morning showed me that they are, in fact, totally different teams. They were made right around the same time, though (2002 and 03, respectively), and are interested in the underbelly of Brazilian culture. Both films are brutally violent and much of their subject matter is deeply affecting, depressing, even, but both succeed in creating a bittersweet cinematic experience that leaves you feeling alternately bruised and incredibly hopeful.

Brutal and beautiful.

B:7 Thank You !!

I feel like I need a nap. I'm not in the least surprised. Hopefully the day will be beautiful and I'll spend a lot of it outside in my hammock. Uh, with my laptop. ;)

I would like to thank those who pledged their monetary support for this.

Al and Carrie, my mother, my godmother, Lucy, co-workers and assorted friends: thank you all for your help !

B:6

Okay, I don't know what happened to my apostrophes in my last post. Oh well. I'm not bothering to fix them.

Since I'm blogging for the Humane Society of Canada, I should mention that my cats are lying on my bed beside me, mutually grooming and purring loudly. They are great.

Stay tuned - I'll talk about the movies soon. And other stuff. For real.

B:5 The HOSH

I cannot believe I am up at this hour on a Saturday. It must be for a good cause – oh ya, it’s because I’m raising money for the Humane Society of Canada by participating in Blogathon 2007.

Go me !

Alright, so let me tell you about the films I watched at Andrew’s last night. I should take a moment to explain who Andrew is, maybe. Andrew Hoshkiw is a freelance reporter and really excellent documentary photographer up here in Whitehorse. He, like me, is from Southern Ontario, but unlike me, he came up here for kicks and stayed. He’s lived in the Northwest Territories and Prince Rupert, BC and he’s been working for newspapers along the way.

Andrew was pointed out to me as the “really quiet reporter – it’s weird, he doesn’t talk”. This was at the first Exhibit Opening I was around for when I first arrived in Whitehorse. The people who pointed him out to me are judgemental and I didn’t like the way they wrote Andrew off for being weirdly quiet. I decided I’d go up to him and introduce myself.

So I did.

What I found was that Andrew was a very nice, if shy, guy. I figured he liked reporting because it gave him a shield or rationale for talking to people, which he might not otherwise do. He and I became friends and that’s that. He tells great stories. I don’t regret introducing myself for a minute.

Except when he threatens to change to another movie right in the middle of the one we’re watching. It makes me want to throttle him.

Okay, I’ll talk about the movies in another post. This ended up being about Andrew. Oh, and his website is: www.hoshq.com.

B:4 Thinking about the CBC

Hmmm, my internet died there for a while. That was exciting. And not unusual. I thought that might be a problem. Well, I shall make this a lengthier post.

I am listening to the radio. CBC to be exact. It's what I pretty much listen to, all the time. I've been listening to the CBC since I was a kid. For Americans, it's kind of like NPR, or in Britain, it's kind of like the BBC.

I like the CBC, but I like CBC Yukon less than the other regions I've listened to. It tends to play much crappier music - more crappy rock, for instance, and never any thing classical. I also can't stand a couple of the hosts. I wonder if some of they actually have real training, or if, like many of the reporters up north, they just fell into the positions through happenstance.

Anyway, I'm a devout CBC listener and there aren't that many choices for radio here in Whitehorse, so I try to tailor my listening to avoid the more, uhhh, colloquial shows. The exception is the Mom Show (that's its very abbreviated name), but I guess it is a CBC North show, not specifically Yukon, and I love listening to all the truckers call in with their requests.

That'll do for now. I won't shut my laptop so hopefully my signal won't go kaput.

B:Three

I was, unfortunately, out late last night at Andrew's. We watched a pair of truly amazing work. More later.

B:Two

The morning radio in the Yukon on Saturday mornings really stinks. God, the music is total dreck.

Ya, real content will come along later. For now, this is filler. Sorry.

B:One

Blogathon: first post !

It's at times like this (6am) when I wonder what the Hell was I thinking?

Choco is besid me, purring loudly for no reason, and Twee is chirruping on the floor, waiting for breakfast to be served. They don't know how lucky they are. So many animals are mistreated up here in the Yukon: dogs left outside on chains with no chance for social doggy behaviour and cats, dumped where ever, just because they're cats and "they can fend for themselves". You should see the frostbite damage so many animals have. It's gross.

Yes, Choco and Twee are lucky. And I'm very lucky to have such wonderful cats.

Over the last two months, my world has been shaped by life and death, family and friendships, once again waking me up and forcing me to consider the important things in life. I've been really quiet of late, I know. There's particularly good reason for this: introspection. Even my livejournal has been quieter. I'm probably happier with my life than I've been in a while, too, which is not to say there aren't things that continue to make me crazy, because there are, but in the grand scheme of things, they matter less than I thought.

We can affect change inwardly, outwardly, good and bad, and right now, I'm working on focusing on the good things that I can control, or at least influence. I know what I want, I've got what I need, and I'm pretty sure my goals are attainable. I promise to tell you about some of the stuff that has gone on, to talk about the things that are important as well as the things that are trivial and/or fun.

When am I going to do this? This coming Saturday, July 28, when I enter the Blogathon to raise money for the Humane Society of Canada. Why the Humane Society? Animal welfare, the environment and wildlife are important issues to me and the Humane Society addresses all three. My own two cats came from the local shelter. So, with input from friends, I've decided to blog for an organisation that most people can get behind. It is also a social charity, for linked to animals are people. The Humane Society educates against abuse and waste and environmental degradation, which reflect on our own lives in a very immediate way.

Click to sponsor me !

Jerry Falwell is dead.

A friend of mine said, "I do not believe in speaking ill of the dead, they can do that for themselves." Generally, I agree with this sentiment, but there are some people, particularly vile blights upon the face of humanity for whom I am willing to make an exception.

Jerry Falwell had no idea what it means to be a 'true Christian'. If he did, he would not have spouted his cancerous hatred and intolerance for those different from himself. I hope, that if there is a heaven and hell (and I'm by no means convinced that there is), he has woken up to find himself in eternal burning agony from which there is no respite.

And now, I offer you, gentle reader, some of Jerry Falwell's legacy to the world:

“AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals.”

“If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being.”

“It appears that America's anti-Biblical feminist movement is at last dying, thank God, and is possibly being replaced by a Christ-centered men's movement which may become the foundation for a desperately needed national spiritual awakening.”

“The whole (global warming) thing is created to destroy America's free enterprise system and our economic stability.”

"I believe that global warming is a myth. And so, therefore, I have no conscience problems at all and I'm going to buy a Suburban next time."

"I think hell's a real place where real people spend a real eternity."

Well, Jerry, if you can figure out how to communicate from beyond the grave, tell us what it's like, okay?

