tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43421737454002999822023-11-15T23:02:15.629-08:00Walking With FreddieWELCOME!!Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-26422133794814839372020-04-01T14:10:00.000-07:002020-04-01T14:10:45.759-07:00A Salute to John L. (wherever you are)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbQUqhgKqhGjVPOR3Ireys1mZw7q2t-ariXKTSxY9Aa9va_bwKMHmFAltqaxXs04AKLSRNJmCTO8YsvVQQpjchxqF-8pGMVtJBStGq4y9dgvv8EqQ7p8PGRhebae_uAC-BWT0RrjAKkk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2792.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbQUqhgKqhGjVPOR3Ireys1mZw7q2t-ariXKTSxY9Aa9va_bwKMHmFAltqaxXs04AKLSRNJmCTO8YsvVQQpjchxqF-8pGMVtJBStGq4y9dgvv8EqQ7p8PGRhebae_uAC-BWT0RrjAKkk/s400/fullsizeoutput_2792.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
Twenty years and one week ago today, I went out for dinner at an Italian place on 4th Avenue with my friend Julia, a friend of hers, and a friend of that friend — a friendly guy named John. We spent a congenial (friendly!) evening together, at the end of which John invited all of us to a party he was hosting the following Saturday. I turned to Julia and her friend, and we all said, "Sure!"<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkT7nKh5pgTv617aWX7q2LybxS7liUPQvVeFMHwW_op5wZbY2VHxRFyaYC6xzGV7U51EOm7EnpchpG7PdtcfIl8J9eID05uyakmhrfd7Ag9_MftMwshAHKjp_qeVP2oY4klkpIhcPtlAk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2790.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkT7nKh5pgTv617aWX7q2LybxS7liUPQvVeFMHwW_op5wZbY2VHxRFyaYC6xzGV7U51EOm7EnpchpG7PdtcfIl8J9eID05uyakmhrfd7Ag9_MftMwshAHKjp_qeVP2oY4klkpIhcPtlAk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2790.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkT7nKh5pgTv617aWX7q2LybxS7liUPQvVeFMHwW_op5wZbY2VHxRFyaYC6xzGV7U51EOm7EnpchpG7PdtcfIl8J9eID05uyakmhrfd7Ag9_MftMwshAHKjp_qeVP2oY4klkpIhcPtlAk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2790.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkT7nKh5pgTv617aWX7q2LybxS7liUPQvVeFMHwW_op5wZbY2VHxRFyaYC6xzGV7U51EOm7EnpchpG7PdtcfIl8J9eID05uyakmhrfd7Ag9_MftMwshAHKjp_qeVP2oY4klkpIhcPtlAk/s400/fullsizeoutput_2790.jpeg" width="400" /></a><br />
The evening of the party — April 1, 2000 — arrived, and, with it, the sad news that my two companions had to bail. So I faced an introvert's dilemma: do I attend this party, where I'll have to make small talk with strangers and will probably have a crappy time ... or do I stay home, watching reruns of <i>Cheers</i> and <i>Thirtysomething</i>?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWB5NbMeueui7fJGJZiJMylcWkes63JIeylrZmBD-DsKi6lOp0du8nM1JsE6iQLWqkpwJ9bigF3nB96t17NDq_bdvIekhuP8LFA8go3yoHn24wXDnCZUz3IMqqQOnzlxp4yRak4oPTXI/s1600/fullsizeoutput_276c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHWB5NbMeueui7fJGJZiJMylcWkes63JIeylrZmBD-DsKi6lOp0du8nM1JsE6iQLWqkpwJ9bigF3nB96t17NDq_bdvIekhuP8LFA8go3yoHn24wXDnCZUz3IMqqQOnzlxp4yRak4oPTXI/s400/fullsizeoutput_276c.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Kerrisdale Library</b></td></tr>
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My decision to go was based largely on the fact that John, the host, lived a mere half block away from me. If nausea set in the moment I arrived, I could go home, having invested no more than a few minutes. So I went, bracing myself as if for a dose of cod liver oil (something unpleasant but probably good for me).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLO1ocOjrqGqmstdHvPKZU_78PDyWETl0YbNxv4P_AwqMfb17pKEZ_ikUAVG_KgLmnNPgNZpql_SPpsSqn5j8EoKqKgqARSirGzxaDK_VLic-PMWlylq38iWBOBy4Ea-Nheo7Ik3wILwc/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2781.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLO1ocOjrqGqmstdHvPKZU_78PDyWETl0YbNxv4P_AwqMfb17pKEZ_ikUAVG_KgLmnNPgNZpql_SPpsSqn5j8EoKqKgqARSirGzxaDK_VLic-PMWlylq38iWBOBy4Ea-Nheo7Ik3wILwc/s640/fullsizeoutput_2781.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The Constitution (aka Tormentor of Coal Harbour Rowers!)</b></td></tr>
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I brought along a salad (in my memory, it's some kind of jelly salad, which, if true, is pretty funny), and I stationed myself at the food table, making dreaded small talk and keeping my hands busy with celery sticks and dip.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfmWjovae9HuESVM5z1MJ9Thmo2LUPLywltyU1NtbI1YU6NbBEUKB2zViiIWlDAH8EdxPTBJTDTMMwPhf0xzSAY8mSCoYZvrTuDshm0My6hNoQwTPQB0FzaQvQb0rbNna_sY12ljJv9Q/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2770.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfmWjovae9HuESVM5z1MJ9Thmo2LUPLywltyU1NtbI1YU6NbBEUKB2zViiIWlDAH8EdxPTBJTDTMMwPhf0xzSAY8mSCoYZvrTuDshm0My6hNoQwTPQB0FzaQvQb0rbNna_sY12ljJv9Q/s400/fullsizeoutput_2770.jpeg" width="300" /></a>It wasn't long before I caught a reference to Montreal (my birthplace and early childhood home) in a nearby conversation. Spurring myself to make at least one sincere social attempt before hightailing it back to my television, I went over and said something really witty and sexy, like, "Hi, I heard you guys talking about Montreal ...."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2I_yhBzLUS0f9n1IyRQtXUytzYgafanGe1s2FK5Lp_i5QGgDTWJHaNwnS4Ie00mQnLSIKd-ZZCZilNWaI8yHgMz8dflFY5xv3fJ0UV8S9ZoDPje4BNApqDUV_AlT6S2gG1KyYKW1VhA/s1600/fullsizeoutput_277f.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2I_yhBzLUS0f9n1IyRQtXUytzYgafanGe1s2FK5Lp_i5QGgDTWJHaNwnS4Ie00mQnLSIKd-ZZCZilNWaI8yHgMz8dflFY5xv3fJ0UV8S9ZoDPje4BNApqDUV_AlT6S2gG1KyYKW1VhA/s640/fullsizeoutput_277f.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Social Distancing Stick</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdmKFjbWi2hh4xmWsieamrAaUOUuZ0fNLx7RheSQ0QQKim1etio11_D6WQ5RsKgvAG1wbVW4SaI5crzBu31V4LZrq45FJxuq_DHWTZFX5quY58s8hkB7wB4jbQmtNM5-SY2zqvwdq85Q/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2776.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdmKFjbWi2hh4xmWsieamrAaUOUuZ0fNLx7RheSQ0QQKim1etio11_D6WQ5RsKgvAG1wbVW4SaI5crzBu31V4LZrq45FJxuq_DHWTZFX5quY58s8hkB7wB4jbQmtNM5-SY2zqvwdq85Q/s400/fullsizeoutput_2776.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Chica, the True Carnivores shop dog, trying to explain what's going on</b></td></tr>
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The "guys" in this conversation included another Heather ... and a charming, dashing fellow named Paul. I suppose the three of us talked about Montreal for a bit. We definitely talked about writing and teaching. Or Paul and I did, anyway; I think the other Heather vamoosed at some point, and a random assortment of other people took her place. The conversation migrated to the kitchen, where Paul told a couple of entertaining stories in which he mentioned his last name. Eventually, I retrieved my salad bowl and went home — much later, and in a much better mood, than I'd anticipated.<br />
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In the days that followed, I found myself thinking about the charming and dashing Paul with some regularity. Knowing his last name from his stories, I looked him up in the phone book (yes! the PHONE BOOK!!) and started wondering if I should perhaps just call him up and — O, introvert's dilemma! — ask him out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_8Eiy6NQ9dM3HvkasdIEQEu5iWYz8qxOSu9pjrIxWSB_i26KF-p3Qbf3Jl1fH0rfhCuT8wgXrBtl2hp0pbo1mOT-u62bfwnynOt6wa_h9Z38MdPanwK7aiVyOXE7s5E5E46F5FvL8h74/s1600/fullsizeoutput_277d.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_8Eiy6NQ9dM3HvkasdIEQEu5iWYz8qxOSu9pjrIxWSB_i26KF-p3Qbf3Jl1fH0rfhCuT8wgXrBtl2hp0pbo1mOT-u62bfwnynOt6wa_h9Z38MdPanwK7aiVyOXE7s5E5E46F5FvL8h74/s640/fullsizeoutput_277d.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>McDonald Beach</b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1q2dYVNPFmTpUneeLgxAQNwCTRGtcJSKUUv3CPyarDEz3_WHFCoJaR_vaZ8MUZEGUX2dpNf4LXoO17QhsaKrUvJhigla3EnZpi3ya5mEsBhKKtvkOE3tWL9QQrcrsmUDwkRvX71_k1Dg/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2768.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1q2dYVNPFmTpUneeLgxAQNwCTRGtcJSKUUv3CPyarDEz3_WHFCoJaR_vaZ8MUZEGUX2dpNf4LXoO17QhsaKrUvJhigla3EnZpi3ya5mEsBhKKtvkOE3tWL9QQrcrsmUDwkRvX71_k1Dg/s400/fullsizeoutput_2768.jpeg" width="400" /></a>I'm pretty confident I would have done the deed. But he beat me to it. Despite my (clueless, not intentional) failure to mention my own last name the night of the party, Paul employed spectacular sleuthing skills and left a message for me at work (given those skills, it's a really good thing he's not a creepy stalker!). We went on a date ... then another ... and another ... and now ... <br />
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... two decades later, in this Age of Isolation, I can't think of anyone I'd rather be quarantined with.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBBxqkmOE_wFtdS5aEQ1Zo9A2nhCOqBTu3pIb_SZgqHaEmu2xT6V85lBxZBo8O6UDzUaGJ7BFmaNzTQUrDHfJr0GwUZf6aRJZlxmWfSt3BSDsDJc95Ei9Ic5QhQ2RD-yYQmXqJg4kuto/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2778.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBBxqkmOE_wFtdS5aEQ1Zo9A2nhCOqBTu3pIb_SZgqHaEmu2xT6V85lBxZBo8O6UDzUaGJ7BFmaNzTQUrDHfJr0GwUZf6aRJZlxmWfSt3BSDsDJc95Ei9Ic5QhQ2RD-yYQmXqJg4kuto/s400/fullsizeoutput_2778.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Our window</b></td></tr>
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So — John L., wherever you are ... thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for inviting me to your party.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHW2rBpJl-2oszWFb-7LP7LJXAbRNrVKNUgvd_Vk06jPAPrN143myv3RF4Ya44zkHYbuvWp8mH4mjERvQ0tAzjGEanI2LD85M6Qf9LE-p9ULGwejF7ILEUKv22aGTSYC3oSxHvjVijT0k/s1600/fullsizeoutput_272e.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHW2rBpJl-2oszWFb-7LP7LJXAbRNrVKNUgvd_Vk06jPAPrN143myv3RF4Ya44zkHYbuvWp8mH4mjERvQ0tAzjGEanI2LD85M6Qf9LE-p9ULGwejF7ILEUKv22aGTSYC3oSxHvjVijT0k/s640/fullsizeoutput_272e.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Mt. Gardner, Bowen Island, March 4/20</b></td></tr>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-13274801706847931672020-03-21T09:06:00.000-07:002020-03-21T12:41:15.973-07:00Oh, Freddie ... we're not in "Kansas" anymore.Well, friends, it's been five long years since my last post. I'd been pondering a return to regular(ish) blogging — or at least an update — even before the Plague came to town. But recent world happenings have inspired me to dig up my password for this site (no easy feat) and re-learn how to wrap text around photos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSQjf-Xtsoy8l2CK_gdm1JED2tG0NJT-2BkCoZAHMKBL0LHarQI7oRIaWaJuMZy2myJvLhginXWFg-v-t2TqHDlPDRuOgmxazVDu9FiYetZ3KpMVX_8GsT_aVp8i0FL6ib3Vde2XePY0/s1600/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_3671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGSQjf-Xtsoy8l2CK_gdm1JED2tG0NJT-2BkCoZAHMKBL0LHarQI7oRIaWaJuMZy2myJvLhginXWFg-v-t2TqHDlPDRuOgmxazVDu9FiYetZ3KpMVX_8GsT_aVp8i0FL6ib3Vde2XePY0/s400/UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_3671.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ucluelet, BC, May 2015</b></td></tr>
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Like most everyone these days (amazing how <i>unifying</i> COVID-19 has been), I have fears ... questions ... disappointments big and small (no more <i>rowing</i>? seriously??), and I'm sure that if <i>WWF</i> v.2 turns out to be more than a one-off, that stuff will creep into posts. For this entry, however, I'll try to stick mainly to that five-year recap — which will mean, essentially, scanning through my iPhoto library, cherry-picking images and experiences that will risk giving the impression of a more exciting and photogenic life than Paul, Freddie, and I actually lead!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><h4>
Rooftop of our place in Kerrisdale</h4>
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Did my last posts cover our move from Kitsilano to Kerrisdale? I don't think so. We're back in an owner co-op — older building, bigger & brighter unit. Kits was fun while it lasted ... though I wouldn't want to be practicing social isolation in our place there!<br />
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For about a year, my spacious new office (aka 2nd bedroom) functioned as a sewing studio, and I sewed up a storm (exhibit A: the red jacket I'm wearing here). Then I ran out of steam and tired of the big cutting table taking up so much space ... so I switched to knitting. <span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnEPLOEK83y0GfrL9oUI5ZEto91e1psDtg_eZYtJVGN0T9KN6QdMXaTxruwmKILsL5WOj0TCN24ClshZgEXU_iv6Nrmn7NJdrnY8lqqh6bivQGkPw5jnGW-tZOtnE_sZyxwVevrIu_n8/s1600/fullsizeoutput_ae6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnEPLOEK83y0GfrL9oUI5ZEto91e1psDtg_eZYtJVGN0T9KN6QdMXaTxruwmKILsL5WOj0TCN24ClshZgEXU_iv6Nrmn7NJdrnY8lqqh6bivQGkPw5jnGW-tZOtnE_sZyxwVevrIu_n8/s400/fullsizeoutput_ae6.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Piazza San Marco, Venice</b></td></tr>
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In January 2016 — to mark my big 5-0 the month before — Paul and I went to Italy (Freddie stayed with his Grandpeople at Château Burt). Rome, Florence, Venice, hiking in Tuscany ... Who knew, back then, what poor Italy would be coping with now (OK, I guess there's no keeping the coronavirus out of this post — containment has failed!).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Tuscan village</b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21mv9XORyRyM5-LgWNjsFxWdKm1CYL8twUn-JWfowRwK8BtrUBA7yYMrVSXqziUwxnr-In5Jnzqv1OIPSSDNOycMOnXcT5QznBZMvgm-D26EfIFuztLnCQWZZNKK4ylNIxVk1cchEIvY/s1600/IMG_1432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21mv9XORyRyM5-LgWNjsFxWdKm1CYL8twUn-JWfowRwK8BtrUBA7yYMrVSXqziUwxnr-In5Jnzqv1OIPSSDNOycMOnXcT5QznBZMvgm-D26EfIFuztLnCQWZZNKK4ylNIxVk1cchEIvY/s400/IMG_1432.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Meet Jin and Ray. They took over our small neighbourhood grocery store, <a href="https://westwoodorganics.ca/kerrisdale/" target="_blank">West Wood Organics</a>, shortly after we arrived in the 'hood. Their goal was to create a friendly, eco-conscious community store ... and they have succeeded (more on that in <a href="http://kerrisdaleinsider.com/west-wood-organics/" target="_blank">this little piece I wrote for the <i>Kerrisdale Insider</i></a>). We see them several times a week (sometimes more than once a day), and the contrast relative to shopping at, say, Save-On Foods is striking, to say the least. (These days, sadly, I'm not seeing Jin and Ray at all. Since I'm technically in the "at-risk" population, Paul has taken over all shopping duties.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Icelandic hot spring</b></td></tr>
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I'm foggy on the date (summer 2017?), but Paul and I travelled to Scandinavia to celebrate the nuptials of Mike and Christel (Freddie stayed home with Uncle Dave).<br />
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Mike is Paul's sister's partner's son (much easier to call him my nephew!). He met Christel at grad school in Winnipeg, where she was on exchange from Sweden. The ceremony was held by a lake in Iceland, with roughly equal numbers of Swedes and Canadians in attendance. Then Paul and I spent some time in Sweden and Denmark, some of it with Mike and Christel (more on them below!). The Scandinavian cycling scene inspired me to write <a href="https://www.alive.com/lifestyle/b-scandinavian-style/" target="_blank">this piece</a> — the start of my happy relationship with <i>Alive</i> magazine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Cycling around Malmö with Christel and Mike</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Stockholm</b></td></tr>
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Leah and I have been besties/sistas/hermanas for almost 40 years. 💜I'd be a rotten person without her.<br />
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A few years ago, my rowing life shifted to Deas Island Slough, where Leah's dad rowed, until he died (too young), nearly 20 years ago. It slays me that I didn't take up rowing until after he was gone. We would have had a blast sharing that enthusiasm.<br />
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But I guess I'm picking up where he left off. The DDRC gang is a BIG positive presence in my life. I miss them, and the quasi-religious rituals of rowing practice, big-time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Me and Abby (since departed to horsey heaven 😞)</b></td></tr>
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Yep, that's me on a horse. It was a longtime ambition — learning to ride. I took lessons for a year, at a few different places. I'm happy I did. And I was happy to stop. City horses, and even suburban horses, don't have great lives, I think — not compared to their ranch-y, grassland-y counterparts. I started feeling sad for the horses ... and bored by riding circles in a smallish ring ... and then there was the (almost prohibitive) cost of lessons.<br />
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The one part I do miss a little is the pre- and post-ride grooming. Once I was entrusted to do that solo, I enjoyed the quiet time communing with those impressive creatures (quite different from wrestling with an impatient labradoodle who can be secured in a headlock if necessary!).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Therapeutic mud, Plage de Babin</b></td></tr>
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Winter 2019 ... While Freddie hung out at the Bowen Island Dog Ranch, and then with his beloved Uncle Dave, Paul and I travelled to Guadeloupe. Caribbean France!<br />
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A highlight of the trip was our guest row in an ocean-going quad with two very congenial members of a rowing club in Basse-Terre. I say "our" guest row because Paul got to fulfill his lifelong fantasy of coxing — at which he was, of course, a natural.<br />
