I've known for almost 2 months but I've still not had much time to absorb it all. Instead, I've been madly trying to survive a full time job, the election, and a 24 hour hangover.... morning sickness is an all day, all night affair - one that I have been dealing with for 8 weeks and counting, causing me to actually lose weight instead of gain it even with a little peach inside of me now.

Amidst the re-named by me 24-7 sickness sits proudly the pregnancy hormones causing it - moreover causing me to be so extremely calm and cool about it all that even I am beginning to think I might be going crazy. Of course I have a lot of fears and a zillion things to worry about - namely, where I am going to live and what I am going to do. But somehow these great hormones just make it all seem like no big thing.

Now, you, like many others, probably have a hundred questions.

Well, let me go through some of the typical Q and A's for you and if you still have little things nagging by all means email me!

Who is this Keith guy?

"The Italian", as he was formerly known as and is still referred to is actually from Victoria (his parents are from Italy, and god does his mum make a great pesto). He works in real estate/financing and dabbles in his own side projects. He is a pretty good soccer player and drummer and cook. When we first started seeing each other I could run circles around him, which served to motivate him to a point where I can't even keep up with him anymore. I took him on his first bike tour ever (through the Okanagan in June) and I guess it won't be our last!

When are you due?

In the first week of June, 2012. Fingers crossed for June 9^th so that the baby's birthday is 06/09/12- a good mathematical birthday!

Is it a boy or a girl?

Recently the rules changed in B.C. so that parents can only find out the gender of their baby if they go have a special 3D ultrasound in a private clinic. That is a bit WASPey to me so I am voting to hold out until the baby is born. I think it's going to be a girl though.

Why are you doing a home birth?

Ideally, yes, my baby will be born at home. My midwife will coach Keith and I through the birth and we can be in the warmth and cleanliness of our own place. Complications can and do happen and if they do then I will go to the hospital (pouty face here) but I won't like it. Hospitals are dirty, smelly, factories and more people leave them sick than well. Not to mention the fact that child bearing and birth are pats of a HEALTHY normal life, not a sick one, and so should be treated that way.

How did this happen?

You know, I always thought that if I did settle down and have a family, it would have to be forced on me - not in a bad way, but in a surprise way like this. So yeah.... it happened like all other surprise pregnancies happen. But I am pretty sure you'd be hard pressed to find two people more ecstatic about a surprise like this than Keith and I.

What do your parents think?

My parents have been pretty cool with it. In fact, pretty much everyone has. It's funny, the people who I thought would freak out the most are some of the ones who have had the most logical and loving responses. The award to best reaction still goes to Bonnie, for sure though. I called her mid November, right after the election, and like most other people she assumed the election was the big news in my life. Well, not long into the conversation I changed topics and spilled the beans. She immediately broke down crying and I couldn't understand a single thing she said for what felt like hours, until I finally heard her say, "this is the best day, ever!"

Part of what is making Canada home is having a weekly schedule and getting up to old and new shenanigans. Recently I went on a bike tour along the southern tip of the island, and another through the Okanagan. Furthermore, my weekly schedule is littered with fun and games - or things that I turn into fun and games, anyways.

My Canada Day bike trip to Port Renfrew was, not surprisingly, an unattainable goal. 120kms out and 120kms back. I made it to Jordan River (90km point) and the Italian picked me up - knowing it was an unattainable goal and just happening to be in the area (my hero). Just in the nick of time, too. I had only begun to cry a little.

The next bike trip was in fact with the Italian. I took him through the Okanagan, which he had never been to, and tried to persuade him that Okanagan wines were on par with Italian wines. It is tough selling someone on an idea that you yourself don't believe in. But I wouldn't say I totally failed.

We are both in love with Pinto Gris from Burrowing Owl.

The best view award went to NkMip, for the second year in a row.

During the week long, much needed visit to the Okanagan, the Allenby Awesomes got together for our first ever reunion - twenty years after I had moved away. We did what we always did - played Soccer Baseball, and the best part by far was teaching the children of the kids I had grown up with how to play our childhood game. The second best part was the Okanagan Springs Brewery donation we had won, which contained 8 12-packs of beer and a plethora of beer-related paraphernalia.

In and among the odd bike trip, work drama, and Italian lessons, I do still maintain a weekly schedule of things I look forward to when in town (2 out of every 4 weeks). This weekly schedule is probably what has allowed me to begin to finally feel at home again.

Sunday dinners at Ian and Debs are by far my favorite part of the week. Aside from the fact that Debbie's food is the best in the world, Eli and Lily remind me that there is so much more to life than a career and traveling. For instance, playing at the park and watching Cars 2!

Every Wednesday afternoon I volunteer with Crime Watch for the Victoria Police. Even just saying that makes me feel sixteen. The little red shirt I wear, with "Crime Watch Volunteer" on the back, is the real kicker though. I feel like a kid doing it, in a lot of good ways. Basically we drive around looking for criminals, and walk the beat, keeping the peace. No, not really. We mostly just watch for things like suspicious behavior and then walk through parking lots, "locking out" auto crime. The odd shift something exciting happens, like the time I found a stolen lambourgini. And the time we followed a guy running with only underwear and an ipod. I wanted to call the cops but the manly guys I was with wanted to follow him. We proceeded to park and got out to follow him (the perp.;)) by foot. We subsequently lost him (um, guys, cause we're not cops). But found him again when the real cops came and wrestled him to the ground, 200m from our van. I don't think the po-po were impressed by our initiative.

Moreover, I spend many of my weekends and the odd afternoon volunteering as the Business Coordinator for the BC Green Party. So far this has involved spending afternoons with the leader of the BC Green party, who is so awesome. On the topic of politics, I was talked into running for city council in October and running in the upcoming municipal election as a Green in the university riding. The results of the HST referendum will impact the ability for students to vote...more on that in a month or so. Last thing on the politics front - I met with Elizabeth May in the flesh Monday and am going to a bbq with her today!!

I might break down and ask for her autograph... she is so cool.

Lastly, as part of my update for the month, here is my favorite pic of July. An abandoned hotel on our bike route between Oliver and Penticton. And the best song of the month: http://youtu.be/AhxF9xudm04 - Mia, by Emma the Great.

But I am not. And I hope you aren't either.

When you do get that ballot in the mail and open it, think of how you want your province to be. Then vote No.

Yes, the question is the most obscure and confusing wording ever (I'd love to read how this was translated into Chinese).

Yes, the government sucks and all that other whiny crap I hear all day, PLUS they "illegally" forced HST upon us (or some such other ignorant view).

Yes, the government misspends a lot of our hard earned money.

And yes, you want to vote No.

You want to vote No for many reasons:

If the GST and PST are reinstated, small businesses will have to change their systems again, the costs of which will be as much as a month's profit or more.

The jobs of the GST and redundant PST workers will be restored, and the taxes somewhere else will have to increase in order to pay for that bureaucracy.

The government will get enough money to operate in the comfortable way they like to, with the amount of money they feel they need (to pay B.C. Parks officers an 85$ per day stipend for food while traveling, or entry level clerks Helijet tickets to sit in on meetings in Vancouver)... So just deal with it.

And if you don't like it, run for office. 

The HST was an attempt at streamlining our government - something we never see.

Don't punish this behavior just because you didn't like the way it was implemented.

Can you tell the difference between stupid and brave behavior? Most of the time, no... (I know this because of the amount of times people tell me I am brave, when I really know I am not). On the outside, acting in a way  to "punish" the government (quotations because you are just punishing yourself) looks the same as when someone is behaving with stupidity and not bravery. Acting out of stubbornness can seem like an act of principle. It's not (I am an expert - you'd know why if you met my father).

Just because the government forced HST upon us, doesn't mean we need to vote it away.

And since that is the only argument I have heard so far for reinstating the PST and GST, then by now you all must have come to the only logical conclusion too... vote NO.