I am listening to Russian folk songs on Voice of Russia, the English language international service, which is broadcast on CBC Overnight. It is folk music from each of Russia's geographical regions. I have so far enjoyed that from the North the most, which is sung by women. What I'm noticing is that the music sort of reflects the regions from which it comes. For instance, that northern music sounds full of longing and sadness. It was traditionally sung by women together as they did their chores and kept house. It sounds like the kind of music you'd sing in the middle of the dark winter when the men had gone out hunting. It is dark and haunting. And then there's the Cossack music, which is sung by both men and women, which sounds more like dramatic, windswept, hot and dusty fields, which is kind of like the steppes the Cossacks inhabited. Now, I'm generalising here, quite a bit, as they're really only playing one or two songs from each region, but presumably, they're playing those songs that are characteristic of the areas. Anyway, I think it's an interesting show. Often the Russian broadcast is quite dry and news-heavy, but this is quite different.

In other news, my car was scratched up by some asshole. I cannot afford to have it sanded and repainted, so I am first going to talk to a colleague who has a friend that does body work on cars. If he can't do anything with it, I'm going to go into Canadian Tire and buy some "Rally Blue" paint, which the man at Kia is a fair match. Whoever did the scratches managed to slightly dent the metal, too, which makes me quite upset. Usually up here, people drive with busted windshields. Not quite six months in, with just shy of 5000km on her, this happens. I'd call my insurance, but I think that the deductible will be almost as much as the repair cost anyway. So, I'll see if my co-worker can hook me up.

I don't have much else to say. Allow me to offer these salient facts: Yesterday was the anniversary of the Kent State University shooting. We recently had another college shooting in the news, but instead of troopers, it was a disturbed student. Not the same at all, but still terrible. There is a Mumps outbreak spreading across Canada, which follows on the same thread, because it started on a school campus down East. No shootings, though.

I see that the powers behind Blogger finally stopped being assy and fixed the account association problem so many of us users were having. I never bothered to do the manual fix, it was a hassel. I figured, and apparently quite rightly, that eventually the Google folk would fix Blogger so that the lazy, like me, and the less savvy users would be able to sign in and post anew. It's nice when I'm right.

Much has been happening since my lsat post. I went through the initial depression of having to return to Whitehorse and leave my beloved behind, but it was abreviated due to the hectic business of Gallery installation. I felt very much like a chicken with her head cut off, running hither and thither doing various things that were not part of my usual routine. It went alright, if a bit stressfully down to the wire, but it's up and running. As usual, the visiting artist was a champ, pitching in and helping with other gallery set-ups, and the tech sent up to us from the National Gallery was lots of fun. It was a bit strange to not have the old Curator kicking around and making us miserable in his sort of lovable way. The Acting Curator is a lot more evenly tempered. On the other hand, I don't think she'd take my abuse the same way.

Speaking of the Gallery, we're well on our way to having a Beadwork show. This is the show I'm sort of co-curating. It's very exciting for me. I'm nervous about it, too, because this kind of goes on my CV, you know? And I want it not to suck ! I guess any curator goes through that, or should do, anyway.

I'm winding up another semester of schooling, too. Currently, I'm having a heck of a time finishing my final paper. It's making me crazy. I suspect my writing style is going to get me a lower grade this time. I am feeling like I'm not being formal enough, but at the same time, the informal kind of chatty style I've fallen into just seems appropriate for the material. Well, we shall see - some time in July, when we get our marks. Hah.

Travel plans for my mother and I have been set. We'll be arriving in Vancouver June 23rd, visiting Vancouver and the Island together over about five days, and then taking the Alaska Ferry from Bellingham, WA to Skagway. We'll spend a night in Skagway and then take the White Pass Yukon Route train to Carcross where we shall be picked up by a friend of mine and driven the remaining hour to Whitehorse. I am quite excited about this. Possibly not as excited as my mother, but close. I really am looking forward to the whole adventure. Then, she'll stay with me for close to two weeks. I presume I'll give up my bed and take the futon - no one over 40 should sleep on a futon, it's just wrong. Additionally, while I'm down in Vancouver, I'm going to pop over to Burnaby for the White Stripes concert. I bought my ticket today. Woo !

And, the last exciting bit of news I have is that I have a horse to ride now ! I'm thrilled beyond words to be riding again. She, Marina, is a very nice mare. She's well schooled in her groundwork and has a sweet and gentle personality. I mean, she's no Peak, who is the best of all horses, but she's pretty nice.



She's part Andalusian and 1/4 each Appaloosa and Arab. I am looking forward to this summer ! If I could just know when next I'm seeing Gareth, I'd be set.

I'm slipping in this world called blogging. I maintain my LJ far more productively than I do this one. I'm not sure why. I used to keep this journal for serious writing, but I think maybe it's because I don't have the energy for serious writing anymore that keeps me from it. Perhaps that should be read as 'Maya is lazy'. And yet, I find the time to write about all kinds of trivial matters in the other. I don't know.

I've recently returned from the UK. If possible, I had a better time on this visit than the one in April of last year. The Griffiths clan seems to have accepted me into the fold, whereas last year I think I was being tested out. I'm the real thing, now, I guess. And if my travelling-to-see-Gareth incured debt is any indicator, I'm very, very serious about him, or very much the real thing.

This is not to say that Rick's family did not accept me or treat me like one of them, because they did. And over the years with Rick, I developed a strong relationship with, in particular, his mother. I never really felt embraced by the whole gang, though, even if I think they liked me well enough. In that regard, I feel very embraced by the Griffiths. They're an all-or-nothing kind of group, I think. And on this holiday, I was feeling the love from all sides.

Much like my relationship with Gareth, in that I feel like we've known each other for years and years, rather than less than two, I feel that same ease of communication and fellowship with his family. His mother and I are more alike than maybe he would wish and I really enjoy the company of his brother and sister, but more than that, I feel at home with them. This is a new experience for me.

They are comfortable enough leaving me to amuse myself, to wander around and make myself comfy, and I don't feel the need to ask permission all the time. This is not to say I don't ask for permission, because I do ! My mother raised me well enough to know one shouldn't rummage through cabinets and refridgerators without asking, first. But I get the sense that if I wanted to, that would be okay.

Life has been incredibly hectic for me over the past three weeks. Between the Curator leaving and me assuming many of the duties normally ascribed to him, the Gallery going into change-over, five visiting artists, Rick visiting from Toronto, and the Canada Winter Games taking place, I've been one Hell of a busy bee. My average day at work has been 9.5 hours in length and, boy, have I felt that.