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We crossed a bumpy stretch of open water (pictured below) before tucking into a peaceful mangrove ... thoroughly idyllic.<br />
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Heather's hobbies, instalment #23: classical guitar!<br />
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I've been taking lessons with Katherine, Paul's über-talented sister, for some time now. I make brutally slow progress, and it's a stretch to call most of what I play "music." But I love the feel of the instrument, the sound of the nylon strings (when I'm not producing some godawful twang) ... and, just often enough, I manage to make my way through a few measures of Easy Mozart or Baroque for Beginners that make it all worthwhile.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The used test strip container I keep on my desk</b></td></tr>
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"There'll be a cure in five to ten years," said the medics when my T1D was first diagnosed.<br />
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It's been five years since my last <i>WWF</i> post (I'll cut them some slack and won't count the other 28 years) ... so, YAY ... it's happening really soon, right??<br />
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Virus-schmirus.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Elvis," our EV (purchased last year), parked at an AirB&B cottage on Bowen Island</b></td></tr>
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Skating with Sally at Christmas 💜<br />
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Our über-groovy niece lives in Toronto. She's scheduled for another visit at the end of April. Will that reunion come to pass?<br />
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Love in the time of coronavirus ....<br />
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This is Little K, daughter of Christel and Mike. She arrived in December, and Freddie was smitten. Until very recently, Paul and I were taking turns spending Wednesday afternoons with her and Christel while Mike was at work. </div>
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Those Wednesdays are right up there with the things I miss most.<br />
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Wishing you all the best of health and hope ... 💚<br />
<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-19532618440336271752015-04-04T09:10:00.000-07:002018-01-07T17:26:48.384-08:00One more little update ...<h4>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">I'm pleased to report that Freddie is no longer "In Training" as a service dog. Since my last <i>WWF</i> post, he has passed all his public access tests and received official certification from the BC Ministry of Justice. Here is the card that gives him legal access to any place open to the general public (home address blotted out to ward off the paparazzi 😉) ...</span></h4>
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And here is the Nose That Knows, after his first set of tests ...</div>
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Good dog!</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-47520546042234311112014-09-02T15:34:00.000-07:002014-09-02T15:38:55.803-07:00Au revoir ... hasta la próxima!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Autumnal freshness (ie. rain) has returned. A new non-teaching term has begun. My "midlife passage" has (thanks, in part, to the Jungians) become surprisingly enjoyable/interesting. There are books to be read (and at least one to be written), trails to be hiked, wines to be tasted, friends to catch up with, canine public access tests to prepare for ... and Christmas shopping to watch Paul do. <i>Walking With Freddie</i> is approaching its one-year anniversary, and while there is material aplenty to photograph and comment on (<a href="http://www.thetyee.ca/Opinion/2014/09/02/BC-Schools-Shut/" target="_blank">picket lines</a>, <a href="http://thetyee.ca/Opinion/2014/08/19/CN-Rail-Arbutus-Corridor/" target="_blank">railway lines</a>, Sunday morning line-ups outside Sophie's Cosmic Café ...), I think this is a good time to write <i>finis</i>, for this particular version of Heather-does-blogging.<br />
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It has been a blast (thanks, in huge part, to my faithful <i>WWF</i> readers). <i>WWF2</i>, whenever it might appear, will likely be a different breed of blog. Until then, Freddie and I wish you wonderful adventures on the high seas of life ... and if you're in our neighbourhood, please join us for a walk!<br />
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Play bows to all ... :)</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-47323517245919126442014-08-22T12:25:00.000-07:002014-08-22T17:47:45.687-07:00Redeemed!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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That <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/08/the-key-to-running-successful-business.html" target="_blank">letter</a> I sent to <a href="http://www.modo.coop/" target="_blank">Modo the Car Co-op</a> two days ago? It worked! This morning I received a phone call from Nicole, the boss of customer service. She offered a sincere apology (along with a $25 credit for car time) and assured me that they would certainly make an exception to the crate policy in Freddie's case.<br />
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When I wrote my letter, I was kicking myself for failing to get the name of the snarky rep I'd spoken to, but now I'm thinking it doesn't really matter. Who knows what was going in her head/life? If all Modo's phone staff get a message informing them about service dog exceptions*, then the important goal will have been achieved.<br />
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*While it's true that many service dog handlers don't drive, I suspect there are increasing numbers who do (people with autism, PTSD, T1 diabetes ...). <br />
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Eastern Sky at Sunset</div>
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So there we go. I'm now a Modo member.</div>
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Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-35540743630460797972014-08-21T17:55:00.001-07:002014-08-22T11:51:33.063-07:00How to Run a Successful Business<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's people skills, is it not? OK, granted I know next to nothing about the money side of running a business — or about the money side of my own life, for that matter — but I'd still bet big bucks that the ability to interact with people in a positive, respectful manner and to manage conflicts effectively is <i>at least</i> as important as balancing the books, knowing your stuff, and delivering a quality product. I wouldn't be shocked if people skills trump those other things, but I'll leave it to the bonafide entrepreneurs to weigh in on that topic.<br />
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And what, you might ask, brings me to this particular topic? Well, this past week, I've had exchanges with representatives from two different Vancouver businesses occupying, respectively, the extreme ends of the people skills continuum. Both experiences have a dog connection. Let's start with the You-really-need-to-find-another-job end: customer "service" at <a href="http://www.modo.coop/" target="_blank">Modo the Car Co-op</a>.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">The Bridge at Bridgman Park, North Vancouver</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">(This is an outing we normally do with Leah & pups, but poor Kali-bear </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">cut her paw on a broken beer bottle and is thus out of commission. :-( ) </span></b></div>
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Most of the photos in this post come from a Car2Go outing that I tracked, cost-wise, in order to figure out whether or not it would be more economical to use Modo (whose vehicles, unlike C2G's, need to be returned to their home base at the end of trip) for certain excursions with Freddie. I worked out that a Modo "casual membership" would indeed be cheaper (so I guess my math skills aren't completely hopeless), not to mention more flexible for trips outside of C2G's city limits. I went to their website, where I discovered, among other things, that pets need to be crated while inside Modo vehicles.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">OK, Freddie, stay there </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">and we'll pose for a photo.</span></b></div>
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Now, C2G doesn't allow pets in their cars at all (though I frequently notice fur in the back hatch!), but when I asked them about service dogs, they said <i>No problem</i>. Freddie could ride either in the hatch or in the passenger seat. With this bit of context in mind, I called up Modo, anticipating a similar response — or perhaps some version of "Oh, this is the first time I've had that question; let me check with my supervisor," which would have been fine.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Freddie ... can't you wait to say hi? Paul hasn't taken the picture yet.</span></b><br />
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What I did get was the snarkiest customer service I've had in a long time ... maybe ever. I don't know if the person I spoke to ever registered the fact that I was asking about a service dog. She just kept repeating the crate policy (reading from a cheat sheet?) and became more and more testy with each repetition.<br />
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When she started not-so-subtly implying that I was failing to respect their current members (I pictured her with clenched teeth and bulging eyes at this point), I ended the call and said I'd be taking my concerns to the Modo management.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">OK, all three of you come over here and sit pretty ... Good dogs.</span></b><br />
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And that's what I did. A letter to the CEO is on its way (and, yeah, my own teeth were clenched while I wrote it). In it I gave the details of the exchange and asked for a reply, as well as a statement of Modo's service dog policy. We'll see what happens. It wouldn't take a whole lot to win me back over — maybe that particular rep was having a particularly bad day/week/life — but just now I'm not feeling especially keen to give Modo my business!<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Freddie! Paul hasn't taken the picture yet!</span></b><br />
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And now for the other end of the continuum ...<br />
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Remember the bite on the bum that Freddie received and that I wrote about <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/08/summer-staycation-and-bite-on-bum.html" target="_blank">here</a>? Well, after we got home, I thought it might be a good idea — since there had been blood involved — to let the dog-walking company know what had happened. So I sent an email to the folks at <a href="http://www.releasethehounds.ca/" target="_blank">Release the Hounds</a>, the business in question. Nothing grouchy or accusatory — just an FYI kind of thing. (And I'm really <i>not</i> a chronic letter writer; two in one week is a record for me!)<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Down to the River ...</b></span></div>
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Very soon after, I received a very gracious reply from RTH President, James. He thanked me for my message, enquired after the state of Freddie's backside, and asked me to please let them know how he was doing. He said the walker who'd been with the dogs was very concerned. Later, I received an equally solicitous follow-up message from their Customer Care guy. In short, Release the Hounds done good with their business communications, and if ever I'm in need of walking assistance for Freddie, I won't hesitate to call them up!<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">The River </span></b></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Stick Fetching</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Flip-flop Fetching</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Riverbank Shrine to Pups Who've Loved This Place</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>(a little creepy but also kind of groovy)</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Textural Camouflage!</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Driving Home (in a Car2Go!), Terminal Avenue</span></b></div>
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I suspect running a successful business is a complex and difficult balancing act. To all the customer/eco/community/pet-friendly ventures out there, especially the little ones ... this chair's for you!<br />
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Happy Weekend, Everyone!</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-24793042736594071732014-08-17T17:27:00.000-07:002014-08-18T17:11:31.041-07:00Summer Staycation and a Bite on the BumCar2Go must be going through an end-of-summer slump. Late last week I got an email saying they were offering a hot deal on a full-day rental, so Paul and I decided to take advantage and go on a couple of outings of the sort that would be expensive and/or logistically challenging without a vehicle. Our main excursion was over to the North Shore to hike the <a href="http://www.vancouvertrails.com/trails/brothers-creek-loop/" target="_blank">Brothers Creek loop trail</a> ... with Freddie, bien sûr. It was cool and misty — good weather for hiking, and for catching some nifty photos (for which you'll need to scroll down a bit) ...<br />
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Freddie checks out a culvert. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBaZCvFw39184qAifiqwyKUR7dZHj_NZ9q8V5J4gOQO7suyyqTA0LhTOkppDC5WBWU4WspHH5pHpZaTZNpMG5Yg0p782b3Mmgrwir-oYGOPKAxYnlRYkzEGoh1DVzcJd95mYftFf0fYk/s1600/IMG_2841.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiBaZCvFw39184qAifiqwyKUR7dZHj_NZ9q8V5J4gOQO7suyyqTA0LhTOkppDC5WBWU4WspHH5pHpZaTZNpMG5Yg0p782b3Mmgrwir-oYGOPKAxYnlRYkzEGoh1DVzcJd95mYftFf0fYk/s1600/IMG_2841.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Freddie on the alert! He gets a treat for pawing me; I get to treat my lowish blood sugar.<br />
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(I'm sure Paul had an excellent reason for cutting our feet out of the picture ... possibly something to do with my shoes not matching the rest of my outfit. As we know from <a href="http://maybliss.ca/?p=354" target="_blank">his appearance in my cousin May's fashion blog</a>, he's a serious fashionista!) <br />
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Shortly after the photo above, we encountered a professional dog walker with half a dozen dogs. They wanted to say hi to Freddie, and he was fine with that (it's a regular event when we go to Pacific Spirit Park) ... but the largest of the other dogs didn't like the look of Freddie, and, before we knew it, Freddie was squealing and running away — not a normal reaction for him (if provoked, he will generally stand his ground until ordered away or physically removed).<br />
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Anyway, Freddie didn't seem traumatized. He carried on, trotting and sniffing, and it wasn't until quite a bit later that we noticed the drying blood and bite marks on his rear end (mostly hidden by his tail). Yep, one of those doggies had taken quite a chomp into our Freddie-Weddie Doodle-Head. Nothing a little Polysporin can't handle, but still. :-( <br />
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I like the straightforwardness of this sign.<br />
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And here it is: the Big Tree!</div>
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(Note the candelabra branches near the top ... and the little people down below.)</div>
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The nose that knows:</div>
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Nifty Misty 1</div>
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We stuck to the Brothers Creek trail, but it's good to know there are other options for future excursions. <br />
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Even though Freddie stuck close to us, I was grateful for his <a href="http://www.stylishcanine.com/" target="_blank">Stylish Canine</a> visibility vest!<br />
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Not only do my shoes not match my outfit, they're also not the greatest footwear for navigating steep, wet, rocky, rooty trails. I'm in the market for something sturdier, so if anyone has any recommendations, send 'em my way!</div>
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Creek Bed</div>
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Webs <br />
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Nifty Misty 2</div>
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There we encountered this quite spectacular dog, a young <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Komondor" target="_blank">Komondor</a>. It's a bit hard to tell from the photo, but this dog has started to develop the dreadlocks ("cords") that are the breed's most striking characteristic. I have no idea how these guys manage in the heat. Maybe the dreads offer some kind of cooling mechanism?</div>
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Mr. Doodle-Head, on the other hand, is hot and matted and will be getting radically shorn and tidied up next week (the earliest appointment I could get with Anna, his favourite groomer).<br />
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Spanish Banks Fisherman</div>
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(cover for a Hemingway or Steinbeck novel?)</div>