And just in case you are left with any doubt, take a moment to step back and try looking at a bigger picture.

Instating a Harmonized Sales Tax was a move towards a more sustainable system of taxation: decreasing income tax and increasing consumer tax. I should not be getting taxed more the more educated I am, the harder I work, and the more money I make and neither should you. But we all should be getting taxed more the more we spend, the more we buy, the more we consume and the more we tax the environment through that consumption.

An additional "health" tax on fast food, alcohol and tobacco; a "green" tax on petroleum based products and anything that contains PCBs, fire retardants, and other such bio-accumulating chemicals that are slowly killing all living things; and a luxury tax on anything that costs more than 50% above the average price for a good would be a dream come true in a province that has the potential to be a leader in the world, but instead sits sniveling about how expensive things are and how it sucks to be in debt while you sit there drinking the second 3$ coffee of the day.

I used a facebook app to find out I fit in the middle right. Pro HST, moderately care. It's true.

Lastly, if you don't like it, move to China, where there is no sales tax and also no option to vote; move to the US where it is more like 3%, state-dependent and a government that lies and steals. Or here's a novel idea: stop consuming. Show me an average Canadian who actually needs to buy more than 50% of the things he spends his money on, and I will show you one who could care less whether there is consumer tax or not.

"I'm not crazy, I've just died.

I'm not Jesus, I'm not God, but I'm here to save people.

I've been given a second chance for a reason.

"The kids in Victoria call me the Salmon King. When that happened the price of the stock went up trillions. Then people started hating me. People don't like a good guy. 

"One day I found out my girlfriend cheated on me because she gave me something I ain't never had before, if you know what I mean. On the way to the doctors two guys came at me trying to kill me. While I was running away from them I got hit by a car. That's why I'm handicapped now. Got this cane, see?

"I embarrassed a guy so badly he went purple yesterday. He was making fun of my charity down at the auction. He didn't believe my money all went to the children. I yelled at him. They don't let people talk like that at the auction but they let me. I yelled at him and embarrassed him so badly his face turned purple and he marched right out. We won't see him around any more.

"You know how much money I made for the children at the auction last week? Three hundred thousand. Yeah. I make money and give it to the children's hospital. I'm Santa Claus. Even the Victoria police call me Santa Claus because of all the good I do for children. I had a house once with ten boys - all orphans. All under the age of ten. I never touched them; I was just helping them out. But some guy ratted on me and I went to jail.

"I went to jail cause I needed a break from it all. Even the judge he said he knew I was innocent but he thought I just needed a break. I was in jail for six weeks and when I got out the guy who put me in, his dad had died and left him 10 million dollars. So he knew I would be after him and he paid a bunch of guys to try to kill me. Watch when I walk outside later. There'll be guys following me trying to kill me. But they can't.

"I'm a good guy.

I wanna be a bad guy but I can't.

Every body hates a good guy.

"You're my friend. You're safe.

Just wait it out, the storm will die down.

And you'll be OK cause you're my friend.

"I won the lottery one hundred times in a row. Then they banned me. Then I won one hundred scratch-n-wins in a row before they banned me from that too. I was in a casino one day and they banned me because every machine I touched won. Wanna watch me go make some money? One second I can make a million. Wanna come with me now? Come on.

"I am a millionaire. I make about fifteen hundred dollars a second. And the IRA owes me thirty thou. They're taking their time getting it to me. I'm owed about four hundred thousand dollars. But no one's paying right now cause of the way the economy's going.

"Wanna see cane twirls? Come out side and watch this. Come on! Look. Whew! Oh that wasn't a good one. Not high enough. Whoo, hoo! Good one. Betcha I can stick it into my pocket. And there ain't even a hole in it. Do you believe me?

Sloop! Heh heh.

"I see you've probably heard a lot of bullshit in your life - 'scuse my language, but this ain't bull.

I just wanna make conversation.

"The auction is just down the street. I bought an old French vase yesterday for 10 bucks and I'm gonna sell it for 1800 dollars. All the money I make goes to the children.

"I've died and come back to life three times, once when I was 8, once when I was 17, and again only 5 years ago. A guy came up to me and put his finger on my chest last week and said, 'you're one of them too.' He had died too once. We can see each other. We know one another - those of us who have died and come back to life. We see things differently. I'm not crazy. You know that, don't you?

"I'm not crazy, I've just died.

I'm not Jesus, I'm not God, but I'm here to save people.

I've been given a second chance for a reason.

"The  ambulance attendant saw me on the street the other day and nearly passed out. 'Rob? Is that you? You should have died!' he said.

"'You have the longest life line I've ever seen in my life,' a woman said to me once. She's one hundred and thirty. She's seen a lot of life lines. I have the longest life line. That's why I can't die.

"I've been clean for seven months. I needed a break from that too. But I'm not crazy and I'm not on drugs. I just am - like this. Different than other people. Like, I can see through you. Look into  my eyes. I can see your soul. ...

"Yep. You're good. That's why I like you.

"What do you do? You're a writer? Then write something useful. Write about all of the greed in the world. And how it will kill us soon. Greed. Those Chinese were the final straw. They will kill us all.

"I had 50 years of friends then in one night I got rid of 'em all.

"My friend died yesterday. Just over there in a room in that building. I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. They brought me there to bring her back to life cause I had brought myself back to life so many times but there was nothing I could do.

"One time a seagull had a heart attack and fell from the sky and hit me on the head. Another time a Canadian goose flew right into me. They don't see me, birds - on account of my dying three times already.

"My brain has grown so big. When I'm on a bus I hear every person speak and think.

"I had to go back cause I lied.

Fibbed.

White lie.

"Three hundred thousand dollars last week for the children's hospital.

"How's your coffee, you want another one? I'll get you one. I'm rich, you know. OK, I see, well I'll go then.

"Check TV, Evening 6 News. What do you think of Rob so far?

He holds his right hand in a fist, first up to his mouth and then over to mine as though it is a microphone. In a rare moment of utter speachlessness I realize he has been gripping his fist that way the entire time he has been speaking to me. I sit, dumbfounded, my mouth opens a few times but I cannot think of an appropriate answer. I look into his eyes again, praying that he can't really hear my thoughts like he said he could.

Finally I muster, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Rob." to which he responds by jumping up from his seat and bolting out the door while yelling.

"It was nice meeting you, too. See ya 'round!"

His yellow eyes with a thousands black specks make an impression on my memory that I may never shake.

Better People by Xavier Rudd

Them giving food to the hungry
Giving hope to the needy
Giving life to a baby
Giving care for free
There is freedom around us
We have everything we need
I will care for you
Because you care for me

We all have opinions
Some of them get through
But there's better people
With more good to do.

What I have could be a message
Or just some words from my heart
My respect to the ones making changes
For other lives they'll give their own

Our world it keeps spinning
'Round and round it goes
Human nature keeps spreading it's disease

And our children keep growing up with
What they know from what we teach
And what they see

And it's only a question of the time we have
And the lives that our children will lead

They can only keep growing up with
What they know from what we teach
And what they see...

I left work at 5:30pm this afternoon with the above song stuck in my head.
The sun was out and in typical West Coast fashion, so was the wind. A beautiful summer afternoon, made even better by the realization I had absolutely no plans and no responsibilities for the next 5 hours.
Blissfully, I arrived home, grabbed some cheese and a bottle of wine, picked up my bike, and rode the 6 minutes downhill to the ocean. Once there, I breathed in the clean crisp air, counted my blessings, and thought of you.

Life is good. It really is. But I miss you and being there. I miss many people and many places.
Perhaps I always will; or maybe one day I will find peace.
This was my view as I thought of you.

They say April showers bring May flowers. So what might April Adventures bring? To me, they bring a full time job (and not just your average job either); some more personal growth (as if I needed that) in the form of insane books who found me at the right time (as books do) and (more) difficult men; the return of my mom and dad and various arguments about democracy in Canada, many of which involved me taking the stance of the most right-winged-communist-lover you'll ever meet.