Visiting with Rick was really nice. I was somewhat trepidatious (is that a word?) prior to his arrival, having not spent any real amount of time with him since, well, since before the break-up. I was pleasantly surprised at how well it all went. I could have lived without people referring to him as "the other boyfriend", but that's Whitehorse for you. He was a real trouper, too, being dragged to functions and soirées and the like. It was too bad that the weather was almost utterly unco-operative. Rather than the blue skies we normally have and the typical end of February temperatures in the area of -8C, we had heavy overcast, snow, icefog, and God help us all, temperatures that did not go above -25C any day of his visit. There was one very beautiful day, the day before his leaving, when we were able to see for miles in the clear, bright day, so we drove up to Braeburn, which is an hour north of Whitehorse, ate soup and bought a giant cinnamon bun. (I ate that bun for three days !)

In that time, I was also tootling visiting artists all around the countryside and bonding (or not, as the case may be) with them. A nice highlight was travelling with Brian Jungen and Craig Leblanc to Bean North up the Tahkini Road and enjoying the best coffee in the Yukon by a warm, airtight wood-burning stove, in a cabin in the woods. Lovely and very civilised. I look forward to being able to take my mom there when she visits here in the summer. Another high point was making friends with Shuvinai Ashoona, a delightful Inuit artist from Cape Dorset, and her chaperon, Michele. Shuvinai has some form of disorder, which I was told was schizophrenia, but I am not so sure. She sounds rather like an extremely high-functioning autistic in some ways. Anyway, she has trouble communicating because she speaks in metaphors and mixes her word use. Sometimes she is completely lucid, sometimes the metaphors make perfect sense (like when their luggage arrived a day late and she said, "The world is made of clothes !"), but other times she was impossible to understand. That said, I really clicked with her and we hugged and kissed (nose-kissing, Inuit style !!!) lots when it was time for her and Michele to depart.

Today, I have a day off and my cats are celebrating. They have been alternating between curling up and sleeping with me and wrestling with/chasing each other. They're so silly when they're happy. Adopting them was by far the best thing I could have done since arriving here. Which reminds me, as of February 24th, I have been here a year ! That makes me an official "sourdough", which strikes me as not that exciting, but it is something of a landmark. That's one year far away from home, one year really being an adult, one year struggling with demons and loneliness, one year learning a lot about myself, one year... well, you get the idea. Regardless, having the boys in my life since May has made 9 of those 12 months much better than they would have been without.

I've just had a bath. Baths aren't for everyone; many people prefer showers. I, too, enjoy a shower, nice and hot, but tonight there was nothing for it but a bath. For a change, the cats didn't bother me so I was left with uninterrupted reading time. I prefer to read mindless or leisure books in the tub, for two reasons. Firstly, I take bathtime as me time and, secondly, I would really hate to drop an expensive historical or art history book in the water. I did that when I first moved out here. Call it over eagerness, or something, but my "Concise History of the Crusades" has never looked the same. My current bathtub reading is "Eragon", which I scavenged from the Arts Centre lost and found after it had sat unclaimed for at least five months. It's that fantasy book that was recently turned into a not-very-good fantasy movie (or at least, so I've heard). It was written by a very literate, articulate teenager, and all the vocuabulary in the world isn't going to change his age and breadth of world knowledge. It is, without a doubt, a very basic story. Sort of like "Star Wars", only with swords, word magic and dragons instead of light sabres, the Force, and X-Wings. Like I said, mindless reading for the tub.

Anyway, I thought I'd actually stun you by going back and rehashing some of my Christmas holiday. I think I'll offer some highlights, rather than a blow by blow acount. I'll start with the Bioware Corp Christmas party, which I attended in Edmonton. My friend Brian works there and I was his date. Let me tell you, I have never attended a work party like this before in my life. Three or four open bars, including a martini/cocktail bar, dinner (which I missed due to my plane landing late), a stand-up comedian, live dj spinning a decent mix, enormous dance floor, Guitar Hero on the big screen (awesome game, that), a midnight mini-buffet, dessert tables and did I mention the open bars? Oh ya, and everyone got a taxi chit to get home. I made friends with the girlfriend of Brian's friend Stan. Her name is for the moment escaping me, but it will come to me eventually. I blame the steam from the bath. Anyway, she's tall, gorgeous, and rollickingly funny. And she's coming to Whitehorse with her choir in May ! Woo !

Christmas with Mom was beautiful. It always is. We had it real easy this year, which was nice, because I was kind of pooped when I arrived home on Christmas Eve morning. She was waiting with coffee brewed. That was possibly one of the nicest things I've experienced in a long time. We talked for a bit, then we both went to bed. It only took Chester an hour to decide that having me home was a good thing, too. He's a great cat. Then there was tree decorating, present wrapping, a quiet dinner just the two of us, and then Church. Christmas day was equally subdued, but in a nice way. I was just so happy to be home. I didn't even mind the lack of snow. In fact, I was rather relishing the unseasonably balmy weather.

Christmas is my favourite holiday, without a doubt, and quite possibly the single most persuasive argument against my ever having a bat mitzvah. Sure, it's supposed to be about the birth of Joshua, I mean Jesus, but since it's pretty clear he wasn't actually born at Christmas, and the whole shebang is essentially a conglomeration of all the best bits of several Pagan traditions, I'm okay being a mostly-Jew celebrating Christmas. Though maybe I'll start calling it Yule. All that aside, I love Christmas. Some of my happiest memories, even when the holiday could have been ruined by other awful things (a father in lock-up, a mother straight out of killer surgery, etc.), I only look at it as the best time of the year. I might not belive in Santa, and I held on to that belief for years, but I do believe in magic, particularly that created from love and closeness. Thanks for that, Mom, you're the best.

Okay, it's 12:30am, so I guess I'll leave off for now. But since I can't get enough talking about Gareth, I will most likely be back with more content.

Man, this Blogger/Google business has obviously been screwing with Blogger, because the last three times I tried to update this journal, what they're calling "Old Blogger" has been down for maintenance. I would really hate to have to close this journal after six years because the new site owners are twats.

At any rate, I promise to return with a full holiday update, but for tonight, I'm going to talk about more recent things.

I've just come back from picking up Kid Koala (one of the world's finest turntablists) at the Airport. I went with Matt and I made a sign that said Mr. Koala with a happy koala on it. Eric, the Artistic Director was also there and he told me to put the sign away because the Yukon Arts Centre doesn't do signs. I told him it would be an exception because it was a fancy homemade sign. Kid Koala came through and was clearly looking for a sign, saw it, smiled and I got to say to Eric, "hah." Yes, I'm that small.