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Our little staycation concluded with coffee and pie at Aphrodite's on 4th, near Alma. I'd been wanting to try this place and can now recommend it heartily!<br />
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Coffee + organic peach pie ('cause Okanagan peaches are in season — otherwise, it would just <i>have</i> to be apple or pumpkin). <br />
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The Aphrodite sidewalk was dog-friendly. Freddie wasn't in his service jacket because, well, with the hack job we recently did on the mats in his fur, he just doesn't look much like a presentable service dog. Though his face is still pretty darn cute, IMO. :)<br />
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Pie and chai and, now, ...</div>
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goodbye!</div>
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(until the next post, that is ...)</div>
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Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-92210919470316412014-08-15T15:16:00.000-07:002017-12-31T12:27:30.399-08:00Unnatural Causes: Robin and the Mouse<style>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_ebi5T4RgjtMRsyEujqRKBp-MofCJl5rTAQv_VusVGAqRGa9LtvqFjuZtKod6kNOYBnU2bkW1zpbrhouUWjz2Qh_kCglXdtuZrN8XYpH78gTdt6i8PhP2CGtYDVtwaYHuc3J2Z3Kz7M/s1600/IMG_2825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr_ebi5T4RgjtMRsyEujqRKBp-MofCJl5rTAQv_VusVGAqRGa9LtvqFjuZtKod6kNOYBnU2bkW1zpbrhouUWjz2Qh_kCglXdtuZrN8XYpH78gTdt6i8PhP2CGtYDVtwaYHuc3J2Z3Kz7M/s1600/IMG_2825.JPG" width="387" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">I went to see my GP to get a prescription refilled. It wasn't my usual GP; she was on holiday. My appointment was with a guy I'd seen once before. Bit of a self-important grump, but <i>whatever</i>; it was just a prescription refill. It was Wednesday; it was raining. Muggy summer rain. I was wearing my raincoat. Freddie wasn't with me — until he's officially certified, I prefer not to take him to medical-type places — but I discovered that the pocket of my raincoat, which I hadn't worn in a long time, was full of crumbled-up dog treats. I selected a magazine from the mess on the table of the waiting area — the December 2013 issue of <i>Canadian Living</i> — and hunkered down to wait.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoyKGoNdMeMb4uSXxU7ZYw6QfiRcZc7-3EZWPS5stYQ_3QNSaLiqnC2zb_Tucr3rveoLw1CRwCw7mx1TIJ2m6FN6kyksQI1wsCu2PtfRpuFpEtgZ_Be0HqiAIiSN3NIWgm6FF7fGX33o/s1600/IMG_2827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQoyKGoNdMeMb4uSXxU7ZYw6QfiRcZc7-3EZWPS5stYQ_3QNSaLiqnC2zb_Tucr3rveoLw1CRwCw7mx1TIJ2m6FN6kyksQI1wsCu2PtfRpuFpEtgZ_Be0HqiAIiSN3NIWgm6FF7fGX33o/s1600/IMG_2827.jpg" width="408" /></a>I flipped through pages of Christmas recipes and craft ideas. It was weird, a little creepy even, looking at this stuff. I can be a scrooge about Christmas in the middle of December, never mind a muggy day in the middle of August. I tossed the magazine aside and leaned forward to rummage through the pile again. <i>The Economist. Vogue. Today's Parent. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Something moved across my back. I pictured a marble, or the wheel of a child's toy, and I looked around to see if the toddler who'd been squalling on the bench behind mine was using my raincoat as a play surface. But his dad had taken him on a stroll to look at the planters and the aquarium. I picked up a June issue of <i>Maclean's</i> and leaned back into my seat. Palestine, the Ukraine, the French Open, the Taliban ... </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Again the movement. I whipped my hand behind me and patted it across my back. It came down on a small bulge, underneath my coat ... no, inside my coat, between the lining and the waterproof exterior. I pinned the bulge between my fingers and thumb. Through the fabric I felt a faint pulse of life. I thought of the crumbled dog treats, then I sprang out of my seat and tore off the coat as if it had caught fire. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A couple of people waiting in the next station glanced over. I must have looked funny, or crazy, or both. The receptionist called my name and said I could go in. I draped my coat over my arm and headed for the examination room. Inside, everything was very tidy. The individually wrapped gauze squares in a canister next to the sink were marked "Sterile." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Dr. Grump quibbled about my Synthroid dosage and the fact that I haven't had my thyroid tested in the past three months. He asked me the name of my endocrinologist. My mind went blank. I made a joke about menopause, and he frowned. I said her clinic is in New Westminster, and he said, "You live in Vancouver, and you go all the way out there?" I said, "Yes. I like her." Then he asked me if I've been feeling well in general, and I assured him that I was feeling absolutely fine. He renewed my prescription for a full year; I thanked him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Outside it was misting. I spread my raincoat out over a bench and watched. Nothing. <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/05/of-mice-and-magnesium-dubious-tips-for.html" target="_blank">Bhangra</a> couldn't have moved through my coat unnoticed, but the bulge I'd felt was smaller than Bhangra. I emptied the crumbled dog treats into a garbage can. There was a hole in the lining of the pocket. I called Paul on my Stupidphone. "Don't bring your coat in the building," he said. "You need to get rid of the mouse first." He paused, then added: "Do you want me to do it?" I said yes.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvIHVrCPmSrDtU5Vv2bC8ltWhHermqCtdYU4DVKm8qafvyBIM2W8qLtxdi9JvfwagAWeBypJgKpW7MFYYugMyzfgjm-ImUfpxUJzZfjCtuml6CItPI8lgV8TOY0yd-isiaQWEvIzCGBtE/s1600/IMG_2698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvIHVrCPmSrDtU5Vv2bC8ltWhHermqCtdYU4DVKm8qafvyBIM2W8qLtxdi9JvfwagAWeBypJgKpW7MFYYugMyzfgjm-ImUfpxUJzZfjCtuml6CItPI8lgV8TOY0yd-isiaQWEvIzCGBtE/s1600/IMG_2698.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Paul met me outside our building. I handed over the coat and went upstairs. Freddie was happy to see me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I cleared the front closet and all jacket pockets of dog treats and crumbs. I scanned the closet interior and noticed a hole that would need filling. Then I went to my desk and tapped my laptop to life. My home page is set to the BBC News: Palestine, Ferguson, Ebola, Robin Williams. Hearing Paul out in the hallway, talking with one of the neighbours, I clicked on a video montage that began with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pr9ruvxA3K4" target="_blank">a scene from <i>Patch Adams</i></a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">RIP, Robin Williams</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1951-2014</span></div>
Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-88056903198535140012014-08-11T21:28:00.000-07:002014-08-12T09:02:28.464-07:00Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPa1gEWt2o_yB6A4YalfEnFs3JIQzL3ciE8RvZsYKevhbj5RHZT3qHRZeTzpptJZPKFYIFGV0h7aW58qJx-DOJekE475_Bdki9gMaa_LymDvRAt76iDB-breKb3D_zGuiRMajPCBLpkis/s1600/IMG_2682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPa1gEWt2o_yB6A4YalfEnFs3JIQzL3ciE8RvZsYKevhbj5RHZT3qHRZeTzpptJZPKFYIFGV0h7aW58qJx-DOJekE475_Bdki9gMaa_LymDvRAt76iDB-breKb3D_zGuiRMajPCBLpkis/s1600/IMG_2682.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>I wouldn't say <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/07/walking-is-therapeutic-but-can-it.html" target="_blank">my midlife crisis</a> is over. No, there's still shit to work out/on ... but in the Hollywood version of my life, the three days Freddie and I just spent with Leah and her pups at her family's cabin near Mt. Baker will quite possibly serve as the Turning Point, the Transformative Experience from which I (or, rather, the slimmer, more attractive screen star who will play me) will emerge enlightened, re-invigorated, ready to try new things and re-discover old favourites. (I'm not sure what Celluloid Paul will be doing; the real one was invigilating exams — and wants to be played by a young Alan Arkin.)<br />
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The weekend forecast was for SUN. Friday morning we filled Leah's car with food and gear and dogs and headed (a couple of degrees latitude) south for Washington State. Over the previous few days, I'd been thinking about going back to school in September 2015 — doing a PhD in Comp Lit or English or Interdisciplinary Studies (not for any career-related reason, just for the stimulation of academic pursuits) — and the idea built up some momentum as we sat roasting in the barely-moving border lineup for more than an hour.<br />
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ARE WE THERE YET?!? </div>
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Then we reached the charming little town of Glacier, WA, very near Mount Baker, and our thoughts and conversations turned to more immediate and concrete concerns ...<br />
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"Simulated Luxury"?</div>
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Hot Dawgs Fetch 'n' Swim in the Nooksack River!</div>
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We settled in at Leah and John's (classic, woodsy) cabin, where, by design and good fortune, no WiFi waves mingled with the coffee vapours. <br />
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While not exactly traditional or rustic (we cooked with electricity, showered in hot water, lounged in the warmth of a gas fireplace in the evenings), our existence those three days was much closer to Nature, to the way things used to be, than is life in the big city.<br />
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On Saturday we did something I haven't done in far too long: a hike that involves serious climbing. OK, not the kind of climbing that requires baffling bits of equipment that hardcore outdoorsy types purchase at MEC — I mean the kind that's like going up 300 flights of stairs.<br />
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The trail we took was the "Skyline Divide" — elevation gain 457 m/1500 feet, 7.2 km/4.5 miles round trip. (The view below looks flat, but that's because we're finally nearing the mountain ridge. I was working too hard in the earlier part to think about taking pictures!) <br />
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Alpine Meadow</div>
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The biggest walk Freddie and I have ever done together!</div>
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Mi hermana</div>
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We figured out it's been more than 15 years since Leah and I last went on a getaway together. Three solid days with my best friend of ~35 years ... just what the Dogter ordered! </div>
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The hills are aliiiiive!!!</div>
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(Note the unimpressed position of Freddie's tail and ears!)</div>
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Almost at the ridge ...</div>
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Just a few more meters, Freddie ...</div>
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Et voilà! Mount Baker!</div>
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Grassy expanses for young dawgs to roam free ...</div>
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... even patches of snow for cooling off. <br />
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A Change in Perspective</div>
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(is good)</div>
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I'd like to spend more time in nature. Maybe go on a multi-day walking/hiking trip with Paul and Freddie. Maybe one
of those deals where a vehicle transports our stuff while we walk
(though maybe now that I no longer use an insulin pump and all its
space-hogging equipment, I could actually pack light!). The UK ... the
South of France ... somewhere closer to home?<br />
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I'd like to go away for three weeks or so <i>sans dawg </i>(shh ... don't tell
Freddie). Maybe somewhere I've been before — Italy, Istanbul, Indochina, Île d'Orléans ... Or somewhere I've never been — Inuvik, Iran, Ireland, Israel ...<br />
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I'd like to deepen my understanding of the Earth and the Universe, of people and animals.<br />
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I'd like to do something helpful for any of the above through my words or actions.<br />
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I'd like to figure out how the buttons on my camera work.<br />
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These were some of the thoughts going through my head as we relaxed on the deck in the late afternoon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvfnLxFHE_2PS2Md2XX4WvBvh4r2GybqjAZYAvjSKSjj7xjj87-C0nXd3wTk5POZysR0mpRt09-CLA37KLv4N0vou7kWas2Qucf527Ea9NV3GWdhWAsabvOfYZLZ2jhq7K_qrnjoxOJU/s1600/IMG_2807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvfnLxFHE_2PS2Md2XX4WvBvh4r2GybqjAZYAvjSKSjj7xjj87-C0nXd3wTk5POZysR0mpRt09-CLA37KLv4N0vou7kWas2Qucf527Ea9NV3GWdhWAsabvOfYZLZ2jhq7K_qrnjoxOJU/s1600/IMG_2807.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8aD6Spr8W9oy9gfjWoVGJAASy4o11m_ItU0UW07Um0BeGhkisl9FOqemoknCUceux1hzTKLCa7kOy6aCqLa1GyArvIRn0eB4nshFr16w18XiB0kLzdONVbHx1f4ygB9ahVo_3dDhLCw/s1600/IMG_2805.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8aD6Spr8W9oy9gfjWoVGJAASy4o11m_ItU0UW07Um0BeGhkisl9FOqemoknCUceux1hzTKLCa7kOy6aCqLa1GyArvIRn0eB4nshFr16w18XiB0kLzdONVbHx1f4ygB9ahVo_3dDhLCw/s1600/IMG_2805.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>We spent most of Sunday close to the cabin and took a couple of long walks on spectacular river trails.<br />
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The photos don't do justice.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R5rq4wDjfJUVHPf7L5NiA2f58paqvNU8F94BLEzE1SJrisCs7LQPd-kFtRfFwrjdP5zDxNdQttIQPU_puz6dCb4PHFgdbNCWXnbdsQQ15P2bvnJNiNfJrHE3u-MbBAUiP8RgFithyphenhyphen24/s1600/IMG_2798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R5rq4wDjfJUVHPf7L5NiA2f58paqvNU8F94BLEzE1SJrisCs7LQPd-kFtRfFwrjdP5zDxNdQttIQPU_puz6dCb4PHFgdbNCWXnbdsQQ15P2bvnJNiNfJrHE3u-MbBAUiP8RgFithyphenhyphen24/s1600/IMG_2798.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Maybe if I knew how to operate all the buttons on my camera?</div>
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Or maybe not.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUw-ZraloRCmP7BiMH2j4AXFX-u4NqDjdA3Sybf0e75kOeWuTqRs4Er-UvkxV6qAUPqsiaGbb3pSAARu1Y14_SLU1MlftsbL1Iu0cSpY5CoXi6-G0Irf6SRCnTlhyphenhyphenIlUMr1Cj0y6_EhsI/s1600/IMG_2803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUw-ZraloRCmP7BiMH2j4AXFX-u4NqDjdA3Sybf0e75kOeWuTqRs4Er-UvkxV6qAUPqsiaGbb3pSAARu1Y14_SLU1MlftsbL1Iu0cSpY5CoXi6-G0Irf6SRCnTlhyphenhyphenIlUMr1Cj0y6_EhsI/s1600/IMG_2803.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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We had americanos on the deck of the Wake 'n' Bakery, which sells cheeky fridge magnets.<br />
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I was excited to find the very one I wanted (which Leah has, in button form, pinned in her car): "Drink coffee! Do stupid things faster with more energy!"<br />
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I suspect the town of Glacier is a bit more lively in winter. (And here's something else I want to do more of: x-country skiing!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N_bYDtTFGMBXiC8LAsQYlUHVgWi9_6fCg0CZKtuPcWJst4gvb7z8482xR0qhHisyJ467tvZ3q4yYJVwfDzV75Mr6RSb_8C-Kw-AnxMrKZXWOP7OO1wcBstLliO0-415LeOdkvyOSptI/s1600/IMG_2809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1N_bYDtTFGMBXiC8LAsQYlUHVgWi9_6fCg0CZKtuPcWJst4gvb7z8482xR0qhHisyJ467tvZ3q4yYJVwfDzV75Mr6RSb_8C-Kw-AnxMrKZXWOP7OO1wcBstLliO0-415LeOdkvyOSptI/s1600/IMG_2809.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTkPtCusmozXjzS_j8LrNW00SB1OkmKjOA3Qno7QCAivktlw_W9F3378IXz4PissQ4Y2tRbTzW6AJ0lwFoOWIZYxkjuCzsMFF9jgH36y5hWmGWjZ_bZecFcqGRQ0a5tJBeeYx2pp8ywQ/s1600/IMG_2812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYTkPtCusmozXjzS_j8LrNW00SB1OkmKjOA3Qno7QCAivktlw_W9F3378IXz4PissQ4Y2tRbTzW6AJ0lwFoOWIZYxkjuCzsMFF9jgH36y5hWmGWjZ_bZecFcqGRQ0a5tJBeeYx2pp8ywQ/s1600/IMG_2812.JPG" height="361" width="400" /></a></div>
I took a dorky picture of myself on our afternoon walk ... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKXgcqfM1xcypOfUSrQ1Rp79ml-O1qloAzQFXNciOsDkjxQuoANoeHhKTORGKJ_wRBy8H92tX26qBjIJ2LrPcYETWIojMUZd1gHwKf3YKKJn-EwW8TBqtAq6XctifZCXMG8A3xaKFhatY/s1600/IMG_2820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKXgcqfM1xcypOfUSrQ1Rp79ml-O1qloAzQFXNciOsDkjxQuoANoeHhKTORGKJ_wRBy8H92tX26qBjIJ2LrPcYETWIojMUZd1gHwKf3YKKJn-EwW8TBqtAq6XctifZCXMG8A3xaKFhatY/s1600/IMG_2820.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
... then noticed that Freddie was waiting for me up ahead.<br />
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I'm not so sure anymore that I want to do a PhD. I haven't
ditched the possibility altogether ... but there are other
possibilities out there — newer/ stranger things ... ways of
understanding that don't involve my trusty stand-bys (sitting in a
classroom, doing research, writing papers) and that could ultimately be more beneficial (for me? for others?) ... possibilities that might
just push round #2 of grad school over the horizon.<br />