April was a productive month to say the least, but May is looking a lot like a tulip about ready to bloom. A yellow one for sure - those are my favorites.

My new job, the life-altering books, and the male figures who seem to always challenge me to be me and to allow them to be them, will all have to wait for another blog. Instead, I will briefly share with you something I wrote at the end of the dock one day last week out at the lake house, and my personal views on the looming federal election.

20/04/11 You are an image of your parents; we all are, whether we like it or not. For this reason, things that bother us about ourselves certainly will be things that bother us about them, and in times when we are particularly bothered by ourselves (I am unlovable, unattractive, uninteresting, unsuccessful, getting old, have no home, etc , etc - and if you are wondering, yes, that is what I have been struggling to stop telling myself most days lately) those personality traits that are there in order for us to grow (the purpose of family, I think) stick out like a sore thumb. And ouch, yeah, it's sore. In that same 1,000 joys, 1,000 sorrows sort of way, that which make our parents happy or fulfilled are generally things we enjoy too. So being at the lake house, getting to see fish jump, hearing the birds wake up, and going for a daily run with nothing more than a deer as the other animal on the road, were those special things we will always be able to share. During times of stress it is always how you chose to deal with the moment that determines who you are, and I find myself struggling to deal with this moment well. For now I will try to focus on that which we love together: the dock, nature, wine... that should be enough for now...I hope.

The month of April saw celebrations for very important reasons, but much closer to my hear than Easter, April 22nd was Earth Day. This is a day where we are supposed to give back, change our ways, see the bigger picture, and make a difference. What did you do? What did I do? It's not like how on Mother's Day, some people just were not taught proper respect and fail to thank their mums; rather, failing to thank the Earth has no immediate consequences. But not even the Conservative government is dumb enough to claim global warming isn't happening and that we are the root cause. (Oh wait, yes they are. How embarrassing.)

One thing, which you might not have thought of to do for the earth this year, is vote. As the global environmental crises take the back seat to the global economic crisis, your vote has the ability to alter the future of something much more valuable than you or your job security; much more important than your family's health or community's growth. You, your family, and everything you hold dear would not be here without the globe - without a healthy globe, able to sustain all the animals and ecosystems on it.

The vote for our next Prime Minister is only one of three votes which we will see over the next few months; therefore be forewarned, you will be hearing more political rants regarding such things as my love for the HST and my confusion during the provincial elections. But in the grand scheme of things, the federal election is the most important. You are hurting yourself and your country by not voting; you are hurting it even more by voting without considering the grand consequences of your vote's effect on the Earth.

While trying to educate myself about each issue that I hold dear (environmental conservation, environmental protection, international trade, international aid, and taxes) I found this site:  http://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/canadavotes2011/votecompass/

It helped me to realize how annoyed I get about the platforms (abortion and gun laws are not important when the entire planet is being devastated and immigrants with PHD's are cleaning toilets!!!) but also who I felt represented my key issues in the most likely party to have an impact. I highly recommend it.

Your vote is bigger than you, your job, your family, health care and even the economy. Your vote will impact the environment. Without that we've got nothing. Voting for something bigger than you is a concept many of us have never thought of. And why would we? First off, the candidates and media themselves tell you to only think of yourself; moreover, they breed fear and then plague you with commercials promising to alleviate that fear. Don't think we are any different than America in this regard.  

Yes, we all make decisions based on fear (I am afraid of the degradation of our planet) and Maslow's hierarchy of needs reminds me that it is a privilege to worry about the planet. But since it is a right to vote, I will leave you with one question: What is freedom without an environment?

On the fourth day of the fourth month

I sit, contemplating my fate.

It began and ended as the bulbs of Spring

Broke the soil in a far off state.

            I was there once.

            I am here now.

In a land where Spring slowly yields to Summer,

Powerless, I grieve our lost dreams;

Helpless, holding only your image now;

Hopeless and unwilling to let go somehow.

            I would love Spring forever.

            It no longer wants to be.

Music, travel, nature, stories -

These old friends are now enemies.

All passions bring you to me,

Constant, uncontrollable memories.

            So short a time to love you.           

            So long a time to let you go.

Last night, still drunk, I fell asleep

In clothes once worn for you.

You met me there, your face so clear.

I felt your heart, you share my sorrow.

            My home is far off in a yellow land of rice.

            My heart is further still, buried by vineyards.

I dream you come to my door,

Much like I have yearned before;

When I longingly waited that whole day,

Standing still, where you sent me away.

            Homesick while at home.

            Heartsick everywhere, unending.

Not long ago we held each other,

Cared and loved  - in sleep and in life.

A perfect match, we fit together;

So right we would have loved forever.

            Hopelessness and dread,

            That you might never return.

Sunshine rises - brimming, begging.

It was once a friend of ours,

But like me it is lost now too

Counting each day without you.

            Fear that tomorrow will be like today

            Fear that today was equal to yesterday.

With the rising sun the wind blows in a new day.

Sitting inside I am a cat, warming in the window.

Yet even that brings me close to my old love:

I was his kitten, he was my sun above.

            They were all wrong when they said

            Time heals all wounds.

Searching for anything real to grasp,

I take comfort in the cherry blossoms;

One thing we never did share.

All else is saturated - ubiquitously you.

            I choose the slow agony of not letting go,

            So you can remain in my memory, perfect .

The cherry blossoms fall now onto the sidewalk,

Where they are walked on - forgotten.

Once beautiful, they are quickly blown

Away further still - a place unknown.

          I watch their destiny unfold

          Sadly, submitting, relating.

I've been sort of waiting for something exciting to happen here so I would have something to write about, but I really just need to accept the fact that if I am not in China, nothing much exciting happens. No punching guys on the street or near death by motorbike. No night markets or learning a crazy foreign language. Now all I've got are the memories of it. I think people here are already sick of hearing the stories.

Instead, excitement - much like beauty, lies in the perception of the beholder. Spring is here, yeah! Exciting!

March madness, cherry blossoms, storms, and planning my vegetable garden.

Walks at night with just a sweatshirt and jeans on, longer days, and sunsets at 7pm!

It's not fair to say that nothing exciting has happened. A few weeks ago I went home to the Interior to go snowboarding and to see family. That was exciting. Here are Bonnie, Kelly and I at our pizza and beer night.

On the way to Vernon I had a funny and exciting experience, which I will tell you in the form of a story.

I get on the ferry, lululemon bag slung over my left shoulder, mac book held under my right arm. I am tired and starving and sit down close to a window at the front deck to eat my cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese in 3.5 seconds, taking time only to think about how dry it is and how I am happy to have brought my own bottle of water.

By now the ferry has pushed off. People from the car decks are slowly coming up and filling the seats around me. I take only a moment to look out the window and revel in the beauty that is the West Coast, then I go to stand in line to buy my bus ticket. The bus driver is "Canadian-friendly". This is a nice way of saying annoyingly so. He chit-chats-bordering-on-flirting with every passenger. C'mon, we just wanna buy a bus ticket! When it comes to my turn, I pay the 18$ with visa. I pay everything with visa these days. Money will come. I input my PIN, and the bus driver says, "What, did you break my machine!?" I look up and smile politely, as the people behind me laugh. That was funny? God it's no wonder the world thinks Canadians are the least funny people. I am embarrassed for everyone around me.

I put my card, ticket and receipt away then follow the signs to "Work Stations" where I will be able to plug in my computer and work on my book. Unfortunately, when I finally find it I am disappointed to find that each one is full - of other macs plugged in with other people writing their books no doubt. I sigh and look around for another outlet and when none can be found I resign to sitting in the galley, writing until my battery dies.