While I was waiting for Matt to pick me up, around 11:45pm, the aurora borealis was just magnificent. Three stripes of bright green with waves of varying intensity moving down them like the "file loading" bar on a computer. Heh, I live in the future, don't I? Anyway, they were quite extraordinary and I was sorry when Matt arrived. When we reached the airport, they had quieted down somewhat. Naturally, when we left half an hour later with Kid Koala, they had stopped completely. By the time Matt dropped me back home, they were back. Subtler, but arrayed in rays and swirls that filled a quarter of the sky, mainly in the northeast. Taking out my garbage has never been so beautiful.

Anyway, in other news, but still related to the Arts Centre, the Curator has accepted a position as the inaugural Executive Director of the new Nanaimo Art Gallery, which means, of course, that he'll be leaving Whitehorse. While I'm sorry that he'll be leaving, particularly now that I've met his wife and I like her very much, I'm very pleased for him. This is a great step in his career. I attended the Board of Directors' meeting with him on Monday for his announcement. At that time he also stated to the Board that the same procedures ought to be followed for the next Curator's hiring as were used for his. A committee made of members of the Board and the community, preferably with the outgoing Curator on it as well, should be struck and the candidate search should be national in scope. Simply put, there is no one in the Yukon who is qualified for the job. There are rumours that someone no more qualified than me has already been approached, but we shall see. If that is the case and the Board chooses not to heed the Curator's advice, I might have something to say, but as it stands, I'll see how it goes. I might be pleasantly surprised.

Those are the big news items as of this week. I have a sink full of dishes I am resolutely ignoring, a pair of vocal and very bouncy cats, a fantastic car, and am currently on a break from school. The next semester starts in February... right when my life at the Arts Centre starts getting ridiculously busy again. C'est la vie.

The days are so short. So far, it isn't as bad as I expected it to be. I had this notion that I wouldn't see the sun or something. Intellectually, I knew I would, of course, but nonetheless, there is more daylight than I anticipated. That's not to say there is much, but there's enough. If it would be more consistently sunny, that would be nice. We're having a Chinook, at the moment, which is a warm Pacific trend blowing over the mountains. It's lovely. I even wore a skirt (with leg-warmers) tonight, and haven't needed to zip up my coat for a couple of days. Now this is how winter is supposed to be (in my world). I got my car's winter tires just in time ! They make driving in the vaguely mucky, slippy, slushy snow a lot easier. Who knew, you really don't need 4WD to survive winter.

Having a car is really wonderful. I guess I can afford to have next to no disposable income in exchange for freedom - or at least the sense of some liberation. Tonight, just for the heck of it, after going with Andrew to Brave New Works and Wonton soup, I took a drive. Originally in mind to see the local Christmas lights, it seems Whitehorse is a lot like Peterborough in that people's lights go off by 10pm. Yeesh. People ! It's Friday night ! Anyway, I ended up on the Alaska Highway. Having not had the chance to really try out the car (who is named Viola, by the way) on the highway, this was as good an opportunity as any. It was lovely. The gas consumption was minimal and the handling steady, comfortable, and at 120kph, it was neither terribly noisy, nor did the car feel like she was straining. I turned around at a photo point about half an hour north of Whitehorse and then came home. If I hadn't, I'd probably have driven to Haines Junction !

Before meeting with Andrew, I went and hung out at Zola's Cafe and chatted with one of my favourite people here, Meshell, a very funky, execptionally warm-hearted fabric artist. I also wandered over to Studio 204 to take in the Plastic show. I wrote about the artist, Jen Williams, in What's Up Yukon a few weeks back, so I thought I'd better see it. To get an idea of how she uses the iconic Barbie doll to highlight contemporary issues, check out her site. It's nothing new under the sun, heck, back in Grade 5, or so, I distinctly remember a Mad Magazine that featured the mock ad for Bag Lady Barbie and Wino Ken, but William's work is fun and provocative (at least in Whitehorse), and she's a lovely gal to chat with. I like articulate, unprepossessing artists.

In other news, totally unrelated to artists or driving, I'm going to hire the boys upstairs to look after Choco and Twee when I go home. I figure I'll pay them $25 each and they'll take it more seriously. I remember when I was a kid and got paid by my neighbours a whopping $30 to look after their cats. $25 each will be great for these kids, I think. And they like cats and they live right here. I will leave them a list of things that need to be done, like the litter, feeding the beasts twice a day, playing with them, etc., plus I'll leave numbers for emergencies. I'm mostly concerned that my cats keep out of trouble while I'm gone. No doubt, every drawer and cupboard will be opened every day during my absence. At least they keep each other entertained. But ohhhh, the wrecking of my things... I should probably invest in toddler locks... Well, we'll see. It won't be so bad if the neighbours are coming in and out and amusing the cats.

And now, I shall go wash off my make-up and get ready for bed. It's been a nice day off, but I'm working this weekend, so I can't stay up late or be irresponsible. Hah. You know, when I got stopped by the RCMP tonight doing a drunk drive check, I had to laugh. "Nope," said I to the cute officer who was probably straight out of the academy, "I haven't had anything to drink - except a lot of wonton soup."

In 20 days, I will be on my way home. I'll be milling around in Edmonton, in fact, waiting for my red-eye flight to Pearson International. Wow, I am really looking forward to it. As much as I like my work, the stress that comes with it (most of it unnecessary and caused by people who should know better) can keep me up at night. I'm not exaggerating. There was a point early last week, where I really felt I could just pack it all in and leave because there was no point anyway. I was having anxiety dreams and really wanted to hide from the world. My friends Owen and Andrew both seemed concerned that I really would throw my hands in the air and flee back to the South, but that is because they don't know me well enough, yet. I fight for the stuff I believe in, dig my heels in and don't let go. How was that for mixing a metaphor? At any rate, I assured them I wasn't prepared to go just yet. There are a few things I need to accomplish first, then... well, at that point, who knows? It also hasn't helped that I haven't spoken to Gareth in over a week. Not even really on-line. It's the end of semester and he's working on projects, but nonetheless, it sure would have been nice to talk to him when I was feeling so low and vulnerable.

So, I entered the week with knots in my stomach and I went out with knots in it, but a different sort of knot - the excited sort. On Thursday I finally went for a test drive of the Kia Rio5. I first inquired about the Rio5 in September. I was looking to lease in October, near the end of the month, which was when I was told it would be arriving on the lot. There were delays. Mainly, I was told, due to a strike keeping the car on a dock in Vancouver for three weeks. I pretty much lost heart. But, after being denied a line of credit at the BMO, and offered a shitty loan at the same bank, I got a line of credit at President's Choice Financial, I was free to buy a used vehicle. So I planned to do this. I made calls and inquiries and each time the car would get sold to someone else. Feeling despondent, I was just about to flip open the classifieds one more time when I saw the light blinking on my office phone. What was it? A message from the Kia dealer saying the car had arrived.

See where this is going?