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In the meantime, I have a partly finished novel manuscript that I don't intend to abandon. The 3-month teaching marathon is done (already!), and after a little bit more therapeutic R&R I shall be getting back to it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7zZv5HWvqKd-xg_fEfU8RrJOnkzMfrrhPhj_pOFyB_3c2CEgEGYtS4pAFrsb6EZIl2rKw-MIyQvrmvGsaffss3WMHUvGMODVf7LrzMzQZhDo6Z9x87ERiahPws718VOG-JrySaZfLs0/s1600/IMG_2823.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7zZv5HWvqKd-xg_fEfU8RrJOnkzMfrrhPhj_pOFyB_3c2CEgEGYtS4pAFrsb6EZIl2rKw-MIyQvrmvGsaffss3WMHUvGMODVf7LrzMzQZhDo6Z9x87ERiahPws718VOG-JrySaZfLs0/s1600/IMG_2823.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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On that note, let the movie of my life dissolve to the next scene, </div>
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accompanied by Jimmy Buffett, hip with his hearing aid, </div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_u5-CuKeF8" target="_blank">singin' & smilin' at the Gulf Shores benefit concert</a> ...</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-88906292370803077882014-07-30T17:07:00.000-07:002014-07-30T17:07:03.273-07:00Dog Beach Blowup and Other Breeds of Chaos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2mYcGNaLs3MQR9EKsYZziIDmr0dIjmcuEpcLkywQJKA3Q7VcxyhOeXrpw-w6W2h-l7qGAM_Xt0nTZ-MsMksGqeLrlHsXW8VCUkty6urBuwcyvPU0OUAaVZIYGH83PytWK_hYP1s_lZ8/s1600/IMG_2646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2mYcGNaLs3MQR9EKsYZziIDmr0dIjmcuEpcLkywQJKA3Q7VcxyhOeXrpw-w6W2h-l7qGAM_Xt0nTZ-MsMksGqeLrlHsXW8VCUkty6urBuwcyvPU0OUAaVZIYGH83PytWK_hYP1s_lZ8/s1600/IMG_2646.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a>Monday morning Freddie and I arrived at the dog beach just in time to witness a canine brawl that turned into a human one. The two humans involved weren't biting each other's neck, so maybe "brawl" isn't the right word for them, but there was plenty of barking, growling, and snarling going on.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>[Most of today's photos, as you'll notice, have little or nothing to do with the text; they're just random shots from the past week.</b></span>]<br />
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It started (the human part, that is) when one dog parent raised a Chuck-it ball thrower as if to whack one of the unruly dogs — which gesture scattered the dogs but triggered a rabid response from another dog parent ("Don't you dare hit my dog!" "I didn't touch your dog! But he would've deserved it!" etc. etc.).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggOtBc7YU1sB_FQxYo1ClXwZ_AEIEJwO0r5m4jwLmDp921VIhm1S8eLvy6aYmUO-W_nH999peqUE7WrZCbmw8m-TL6BlY3NGRSxySXjY1boyXZE9cnJoJvHLqAAZIe3qhT53I6908JKBE/s1600/IMG_2648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggOtBc7YU1sB_FQxYo1ClXwZ_AEIEJwO0r5m4jwLmDp921VIhm1S8eLvy6aYmUO-W_nH999peqUE7WrZCbmw8m-TL6BlY3NGRSxySXjY1boyXZE9cnJoJvHLqAAZIe3qhT53I6908JKBE/s1600/IMG_2648.JPG" height="473" width="640" /></a></div>
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Who says dog people are always mellow?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjh-F317X-9FNjgH7OTvVhGg95UuLYfwgw8RP0JCJ0HS6W2ZWAw8Z52sLUNdZgSwR20jDJbgZzJwHRWMHruMAiey9LNK6xV_U2TA96TDEPw01yPJ__TaHotY61Pxwjzwho2PmH6Zqp5c/s1600/IMG_2668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgjh-F317X-9FNjgH7OTvVhGg95UuLYfwgw8RP0JCJ0HS6W2ZWAw8Z52sLUNdZgSwR20jDJbgZzJwHRWMHruMAiey9LNK6xV_U2TA96TDEPw01yPJ__TaHotY61Pxwjzwho2PmH6Zqp5c/s1600/IMG_2668.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA502CMPh4gEuIjw35V3PoHVr_sbckesRP28UbYnLpGL8yqhj_5WaD4yGl7PP9cQDnT1WinJf20sIP-Cq8VNf3hWUKhtuK4JxDwouz8nKLIMFX1e3qJy4YOod35udKsxGYbzRbvldwat4/s1600/IMG_2664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA502CMPh4gEuIjw35V3PoHVr_sbckesRP28UbYnLpGL8yqhj_5WaD4yGl7PP9cQDnT1WinJf20sIP-Cq8VNf3hWUKhtuK4JxDwouz8nKLIMFX1e3qJy4YOod35udKsxGYbzRbvldwat4/s1600/IMG_2664.jpg" height="400" width="277" /></a>In my experience, the overwhelming majority of dog-related encounters with other people (notwithstanding <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/03/pns-problem-neighbour-syndrome-episode.html" target="_blank">the Peevish Petter</a>, <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/the-walk-of-life-7-reasons-to-do-it.html" target="_blank">the Poop Patroller</a>, and a few other exceptions) have been entirely amicable and have contributed something good to my daily life.<br />
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Why, just this afternoon, a woman stopped to say hi to Freddie and give him a big kiss on the lips (which Freddie was more than happy to reciprocate)! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlv8ECQQA1ergMGC_rY8PgfWubBDPPHnfX3cNcHmNfiY5DLl4W9sYC4-_tKCfkWR2ie8BeQGzwDJ-x2OykZOEelQZb5Ks91JZ_7-G630UgUhyaBwZJuPt9YF751xiPJ7FknLhYPSwabg/s1600/IMG_2660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlv8ECQQA1ergMGC_rY8PgfWubBDPPHnfX3cNcHmNfiY5DLl4W9sYC4-_tKCfkWR2ie8BeQGzwDJ-x2OykZOEelQZb5Ks91JZ_7-G630UgUhyaBwZJuPt9YF751xiPJ7FknLhYPSwabg/s1600/IMG_2660.JPG" height="355" width="400" /></a></div>
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But the unruliness of dogs (yeah, all dogs), combined with the fact that they are, in important ways, an extension of their people (kinda like kids?), means that such encounters have a heightened potential to trigger flare-ups of people's otherwise dormant "issues" — anger being a big one.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Sunday Morning at the Central Library </span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy5q86unQ5kH6TBfdsqlcbUYr-ETxXUSOo7zgX1bXG_j12QDPXubs_e-RYF_4uaohwoeotEgaHGc-lFlH0aL2hCE1nG35TRmQwdzzkupKBPv8wah-fs39I4UDqsUR9h2Hvq2rExbBva0/s1600/IMG_2667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy5q86unQ5kH6TBfdsqlcbUYr-ETxXUSOo7zgX1bXG_j12QDPXubs_e-RYF_4uaohwoeotEgaHGc-lFlH0aL2hCE1nG35TRmQwdzzkupKBPv8wah-fs39I4UDqsUR9h2Hvq2rExbBva0/s1600/IMG_2667.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47wDrfQnzeNai_y2dVkVOGSy1tQnMQEMQUfsD40S7xCWDtiapEsBz6FyE6kAbzPv-UqWdPbhlbYrGmn7ZFiz7pIuPgir_2SjyS1_MT6oA6b8FpD4tM9rcKT9SmR2yizDiS9o-bpIWxso/s1600/IMG_2662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47wDrfQnzeNai_y2dVkVOGSy1tQnMQEMQUfsD40S7xCWDtiapEsBz6FyE6kAbzPv-UqWdPbhlbYrGmn7ZFiz7pIuPgir_2SjyS1_MT6oA6b8FpD4tM9rcKT9SmR2yizDiS9o-bpIWxso/s1600/IMG_2662.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a>Lots of people are chronically angry, it seems — but this isn't really a post about anger, and, anyway, even if everyone in the world were really good at anger management, the kind of interdependent social existence we humans lead would still have the potential for flare-ups, what with most of us having to negotiate different values/needs/desires/expectations etc. etc., day in-day out, and just generally to keep a lid on many of our impulses much of the time.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">After Hours</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lUlKoHywGO8NXuRZ0hX8Mpc9C2RBCE0XJdQhxoaYyjX1IM0PPcqkRlY_CteKbDYEFW5_zIb9cdX3QhD3SSNbJodvCRMHj2lwlwACBS_p3jH6mhB-zw89haPY5iVtZ5ch3L7aDy1r4U8/s1600/IMG_2669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6lUlKoHywGO8NXuRZ0hX8Mpc9C2RBCE0XJdQhxoaYyjX1IM0PPcqkRlY_CteKbDYEFW5_zIb9cdX3QhD3SSNbJodvCRMHj2lwlwACBS_p3jH6mhB-zw89haPY5iVtZ5ch3L7aDy1r4U8/s1600/IMG_2669.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a> We're in the midst of Fireworks Week and Pride Week here in Vancouver ... <br />
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... and, nope, I haven't abandoned my original topic! I was thinking about these events as I lured Freddie away from the kerfuffles at the east end of the dog beach.<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;"></span></b>Both the <a href="http://hondacelebrationoflight.com/" target="_blank">Celebration of Light</a> and the <a href="http://vancouverpride.ca/events/pride-parade/" target="_blank">Pride Parade</a> are, in addition to their aesthetic/political/other functions, pretty good examples of the kind of carnivalesque chaos that societies seem to need every once in a while to let off steam and shake up the usual order of things. (I suppose Vancouver's humiliating <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_Vancouver_Stanley_Cup_riot" target="_blank">hockey riot of 2011</a> was a similar sort of thing — or, perhaps, just a potent illustration of why some kind of "organized chaos" is necessary.)<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Not only is the Nofo Roots store rainbow-positive, they also allow pets inside. :)</span></b> <br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Fireworks!</span></b></div>
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Anyway, given my aversion to crowds, it's been yonks since I've gone anywhere near the hub of activity on a fireworks night or parade day ... but it just so happens that the rooftop deck of our new pad has an excellent view of the sky over English Bay (Fireworks HQ).<br />
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Last Saturday night we took Freddie up there for the first of three shows — also his first encounter with pyrotechnics. He didn't bark or seem traumatized, but his doggy brain clearly wasn't sure whether this was a party or an air raid (the similarity is no doubt one of the thrills, at least for those of us who've never had to endure the likes of what's going on in Gaza these days :-( ). <br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">The closest thing I've seen to a rocket launcher this week</span></b> <br />
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Not to end off on an entirely grim note, here's a recent BBC tidbit with a connection to public displays of emotion: <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-trending-28548179" target="_blank">Turkish women get the last laugh</a> (I hope)!<br />
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And, lest Freddie feel left out, here's a shot of his hind quarters. (The main subjects of this photo are my shirt, which I picked up at my new favourite consignment store, and my very groovy bag, handcrafted from vintage fabrics by our good friend <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/KarinBirch" target="_blank">Karin Birch</a>. The link goes to her Etsy shop.)<br />
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<b><span style="color: magenta;">The roads in our neighbourhood will be crazy tonight, but if you're around here anyway, c'mon up to our deck and watch episode 2 of the show!</span></b></div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-79520320811507535962014-07-24T23:07:00.001-07:002014-07-24T23:07:38.675-07:00The Dog's Breakfast and the Diabetic's Brain<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lA3zN7PGjvIN-FWi8mZ-x2K2csiyPaoEWQ_odQDYrnt3Zf4N_QTVGNxAfVLcEnL_RUhpQ4tu8PN4MNnCaRENLin9sVS8zEl2gFVkYnAgEAPvhaX5P71NNLXlfgUTdlhLj7RnBahxTHg/s1600/IMG_2629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lA3zN7PGjvIN-FWi8mZ-x2K2csiyPaoEWQ_odQDYrnt3Zf4N_QTVGNxAfVLcEnL_RUhpQ4tu8PN4MNnCaRENLin9sVS8zEl2gFVkYnAgEAPvhaX5P71NNLXlfgUTdlhLj7RnBahxTHg/s1600/IMG_2629.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>I have no idea what goes on in dogs' brains — and only a smidgen of understanding of the human version — but if Freddie has anything resembling a left-right hemisphere split (a misleading oversimplification, I realize), I can't imagine that the turbo-charged feeling/sensing, just-<i>being</i> parts of his doggy grey matter are in any danger of being overwhelmed by the logical/analytical abstract-thinking parts. Nope ... Freddie is a paragon of sensory awareness, body-mind connectedness, and in-the-momentness.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIXfa9c1igp4umf0bjZQe2BK6Cxr9jT3E2EeiXQuTpQH9bFZOxs3S0B7GE5PzjKtcf_YKfYzvvC6NF4YPNtTboCRAXZgyiXqEWGfPukiNuBDw3aOHPWv_bgSxgsihG4IN_pGhvyQrj1g/s1600/IMG_2640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIXfa9c1igp4umf0bjZQe2BK6Cxr9jT3E2EeiXQuTpQH9bFZOxs3S0B7GE5PzjKtcf_YKfYzvvC6NF4YPNtTboCRAXZgyiXqEWGfPukiNuBDw3aOHPWv_bgSxgsihG4IN_pGhvyQrj1g/s1600/IMG_2640.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Witness a typical breakfast: 45 minutes of intensely focused gnawing, chewing, tearing, sniffing, grinding, savouring. I can guarantee you he's not estimating how many grams of protein are in his bone, or contemplating where he should go for his next walk, or psychoanalyzing the yappy dog across the street, or wondering if he's reaching his full potential as a canine being. He's on the bone mat, eating his bone — and that's all there is.<br />
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Now, I don't mean to diss logical/analytical thinking. Such thinking has led to remarkable things in our world; it's responsible for many of the things that I've come to view as my biggest accomplishments. BUT (of course there's a <i>but</i>) ... as someone who's inclined to spend a lot of time in the realm of the abstract/hypothetical/theoretical, I believe I have something to gain by emulating Freddie's hyper-sensory relationship to the world.<br />
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I'm not saying I'm up for rolling around in fly-infested seaweed or lapping at muddy puddles in the park. Ew. Nor am I necessarily ready to give up plates and cutlery at the dining table. That said, however, I suspect that my relationship to <i>food</i> — a relationship that's been, well, screwed over by diabetes — would most definitely benefit from some Freddification.<br />
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As most of my diabetic readers — especially those with clear pre-diabetes memories — know too well, eating in Diabetes Land is no picnic. Often it's closer to math class on a Friday afternoon. The process of adding up grams of carbohydrate and other nutrients, estimating the effects of recent and future energy expenditure, and adjusting for current glucose levels, all in order to calculate (ie. guess) appropriate insulin doses, has a way of seriously undermining the sensory pleasures of food and eating.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIQM0Tv4fN28VZuE2I1RS7c368XU4EdF4Qd9BdUOmYgZYMUt9LzOGiStJg3PfmlHBDUnD7SntCwoUjgxQMIavPfl4KhTjqdWr71xcfzesP1-D54X7YkvvlTmOplBMoNYsxT47qo1LMJ4/s1600/IMG_2624.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIQM0Tv4fN28VZuE2I1RS7c368XU4EdF4Qd9BdUOmYgZYMUt9LzOGiStJg3PfmlHBDUnD7SntCwoUjgxQMIavPfl4KhTjqdWr71xcfzesP1-D54X7YkvvlTmOplBMoNYsxT47qo1LMJ4/s1600/IMG_2624.JPG" height="332" width="400" /></a>Even when I'm in <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/02/hanging-out-in-f-it-zone.html" target="_blank">the Diabetes Fuck-It Zone (the D-Fiz)</a>, I find that no sooner does the café-mocha mousse hit my taste buds than I'm already thinking — at least a little — about what all those carbs I haven't bothered counting are going to do to my blood sugar. To go back to that schematic conception of brain hemispheres, I end up feeding my left brain, which has only a rudimentary appreciation for the taste sensations of coffee and chocolate, while my poor right brain stays hungry (or conspires to make me sneak into the chocolate cupboard while Lefty isn't paying attention).<br />
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So. It's not as if I've taken no pleasure in food, lo these 26+ years with T1D. The phenomenon waxes and wanes. But I've been experimenting, the past couple of weeks, with prohibiting all so-called left-brain activity while I'm actively eating. Like Freddie, I can chew, sniff, savour, taste, etc. ... but Diamathematics and other abstract contemplations are verboten.<br />
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And ...? <br />
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I dig it. It makes a difference, I think (feel?). Obviously none of the calculating and other crap has disappeared; it just gets temporarily bracketed off, allowing me a few moments of something approximating the kind of pre-diabetes eating experience I still vaguely remember ... or even, at best, an all-encompassing "bone mat" kind of experience.<br />
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Bon appétit! </div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-37394608647309638172014-07-19T15:46:00.000-07:002014-07-19T20:42:12.428-07:00For DOG's sake, DON'T DRINK THE WATER! Holy chicken carcasses, Freddie! It's been more than a week since my last confession ... er, blog post! The main reason for the hiatus is increased activity in that other genre in which I write at this time of year: the one-paragraph, end-of-essay, how-to-make-your-next-attempt-better comment. But Freddie still needs to walk, so the photos have been piling up, along with the random musings ... <br />
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Join us as we explore the North Arm of the Fraser River, the trails of Musqueam Park, the back alleys of the downtown core, and — yes — a place where the sparkly blue water is <i>not</i> to be swallowed! <br />
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Freddie and Paul on the banks of the Mighty Fraser</div>
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This barge reminded me of my three months of rowing on the Rhône in 2010. Twice a day or so, a huge honking barge would set out from the Lafarge cement plant, a few kilometers upriver from the Avignon rowing club, churning up potential disasters. I managed to stay out of its way/wake — a lucky thing, given <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/h2oh.html" target="_blank">my abilities in the staying-upright-in-challenging-water department</a>. <br />
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Fraser River log boom, plus a view of Macdonald Dog Beach in the transpontine* suburb of Richmond<br />
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*This word is dedicated to Paul, from whom I learned it (as he told of staggering to a port house — as in a place where fortified wine is made — located across a bridge ... in Portugal, no less).<br />
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Freddie wasn't actually with me on this downtown walk (nor was my camera — hence the graininess of these Stupidphone photos). If you're thinking, <i>But isn't Freddie supposed to be with you all the time?</i> ... that's a good question. And I answer it <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/03/neon-lights-mean-poutine-and-necessity.html" target="_blank">here</a>!<br />