I see a man - dark and handsome, working on his macbook in a row of empty chairs.  It's always nice sitting beside nice looking people. I sit in the same row four seats over, open up my macbook and start typing. I try to appear busy but struggle to concentrate. In part due to the handsome man to my left and equal parts due to the 20-something white male, doing a combination step aerobics and a rain dance on the outer deck for us all to see. He does a shocking 360 turn with arms raised, I start to laugh and look over at Mr. Handsome, hoping he had seen the incredible move too. He is already smiling - flashing perfect Canadian teeth. We laugh and joke together about the Rain Dancer for some time, alternating back and forth between seeming busy and trying to think of something witty to say.

My battery dies. It has a life of less than an hour these days. So the geek in me grabs my book, in order to look cool, and begins to read. It is a novel about a poor man in Beijing who poses as a freelance journalist to eat at banquets for free. I am immersed. I feel light. I've not thought about Sebastian for almost an hour. A new record.

Then I wake from my Beijing book dream state as Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome (with perfect teeth) gets up and leaves. I dare not move my head. When I know he is gone I look at the seat he once sat on. No business card or phone number left there "by accident". Hey, it was worth a shot. I suddenly feel depressed. I think I need a hot chocolate.  Packing up my things I look out to the outer deck once more, trying to catch a glimpse of the Rain Dancer for one last smile. Instead, I am surprised to see Mr. Handsome standing at the railing, looking out to sea. I sit back. I look him over. I weigh my options heavily.

Heart broken. Hot chocolate. Depressed. Cute guy. Not ready for a relationship. Nice shoes. Feel guilty. Nice smile. Sick stomach. Sugar. Chocolate. Mr. Handsome. What to do?

I make my move, get up, and head to the cafeteria for the hot chocolate which will only further my depression, make me feel guilty and likely give me a stomach ache, then at the last minute I bee-line it out the door and to the outer deck. Am I actually going to do this!? Mr. Handsome With Nice Shoes has his back to me and is listening to music. I could easily turn around now and reconsider, but know that I won't. I put my bag down behind him and take a deep breath,

"You know, I don't think you're allowed to be out here unless you're dancing," I say with a smirk. He smiles back and takes off his ear phones.

"Oh I was going to start, I just needed to get some moves together in my head." This guy is cute and witty! "Where are you headed?"

"Vernon, actually. I'm going snowboarding with my sister for the weekend"

"Really? I am going to Vernon too. Well I have a meeting in Vancouver this afternoon then I'll drive to Vernon from that."

"Oh yeah? Well I am there until Wednesday. Maybe we could get a coffee there or something." That was bold, McGrew.

"So what do you do?" He leans against the railing, looking properly comfortable with the Active Pass behind him. I wish I could have taken a picture. He is like Eric in the Little Mermaid. Can I be Ariel? Can I? Please?

"Haha, nothing really, I am trying to become a writer. Working on some books and articles and what not. I was going to guess you were in real estate. What is your meeting about today?"

"Why Real Estate? It's IT related, actually"

"Because you have nice teeth. Aaaaand a trustworthy face." Another bold attempt at flattery.  Apparently I am not as out of practice as expected.

"I guess those are good things to have, thanks. Not really real estate. Do you know the new indoor soccer arena in Vernon? My company built that. We do pre-fab commercial stuff. My two business partners are in Vernon. That's why I am going there. I had a Geothermal business with a partner in Vernon about 3 years ago. That's why I moved from out East."

"Geothermal? In Vernon? What is your business partner's name?"

"Robin McKim"

"Really?"

"You know him?"

I laughing uncomfortably "Well I know a Robin who had a Geothermal company in Vernon. In fact, he played volleyball with my ex-boyfriend, Steven."

"No! Steve-o? You're Linda!?"

"I am."

"Wow this is too weird. Steve is like a brother to me. I lived with him, actually, in Vernon for almost two years."

"Wait, did you live at that house on the East hill where you have to walk around the back to get in?"

"Yeah. With Matty, Steve-o and Robin."

"I think I've met you before!"

"I think you have."

"This is so strange."I start to feel uncomfortable intimacy with this stranger. I want to leave but he continues.

"Where do you live now?"

"It's complicated cause I've just returned from being abroad. In fact, when Steven and I broke up I left basically right away to China. I've only come back now. It's been almost 4 years. But I am in Vic now. On Cook and Bay."

"Really? I live at Quadra and Kings."

"That is less than a kilometer away. This is way too strange."

I am drawn and pushed away at the same time. We keep chatting for a bit and find out we are both vegetarian and both go to the Y and all sorts of other strange yet magical things. The ferry reaches it's destination and I give him my email address. He writes to me that day and we meet in Vernon a few days later for drinks. We've met a few times since in Victoria. A strange, exciting and somewhat painful situation.

More stories to come from that no doubt.

Once in Vernon, Bonnie and I went snowboarding for two days of perfect conditions, through our favorite runs in the world. A friend of mine (Jenn) came for a day of boarding from Trail, and a friend of Bonnie's (Gill) came that same day from Salmon Arm. Good times were had by all.

By the way, snowboarding is like riding a bike. Taking jumps in the terrain park on the other hand, is not.

While "home" I headed up to Salmon Arm for a day for some trouble. There, I went for an amazing run through the old 'hood, and had a very special dinner with a very special young lady and her parents. Below, Molly and I being creative on the computer.

Since returning back to Victoria time has begun to fly by. This must be a good sign, as I was certain my world had come to a complete halt and I was living in hell only one month ago. Like they say, let time do it's magical healing. Now, if only time could magically find me a job. A book deal would be nice.

Unfortunately for me I never did get to live in France long enough to unearth all of her Francaiseness. I didn't even go to a single chateau or winery (WTF!?). I did, however, learn some useful things, elicit a few entertaining quotes, have some deep thoughts, and received some niceness in Nice.

The following are a few last stories I'd like to share with you from France.

You've likely noticed from my tone in the few blogs I posted from here that the shift from Beijing was shockingly difficult for me. I am still quite amazed how much culture shock I went through; how it was almost even more so than when I first went to China. But in fact, I've spoken to a few other British people, and they, too, experienced several months of 'anger/frustration/shifting'. One told me it took him over four months to adjust. The culture is so similar but so - surprisingly and oddly - different.

For instance, Meanness.

French people like being mean, it (along with complaining) gets them off. Everywhere you go, you see Frowns. Seriousness. As soon as you speak, you are a total moron because your grammar or pronunciation isn't perfect. They look at you like you are a worm. But I found in my last month here that for the most part this is only at the surface. Once you get IN with a French person, they are with you for life. In my last week in France, my landlords took me in when I was not wanted (nor allowed) anywhere else, and had no other people to help keep me alive. They fed me, talked to me about how I felt, and constantly reminded me that it will all work out in the end. They might be exceptional people in any culture, but all in all, French people aren't that bad. It just takes them a while to let you find that out.

Another example of why us CommonWealth-ers struggle to adjust to France is Boundaries. Both personal and work boundaries are very different in France. For me, this was both annoying and uncomfortable a first. Everything new is always annoying and uncomfortable at first, right? This is due to massive gaps between a boss and their subordinate or a student and their teacher. For a Canadian, this is a tough pill to swallow. Apparently we have the smallest gap IN THE WORLD between relationships such as this. Sorry for being used to calling my Dean by his first name and giving him high fives in the hall (right, David!?). Furthermore, French people's boundaries between work and home life are also quite depressing to those of us who know the joy of grabbing a beer after work, or even playing on a baseball tram together. In France, don't even think about suggesting post-work-beers with the team. No extra-curricular time is spent with colleagues. And they work no more than a 35 hour work week, but the second work is over, they head home. What can they possibly do with all their time?

The Language: It took me a full 3 months to be comfortable with using French again. But (Murphy's law) during my last week in Nice, I have to say, I was impressive - the vocabulary and grammar I was throwing out there. ... wooo! But as previously mentioned, it is not uncommon for a local to essentially tell you to stop talking since you are ruining their language. Not too supportive of an environment in general.