On Thursday, butterflies in my stomach, I left work and headed down to the lot where the car was waiting for me. It was adorable and blue and I liked it immediately. The roads were bad, what with it being cold and snowing, so my test drive never got the car on the highway nor even over 3rd gear (it's a standard), but I liked it. It rode nicely and heated up quickly. I also got to bond with the dealer as he scraped the ice off the inside of the windshield (a very common occurance up here) with a razor blade ("Oh great, I get to test-drive the Kia to the ... hospital", I told him when he almost cut off his finger). Very neat trick. I will invest in a blade for such purposes. When I returned to the dealership, I asked him to start an application. I wanted the car. And never mind leasing - I decided I wanted to have an asset and so I would opt for financing. It's a long finance period: 5-7 years, but it has no catches, no penalties if I buy it out early.

Friday morning, the message on my answering machine at work told me I had been approved. I was thrilled. My mother had offered to co-sign if I failed the check, but I didn't want that. I passed, though, and then it was off to the insurance company to get me some. I went through the TD Bank mmmmm-something and opted for the full package and am paying a reasonable rate of 730ish bucks a year. Not too shabby. The insurance company faxed the particulars to the Kia dealer, who went down to the vehicle registration centre and even got me my plate. My mother was stunned when I told her I drove the car off the lot Friday night. Sure, it didn't have winter tires yet, nor the mandatory block-heater, but I'm taking the car in tomorrow to have both done. Now the issue is, do I go for studs on the tires or full winter tires. To have winter tires installed, I'm probably looking at $500, including labour, which is really effing expensive, but then I'll have them for next year, too. I will discuss it tomorrow. I don't really have the money at the moment, what with rent having just gone through. But... I have that line of credit, so...

THIS IS MY BABY !

It is remarkably satisfying to have to make such adult decisions ! Seriously. Sure, I won't have any disposable income for a while now, but I have the freedom to just, you know, pop out to the store, or go downtown for a drink. And that's something. That's a LOT of something.

Anyway, now I must go be responsible and get some homework done. I've been seriously falling behind. I'm about two units back from where I need to be and that makes me a little unhappy with myself, especially since it hasn't been that busy a week. Relatively speaking, anyway.

Today is a much-needed day off. Really, another day off would be even better, however, one mustn't complain. I'm just happy I can spend a day in my nightshirt, tucked up with my cats while I do such things as catch up on correspondence, read, do homework, wash dishes, etc. I should clean my apartment, but it'll just have to wait. Vacuuming would seriously detract from the peace I'm enjoying today. I'm listening to Early Music and talking to as few people as possible. (Haha, my phone is ringing right now and I'm not answering it.)

I have had a nice weekend, despite working. On Saturday morning, I woke up when my doorbell sounded. Confused, I pulled on some pants and staggered to the door to see my friend Andrew peering in. Oh yes, we had a date to go look at stuff at a living room sale. Silly me, I must have turned off my alarm in my sleep. Fifteen minutes, I assured him, and sure enough, 20 minutes later, we were backing out and heading off. It amazes me that I can put on a face and clothing in that little time. The living room sale was good, even though I was mainly there for Andrew. He purchased a kitchen table and a rocking chair, and I a pair of CD racks. We were served coffee and given grab backs of stuff when we left. It was fun.

We went to the Bonanza Inn for a greasy spoon sort of breakfast. In the foyer, we met Anna, an old friend of mine from highschool back in Toronto. I'd met her in the spring when I first arrived in Whitehorse, but we'd never gotten together. Well, we did at the Bonanza. We enjoyed a very tasty breakfast with her and her son and nephew, and her sister was our waitress. A guy named Len joined us at some point later, who was obviously, like Anna, a regular there. Good times were had by all. We also heard a rumour that the Arts Centre exec would be leaving, which amused me.

After work, Andrew returned to the Arts Centre and we prepared to watch a classical concert featuring the most talented Susanne Yi-Jia Hou on violin. She is an extremely personable and charming young violinist of Canada, who has been busy touring the world with her accompanyist, Vincent, a graduate of Juliard's Masters programme. They were excellent together and clearly have a good rapport, at least as musicians, and I presume personally, too. I dozed on and off through the Schubert, which is not a reflection of the playing, but of my level of exhaustion. It reminded me of when I was a kid and dozing off at the Messiah - I woke for all my favourite parts and enjoyed it thoroughly. It's a really pleasant way to snooze. I was amused at the reception when the local opera diva, Sonja Anderssen (sp?), who had been roped into turning pages for the pianist at last minute, told Hou that she didn't "play the music". No. She "sings" it. I presume for an opera diva, that is the highest of compliments. Even a diva of, in my opinion, less ability than her attitude suggests. Heh, Hou took it graciously, of course.

Sunday, I ran a KidzKreate in the Production Room/Studio Theatre. It was themed "Stark Raven Mad" to incorporate the Raven Tales show in the Gallery, by local Yukon artist Alice Park-Spurr. It had a moderate turn-out, but that's okay, since the weather was snowy and the roads somewhat precarious. (Hello, Whitehorse, have you ever heard of snowplows?) One of the little boys attending hugged me goodbye at the end - it was so cute. I also started hanging a new exhibit in the KidzGallery (which I'm thinking of renaming). Once I was at home, as I was deprived of my Masterpiece Theatre fix, I spent the evening doing mounds of homework and reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which I'm enjoying way too much. I broke my own rule ! Never, I say, read two books in the same series one after the other, for without proper spacing, you're left waiting for the next installment. Sadly, I'll be waiting for the next installment, but Order of the Phoenix was just so good, I had to pick up the next one.

Anyway, now I should go wash my dishes and start marinating my steak.

It's a strange feeling, realising that you really are no longer part of a group. It's not a feeling I much like, either, as it makes me think of all the times I'd been excluded by my peers when I was a kid. I'm not saying my friends back in Ontario don't still love me, because they do, but I'm not part of their lives. What had been a 'great' idea, to have me join in to stuff via webcam has been forgotten, even when I've reminded them, and while it's not really that important, I guess, it's symbolic of something larger. Here I am, trying to cling to the familiar, in part because it's so hard to build a real social network here, and I'm being forced to move on.

The show is up in the Gallery, the artists have come and gone. I was, once again, the liaison and spent a lot of time shuttling them hither and yon. The two artists up from Toronto, John Greyson (filmmaker) and David Wall (composer), were truly delightful. I had a wonderful time with them. They represented, to me, everything I love about Toronto. Physical contact, quick wit, an expansive intellectual intelligence, an openess about issues, style, and generosity of spirit. Yes, on the whole, there is a coldness to Toronto, a superficial charm that is only a veneer to the distant and apathetic nature of the city, but these men were not like that at all. I laughed and talked with them in a way I haven't with anyone else since arriving here (Gareth not included). Even my flat, Torontonian accent deepened ('innerac' vs. 'interac').