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Anyway, on this particular evening, I was at the SFU downtown campus to hear <a href="http://rezaaslan.com/books/" target="_blank">Reza Aslan, author of the controversial book <i>Zealot</i></a>, talk about the historical Jesus (as opposed to the "Jesus of Faith," to use his term).<br />
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Interesting guy (Historical Jesus, obviously, but I mean Reza Aslan), and a very interesting talk. Did you know, for instance (I didn't), that crucifixion was not, technically, a death penalty in the Roman Empire (though survival was highly unlikely)? No ... apparently it was a scare tactic that made a public display of the fate of political shit disturbers*, with the purpose of intimidating other potential disturbers. According to Aslan, the Romans sometimes killed the accused first, <i>then</i> nailed the body to the cross. They could be compassionate that way, I guess.<br />
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*The so-called "thieves" who were crucified alongside Jesus of Nazareth were, says Aslan, closer to "bandits" — the term used for rebels of a certain sort.<br />
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Tête-à-tête under the razor wire</div>
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Holy Hair Extensions <br />
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Gastown Trolley Bus Cables</div>
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Vancouver Summer!<br />
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On the trail that runs between the Musqueam Band Reserve and Musqueam Park ... Freddie is sporting his spiffy visibility vest from <a href="http://dogthusiast.com/2014/07/18/safe-jogging-walking-dog-night/" target="_blank">Stylish Canine</a>. (This link goes to an article about doggy safety gear that features Freddie!)<br />
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RIP, wild salmon streams :-( <br />
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Freddie in "Zoomie Mode," testing the waterproofness of his vest</div>
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(It passed!)</div>
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Funny Neighbours :)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOtWVGJ0G_63ibuMZOznwMyPzj_tLlkWzIk353kWKoRkef_m-3AXadeZhhDiRJLlbwjENTHPH9FeV1dgHYX6keeNJXw3UFuV_22qJzayDVx5V3pDCpXYbNc6TiL-TniGQTWVJXK-huiI/s1600/IMG_2619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOtWVGJ0G_63ibuMZOznwMyPzj_tLlkWzIk353kWKoRkef_m-3AXadeZhhDiRJLlbwjENTHPH9FeV1dgHYX6keeNJXw3UFuV_22qJzayDVx5V3pDCpXYbNc6TiL-TniGQTWVJXK-huiI/s1600/IMG_2619.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Yay, True Carnivores!</div>
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You may recall that <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/06/freddie-walks-picket-line.html" target="_blank">Freddie and I joined Leah and her colleagues on the picket line back in June</a>, but, since this particular dispute doesn't involve my own union, and since the T.C. gang has given us plenty of treats over the past year, I didn't ask for a free bone. :)</div>
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RIP, technology that's designed to last<br />
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(Though I suppose if it's designed to last, it's not dead, ergo not needing to rest/rust in peace ... unlike this snazzy, useless eMac computer hanging out by a dumpster.) <br />
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And now, at last, here we are: the Spanish Banks dog beach at low tide. Dogtopia. The Garden of Freedom. Seemingly endless expanses of shallow water for fetching, splashing, romping, cooling off. Grecian skies, salty breezes ...</div>
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... not to mention natural but toxic concentrations of phytoplankton, also known as Red Tide — which I didn't actually know about on our recent visits, during which I made only lame attempts to discourage Freddie from drinking the ocean water (more for hydration reasons than anything else). </div>
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Two visits to Spanish Banks since my last post => two bouts of canine projectile diarrhea ... outside on the grass, thank DOG (but unfortunately not very pick-up-able in a poop bag).</div>
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A few dogfolk I've spoken with say their pups react that way to any ingesting of salt water, but Freddie has seemed fine after drinking the stuff in other locations, at other times. The local news has issued Red Tide warnings for Burrard Inlet, so, in the absence of any other explanation, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZmwfYAel9PGEx8nga9I7PgQXLqEMRRObzo5Ky4-8TCLscEPhRtbT4VJSDc5P4RSjJXoOf3-fZShyphenhyphensMVn8VTA8met2Rje0DXZaMx8QDqr6HvcbBaIRVLV-KRDFoaL-oi6iREBkmeeKcE/s1600/IMG_2600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZmwfYAel9PGEx8nga9I7PgQXLqEMRRObzo5Ky4-8TCLscEPhRtbT4VJSDc5P4RSjJXoOf3-fZShyphenhyphensMVn8VTA8met2Rje0DXZaMx8QDqr6HvcbBaIRVLV-KRDFoaL-oi6iREBkmeeKcE/s1600/IMG_2600.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Back to the forest, Freddie, until that other Tide goes out ...</div>
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You're a miraculous sniffer, but I have no confidence in your ability to part the Red Sea!</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-16151372720054580852014-07-08T21:00:00.000-07:002014-07-08T21:00:10.864-07:00Walking is therapeutic ... but can it replace the shrink's couch? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNXwSsSYbigso0wvMe4PtpcPjsV488VLUb6XA_1e0QovZT4NCr9VvWIyupLMxwckTerX_y6HwMStQLsKEjYgLP5Ul_SABe8ONfKpKqiGymf67NXoCa2QUL9X5ATnXuFuB4dyH01SM5_Y/s1600/IMG_2559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNXwSsSYbigso0wvMe4PtpcPjsV488VLUb6XA_1e0QovZT4NCr9VvWIyupLMxwckTerX_y6HwMStQLsKEjYgLP5Ul_SABe8ONfKpKqiGymf67NXoCa2QUL9X5ATnXuFuB4dyH01SM5_Y/s1600/IMG_2559.JPG" height="342" width="400" /></a>Hands up: how many of you out there have enlisted the services of a professional for psychological / emotional issues?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOqUX86Nf0NTsbOOToG3QPjoalRsDBYfmrOl-TeGhWUQAC42EOwETVBsqCuTjZG8UPQVS4vh080GTMC44RK9vu_fSMvdjn46x_GKRSb2adL5KrLMwl6xeDibBa6_l_5hTFogkTQh3fbA/s1600/IMG_2569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOqUX86Nf0NTsbOOToG3QPjoalRsDBYfmrOl-TeGhWUQAC42EOwETVBsqCuTjZG8UPQVS4vh080GTMC44RK9vu_fSMvdjn46x_GKRSb2adL5KrLMwl6xeDibBa6_l_5hTFogkTQh3fbA/s1600/IMG_2569.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Hmm ... I'm squinting into the distance, and I'm not seeing many hands. OK, yes, psychotherapy is expensive, and not everyone has extended health coverage for that particular kind of care (I bet they have it in Sweden!), and finding someone competent and compatible to treat psychic ills is a whole lot harder than getting a bout of strep throat seen to ... so how about this: who out there will freely admit to having <i>needed</i> such therapy at some point?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQw56Cr0qctAYqj3szYjQ6GIPlL85hVhKVHCmreT8R2_4xBcLtDWb8iTMKf2MKVwyTpdbRoPqViQJYxUPLc17jM5n8rlCnwExNE_PQaYdVRGN_k5gRmQI4E7CDXbRl0qCJogrV6Dyi5W0/s1600/IMG_2563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQw56Cr0qctAYqj3szYjQ6GIPlL85hVhKVHCmreT8R2_4xBcLtDWb8iTMKf2MKVwyTpdbRoPqViQJYxUPLc17jM5n8rlCnwExNE_PQaYdVRGN_k5gRmQI4E7CDXbRl0qCJogrV6Dyi5W0/s1600/IMG_2563.JPG" height="386" width="640" /></a></div>
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Yeah, a few more hands, maybe ... but I'm still squinting (and yes, I need new glasses, but still). Does that mean the stigma associated with psychotherapy is alive and well ... or is it something else?<br />
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Do we go along with Kierkegaard when he claims, "I have walked myself into my best thoughts,
and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it"? Can a few kilometers in a good pair of hiking shoes do as much good as a few hours on the proverbial shrink's couch?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7EXrqkub2pOYeZNeKYwpqBgoMNNxGo9j3vH52kTfkvpezDV0iF2F5C5oARzPB1IAhr0ADRfwp6zpnMp6GN5QLO2y6tlCwUifDUkQ0x42D0Hw63unl2oChAhwPJXUahLja8IIv97wyhw/s1600/IMG_2553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7EXrqkub2pOYeZNeKYwpqBgoMNNxGo9j3vH52kTfkvpezDV0iF2F5C5oARzPB1IAhr0ADRfwp6zpnMp6GN5QLO2y6tlCwUifDUkQ0x42D0Hw63unl2oChAhwPJXUahLja8IIv97wyhw/s1600/IMG_2553.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a>Is it fair to say that the kinds of psychological problems that Woody Allen films obsess over are just a "luxury" of the modern, industrialized world, of people with leisure and abundance enough to develop such problems ... sort of like tennis elbow and gluten intolerance?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0scEiNjxct-nCodBX74ZcsJzmt8Xg2LqG25NXojzKFq2Bn6nt6aipOyyRBG2XB_19Qem2VArGqjBy-TXVI_2nt5p5qMRRnlRz7DVmS4_SWuJ15Hq2y6r-8BuUZMGR33Blf6oKtewreM/s1600/IMG_2560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0scEiNjxct-nCodBX74ZcsJzmt8Xg2LqG25NXojzKFq2Bn6nt6aipOyyRBG2XB_19Qem2VArGqjBy-TXVI_2nt5p5qMRRnlRz7DVmS4_SWuJ15Hq2y6r-8BuUZMGR33Blf6oKtewreM/s1600/IMG_2560.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Is focusing on such problems narcissistic? Does it turn our attention away from the problems of other people and the planet in general?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignzvTHCzi1jRlHPum4ZrjnsOe7X8QAwTq40td44D97BNMqIxRVZc3Uh2HM6E6T3TxARpHIKHn6ApdaR-0g01LJKcmuHHlw6WYOcgVyircXby2j2mT0eztS-8UO5YIcgeu7A1w100R0fo/s1600/IMG_2566.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignzvTHCzi1jRlHPum4ZrjnsOe7X8QAwTq40td44D97BNMqIxRVZc3Uh2HM6E6T3TxARpHIKHn6ApdaR-0g01LJKcmuHHlw6WYOcgVyircXby2j2mT0eztS-8UO5YIcgeu7A1w100R0fo/s1600/IMG_2566.JPG" height="400" width="340" /></a>Or does dealing with the in-house issues make us better equipped to respond to the needs of others? <br />
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I dunno! But, for the sake of argument, and with all due respect to Dr. Kierkegaard and his formidable (literal and philosophical) shoes, I'm going to say that, despite the great benefits of walking (running, rolling,
ruminating, etc.) as a means of working through problems, sometimes the help of a trained, objective professional (or a skilled layperson) is just
what the Dogter ordered. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijU7bczKd7zyPhLaQWeuZ83Sdw0-qPWJ46QxEF48Cu9CXcDWGBm1zn6bvKSdKVVwhZMPsMmOue62qLjb7mtBDY89Kfhaa9GCAIcOp1WP7SCUyKr6CTHPVfFwdH6KHRzN-C2XJuPDBYHC4/s1600/IMG_2555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijU7bczKd7zyPhLaQWeuZ83Sdw0-qPWJ46QxEF48Cu9CXcDWGBm1zn6bvKSdKVVwhZMPsMmOue62qLjb7mtBDY89Kfhaa9GCAIcOp1WP7SCUyKr6CTHPVfFwdH6KHRzN-C2XJuPDBYHC4/s1600/IMG_2555.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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We're not Freddies (well, I'm not, anyway) — blissfully coccooned in an ever-friendly present, with (so far) nothing more threatening to cope with than a few vaccinations in the rump. Human existence is fraught, the human psyche is complicated, and the seeking out of professional help for emotional/psychological "stuff" shouldn't occasion any more embarrassment or judgment or cost or complication than a visit to the walk-in clinic for that case of strep throat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Mk31DDl2E4bCDq8zWjY5VyF3H9fnOvMhA3n5Nv6ktiaivEWARxknqOR3pUPWwLTP7n1yKSSQbOrwGEXcmPDuC42T6vOJV28rnR0vGBeDUA8OSA-yUfQW7jdI3Znz4At4hQ9wYkI7faw/s1600/IMG_2578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Mk31DDl2E4bCDq8zWjY5VyF3H9fnOvMhA3n5Nv6ktiaivEWARxknqOR3pUPWwLTP7n1yKSSQbOrwGEXcmPDuC42T6vOJV28rnR0vGBeDUA8OSA-yUfQW7jdI3Znz4At4hQ9wYkI7faw/s1600/IMG_2578.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Here's my good friend Andrea (pronounced the Spanish way) with a blissfully muddy Freddie. We're all getting some forest therapy here!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: lime;"> Green!</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9Ywp_YjAaQCjXmgkg8BELNGgKM8CHY9xps_naGFfmZYX6JMK2AfAGQ7sSqD-jKRc9TD61Fl21ByiAk5-Ez1wAyvLFSiQte17udyxzAgP3nFfGLiDs_trE4ZCd9bozvU6LsmQDi-cYgM/s1600/IMG_2579.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx9Ywp_YjAaQCjXmgkg8BELNGgKM8CHY9xps_naGFfmZYX6JMK2AfAGQ7sSqD-jKRc9TD61Fl21ByiAk5-Ez1wAyvLFSiQte17udyxzAgP3nFfGLiDs_trE4ZCd9bozvU6LsmQDi-cYgM/s1600/IMG_2579.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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So. Is my own hand up for those questions I asked above? Oh, yeah. Over my adult life I've had professional help with marital breakup, hypochondria, and diabetes burnout — convenient labels for complicated constellations of issues.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBmO52n3950qLTj0z-MFxwBFY9HDP64q15mC8V3dxi0uZ-QOzqsOvGt1wNaqdCmIYJEj7tZIjwpTPnCNfMvQfmnEjY1v5avbox4-hvLnfgzQrkCSfEuyzPTqIKx_evo1GZupwVHjQx6c/s1600/IMG_2570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBmO52n3950qLTj0z-MFxwBFY9HDP64q15mC8V3dxi0uZ-QOzqsOvGt1wNaqdCmIYJEj7tZIjwpTPnCNfMvQfmnEjY1v5avbox4-hvLnfgzQrkCSfEuyzPTqIKx_evo1GZupwVHjQx6c/s1600/IMG_2570.jpg" height="640" width="348" /></a><br />
Add to those a few things I probably <i>should</i> have sought help for,
but, for one reason or another, didn't/haven't, and, yes, I think I
qualify as someone who benefits from the psych branch of the healthcare
system. Not every counsellor/therapist I've seen has been stellar, yet I
think I've taken something useful from every experience.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLMmkaA-v4MAkIDGkS0EPVlKXtq_p-SMDApD-ItAerS7vVpPRdlEwp_EmEtXlQoB-fDbHFu1eIC0DPimDklV2qTLWlRP7OfpSKebApNApGkO0rKqNZSyz0kZiSAaxq4AXRuMMToV5yjM/s1600/IMG_2551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLMmkaA-v4MAkIDGkS0EPVlKXtq_p-SMDApD-ItAerS7vVpPRdlEwp_EmEtXlQoB-fDbHFu1eIC0DPimDklV2qTLWlRP7OfpSKebApNApGkO0rKqNZSyz0kZiSAaxq4AXRuMMToV5yjM/s1600/IMG_2551.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
And now? Well, without going into the nitty-pitty details (<i>Walking With Freddie</i> is not a bare-all blog!), I'm interested in talking to an objective expert about this particular, er, stage of my life (a life which is almost certainly more than half over — as evidenced by my need for new glasses, among other things).<br />
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I wouldn't exactly call it a "crisis" — I'm not shopping for a convertible or planning to leave Paul and Freddie to go find myself in an ashram — but I have, this past year or so, been pondering some Big Questions and feeling more than a little, oh, uncertain ... and sometimes stuck (as in unable to <b>a-</b> get revved up about or <b>b-</b> choose between the various worthwhile things I could be doing with myself and my time).<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: red;">Paris!</span><span style="color: blue;"> I'll go to Paris! </span></i></b><a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2013/10/sunday-morning-on-champs-elysees.html" target="_blank">Again ;-)</a><br />
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Is this midlife malaise, or is it the cumulative effects of technology, convenience, and abundance taking their toll? I dunno, and maybe the friendly therapist I've signed on to rap with won't know either.<br />
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But if these (extended-health-covered) sessions manage to give me a new perspective, a kick in the butt, a strategy or two for dealing with episodes of BeenThereDoneThatism or (in a different mood) attacks of TimeIsRunningOutAndThere'sTooMuchLeftToDo, then I think they'll have been worth the while.</div>
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Andrea and "El Peludito" (the Little Furry One), looking blissful </div>
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And, hey, if any <i>WWF</i> readers out there have any thoughts on the matter,</div>
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we'd love to hear from you.</div>
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<i>Namaste</i> </div>
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(which is as close as I'm getting to ashram lingo for now!)</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-49861187769793479802014-07-01T22:44:00.000-07:002014-07-02T08:15:27.567-07:00The Good, the Bad, and the Really Kinda Stupid<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUE638JU3LUvXQNcdakvcv6DAuX8N-A5H5YLUreVzqWgAlj3wgPBPrHxYGfEdsC0qcowruRpHOwBVPBiq2NLtpkH_BH2hzw8vm9R1OudyzJo6ECv6GRHeWw8oj_ZSxmN5bOA5XYBk503k/s1600/IMG_2515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUE638JU3LUvXQNcdakvcv6DAuX8N-A5H5YLUreVzqWgAlj3wgPBPrHxYGfEdsC0qcowruRpHOwBVPBiq2NLtpkH_BH2hzw8vm9R1OudyzJo6ECv6GRHeWw8oj_ZSxmN5bOA5XYBk503k/s1600/IMG_2515.jpg" height="640" width="384" /></a>Which shall we start with? Problems make for better stories, and the good stuff did happen first ... so I guess I'll start there and work my way down!<br />
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The sun was out yesterday morning, and the temperature was perfect. I took Freddie on a longish walk to Charleson dog park — the one with the big field for romping & fetching and the shallow ponds for wading (not pictured below). One of my goals was to tire him out, in anticipation of a restaurant meal in the evening. Another goal — same one that's in effect every time we leave home — was to manage Freddie's responses to skateboards and other dogs in ways that would prevent adrenaline and cortisol spikes (in both of us).<br />