So it takes three months not only to adjust to a culture, but also to re-remember a language of your childhood. Even when you expect both the language and culture to be so similar to your own, Mental note. Apparently it also takes 3 months for someone to go 180 on you. Another mental note. Nothing in life is permanent.

I went through a process of discovering more about what I want in my life while pursuing my Dream Job in France. Becoming a writer has been fun, obviously, and I've won several competitions so far and have a few bites on my book (and it's only been 4 months!) but it is a very lonely profession. Some say, the loneliest. Something for me to be aware of in the future. In experiencing that life here, I learned the difference between Being Alone and Being Lonely. I felt lonely at first but once I got into the swing of it, I realized I was not lonely, just alone. And that is not a bad thing at all. Moreover, the shift from an ancient, vibrating, ever-changing metropolis of 12 million people to a small town, out of the city, with a tiny population of less than half a million, taught me the difference between how a place can Be Peaceful and how we might initially misconstrue that as Being Boring. Each alternative has its perks. Though that too was a tough shift at first, by December I had learned to accept the peacefulness (while at the same time dying for some excitement).

Ultimately, I want to try to be fair and positive about my time in France, but truly, the only good thing about it in general is the cheap wine, of which I drank almost 5 Litres in my last week. Nothing like taking advantage of the present! I am pretty excited to be leaving, in fact. As many of you heard me say over and over, the only good thing here was Sebastian. I don't consider myself an expert, but I have been in love 5 times, and lived with my love 4 times. Although he no longer loves me, those 3 months were the best 3 months I have ever had in a relationship. I was taken care of, loved, and nurtured in just the way I need. I was grateful for how good I had it every day and I told him so. I can only hope that one day I find someone else half as wonderful (pre-mental-and-emotional-breakdown). The trouble is all animals go through a physical reaction to stress: the fight or flight response. I guess it was best that I found out he was a flyer and not a fighter early on rather than later.

Notre Dame in Paris

Quotes by the French about the French:

I worked for IELTS (The International English Language Testing System) for all of Southern France (the same job as I did in China) and it was an unbelievable way to get to know the culture, people, and nuances of a country. Some of my favorite quotes from interviewees are as follows: (A note to the reader, read with a very strong French accent).

"In French Culture, we see work as a burden. Basically, we don't like working."

"French people don't want to have to think about new things. People say we are lazy. We are."

"French people are not so welcoming. I think you know this."

Other insights form the IELTS students wasn't just negative/funny like the above quotes; in fact, I learned to appreciate Bordeaux and Southern France more by listening to them and their insight on it. In addition, I learned why (annoying to me) tradition and culture are so important and protected by the French - the Second World War was not long ago, and it affected them possibly the most out of all countries in the world. Two generations isn't a long time. Maybe it's a good thing they work hard to remember.

Deep French Thoughts

As you know, I am a writer. I wrote a bit about France while here but mostly wrote about China. Of the things I wrote about France, most was generally angry or frustrated. I can't help it, I was adjusting! (plus brought up to hate them) As a writer I keep a pad of paper and pen with me any times when I don't have my computer. Here are some of my "Deep French Thoughts" from my journal:

Yes, French people are rude. But it is simply because they don't agree. Agree with what? With the idea of joy, fun or gratitude. Rather, they have rules and paper work in a vice grip, squeezing hard, fearing nothing else, but the loss of "solidarité".

It's different being a foreigner in places like France. Here, I look like everyone else, dress like everyone else, and even talk like everyone else (for the daily pleasantries anyways). But this 'likeness' almost makes it even more difficult and lonely. I want to stand out. I want people to know I don't belong. I want to stand up and scream, "Hey look at me, I'm different! Be my friend!"

French women are all thin and gorgeous, but insanely frustrated. I don't relate to nor do I feel a connection to the women of France at all. They are in a tough spot, and I mainly feel sorry for them. Currently they are stuck in the middle of being educated yet held under the thumb of traditional ways.

Side note: In general, Europe has been quite disappointing to me with regard both to its treatment of women, and its treatment of the environment. A lot of what we see in the media is a façade.

Bordeaux at night at Christmas

Nice is Nice (pronounced like: neeeese is naighse)

Though the scenario was not ideal, I spent a good amount of time learning about and exploring Nice during my second last week ever in the South of France. (no, I won't go back, unless we do that bike tour and write a book on it, Alex!). Nice is by far my most favorite city in France. There aren't many other sandy-beached-palm-treed-café-lined-boulevard-cities with Italian men everywhere... we all know how much I route for the Italian men's soccer team.

Nice has the Nicest (pronounced "neeecest" (pun!)) people in France. It is, essentially, the anti-Paris. I had some of my first funny and fun conversation with people in Nice since arriving in France. One was a Cambodian immigrant, the other was an Italian man. So no, neither were French, but both were in French, and both lived in Nice. People in Nice care for one another, something I had forgotten people do after my time in China and then France. For example, the odd seat rendered to an elderly woman or helping someone get their ticket stamped on the bus. The little things that go a long way are things I notice in a culture - things that I appreciate.

The last cool thing about Nice is the Italian/Spanish influence in everything. Architecture, language, food, and the even the way people look.

The beach at Nice. Nice.

Coming Home

We had a couple of difficulties in our first two months. I guess some people give up after that. One of them was the Internet and the other was my Visa. France is living in the stone-age when it comes to technology, and as we all know, they are in love with their bureaucracy. The visa was a bit stressful too. There is a rule in France stating that the only possible way for a North American to get a job in France is if no other European applies or is capable of doing the job. American haters! I went around this and used OrangOrang as an enterprise from which I would be bringing jobs and income to the country. After 6 months of effort, I got my 'Titre de Sejours' in my last week. Condition-free. A small miracle. A miracle I couldn't share with anyone. But something to consider: I can now live anywhere in Europe, no conditions, for the next 3 years. Hmmmmm.....

When something devastating and unexpected happens in our lives, we are made to be so vulnerable that we are unable to manage ourselves. That is when friends and family come in to play, and through these last few weeks, I have been reminded about just how amazing my friends and family are; just how supportive and loving they can be. All of the thoughtful messages, emails and letters I've received have overwhelmingly reminded where Home is, and most importantly, what Home means.

A blow like this, unfortunately, doesn't push you along; instead, it takes the wind entirely from your sails. For this reason, for now, I feel I've been abroad long enough. Although it is not of my own choice, I am, in fact, ready to come home.

It's exciting! 

I'm coming home this time not just to quickly see everyone, but to really connect with people again. To be there for them as they have just been there for me. I'm even looking forward to it - the new adventures I will have in and around my home, coupled with the familiarity, the safety, and the family.

Going abroad and experiencing, seeing and learning what I have over the last 4 years has been fun. But as with many of life's experiences, I realize more than ever what is important in life. Adventures are great, but family is Life.

So I have to say that this is the end for now. The end of Lindy-loo's Life as we know it. Maybe the next few things you will read by me will be published. Paperback? Hardcover due out 2012;) Until then I will leave you with a thought I had in the bath this November. Seems even more fitting now.

What is life if not but a string of failures?

Like water. It attracts, connects, pools to a point.

Until which it flows, runs, and finally falls.

It is mere chemical reactions. Hydrogen bonding.

Rules by which nature has enforced both a predetermined and inescapable finality on us.

Such is life, then: nothing more then an encoded attraction, connection, flow then fall - to failure.  

To be unloved and sent home is one thing. But to then be treated as if I am a disease and avoided like the Plague, with no help to the airport let alone a goodbye? No words can describe it fully. Selfish, weak, spineless. But others' journeys are not my own. I can only accept and try to learn from it. Knowing neither I or anyone I love would have ever behaved that way. At the very least I can be thankful I learned earlier on what type of man I had accidentally fallen in love with, and try not to do that again.