In other news that won't make me feel more of a funk, my cats are awesome. Twee is a bossy boots when it comes to demanding things like attention, food, love - complaining loudly and generally reminding myself and Choco of his existence. Choco is still a silly boy and gets himself into jackpots, like when he jumped into the tub again while it was full of water. And he knew it ! What a dork. And when he got himself stuck in my chest of drawers. Twee, yowls terribly when I shower because it is obviously trying to eat me, but sleeps next to the tub when I am taking a bath. Both boys sleep with me at night, sometimes under the covers, which is really warm, and vie for my lap when I sit on the couch. I'm very, very happy that I adopted them, both of them. They are my little treasures in this remote and sometimes lonely place.

There's a certain segment of the population in every Canadian centre. By centre, I mean every town over 1000 people, and by segment, I mean the high-earning, upper-middle class WASP. Who are these people? Well, they often believe in fiscal conservatism while supporting a social safety net, and they frequently go to events like "the opera" because they believe it's something they ought to do, although when asked, many of them aren't sure they "get" it. They work as lawyers, doctors, upper management in Government; sometimes they're well enough off that they don't really need to work at all. Additionally, they have pleasant if not 'good' taste, believe that Christmas comes with a cinnamon and evergreen scent, have lots of large books that they've never read but leave out in strategic places so that people think they're clever, have a dog, a cat, and two cars in their garage. Often, the wives work, but don't really need to; it's mostly to "keep busy" or "get out of the house" or even to put their "university education to use". Frequently these women are blonde, though not by nature. Probably, these people are all over the western world.

You know the type.

They're many of the people that go to fundraisers and galas and drop wads of cash for questionable products in support of hospitals and causes. In large centres, they also support the Arts. In smaller centres, where frequently the Arts struggle for notice, they don't. Well, Whitehorse has a shockingly high number of these people, because it is, primarily, a Government town, employing many people into the public sector, to, so far as I can tell, run a territory that wouldn't have much a population to speak of if it weren't, you know, for the government. Back in Toronto, when I worked at the ROM in the Membership Department, I was disgustingly good at parting these people from their money and making them feel special at events (mainly so that they would continue to be parted with their money).

Well, tonight I saw that segment of the population here in Whitehorse and I realised something. With the exception of possibly 20 or so of the 200 people (possibly more) in attendance, these people are not making it to the Gallery. To the Theatre, probably some of them, but into the Gallery for more than just an Intermission stroll? Not so much. They are not taking an active role in the Visual Arts at all. And tonight, watching them ogle fashions created by a local, rather pleasant - if not to my tastes - though not spectacular fashion designer who seems to specialise in gowns and party frocks, I realised we're missing out. We being the Arts Centre. We're missing out big time. When you can actually consider, without batting an eyelash, purchasing a charming, if not particularly interesting, wool toque for 70 to 110 dollars, or frou-frou organza numbers for a whole hell of a lot more, despite living in a climate that requires Sorel -40 boots for five months of the year, I need to meet you. I NEED TO TAKE YOUR MONEY.

I once swore I would not do fundraising again, and mostly, I mean it, but the Arts Centre does nothing to raise funds. It's the most pathetic Arts organisation, ever They have two boards, a board of directors and a foundation board. The foundation board is responsible for raising money specifically for the Gallery collection, so I've been told, and in five years, this board has not raised a finger, nor raised a penny. Coincidence? Hah, not likely. They make the excuse that as the population ages, they will ramp up their activities to gain those sweet, sweet bequests - you know, the gifts from or in the name of dead people. Right.

And what of all the living people? What of the incredibly well-paid two-income government households with money burning their pockets? Those people who wear clothes that look casual, but you just know they paid lots of money for them, and who drive SUVs but don't seem to understand the 'utility' part of the name? Who can comfortably take a family of four from the Yukon to the Carribean for their holidays? The very same people who were at tonights fashion show?

Right, well, the foundation doesn't seem to see the wide world of wealthy people, even though it is apparently made up of them. The reason, I think, is because Whitehorse is the home of Government hand-out and entitlement. Truly, the home is not Ottawa, like people seem to think, it's here. Where people get paid $150K a year to head commissions that do nothing but make plans that go no where.

Like I said, why the hell aren't they being milked for Arts support? They'll dish out 230 bucks for a necklace that is made of semi-precious stones on two strings with a bobble, but they won't put five dollars in the Gallery admission box. What is wrong with that picture? If, in my time here, I can run an event each year that brings money IN to the Gallery, I will be thrilled. A couple of events, a doubling (at least) of school attendance, and a handful of exciting shows that I have curated for the Community Gallery, then I will have a fat portfolio that I can take anywhere in the world.

But first... first I need to do some homework.

I'm cheaping out, but with Hallowe'en almost upon us (yes, it has an apostrophe, damn it), I figure I can't gripe about this enough. I don't know when I became such a snob, but I presume it's been a long time coming. As previously posted in my livejournal: my complaint about spellings.

I spell Hallowe'en with that little do-hicky called an apostrophe. That was how they taught me to spell it in school. Like co-operate with an hyphen. Two things that do not happen in regular English spelling anymore.

WHY NOT?

Hallowe'en - a contraction of (All) Hallow Even(ing).
Co-operate without the hyphen should be pronounced COOP (like chickens) and that is still how my brain reads it.

Who told people to stop doing it? Was it just collective laziness on the part of spellers? Is there a Language Institute (like the org that sets the colour trend standards three years in advance) that makes language changes and subtly folds them into our usage without our knowing?

Witchology.com (who comes up with names like that?), which was the first hit when I googled "hallowe'en spelling" says the UK spelling uses the apostrophe, so my question is... is the U next? Already I see my friends dropping it in favour (note the U, people) of the American spelling.

STOP THE MADNESS ! Please, my Canadian friends, do not give in to the lazy spellings dictated by a angry Dictionarian (Webster).

But I digress. I blame the insidiousness of shlock style-guides telling people how to write.

I was asked why I use the British S over the American Z in words like 'organise' and my answer was really quite simple: "The sound S makes when placed alone between two vowels is usually Z-like. I figure, if that's the case, I'll go with the version used by the people spelling in English longer."

Yes. I think way too much about these things.

The juggling act has begun. In the past, it was full-time school and a part-time job; now it's a full-time job and part-time school. The other main difference is that I'm studying from home, which is a challenge to both my motivation and time management. As a slacker with a fluid sense of time, this is really hard. I think I'll get the swing of things - I'll have to - but until then, the balancing act and self-bribery required to get things done is a trick. I've got faith in myself, I know I'll pull it off, but this semester might be a bit harder than the others because I don't, as of yet, know what to expect.