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Nofo Summer 1<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rdZ-F4IRSE1cpxViLp27ALpx7ScvMsAddMl9uyKP6P6TgKRvlmwqmjR_zp-41PsvNVUQ3qCCN_VhImqBxVHP3k5BTR7WO0NfsgyOBWFZPnVXs-kmwV75SW0quD7EvweKyZjM0FQeHqY/s1600/IMG_2550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rdZ-F4IRSE1cpxViLp27ALpx7ScvMsAddMl9uyKP6P6TgKRvlmwqmjR_zp-41PsvNVUQ3qCCN_VhImqBxVHP3k5BTR7WO0NfsgyOBWFZPnVXs-kmwV75SW0quD7EvweKyZjM0FQeHqY/s1600/IMG_2550.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a>Anticipation </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHJnRF-uplTgPH3SjjrU07QGogdCyPDmYeFLCJ_mEjayCNf_bcM6CP5FE_CXTnr5Bf2I_Yy2xNDvhLyjiim_0Bm0uy6d3eMvzrOFkLXuO5zohrxp8fkzs42bIChUWhfS_ZkzenCyaenmM/s1600/IMG_2538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHJnRF-uplTgPH3SjjrU07QGogdCyPDmYeFLCJ_mEjayCNf_bcM6CP5FE_CXTnr5Bf2I_Yy2xNDvhLyjiim_0Bm0uy6d3eMvzrOFkLXuO5zohrxp8fkzs42bIChUWhfS_ZkzenCyaenmM/s1600/IMG_2538.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>All in all, the outing was a success, and I returned home with a seemingly tired dawg and a satisfied sense that I'd nudged Freddie a little further along on his journey to canine social maturity. The tripe in the Kong was opening our mailbox to find the handmade safety vest I'd ordered from Jen at <a href="http://www.stylishcanine.com/" target="_blank">Stylish Canine</a> — to make Freddie more visible in the forest, where his colours tend to blend in with the surroundings.<br />
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Bit o' shameless blog promotion!</div>
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Jen is a dog blogger of a much higher order than I am (pay her a visit at <a href="http://dogthusiast.com/">Dogthusiast.com</a>!), and my connection with her is one of the groovy things that have come out of <i>Walking With Freddie</i>. She's also a crafter of fine collars, leashes, and other doggie apparel — including Freddie's stylish and rugged new visibility vest. If you're looking for dog gear and would like to support a groovy small business, get in touch with Jen! (Stylish Canine URL added to the vest at my request — support for the little guy!)<br />
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Nofo Summer 2</div>
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Anyway, yes, all of this was GOOD — as was reconnecting with our good pals Ros and George, who looked after us in La Paz, Mexico, two winters ago, and are in town for a brief visit. The evening's dinner engagement, as well as a pre-dinner walk in Stanley Park, was with them.<br />
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Big Sky 1</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzthOR3wcCe5Yg7k5E-z4SaOhBfkcLexB48zPUC7Me5UJSTYTCfKV1S4c-wPt5jxYbl9QDddO0-ULygaOxRWcftTmcOw8kV5i11wzOAteligiuuMVIqujsOsR_kkyvnjiK1_7sB5iFg4/s1600/IMG_2547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzthOR3wcCe5Yg7k5E-z4SaOhBfkcLexB48zPUC7Me5UJSTYTCfKV1S4c-wPt5jxYbl9QDddO0-ULygaOxRWcftTmcOw8kV5i11wzOAteligiuuMVIqujsOsR_kkyvnjiK1_7sB5iFg4/s1600/IMG_2547.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Now, a competent photo blogger would have made sure to get some photos of Ros and George (think Rosalind Russell and George Clooney) and, perhaps, of our al fresco dinner at Adesso Bistro ... but the BAD (and, ultimately, STUPID) dog trainer in me conspired to keep photography to a minimum and dog-related anxiety on high.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTAEPFV6exeB3G7_a0sHgPqs4XH5FVR7s1I0an_1qqOKFltBuShVCCb5z94glzVSSj5zuxydbuUS7pndNvUUBpYM5i3Jj4vfg27yRl8SxQ91kAEdUdtdOaoYrdBv2EO6XT_RF-POPeI4/s1600/IMG_2526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvTAEPFV6exeB3G7_a0sHgPqs4XH5FVR7s1I0an_1qqOKFltBuShVCCb5z94glzVSSj5zuxydbuUS7pndNvUUBpYM5i3Jj4vfg27yRl8SxQ91kAEdUdtdOaoYrdBv2EO6XT_RF-POPeI4/s1600/IMG_2526.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>For starters, Freddie had never been to Stanley Park before, and the idea that this off-leash forest ranger would understand that walking <i>these</i> woodsy trails requires a leash, or that Lost Lagoon and Beaver Lake are <i>not</i> open for swimming was, well, a tad ambitious (read: stupid). I'd managed to muster up enough brain cells to put him in his canicross (ie. pulling) harness, but he was still way out of sync with the rest of his party — morning exercise be damned.<br />
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But wait: it gets better (stupider). On arrival at the bistro, we were given a choice of patio tables. I wasn't <i>not</i> thinking about Freddie when I suggested the corner table next to the hedge — smack-dab in the middle of patron and server traffic wouldn't have been good — but the main force at work was my own preference for cozy, peripheral nooks.<br />
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Big Sky 2</div>
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A competent dog trainer, in tune with Freddie's tendencies and alert to potential difficulties, would have noticed that the hedge next to our table was not thick, that there were gaps at the bottom, <i>and</i> that the other side of the hedge featured a pedestrian walkway with — you guessed it — dogs, skateboards, bicycles etc. passing by at regular intervals, impossible to see until they were right upon us, occasionally with snouts poking through the gaps in the hedge. A smart dog trainer would have anticipated all this and asked her party if they'd mind sitting next to the wrought iron fence.<br />
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Dog Days</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnmKpbGooKz6l7-tengEf5qsTJLTojkj4Q61FFwfQF0vACiBf5Mm9jClA45GkbgotLCGgTiZ9SsDa5vdPE6e9wgT39YXOe8Pm9ikZy0uuPsJGzmw4CzRuygDsWF1b11vEGhijsSRqXb8/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnmKpbGooKz6l7-tengEf5qsTJLTojkj4Q61FFwfQF0vACiBf5Mm9jClA45GkbgotLCGgTiZ9SsDa5vdPE6e9wgT39YXOe8Pm9ikZy0uuPsJGzmw4CzRuygDsWF1b11vEGhijsSRqXb8/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Under the circumstances, Freddie did OK. Just not service-dog OK. Halfway through my <i>misto di mare</i> appetizer, he sprang up and woofed at a skateboard (only to find himself unceremoniously stuffed back under the table). He managed to chill through the <i>gallina affumicata</i> and even ignore a number of passing dogs, but, as we sat digesting and awaiting coffee and dessert, four hours of frustrated impulses took their toll on young Freddie, and a cross-hedge bark 'n' lunge fest broke out.<br />
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I squeezed myself and Freddie between the hedge and the fence, took my leave of our charming dinner companions, and beelined outta there in search of a Car2Go. Apparently our host and server, Gavin, was very understanding, for which I am grateful.<br />
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I've said it before (though maybe not on this blog): Freddie and I would flunk out of a guide-dog training program. Neither of us has the temperament for that kind of work. The temperament Freddie does have creates some obvious challenges for the public access part of his diabetic alert gig ... but his prey drive, his powerful attraction to novelty, and even his stubbornness also make him very well suited to sniffing out particular smells and telling me about them. He's still young; we're both still learning.<br />
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However, lest you be left with a lousy impression of Freddie's and my own overall competence as canine and human beings, here's photo evidence (above) of a recent good deed. Two of the cyclists above — nine-year-old girls — had become separated from their group in Pacific Spirit Park. With the assistance of modern technology, I made contact with the mom, and Freddie and I escorted the girls along trails now very familiar to us to a happy reunion on the other side of the park.<br />
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FINIS (for now)</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-25396134810241507612014-06-22T11:52:00.000-07:002014-06-22T11:52:20.418-07:00The Joy of Not Working Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8KPaNZih7YemAdv4KO9CF5jnhVEmEMJidEkebU8Pm-f4BzA984O5b9zjPrzSe0M19WPDYLliGUijHsXYcJJCIb7Po4B9jIaA4K6zmWsaHKZOE5RrW0OTqx21VeS_qmqfPbFqG4TWBTk/s1600/IMG_2503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8KPaNZih7YemAdv4KO9CF5jnhVEmEMJidEkebU8Pm-f4BzA984O5b9zjPrzSe0M19WPDYLliGUijHsXYcJJCIb7Po4B9jIaA4K6zmWsaHKZOE5RrW0OTqx21VeS_qmqfPbFqG4TWBTk/s1600/IMG_2503.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
For many of the most garden-variety reasons, I didn't much like high school gym class (except for square dancing in Grade 11; that was fun). Then high school ended, I got into doing (and eventually teaching) aerobics classes, and being fit became important to me. The activities varied over the years — aerobics in all flavours, running, swimming, strength training, cardio machines, rowing — but, until quite recently, I was always on some kind of weekly workout schedule ... always making sure I clocked x-number of minutes/hours, kilometers, reps, laps, etc.<br />
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Cute kiddies spotted at the bus stop: "We just bought banana bread!"</div>
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Now, those who know a bit about my lifestyle may wonder why my list of fitness activities doesn't include cycling — that activity I've done almost every day for the past 15 years, including a few years of bicycle commuting between Vancouver and Richmond.<br />
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Well, you see, I've never thought of cycling as a <i>workout</i>. Even though the hills get my heart rate up and give me leg muscles ... even though I sweat and burn calories and all that jazz ... cycling has always been more about the scenery, the thinking time, the fact that I'm not cooped up in a car, spewing noxious fumes into the air and wondering how badly overdue my next oil change is.<br />
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It's also something I almost always enjoy, in contrast to almost everything I've ever done on a cardio machine/in a weight room/in a muggy, hyper-chlorinated indoor swimming pool.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrtu-s4PLKSyXdaPC9l11XQ2pQ9c4Xahc59w7cDwBDDEcM0Tq9a-_vDJ9IDp3Q8Ub5v5eE1mWo6by2rmQYwEwA4k9sCrsjPj3Dso1mBii4Mm516zJwj2EyTYiBoS3QXzXE4609rOvzJA/s1600/IMG_2480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrtu-s4PLKSyXdaPC9l11XQ2pQ9c4Xahc59w7cDwBDDEcM0Tq9a-_vDJ9IDp3Q8Ub5v5eE1mWo6by2rmQYwEwA4k9sCrsjPj3Dso1mBii4Mm516zJwj2EyTYiBoS3QXzXE4609rOvzJA/s1600/IMG_2480.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
I'm not averse to exercise — <i>au contraire</i> — and many of my official "workout" activities have been plenty enjoyable (especially rowing, which straddles the workout category and the contemplative-communing-with-nature category).<br />
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No ... what I've become averse to, I guess, is the notion of working out as something that's separate from "regular life" — something that needs to be done and gotten out of the way, no matter how unpleasant or inconvenient (an idea I recently encountered on a bus advert for Anytime Fitness, a 24/7 gym: "Get a workout in, then get on with your life!").<br />
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Here's Freddie on that same bus ride. We're heading out to UBC for a non-workout hike. :)</div>
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Kits Community Garden</div>
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[I'm tempted to apply for a plot but fear my thumbs aren't green or motivated enough!] </div>
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The fact that 21st-century North American urbanites don't tend to lead inherently active lives (and thus need to plan for exercise) is hardly an original observation. But it's something I've thought about more since Freddie moved in. Living with a heavy-ish, high-energy dog has meant that physical exercise (walking/hiking/running with Freddie, towing Freddie to work, lifting Freddie in & out of the bathtub, etc.) has become a bigger part of my regular life. I do far fewer scheduled workouts; I don't keep track of time or distance or reps or nothin' ... and I'm discovering I like it that way.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Joanne and I discover a new trail in the Seymour Conservation Forest!</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">[Most of the trails are dog friendly.]</span></div>
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I don't think my overall fitness has deteriorated. I probably can't shoulder press as many metal plates as I could in the pre-Freddie days when I was hitting the gym a couple of times a week ... but who cares? I'm pretty sure pushing my bike + dog trailer up Arbutus Street has kept me in reasonable bench-press shape. And I do still (grudgingly) lift weights at home ('cause the people who claim that strength is the Fountain of Youth have convinced me).<br />
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However! Lest anyone think Freddie and I are living the idyllic, athletic life of our pre-techie ancestors ...<br />
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... fording streams and foraging for berries ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6a8dpNPB8PPzB0zmSvqnRof7JuL1StJZUFqDYS2ELVOFWIToiMey0ZTpeCJNe4VlrNTA1K-mXDGMH-IYiBALnG1kc7ZWJYG24VyLknjI_3DHNM0nf3eYQZF2-1SD4IYK19PHBXEzLMo/s1600/IMG_2508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6a8dpNPB8PPzB0zmSvqnRof7JuL1StJZUFqDYS2ELVOFWIToiMey0ZTpeCJNe4VlrNTA1K-mXDGMH-IYiBALnG1kc7ZWJYG24VyLknjI_3DHNM0nf3eYQZF2-1SD4IYK19PHBXEzLMo/s1600/IMG_2508.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
... trail-blazing ... <br />
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... tree-climbing ...</div>
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... let me hop down off my high horse and say, "Er ... no." </div>
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I see scenes like this one down below, and I'm reminded how much recreational/life time I still spend sitting down, doing bugger-all in the way of physical exertion.<br />
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I might not be glued to a TV, watching World Cup football ...<br />
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... but nor am I tearing around a big field (or farming one, for that matter) for big chunks of my day.<br />
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Sitting is the new smoking, they say. <br />
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"Whaddaya think, Freddie? I'm not a musician, but if I stood at the corner of 4th and Yew during my non-teaching terms, lecturing on the structure of the analytical paragraph (with plenty of gesticulation, for added upper-body effect), would anyone stop and listen?"<br />
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"Freddie? Hello? Yeah, OK — point taken."<br />
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Back Lane Blooms</div>
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Church Yard Apples</div>
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I'll keep working on not working out ... in the most active way possible. Which may, for the moment, mean marking midterms in an upright position. But if anyone needs any bags of peat moss or cords of firewood transported — carbon-free — gimme a call. Freddie's trailer is versatile!</div>
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Thanks for stopping by!</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-15827966675804642952014-06-11T18:27:00.002-07:002014-06-11T20:01:13.835-07:00Freddie Walks the Picket Line<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Freddie is a citizen of the world and prefers to remain apolitical, but today he had no choice: to show our solidarity in this latest version of the Provincial Government vs. Teachers, Students, and the Foundations of Social Democracy, he and I joined Leah on the picket line outside the groovy Vancouver high school where she teaches.<br />
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<b>We first walked to BCTF Headquarters at 6th and Cambie to pick up some buttons and (I hoped) a T-shirt, but they were all out of the latter.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-_dVgv0SdHsa7BvlEJGVBo1hHF5WO6LNP72_wBASqhSg3HpTp2GHFQBV7zr5lv5UgEiF3lBdm19mlddmUIW2l9rM76E8JwRzyyVmr6woq1JAnViHZfXDmpaxt9oVSfV_MIqmvcdwI5A/s1600/IMG_2452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-_dVgv0SdHsa7BvlEJGVBo1hHF5WO6LNP72_wBASqhSg3HpTp2GHFQBV7zr5lv5UgEiF3lBdm19mlddmUIW2l9rM76E8JwRzyyVmr6woq1JAnViHZfXDmpaxt9oVSfV_MIqmvcdwI5A/s1600/IMG_2452.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>I was a member of the BC Teachers' Federation for thirteen years. I taught Grade 6 and 7 French Immersion, then K-7 ESL, before veering off into the world of post-secondary education in the early 2000s. The reasons for this slight career change were varied, but one of those reasons was the steady decline in support for public education on the part of British Columbia's increasingly neo-conservative, corporate-butt-licking, social-service-slashing provincial governments (not a uniquely British Columbian phenomenon, I realize).<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">This is Ken, the guy charged with the thankless task of fielding some pretty obnoxious phone calls and messages (these days, anyway). I heard him take a couple of (innocuous-sounding) calls while I was there, and his tone was entirely pleasant and professional. I don't know that mine would be!</span></b><br />
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More students per classroom, ever fewer resources and programs, stagnant salaries, a relentless and ridiculous demonizing of teachers ... all with the aim (I'm now convinced) of strangling public education into nonexistence. Because, hey — people whose kids really deserve an education can afford to pay for it out of their own pockets, right?<br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">After our stop-off, Freddie and I walked on to our destination on the east side of town. </span></b></div>