One of my many lessons through all this (aside from forgiveness, compassion, and letting go) has been that life is better when there is someone special in it for you to love unconditionally, and who will love and cherish you back. For some of you that's obvious. For me, I had to really have it in my face to come to terms with it. Returning to Canada, I will keep that at the front of my mind while making some pretty huge life decisions, set to change the course of my life over the next few months.

Today is my thirtieth birthday!

I am grateful for everything that I have: health, family, brains, forgiveness, beauty, compassion, friends, gratitude, experience, education and fire in my belly. I could easily be happy with life as it is now, doing what I love, being around people who accept me and allow me to grow, living a life wholeheartedly, vulnerable, and open. And I am.

They say life begins at thirty.

Well, I guess I'm about to find out!

I went to Portugal for my last week in Europe because we'd already bought the tickets, and it's possible (though not plausible) that I may never return to this continent: The Old Country. I wanted to take advantage of the present, but I didn't expect it would be so hard. I guess I just need to understand that the true healing won't begin until I leave this place. Until I know I will never see him again and there is nothing I can do about it. Until I accept that giving unconditional love does not mean receiving it in return.

Mamma (Sebastian's mum, whom I will from here on call Tina) gave me some wise advice prior to leaving. She told me to "Look Around Me". See the scenery, keep my head up, so to speak. It wasn't hard to do, in a place this beautiful.

On my first night, as I took the subway into the city, I thought, Well then, Portuguese people are not very attractive. But holy are they nice. The entire time I sat on the plane and subway, I cursed myself for having decided to come. I just wanted to go home to Cananda, to begin to forget about the pain. But the second I stepped out of the subway system and into Oporto's old town (relieved) I realized it had been the right choice.

Oporto, or, Porto is, yes, home of Port wine. It is also where I began and ended my adventure, and continued my emotional rollercoaster. On my first day I had three goals: 1. Walk to the top of the main church turret and see the city from above, 2. Go to the art district and check out the local art scene, 3. Cross the river and explore the Port cellars, tasting free port along the way. None of these things got done. Day One looked more like: try-to-eat-and-fail-try-to-sleep-and-fail-try-to-drink-your-sorrows-away-and-fail-at-that-too. It doesn't help the church and art district were both closed, and I just couldn't bring myself to go learn about and try port, alone. Afternoons have been almost as tough as mornings.

Instead, very uncharacteristically, I spent most of the day inside, watching movies and writing. I met some nice people in my hostel and learned a few fun Portuguese sayings. The language sounds like Russian and Spanish put together, but you can almost always get the gist of something when you see it written, for instance:

another glass of wine please = um copo de vinho por favor.

Basically looks like Spanish, right? But add in a bunch of "sh", "csh" and "s" sounds, and you've got Portuguese from Portugal. It turns out there are Arabic influences, which probably explain why I hear Russian. I must look Portuguese (NOT a compliment!) because daily three or four people would stop me to ask me a question in Portuguese. Every time I would be like, "Me no speako Portuguese." No, actually I had learned how to say "I can't speak Portuguese" (Eu não falo Português) and aside from "Abrigada" (thanks), it was my most oft used phrase there.

I woke up very early the next morning and went for a walk, watching the city wake up as the sun rose. Some cafes were open, and as the traffic became more dense and louder, I slipped into one of them for a cappuccino. The cafes are set up just like in Italy; like a bar to us. Portuguese coffee, let me say, is some of the best I have had in my life. It is not bitter, not strong, not burnt. Instead, it is this smooth, almost sweet delicious goodness. I had not drunk a coffee since Finland (it makes me nervous) but I accepted nervousness for my 5 days in Portugal.

From Porto I took a train almost 300kms South to Lisbon. It was 16C and sunny when I arrived at 4pm. I walked around for a bit, both exploring and trying to find my hostel, and immediately noticed more of a "city" factor. There is a lot more visual immigration, people are in a rush, and the architecture and energy are just a bit less charming. But it is still quite a cool city. Portugal is officially number 2 on my list of European countries now. Number 1 is the Czech Republic.

What is it about Portugal, the Czech Republic, and Italy (I had to bump Finland out of there on principle. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but I had thought I would live there one day. Now I don't have to like it.) that makes these countries so appealing to me? There is something raw about them.

Something untouched or just plain hard.

Something about the people, who have accepted that life is suffering, and who have come to realize that good food and wine, heartfelt music, and love are all that matter in life.

I appreciate the trueness of the way the architecture is built into the land and the land hasn't been changed by the people.

I feel it has something also to do with the people just being who they are. Not trying to be or have something that isn't from them.

And the languages... Italian, of course, is gorgeous to listen to. But Czech and Portuguese are so soft and strange to me. Some of the sounds are ones I have never heard made before. I want to watch their mouths and find out how they are doing it all. Like making sense of a puzzle.

In Lisbon I walked around, exploring, of course. (zen party bus, remember?) but I spent most of my time either writing or running. I would write things to people about how I felt and no matter how many times I wrote about how sad I was, the feeling would not subside. No matter how often I told myself to "Just let go" I couldn't. I worked on some articles. I wrote a few poems. I wrote things to Sebastian he neither understands nor wants to. Things about love, acceptance, and new beginnings. When I got tired of listening to how pathetic I was being, I would run. Run out the anger. Run out the sorrow. Run until I could feel nothing but pain and tiredness.

My body matched my heart. My body is currently pure lactic acid.

A quote from my travel journal, January 29^th, 4pm:

"I just bought a 20-something-girl a sandwich at this café I am sitting at, in the centre of Lisbon. She would not have begged me if she didn't need it. As I bought her sandwich she started begging for a water or juice, and I got annoyed. "What, a sandwich isn't enough?" I wanted to say. But now as I sit out on the patio, sipping my much-un-needed-hot-chocolate, I can see her scarfing down the sandwich out on a bench on the side of the road, as if it is the first thing she's eaten all week. Maybe it is the first thing she's eaten all week. In which case, she probably did need a juice. I feel like a jerk. God, and I thought I had problems."

After Lisbon, where I spent a full day in a tshirt, lying in the sun on the grass by the water, I returned to Oporto. It was Sunday and the train was quite busy but everything else was closed. I spent the 3 hour ride alternating between writing an article for a magazine on learning Mandarin, and feeling pathetic, depressed, and wondering what the heck I was going to do with my life. Writing about China makes me miss it. But do I want to go back there to live? What do I want to do with my life? Why can't I just get something right? The weather in Porto (13C and sunny with a slight breeze off the water) was my perfect weather for an afternoon run. I ran, and ran, and ran, until I couldn't feel any longer, had an espresso and a pastry, had a shower, and returned to the downtown core for some last-day pics. 

Unfortunately, due to my mental and emotional state, as well as timing, I never did get to go on a Port tasting tour, nor see a Fado show. However, this is all the more reason to return. Anyone up for a cycle trip through Portugal and Spain next year?

Other last thoughts about Portugal:

I saw a Starbucks in Lisbon (yes, I did enter and I did have an Americano, who am I?!) and 2 McDonalds', however there were little to no other international brands/shops (except the usual Euro trash stuff like Armani and LV and Paul Whateverhisnameis).

Nothing is in English in Portugal but that was OK. Somehow you just understand, like when I was in Italy. The secret is in not trying too hard to understand every single word. And most of the people working in customer service speak English, Spanish, and Portuguese pretty well.

The cars drive ridiculously fast - reminding me, again, of Rome. Why do they drive so fast? I found out while in a taxi to the train station in Lisbon, that it might have to do with the crazy flamenco/Latin music the drivers listen to while driving.

I saw about thirty drug deals, most of which were just out in the open. Each time I would look around and be like, is no one else seeing this? And sure enough, no one else appeared to have noticed.

I saw the biggest Jesus in my life in Lisbon. I was like, "Jesus!" It had to have been 50 meters tall.