The box of supplies (reading materials, activities, etc.), which they call a 'package' was as large as the bankers' boxes I shipped my books in, though not quite as heavy. Each module has a fat binder filled with readings and exercises, essentially, the 'course' itself, plus books and, in this case, a DVD. There is a tutorial that I must do and at the end of it all, due at the start of January, there is a not-insubstantial essay for marks. I haven't written an academic essay in a few years and they have a very specific set of rules governing how sources are to be cited. Thankfully, I really enjoy footnotes. There were so many materials, though, that it was imperative that I build my last piece of furniture - the second of my 6' bookcases.

Additionally, I've picked up a semi-regular freelance gig with What's Up Yukon, which while not paying a ton, certainly will help put groceries in my refridgerator. The piece I've just been offered is a feature on the next three artists coming up in the Gallery. I will try my hardest to keep any bias out of it. Heh. I guess that says something for the editor's impression of the first short piece I submitted. Go me !

I just have to remember what my real purpose here in the Yukon is. I've got an excelent job and that is why I'm here. I'm one person and must not bite off more than I can chew, even if my mouth is big. I have created for myself a clear timeline for priorities based on work and school and I will work on my self-discipline to adhere to it. People have expectations of me, and I have expectations of me, and I really don't want to muck this up. I've got a long history of dashing my own personal expectations, while some how managing to salvage most of those set by others. Now, I have to stay serious and get what I need to get done so I can move on in life. I hope I can do it !

I've had a particularly gruelling week, though today is currently quite mellow. It has involved a conference, several varied tours, spending a lot of time driving people (for the conference) back and forth, shmoozing, eating, planning tours, playing phonetag, writing an article, and unfortunately arguing with my boss. Not so cool with that last one. But it's all added up to one heck of a week.

Twice now, I've tried to cook squash. Bake. Whatever. First it was an acorn squash, which took forever and totally wasn't worth the labour involved and the second was a spaghetti squash, which I tried to bake last night. When I cut it open, I was horrified to discover that part of its innards were rotten. Gross. And the part that was good, wasn't particularly tasty. Not with salt, not with butter. I give up. If it isn't pumpkin, I don't want to bother. And if it is pumpkin, I'll take it IN things, thanks.

I was supposed to work this weekend, but my boss decided that he would work and I would take the three days off (long weekend for Thanksgiving) and rest up because "I look like I need it." Jerk. Anyway, I contemplated going to Anchorage with my friend Hoshq, but that's a lot of driving (like 22 hours or something) for just three days off. It would be a stunning drive, I'm sure, but would it be worth it? Well, maybe it would, but I'm not going to find out, because I don't think I'm up for that kind of driving. I'd consider driving up to Carmacks or Faro... those could be daytrips, but not all the way to Anchorage.

Anyway, tonight, Owen and a I are having dinner at Hoshq's cabin. Potluck style. It should be fun and rustic and about as close to a Thanksgiving dinner as I'm going to come this year. I shall sorely miss my mother's awesome cranberry sauce and crabapples, and the turkey, but since no one is actually generous enough in this town to invite us outsiders into their homes for such holidays, dinner tonight will have to do. I'm planning on bringing pumpkin pie. :)

And, finally, in still more utterly unrelated news, I woke up this morning to the odour of Twee lying on the pillow next to mine, stinking of poo because he had a turd stuck in his fur. And then, seconds later, Choco arrived and after a few sniffs, tried to bury Twee's bum. Needless to say, I woke up, chucked Mr. Poopypants off the bed and then chased him with a kleenex until I rid him of said clingon. YUCK.

After a day that looked and felt like a cold blustery November day in Toronto, today is rather nice. Unfortunately, I would estimate that 50% of the golden leaves that had been holding on have since blown down. And, slowly but surely, the snow is now creeping down the mountain sides. It's on the taller mountains surrounding Whitehorse, and Mount Lorne is looking particularly spiffy. Golden Horn and MacIntyre are speckled white and Grey Mountain has had snow but it has melted off again. I'm more comfortable with the snow now than I was in August, that's for sure.

I'm working 70 hours this week for some extra dough. I'm the transportation captain for this weekend's conference, so we went and picked up our walkie-talkies this morning. That was fun. I won't get a lot of sleep, though, which is a shame because I really do enjoy sleeping. However, an additional 40% supplementing this coming paycheque is welcome and will get used either to put down a security deposit on a lease vehicle or purchase part of my airfare home to TO for Christmas. I've also picked up some freelance work for "What's Up Yukon", the arts rag that's published every two weeks. It wants to be "Now Magazine" when it grows up. It doesn't pay much, but it pays enough to buy me some groceries.

Speaking of money, the saga continues. I finally had my meeting at the Bank of Montreal today about the loan I applied for. In that time, I came to the realisation that it will be nearly impossible to find a decent vehicle, 5 years old or under, for $8000. I've been doing my research. It ain't gonna happen unless a miracle occurs. So, I've been out visiting the Import dealerships here (Subaru/Kia, Toyota, and Nissan) and test driving their new mini-models. Kia doesn't have the Rio5s in right now, but it was estimated I could get a lease rate of 260/month. I test drove the Yaris five-door hatchback, which was quite zippy and fun, and was given the rate of 244/month, which is better than the Kia. I finally test drove the Nissan Versa today, too, and it was absolutely the -most- fun to drive of the lot of them and felt quite "European". It is a small, sexy car, but the rate I would get would be 298/month, so it's also the priciest. Probably out of my range, even.

Getting back to the bank, today; I talked to the representative about getting a line of credit instead of the loan. Denied ! Flatly. Seriously, I was flat out denied and there was no room to negotiate. So, I asked about a better loan rate that would allow me to actually find a vehicle and was informed that based on my income, and utter lack of assets, I wouldn't get much more than what they're offering, which at 5.5% + prime (approximately 11.5%), isn't really all that great. So, this leaves me somewhat screwed, but I'm just going to hang onto the wonderful sensation of rocketing along in SIXTH gear in that little Versa. Mmmmmm.

First of all, I had three days of migraine headache. I ended up calling out on Thursday and sleeping through most of the day. I think part of the reason (other than it being that time of the month) has been due to stress. Stress at work - being busy with little time to recouperate, financial stress regarding loans/lines of credit for the vehicle, etc. It's a catch 22 you see. If I don't get a vehicle, I can save some money, but if I don't have one, I feel extremely isolated. If I get one, I will alleviate some of my 'trapped' feeling, but I'll put myself into debt, nevermind not being able to save money. The thing is, I've been really unhappy this week, and part of the reason is exactly that 'trapped' feeling of isolation. It is bad enough that there is no other city to go to, nothing within a few hours drive, or that to get most places it takes at least one plane, usually two.