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Of course, that's not what the BC (Not-At-All) Liberal bean counters <i>say</i>. They say times are tough; belts must be tightened. They say — OK, they <i>imply </i>(unless they've had a few drinks) — that teachers are greedy and combative and unreasonably self-serving. Sometimes they even dare to claim that cutbacks will result in a <i>better</i>, more efficient system.<br />
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To which I say: bullshit. <br />
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The legal/political manipulations this current government has gone through to rob teachers of their collective-bargaining rights and strip away classroom conditions already contractually guaranteed have been shameless and downright jaw-dropping. <br />
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<b><span style="color: blue;">Some of the sins teachers have been accused of (left)</span></b><br />
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Even if our province were barely scraping by economically
(ha), and even if all teachers in the province were "negligently" working only
those hours for which they're being paid (yeah, right), I can think of a crapload of costs that should be lined up at the chopping block way ahead of public education (and healthcare). Starting with the Minister of Education's expense account, perhaps?<br />
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<b>I'm trying to show off my solidarity buttons here. They say "A fair deal for teachers / Better support for kids."</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: blue;">We did several laps of the school grounds. In the trafficky stretch along E. 25th, the support from drivers was fantastic — loads of honking and waving and thumbs-up. Only two obvious expressions of disapproval the whole three hours.</span></b><br />
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Anyway, I got out of the business — maybe chickened out. But my ties to elementary and secondary education remain strong. Arguably, <i>everyone</i>'s ties to education are strong. After all, those kiddies being sardine-packed in under-funded classrooms today are, in the not-too-distant future, going to be running the joint. And while the idea of a 90-year-old Christy Clark languishing in the care of some illiterate day nurse who can't tell time has a certain appeal, I really don't want things to be that way.<br />
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<b>Playing Behind the Picket Line</b></div>
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So. For all my teaching friends and family members, for my former colleagues, for my former students who've since become educators themselves, for the friendly and dedicated folks at Tupper Secondary School ... most of all, for all the students currently in our ailing system — from those who still believe in Santa Claus to the ones who'll be eligible to vote in the next federal election — Freddie and I walked the line this afternoon.<br />
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<b>Leah's program: Tupper Young Parents Services (TYPS)</b></div>
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<b>Their garden grows beets, and I got to take some home.</b></div>
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<b>Solidarity forever! </b></div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-88017363860251083532014-06-04T20:59:00.000-07:002017-12-31T12:27:59.822-08:00A Racist Dawg? Is that even possible??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We went out to a movie!<br />
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With Freddie!!<br />
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For the first time since Freddie arrived!!!<br />
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(We've made some good progress in getting Freddie accustomed to staying by
himself, so we could, in theory, go to a movie without him ... but it's
better if he can come along.) <br />
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Anyway, it was a matinée of <i>The Grand Budapest Hotel</i>, and we were undoubtedly the only people in the theatre who didn't think it was a super-fabulous movie ... but that didn't matter. Freddie managed to lie quietly for 110 minutes + previews! (And Jeff Goldblum had a starring role, which would make pretty much any movie worth seeing.)<br />
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It's Paul's birthweek!<br />
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One of his gifts was a selection of spiced nuts from this place (right and below): <a href="http://www.ayoubs.ca/" target="_blank">Ayoub's Dried Fruit and Nuts</a>. Yummy wares and groovy ambience.<br />
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Oh, and speaking of birthday events, Action Andy (aka Dad) turns the Big
8-0 tomorrow — that's cause for chandeliers! <br />
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Madonna of the Seed Racks<br />
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Freddie and I went to the garden store for organic pesticide to combat the little creepy things that have infested one of the otherwise thriving shrubs on our balcony.<br />
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Speaking of household pests, there's been no sign of <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/05/of-mice-and-magnesium-dubious-tips-for.html" target="_blank">Bhangra</a> since I moved the anti-mouse device to the kitchen (though watch her appear right after I hit "publish").<br />
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Labradoodle Meets Ficus</div>
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Just another zennish morning in Pacific Spirit Park ...<br />
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Spot the dog!<br />
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Beach Art: a furniture installation down at Spanish Banks</div>
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Forest Art </div>
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I really dig coffee. Almost as much as I dig chocolate. This photo is here to remind me that even though most west-side coffee joints close stupidly early I could, if I really wanted, go out for a cappuccino at midnight.<br />
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But anyway ... to get to the matter of my post title ...<br />
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A couple of evenings ago, Freddie and I went down to the big lawn next to Kits Beach to watch the world go by (and practice ignoring other dogs and skateboards). It was busy, with lots of people (and dogs) to-ing and fro-ing nearby. Freddie did quite well with the dogs. No skateboards came close, so I can't report any progress or deterioration in that department.<br />
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At regular intervals, however, he went squirrelly bananas — lunging, barking, being an idiot, as far as I was concerned — at the sight of certain people. Not <i>all</i> people — just some.<br />
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None of these sunbathers interested him much.<br />
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Babies sometimes catch his attention ... but not this one.<br />
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Anyway, it didn't take long for me to realize that all the people Freddie was barking at were Asian. And they were all, as it happened, part of an ESL language-school group that was setting up a picnic nearby.<br />
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But there were other picnic groups nearby (Caucasian ones), and Freddie didn't seem to give a woof about them.<br />
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I thought: WTF, Freddie?! We live in an Asian city. Most of my students are Asian. What's your problem?<br />
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I wondered if he's been somehow restraining his xenophobic impulses during English 1107 class. I wondered if he would launch a vicious attack if I accidentally lost my grip on his leash.<br />
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Then it hit me. Yeah, these people were Asian. But they were also something a whole lot more interesting to Freddie: YOUNG. As in late teens, early 20s young ... laughing and bouncing and exuding Labradoodle-ish energy in everything they did. I looked around again. Everyone else in the immediate vicinity was 25+ and/or lying comatose in the sun.<br />
<br />
I knew at that point what would happen if I were to let go of the leash. So when two of the youngsters drifted away from their group and started waving at Freddie, that's just what I did (after asking them if they like dogs).<br />
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Kisses and play bows and much frolicking ensued.</div>
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So it appears that while Freddie is probably ageist, he's not racist.</div>
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Phew!<br />
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Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-73033709198901482232014-05-28T18:14:00.001-07:002017-12-31T12:28:21.753-08:00Of Mice and Magnesium: Dubious Tips for Home and Health<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's Bike to Work Week! But that's not what this post is about.<br />
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<b>DISCLAIMER: I am neither an exterminator nor an endocrinologist, and none of what follows is intended as medical or pesticidal advice. If you have diabetes, or unwanted rodents, you should (as will become abundantly clear) consult an appropriate professional. </b></div>
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Signs of Spring:<br />
<br />
The forests have exploded in deciduous green.<br />
<br />
My eyes have decided they're allergic to something that comes alive around 5 pm.<br />
<br />
The mouse living in our wall has come out of hibernation. Yep. Mouse. I spotted her for the first time two days ago, while I was relaxing on the sofa, drinking tea and reading Savage Love. Dan Savage's advice doesn't extend to pest control, I assume, but since our mouse chose to come out while I was reading a letter from a guy interested in gender reassignment "lite," I concluded that this mouse was a biological male who identifies as female.<br />
<br />
She twitched her nose then ran back under the radiator. I didn't know what to do. So, in gender-stereotypical fashion, I waited for Paul to get home.<br />
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More anon ...<br />
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Freddie waits while I test my blood sugar. I've been having lots of lows lately. Last time this happened, I was doing a lot of house-moving-related exercise. This time, I think my insulin sensitivity has increased — a good thing, but it means dosage adjustments are necessary.<br />
<br />
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And what do I think accounts for the increase? <br />
<br />
More anon ...<br />
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Leah looking lovely at the beach ...</div>
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<br />
The Bhangra Festival! What a great poster.<br />
<br />
But, to get back to the mouse — let's call her Bhangra (since that music style, too, is all hybrid and whatnot) — I turned the problem over to Paul, and he, in gender-stereotypical fashion, went to Home Hardware for traps.<br />
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Two classic, spring-loaded Victor brand mousetraps. With a small supply of dry dog kibble to use as bait. <br />
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I really didn't want Bhangra to die — she was a cute
little mouse — but nor did I especially want her sharing our living room
or chewing a nest out of our baseboards (which project she'd recently
embarked on).<br />
<br />
I'm guessing Freddie could smell her, and
probably would have pounced if she'd darted across his path, but
otherwise, he didn't seem to give a rat's/mouse's ass about her presence.<br />
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Baby Geese on the Run!</div>
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Freddie and the Dragon-boaters at False Creek</div>
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Do these people look deficient?<br />
<br />
According to the folks who keep track of North Americans' dietary habits, chances are high that these three healthy-looking individuals are at least a little lacking in (drumroll) ... MAGNESIUM. And, if any of them happens to be diabetic? In the absence of supplementation, magnesium deficiency is very likely.<br />
<br />
Who knew? Well, probably lots of folks. But I didn't ... until a few months ago, anyway, when I started reading about the crucial importance of magnesium for insulin sensitivity and general carbohydrate metabolism (among a few hundred other things).<br />
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Nymph of the Roundabout</div>
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Although insulin resistance is much more of an issue for Type 2 diabetics than for Type 1s (the bodies of T2Ds often produce buckets of insulin; they just can't <i>use</i> it), it seems that magnesium deficiency in both T1s and T2s compromises insulin sensitivity and just generally fucks up carbohydrate metabolism — pardon my French.</div>
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So ... if I've got this (more or less) right, having diabetes predisposes me to a deficiency in a mineral I really need in order to control my diabetes. Awesome. You can probably guess what I decided to do ... but first ...</div>
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Clark Gable meets Cary Grant in East Vancouver?</div>
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OK, OK ... back to Bhangra (which I'm pretty sure I last listened to — the musical version — in the back seat of a Yellow Cab) ... <br />
<br />
Late that evening, Paul set a trap next to the radiator and one in the kitchen cupboard under the sink (where a few other people in our building have made mouse sightings).<br />
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We went to bed, and for a while I lay awake, listening for the snap of the spring, the squeal of little Bhangra's last breath ...<br />
<br />
... but not a creature was stirring, not even ... well, Freddie did make his usual racket of scuffling and snuffling in his crate before settling down ... but no snaps or squeals.<br />
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And in the morning?<br />
<br />
Stay tuned ...<br />
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Yep, I took a trip to the vitamin store to stock up on magnesium — a very inexpensive supplement, as supplements go. It wasn't my usual vitamin store but, rather, the Whole Foods vitamin section, where, coincidentally, the woman who offered to help me as I stared at the multiple shelves of magnesium products turned out to be a 40+ year veteran of Type 1 diabetes. She seemed to be doing quite fine, health-wise, and she swore by magnesium as an absolute necessity for the T1 toolkit.</div>
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I bought a large bottle and popped two of those puppies as soon as I got home.<br />
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That was about three months ago. I haven't been very consistent, but I'd say that, most days, I've been taking close to double the usual (ie. non-diabetic) dosage for supplemental magnesium.<br />
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Under the Bridge, North Shore<br />
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Graffiti for Pitties</div>
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Graffito for Hippo<br />
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And in the morning? Well ... I confess I was relieved to learn that the traps were empty (you didn't think I'd check them myself, did you?), but, of course, that meant we still had a mouse problem.</div>
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Enter Charles, our next-door neighbour (actually, he was exiting his apartment as Freddie and I were returning from our morning walk) ... who, in response to my mouse news, cheerfully informed me that, in addition to lethal mousetraps, Home Hardware also sells an ultrasonic mouse <i>deterrent</i>. You plug the thing into an outlet (yeah, electricity, argh), and it emits a noise inaudible to humans and dogs but repulsive to mice.</div>
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This apartment was emitting Stanley Cup playoff noises.</div>
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I was happy about this information ... but I was also a little woozy, as my blood sugar was tanking yet again. Apparently it can take 3-4 months for magnesium supplementation to have the desired effect(s), and while correlation doesn't equal causation, I think there's a pretty good chance those pills I've been popping for the past three months have perked up my insulin sensitivity and carbohydrate metabolism. As I mentioned above, this is a good thing (needing/having excess insulin in the system promotes excess fat storage, among other things); I just need to cut back accordingly on the amount of insulin I'm taking.</div>
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I also need to swim!</div>
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Inside our door, Freddie alerted me. I had some raisins. Then Paul came home, and I told him about the mouse deterrent. Paul isn't so stereotypically macho that he felt compelled to dispatch Bhangra to Mouse Heaven. He returned to Home Hardware and came back with a pair of ultrasonic devices, which we installed in the living room and the hallway.<br />
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Three days have passed. Aaannnd ..... ?<br />
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I was moments away from hitting "Publish" on this post and announcing my successes in endocrinology and pest control. I went to the kitchen to turn off the screeching kettle. Several meters away, in the living room, the device plugged into our wall was, I can only assume, emitting an ultrasonic screech of its own.<br />