Portuguese is the fifth most commonly spoken language in the world, and the most widely spoken language in the Southern hemisphere. Portuguese is also the fourth most learned language in the world. At the moment, 30 million students study this language.

Portugal has colonized every continent as we know of them today (not including Australia as it is an island). The Portuguese Colonial Empire was the first global empire in history. In addition, it was the longest-lived of the modern European colonial empires, spanning almost six centuries, from the capture of Ceuta in 1415 to the handover of Macau in 1999. The empire spread throughout territories that are now part of 49 different sovereign states.

Dreams:

Over the last year, probably every three or four nights, I have dreamed that I am late to catch a flight or a train. It is never in the same country or city, and it is never for the same reason or with the same people, but I am always late to board a mode of transport, and the repercussions of me missing it are catastrophic. Moreover, getting to the airport or station on time is out of my control. Annoying, right? I had yet another one of these dreams last week (this one was coupled with the Italian mafia - go figure) where I was trying to get to the airport and board a flight, but was late because I had to rely on someone else to get me there, and he was busy doing some gangster stuff in the basement of an old chateaux (yes, I am creative). As the clock ticked nearer to the departure of my flight, I began to panic, and I couldn't find my driver, whom I relied on to get me there. In these weekly dreams, I always wake up right before I find out whether or not I make the flight. The dreams have been happening, basically, ever since Sebastian came into my life. So after this dream this week, I finally did a bit of research online as to what it all could mean.

"Missing things or being late for some things usually means that you feel like you have missed an opportunity to do something in your life. When you dream of missing a flight you feel you've missed some opportunity in your waking life; you're too late; you can't make a connection, that you need to pull yourself together to make the connections you desire."

 "To dream of missing flight means you are overwhelmed with work or other activities and you sense you lost control of time (missing flight is a sense not being able to be on time somewhere) no matter what you do. It all is too much, and too fast."  

I don't know about you, but bells are ringing in my head, and they all scream, "China! China! China!" I definitely don't have the courage or energy to return to China right now, but I had felt yanked from the place and people I had come to love so dearly a wee bit prematurely.

When I left China, I wrote a blog in (June 2010) which ended with:

What did I come here searching for?
Will I leave having found it?
Will I remember all that this place has taught me?
Will I be able to move on?

No, I don't feel I was done with China. I don't feel I had had my fill of it. But I was pursuing something that I felt was greater. A higher calling. Something that I thought was more important. I guess my subconscious disagreed. Something for me to ponder over the next little while.

Symbolism:

For the last 3 months or so, almost since arriving in France, I have been seeing owls. Not real owls but owls on mugs, owls in paintings, owls as symbols, owls on clothing, owls just generally all around me. It had especially started to become over the top when I was in Finland over Christmas. I've not seen one since Sebastian came home telling me he longer loved me, January 14^th 2011. What did these owls mean?!

Owl: symbol of Magic, Wisdom

"The owl as a prediction usually means that you are about to be taught something of huge significance. When the student is ready the teacher appears. It certainly ties in with wisdom and can also tie in with death/new beginnings depending on what the actual owl was."

 "The owl has exceptional vision and sense of hearing. It symbolizes wisdom and ability to see and hear clearly despite the darkness. The owl is the symbol of magic, good omens, prophecy, astral travel, power to see the un-seen, all seeing knowledge, great wisdom, good luck, power of the moon and night, insight, giving and receiving messages, clairvoyance, religious beliefs, communication with the spirit world, and insight into others true motives"

"The owl is the symbol of the feminine, the moon and the night. The owl is the bird of magic and darkness, of prophecy and wisdom. You will hear not what is being said by others, but what is hidden. You can detect subtleties of voice that others cannot."

SO, then... is it good or bad news I haven't seen one since that fateful day, when my life turned upside down, and I've felt ever since that I can't go on? I'm thinking bad news. So what does one do when they need an owl? Buy some. I bought 4, while in Portugal. My only souvenirs.

Portugal reminded me of something too, which may or may not have anything to do with my dreams or symbols:

When you think you have it all figured out, life has a way of reminding you that getting it right is essentially impossible. Don't even bother. Just let it go. It's all out of your control anyways.

And I don't mean this in a negative or cynical way. In fact, since having started this blog five days ago, I've seen a dramatic change come over me. I've accepted his choice, which has everything to do with him and his stuff, and I've even been able to see this as a gift. Afterall, who wants to be with someone who just bails over a bit of stress in their lives? If it wasn't now, it would have been later. At least we didn't go buy a house  or have children together. He won't even see me one last time to say goodbye. Not even for a minute. Wow. As I said to my friend in China the other day when he asked me the story:

It's not a good story, nothing I'll bother writing about. I fell in love with someone. He fell in love with me. We moved to France. He fell out of love with me. I've psychoanalyzed the heck out of it. There's not much to say but that he comes from a very broken home, something like 75% of people he is directly related to have been through a divorce (my family? 0%!). And I was his first love. He doesn't know how good he had it. Nothing much I can do at this point. I can't teach someone how to love or how to be in a supportive relationship. I fell in love with the wrong guy. Now I head back to Canada to get my life sorted again. That's all there is to it.

My Love comes home from his day and tells me he doesn't love me anymore. He struggles. He cries. I sit on the cold ground, heart-pounding-in-the-throat-unable-to-swallow-shocked. This is the sort of thing that only happens in the movies. The adventurous, vibrant, loving couple played by Sandra Bullock and Val Kilmer. They have the entire world at their finger tips, until it is crushed by someone or something. But this isn't a movie. This is real life. My life. I must be dreaming. I beg to be woken up.

In our case it is neither someone (in the extra-marital relationship sense) or something which broke the bond. Rather, it is as he puts it, "The hardest thing I ever had to do," to which I beg, "If it's so hard then don't do it!" A fist comes up and knocks my right jaw. I fall back. Then my left. My body swings the other way. And finally, one hits my stomach. I crumble on the floor. At least that is what I feel. Nothing but fists, pounding my body. "I don't love you anymore. And I don't have any hope for us." He looks away when he says these words. He is so young. So brave. So vulnerable. I want to help him. And stab him. I would rather he hit me. Cheat. I would rather anything than this.

I sit, stunned, shaking. Trying to touch him. He slouches, hands in his lap, looking only forwards. But he told me I'm the love of his life. "But you're the love of my life!" I scream. He manages to make eye contact but I wish he hadn't. His eyes are more vacant than those of a stranger's. Ice-cold. Lifeless. He's creating this in his head. He doesn't really mean it. He's tired. He's shut down. He's shivering. I go get him a glass of water and a sweatshirt. We do things like that for one another, people in loving relationships. He did stuff like that for me every day, until today.

I thought he'd be different. No, I still do! Different than every man in his family. Leavers. I thought we'd be different. I thought he was braver than them. But you are a coward. He's too lazy to work on this together. You have no idea what a real relationship requires. I should have known. I move into the Anger stage of grief and loss. What an asshole.

I leave in the morning, tears on his ear and neck. Begging him to listen to his heart and not his head. "You are the colour in my life," I say as I leave. I am a writer, after all, "And without you, my life is only black and white." To be fair, I mean it at the time. The corniness. We do that together, us fun lovers. We are cheesy together. "I'm on a train to Paris." A text message comes in while I am at work only a few hours later. There's nothing fun about that.

The man I love is part of me. He makes up part of how I identify with the world. We, us. I am half of this. It is half of me. To lose these things both at once is indescribable. To have it ripped from under me. Out of my control. I lose Him and Us. I am not just cut in half. I am cubed and put into a pot of boiling water for soup. This can't be real. This isn't happening. Denial, again.

I fight some more. Leaving messages, emails, notes and texts. Smothering him, suffocating him with my love and what he means to me. We are meant to be together! I try to find him to give him my strength and faith. I try to find the man I love and who loves me. He is somewhere behind those blank eyes. Protecting himself. The eyes look past me as the mouth tells me, "You can stay in the house as long as you need to, until you find somewhere else to go." These eyes - that I find comfort and strength in - are just tired of the worry. Tired from the Unsaid Things. The Little Things are now Big. The comforting eyes are no longer.