I realised that I hate the feeling of being penned in, of enforced isolation. I hate making more money than ever before and finding myself just as caught by prices and expenses as when I was poor. I hate that when my mother says, "But how will you save money?" my answer is, "I won't." I hate that to make myself feel better, I buy things, which, of course, uses money. I hate that the people of this city, in many ways, do nothing to alleviate the sensation of entrapment, too. I told Rick that I 'hate it here', which may not be true, because I really don't think I do, but I hate a lot of things about it. Of course, I like things, too.

For instance, I like that I was able to go for a walk and sit on a rock overlooking the greenspace behind my apartment and think about things. I sat, in the sun, surrounded by golden trees, undisturbed for half an hour. That is when I came to the realisation that I really dislike it here. Not 'here' specifically, but because of all those things I mentioned, I really have strong negative feelings. But I also realised, while sitting on the rock, that I can change how I feel about this place. I have the power to control what I take from the experience. My second cousin taught English in Japan for two years and could only think about the differences between here and there and it made her dislike the experience intensely. I don't want to be like her. I want to come out of this Whitehorse experience feeling better for it, like it wasn't a waste, or hateful.

So I got to thinking about what I need to do in order to change how I feel. There's no question, I have to have a vehicle. Preferably while it's still nice so I can... you know, go places, but that's probably a pipe dream (I won't have the money until October, at which point it will no longer be nice). I need to accept that I will live with debt for a while. I think it will be impossible for me to save money here. I must concentrate my efforts to do the best job I can do here at the Arts Centre, get the experience I need, work my buns off for my Masters, and then, perhaps, if I'm one of the very lucky, I'll eventually make enough money (doing what I love? Is that even possible?) to climb out of debt. I guess life is full of these challenges and choices, so I need to make mine as carefully as possible to get the things I need and hopefully some of what I want, too. I mean, this time last year I had just arrived in Winnipeg and being in the position I am now in was not even imagined.

Oh, life. Better than the alternative.

A bond between cats is a powerful thing. My boys, Choco and Twee, are truly bonded, the way Willi was bonded to me. They share everything, from my bed to catnip toys; they are a delightful pair. Twee asserts himself with me more now, demanding my attention and Choco can stand to be in a room without Twee, now, but nonetheless, they are best friends.

I have been getting home really late (for a work night) most nights over the past week. It's installation time at the Gallery, you see. Sometimes I remember to turn on my porch light, but mainly I forget. I guess my head is still somewhere in July when it would still be light out. Anyway, tonight I got home around 11:30pm and it was pitch black in my apartment and outside. I unlocked my door after several missed attempts; on the other side, my cats were whipped up into a frenzy of meowing, waiting for me to come in and feed them. When I open my door, I tend to thrust in my foot, or my backpack to keep the beasts at bay - I'm not keen on them dashing out. The first time they escaped, it was a bit nerve-wracking to get little Choco back in. At night, I don't usually have to worry about them escaping, they're more interested in dinner.

Tonight, however, Choco, who was completely whipped up, took it upon himself to throw himself over my foot and out into the wilds. Crap, I thought, but instead of panicking, I went inside, leaving the door open and calling to Twee for his supper. I thought that might entice Choco back in. I realised after putting kibble in both of their plates, Choco had not returned, so I flipped on my outside light and went out to see about retrieving him, shutting Twee in. I called and immediately heard Choco's little voice in answer, excited and not too far away. I called again, he answered, and I followed him, but he was in the process of moving up into the front of the house.

Around the side, where my living room window is, the outdoor light came on (motion sensor) and I got a clear view of Choco who was hesitating now. I stood there, calling him, trying not to sound nervous or upset because he's very sensitive to that. The thing is, Choco doesn't really come when he's called. Despite sleeping with me, lying on my lap, and being fairly lovey with me now, he hasn't gotten to that level of domesticity with me.

Then I heard another little cat voice, at first thinking it belonged to one of the neighbour's cats, until I realised it was beside me. There was big Twee in the living room window, which was open, calling. He could see Choco climbing around the parked cars. Twee got very insistent, using the same tone he saves when calling Choco for a game, or just trying to figure out where in the apartment Choco might be. Immediately, Choco stopped and answered Twee. Twee called him again, face pressed right to the screen of the window. Choco took two steps toward me, Twee called once more and Choco bolted for the door.

When I let him in, Twee backed up to let Choco through. Choco was all excited, his tail was all frizzy, and he was miewing kitten-like with excitement at Twee. I assumed that Twee had eaten the dinner I had put down for them, and wanting to reward Choco for coming back in, I went to their food tin. What I discovered was that Twee, who, as Gareth says, has the heart and soul of a wumpus, had actually abandoned his dinner to come to the window and call out in concern. He knew something was wrong and that Choco was missing. I couldn't stop myself from picking Twee up and hugging him hard - something he usually isn't keen on. This time, as though he understood, he just let me, purring the whole time.

Now, Choco is lying pressed up against me in bed as I type, exhausted from his wilderness adventure and feeling, I think, a bit vulnerable. Suits me just fine; better him here then out there.

In other animal related news, tonight I saw the biggest fox I have ever seen. Foxes are not usually large animals. This was an enormous fox. I couldn't believe it for what it was, at first. I found it because en route to the private studio/gallery I about to visit, I met a Subaru pulled up on the highway shoulder with its four-way flashers on. I thought it was a problem, at first, until I saw the guy sitting in the window, elbows on the roof of the car, camera in hand. Naturally, I pulled over, too.

I honestly didn't know what I was looking at. Surely, I thought, that cannot be a fox. It was huge. It was the size of a wolf. But it was red. Bear? said my brain that still couldn't believe it was a fox. No, said my eyes, looking at its slender features, long nose and black points, that is a fox. I took a couple of truly terrible photos of it and then headed back into the car and up to the gallery.

People refused to believe me when I said it was a fox, but huge. "No, it was a wolf," said one in a tone that suggested I knew nothing because I was from a big city. I looked her straight in the eye and said, "It was alone. Wolves are not solitary. And it was red. Wolves are also not red." Not sure whether they should believe me, I decided to leave it alone until I spoke with the studio owner.

"Oh you saw him, did you? Isn't he gorgeous?" "So I'm not crazy and it is an enormous fox?" "Of course - he's often around here, did you see him on the road?" "Yup, just watching the cars go by from the edge of the woods. But he's so big. He's at least twice the size of a normal fox." "Yes, he's pretty amazing."

Vindicated ! I know what a damn fox looks like. Wolf, my ass.