Now what do I do? I begin to move past denial again. The red head of anger rushes towards me. But before it strikes, I find just enough space to cry. For us. For him. For losses. For his lost love. For my Love, lost. For anyone who's ever been abandoned.

----

Bargaining is the next phase of grief and loss. I am good at that. I am comfortable in this role. "Just come to Portugal with me next week like we'd planned." We've already checked in online. "Just let's think of June. We can just be in love and have fun until then, then you can decide." I'll be the perfect girlfriend, I promise.  "I'll do the dishes every day." "You can eat whatever you want." "I love your friends and want you to spend more time with them." I mean it all. I bargain for time, space, and love without any currency to exchange. I give up future wants and desires and winning the who-gets-the-remote-tonight battles in advance. I try to bargain everything that I have and more. My hands are held out, full. But they appear empty to him. I have nothing he wants. I am unlovable.

I meditate. My friends meditate. My family sends special notes saying "if it's meant to be he will come back to you. Give him time. Just hang in there." Change your mind, come back to me, feel the love I have for you. We all work to manifest his return. His mum is speechless. My world is crumbling. Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there.

----

I get a call two days later.  He's reconsidered. He's coming home!

He blew off steam, felt more in control, and is going to "Give it another chance."

I am elated. I am a thirty second shooting star and one hundred sunny days in a row. I get another chance, I get another chance. I get another chance! I do the Get Another Chance Dance. Then I stop. He's going to change his mind. How I know this, I don't know.

I fear it. The fear so cold is sends me into a restless, unconscious sleep. So deep it is not real. I call him. "Are you sure you aren't going to change your mind?" I use my little-girl-cute-voice to remind him I am lovable, but I come across desperate. I have already lost all respect for myself so I don't care. I am a thousand kilometers past the point of desperation. A day's drive past respect. Nearing a sign on the road which says Five Minutes To Annihilation.

"No, I promise. We're a team." He sounds happy. He sounds like him. I feel light again, and fall blissfully drugged by his sweet soulful voice, onto my bed.

----

The next morning I am restless. It could be the coffee. It could be from the itchy, foreign bed. It's mostly because he's not replied to my texts messages. It is 11am. I start to panic. He's changed his mind BACK! I know it. I run back to my hotel during the lunch break. My heart in my throat. The punches come again, a thousand fists at once. I call him. Five times. He doesn't answer. I know why. I don't have the strength for it, but I call again. One last try. He picks up. He was wrong. He can't do it. He tried but there is something holding him back. "It's your own fear, my love! Don't do this! We can work through it." He's given up the best thing that ever could have been. I should be mad. I should be resentful. I should lose all faith in him as a human being. But I feel nothing but love and compassion. He is confused. Sad. Young. Inexperienced. He is the man I love. Even if he does not love me.

-----

"I guess I have to come home. Maybe I'll become a police officer or something." I say to my sister that night, as we try to keep me from murdering myself with the plastic knife I find in my room. "Why am I such a loser? Why can't nobody love me?" Depression. The final stage. I scratch at my skin. L + S = love is now a red engraving on my leg. I feel fifteen. I feel more vulnerable that I have ever felt. I am alone. Unwanted.

----

Just as I begin to accept, I stop. I listen. A glimmer. A glint. I feel something. The universe. He will change his mind again. I know it, too. I know this voice. It is myself from the future. It is every wise woman from every galaxy. It is God. It speaks to me.

But when? I don't know if it will be too late. He tries booking me a flight home  - away from him - as soon as possible. I refuse it. Give it more time. Give me more time!

I try calling him at night. I want to hear his voice. His breath. Even just to sense him on the other end. I stalk. A broken heart unwilling to accept. Strength and faith wither, but remain. Destiny cannot be altered.

----

I am coming home. February 2nd.

If I could invent a place where Santa Clause lives, it would be Finland. As it turns out, Santa Clause's real ancestors are buried somewhere in Turkey (read it in a book called The Science of Christmas so it must be true). Nonetheless, his (the commercialized, fabricated Santa we all know and love from Coke ads) home is actually Finland. This might come as a shock to you, as it did to me. After all, does Santa not live at the North Pole? This reminds me of a further shock, that of when I saw my first reindeer last week. It was white, had no antlers, and the only thing moderately similar to Rudolf was they jump as high as the fence which contains them. To this visual, much like the Shamans in the Sami villages of Lapland who take magic mushrooms to see into the future, I too had a great vision that they could fly.

We arrived to -24C. A shock to any system, let alone our Southern-France-if-it's-below-zero-we-don't-leave-the-house systems. Furthermore, the sun rose around 10am, while the daily sunset was at 3:30pm. These short days had dramatically changed even in the two weeks we were there. What seemed just as crazy to me was that by January 6th the sun rose at 9:30 and set just after 4pm. Needless to say, there is a lot of cold and darkness there in the winter. This was expected; however, and one cannot be sad, angry, or upset about something they had already anticipated. In fact, I felt quite rejuvenated by the crisp air as well as relaxed by the dark days... for the first week, anyways. After that, I was ready to go home. This might have also had something to do with how the excitement of the 'new fun Canadian girlfriend' has certainly worn off. Now it's the 'girl who is so opinionated she doesn't even eat meat (gasp! In a country where they eat bear meat from a can), who is tiring to be around because we have to speak English.' And I certainly learned about how I will or won't try to behave one day when I am at home with my family with someone from abroad for the holidays. But the lantulatiko (mashed turnip with cream) and glug (hot, mulled wine) made up for it. I found the secret for putting on holiday pounds there.

Here we are Anne (Fillip's girlfriend), Fillip, Basti and Mikael. The fam. We had a nice dinner at Mikael's on one of my last night's, where he made us all vegetarian curry and red wine for dinner as our Christmas presents. Brilliant.

We got very little done on our list of To Do's, but three of them were ticked off by the end: Snowboarding, Cross Country Skiing, and Polar Bear Swimming.

The snowboarding was not as bad as I expected. Call me a snob, but nothing will ever be as good as the mountains and snow we ride in BC. Sebastian and Mikael had an idea of this, and prepared me for the worst. The 300 meter hill ended up actually exceeding my expectations. And I taught the two of them a new term: Pow Hound, which we then had to act out on every run. Cold weather has it's bonuses, in this case, powder. This picture describes the scene. You can see the top from the parking lot. It would be a twenty minute walk, tops (in board gear and snow) and yet there is a chair. And the lights are on. Why? It is almost 1pm, therefore, almost getting dark.

I wasn't too sore after snowboarding even though it had been 4 years since I had been. Can you believe that!?!?! So we braved cross country skiing the following week when Krippan returned from work. I'll save the details and just say I suck at x-country. Maybe even more than I suck at ping pong. And that's bad. The last time Bast had gone x-country was in the army. So I wasn't alone when Krippan lapped us on a 3km trail.

Thirdly, the polar bear swim was a team event. By that I mean, I was the photographer while Harri, Krippan and Basti all went swimming. I feel as though the photographer, much like the water boy, goes under valued in instances such as this. But know that I really would have loved to go into the hole created by a current machine blowing -2C water around if I hadn't been so desperately needed at my obviously essential task.

Aside from To-Do's we also had To-See's. My favorite (yes, I am getting the itch) was Steffi and Kaisa, who had a baby girl (Elsa) when we were there last summer, and Elsa is now practically a grown woman! (I guess, dad, that's how you suddenly get a 30 year old) Six months old is a great age. She is smiling, sitting up, turning over, chatting, and even growling.

All in all it was your typical Christmas: lots of snow, cold weather, uncomfortable family issues, depression, over eating, excess boozing, sleeping to hide, and growing closer by having survived it all together. Oh, family.