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Was the mouse that ran across the kitchen floor as I filled the teapot fleeing from the racket in the living room? Had Bhangra gone off her hormone therapy and doubled in size since I last saw her, or was this a brand new intruder (in need of his/her own name)? Will moving the second device into the kitchen solve the problem, or are we back to Victor traps and dog food?<br />
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Sigh. <br />
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And is my new insulin sensitivity really magnesium-induced or merely the result of hauling 70-odd pounds of dog and gear across town multiple times a week? <br />
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I dunno.<br />
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Fortunately, these are not earth-shaking questions. There are more important things to think about ...<br />
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Thanks for stopping by! ¡Hasta la próxima!</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-24506348772736889772014-05-21T20:20:00.001-07:002014-05-21T20:20:49.126-07:00How to Succeed at College ... Freddie's Way<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>1) Check your p-mail <i>before</i> you get to class!</b><br />
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<b>2) Choose eco-friendly transportation!</b><br />
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[This is Doggy Ride Redux — replacement of v.1, below, which was evilly stolen back in March. This new one gets much more securely locked up in the parkade, with wheels removed and locked to my bike!]<br />
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<b>3) Find a relaxing route!</b><br />
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[Freddie and I have a great route to school — once we get past the steepness and busyness of the 4th and Arbutus area. It's quiet and shady ... not many cars, in part thanks to traffic diversions such as the one below.]<br />
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<b>4) Don't go to class hungry!</b><br />
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[Here we have my post-breakfast, mid-journey blood sugar. A bit high, but considering I still have several kilometres of dog-hauling to do (some of them uphill), I'm not taking any extra insulin at this point!]<br />
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<b>5) Go to school with friends. They make it easier and more fun!</b><br />
<br />
[This is true. My highly scientific studies show that students who sign up for classes with a friend or who make friends in class cope better when the going gets tough.]<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>6) Dress for success!</b></div>
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[This is true, too. Doesn't need to be fashionable or expensive, but dressing for class they way you'd dress to go out with a new friend helps you feel like what you're doing is worthwhile and important.]</div>
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<b>7) Get to know your campus resources ... </b><br />
<br />
[Freddie made sure to get on Security Officer Nathan's good side his first day at college — it wasn't hard.]<br />
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[Secure bike parking!]</div>
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[Library duck pond!]<br />
<br />
"<i>But why can't I go in??</i>" says Freddie.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<b>... and rules.</b></div>
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[Personally, I would like to ride my bicycle down one of the A-Building hallways on a Thursday afternoon when no one is around, but whatever. More importantly, Langara College needs to update its dog sticker to say "Service Dogs"! They do have nice service dog posters inside, however.]</div>
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<b>8) Find out your instructor's office hours, and use them!</b></div>
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[I made Freddie include this one.]</div>
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<b> 9) Know where all your things are!</b><br />
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[Here we have Freddie's office crate, aka my desk. For logistical reasons, Freddie and I moved into Paul's office last summer ... so it's our second family home. Those tidy piles of books and paper will deteriorate as the semester progresses!]<br />
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<b>10) Stay hydrated!</b><br />
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[You can't see the water dish, but it's there.]<br />
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<b> 11) STAY ALERT IN CLASS AND LISTEN TO YOUR INSTRUCTOR!</b><br />
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[OK, this one's mostly mine, too.]<br />
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[Unless you're Freddie, in which case, resting and daydreaming are often appropriate.]</div>
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[Freddie's eye view of English 1107]<br />
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Studious Feet!</div>
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<b>12) Studying is hard work. Plan for rest during your school day ...</b><br />
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<b>... and recreation!</b></div>
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<b>13) Go to school with friends (it's worth repeating)!</b><br />
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[This is Freddie's good friend and next-office neighbour, Greg. Freddie and Greg make each other a little crazy ... but in a good way!]<br />
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[Heading home for the day with best-pal Paul! Some days, Freddie and Paul get to leave early, while I slave away for another couple of hours. :-)]</div>
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<b>14) Classrooms are stuffy. Spend time out in nature!</b></div>
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<b>15) Meditate and reflect ...</b></div>
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[Tai Chi in Q.E. Park! Freddie and I pass by these folks on our way to school.]</div>
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<b>16) Get a good night's sleep!</b></div>
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I wanted to add "Do your homework!" and "Follow the @#$% instructions!" </div>
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but Freddie said this is his list, and I can do my own if I want. So there.</div>
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Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-55085978366168482642014-05-14T18:17:00.000-07:002014-05-14T21:08:43.393-07:00Cops, Critics, Cancer ... Close Encounters at the Kits Dog Beach<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57uqJ3pMLT33SD8TKzfXDb5SPmVl2-WX_xJ8REeCEAKCReDegtT22p9FSr56xo-nrtnvZdMIuGlU5eNkyAZGhCglHh3rxj-OJWkNcEfZGEnfkiR184kBfNBXntcibryOA5bLJW-QTcHo/s1600/IMG_2311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57uqJ3pMLT33SD8TKzfXDb5SPmVl2-WX_xJ8REeCEAKCReDegtT22p9FSr56xo-nrtnvZdMIuGlU5eNkyAZGhCglHh3rxj-OJWkNcEfZGEnfkiR184kBfNBXntcibryOA5bLJW-QTcHo/s1600/IMG_2311.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>This morning Freddie and I had our first encounter with the City's Animal Control forces. I'd been hearing about these draconian dog cops ever since Freddie came into our lives ... commiserating with disgruntled dog people over the fact that summertime rules banish dogs from "their" beach between 10 a.m. and 5 p.m., collaborating on wet winter mornings to set our pooches free on the empty human beach, prohibitions be damned. But today was my first face-to-face meeting with an Animal Law enforcement officer.<br />
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And ...?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX6Dwmfzf5zzl3ahi1TCRm5xT3b74CiuSZVMiWLh_8EV97pG-oQTMOSsajizd2ta-JqLTnKPJ2eLhfigPkneEcPPa9QvTvIBnPSdmxC1gSiM9lqy3P0tTYiI-IN_gyXX95aSySw8F4t4/s1600/IMG_2313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAX6Dwmfzf5zzl3ahi1TCRm5xT3b74CiuSZVMiWLh_8EV97pG-oQTMOSsajizd2ta-JqLTnKPJ2eLhfigPkneEcPPa9QvTvIBnPSdmxC1gSiM9lqy3P0tTYiI-IN_gyXX95aSySw8F4t4/s1600/IMG_2313.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>She was peachy. Granted, Freddie and I weren't doing anything wrong. It was 9:50, and we were leaving the dog beach; Freddie was wearing an up-to-date licence tag (the main thing she was checking); I had a leash in my hand and poop bags in my pocket. Phew! Who knows what would have transpired if I'd been violating any of the rules (I suspect my wallet might have been lightened in the process), but, in any event, this particular Animal Cop seemed to be a dog lover. She greeted Freddie cheerfully and let him rub his sandy, seaweedy flanks against her legs. She told him he was a good boy, then she wrote down his name and licence number and wished us a good day.<br />
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May all our encounters with the Law be thus!<br />
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Green Canopy 1<br />
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Green Canopy 2</div>
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Back Lane Mural</div>
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Our second dog-beach meeting was with <i><a href="http://www.straight.com/" target="_blank">The Georgia Straight</a></i>'s longtime theatre critic Colin Thomas, who, on the surface anyway, is an über-nice guy. Years ago, I used to cross paths with him at aerobics classes, and over the past few months I've been seeing him regularly down at the beach, along with his devoted sidekick, Enzo.<br />
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We usually say hi and have a brief chat about dogs or the weather, but this morning I finally decided to let on that I know he's <i>the</i> Colin Thomas and to convey my appreciation for all his entertaining and insightful theatre reviews over the years. He thanked me heartily. We chatted about the Vancouver theatre scene for a little while, then he mentioned having seen the Dog Cops earlier and expressed sympathy for their thankless work of dealing with people who, for the most part, don't want to see them.<br />
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I'm glad I remembered to thank "our" cop!<br />
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Zulu Records</div>
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Kitchen Corner</div>
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Coach Dad</div>
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Now, yes, our third encounter involves cancer — specifically, the trials of a Dogfriend from our old neighbourhood who's been living through a C-word horrorshow for the past couple of years — but, when Freddie and I spotted him and his frisky little Staffie terrier climbing the grassy hill at the end of Arbutus, it was clear his health is on an upswing. His hair was thick and wavy, his face vibrant, his legs strong. He confirmed that his latest prognosis is excellent. Phew!<br />
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(Freddie managed to stroll past this tied-up pup this afternoon with no kerfuffle at all!)<br />
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I was happy to have run into our old Dogfriend — for the predictable reasons, but also because, not five minutes after wishing him a good day, I saw a young boy (9? 10?) getting out of a car with his parents, and it was depressingly obvious from his appearance and the things his parents were saying to him that this kid was going through chemo.<br />
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So not fair. To say the least.<br />
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Whoever the kid is, I hope he, too, will come through with an excellent prognosis and return to the beach in full force to practice basketball and pull-ups and fly kites with his folks and his friends.<br />
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Speaking of Parental People, Freddie took his grandfolks to a new (to us) dog park on Mother's Day — Everett Crowley Park in the Champlain Heights area. (Actually they took us; neither Freddie nor I did a scrap of driving!)<br />
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Here's Freddie watching as Mom takes avant-garde 3-second videos with her iPad ...<br />
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I'm bummed that this huge, off-leash park isn't a bit closer for us to get to. It's meadowy and deciduous, offering a nice contrast to Pacific Spirit.</div>
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Oh, well ... this is hardly a dog deprived of recreational opportunities!</div>
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Stay tuned for our next post, in which Freddie will travel to school in his bicycle RV and help teach an English class on <i>The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time</i>!<br />
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Thanks for stopping by!</div>
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Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-27748196436165425172014-05-11T16:41:00.000-07:002014-05-11T17:00:58.411-07:00WWF's First Product Review: Tutti Gourmet!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaEh4Cnv7o4kyAHCh4qVeiCw3PHahZpfI6gnJwHBzcyWPeC9neZjaaUB1GYZEVK_OnB7dg-4VFOjYNKFxhQqht4ZAqnpxAguzYsNHf18W5DuVvSQfaXVX16yJ35tSRMILZbw3W01RMP4/s1600/IMG_2284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaEh4Cnv7o4kyAHCh4qVeiCw3PHahZpfI6gnJwHBzcyWPeC9neZjaaUB1GYZEVK_OnB7dg-4VFOjYNKFxhQqht4ZAqnpxAguzYsNHf18W5DuVvSQfaXVX16yJ35tSRMILZbw3W01RMP4/s1600/IMG_2284.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>OK, I'm straying a bit from <i>Walking With Freddie</i>'s usual fare in this post ... but what the hell. It's my party, and I'll write about food products if I want to. :)<br />
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So, without further ado ...<br />
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a product review!<br />
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As a follow-up to <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/hopelessly-devoted-to-you.html" target="_blank">my first mention of yummy Bana Krisps</a>*, the friendly folks at <a href="http://www.tuttigourmet.com/" target="_blank">Tutti Gourmet</a> in Hudson, Quebec sent some samples of their gluten-free biscotti for my consideration. Disclosure: these friendly folks — Cara and Michael, whom I don't know personally — did send me free food, but they are neither paying me for this endorsement nor threatening to abduct my dog if I don't say nice things!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hZ9TKv40rGfEDJxmD6mMqPpv6ad9r3V6KmXZd2JQESyMoscnbkmqz__IDJFwy3Q-sBCONPjyXOv6gup46WQcUaVc3WFAv5uzsnrIBFFUibzCKhTOObirtf2JnT-ZTzQoIpOazSrzyTo/s1600/IMG_2296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hZ9TKv40rGfEDJxmD6mMqPpv6ad9r3V6KmXZd2JQESyMoscnbkmqz__IDJFwy3Q-sBCONPjyXOv6gup46WQcUaVc3WFAv5uzsnrIBFFUibzCKhTOObirtf2JnT-ZTzQoIpOazSrzyTo/s1600/IMG_2296.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQDicHF2eT806HyPLJsqN9XnVDZwpTqmWxK3a3YRvQbPA7Q-puq_MYLEHZNT5G8CP54FiGwNtb-jVnWnlABaOS8Gp4AHyQPSKqf_ZFLw8HWxuMoCss40p-TsnbO2tkxjBlLLFjuUiApU/s1600/IMG_2290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQDicHF2eT806HyPLJsqN9XnVDZwpTqmWxK3a3YRvQbPA7Q-puq_MYLEHZNT5G8CP54FiGwNtb-jVnWnlABaOS8Gp4AHyQPSKqf_ZFLw8HWxuMoCss40p-TsnbO2tkxjBlLLFjuUiApU/s1600/IMG_2290.JPG" height="338" width="400" /></a>Now, I'm a fan of biscotti with my morning coffee, but, for a Type 1 diabetic who tries to keep carbs to a minimum and who no longer eats wheat products, the standard baton-sized, gluten- and sugar-laden biscottus (that's the singular of biscotti, right?**) that cafés store in big glass canisters just doesn't work so well. Yeah, I know I could deal with the size issue easily enough, but there's still the ingredient problem.<br />
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I've tried various rice flour baked goods in recent years, and the adjective that comes most readily to mind for such products is <i>mealy</i> (which of course makes me think of mealy bugs ... eww).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJVCeMzQqM07UpDi0AD5psSIQHJ7M_JJTxA95R3WoYAj_w63-bxePJEGvp8pudRX3zZcrqNxKXzcroDXU-YPBk-yp_lXcnhu67atbt8WVMz0ghFsR6B7v0wmWtTZSij_oqXO314mg8QI/s1600/IMG_2291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJVCeMzQqM07UpDi0AD5psSIQHJ7M_JJTxA95R3WoYAj_w63-bxePJEGvp8pudRX3zZcrqNxKXzcroDXU-YPBk-yp_lXcnhu67atbt8WVMz0ghFsR6B7v0wmWtTZSij_oqXO314mg8QI/s1600/IMG_2291.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Enter Tutti Gourmet's two-bite biscotti. There <i>is</i> rice flour, yes. But it's tastily tempered by organic coconut flour, arrowroot powder, and tapioca ... not to mention the other groovy ingredients in the four varieties: almond, pistachio/cranberry & anise, orange & chocolate (my fave), and chocolate & almond. The carb count is about 7g per biscuit — about half a unit of insulin's worth, in my case, and definitely "shot-worthy" on those mornings when I'm hankering for a little something yummy to dunk in my coffee.<br />
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Which reminds me ... biscotti are designed to be dunked, and Tutti Gourmet's product holds up exceptionally well in a hot beverage. No disappointing disintegration or sludge at the bottom of the cup.<br />
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Gratuitous photo of Leah, Kali, and flowers at the dog beach!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qidS8iJcG8ZbX0oF3DDVWUqY69XEeDOZj148iGuaFyp1oYtAi0ISvMzEULu3YvyV_L0sHb-BvtiCM2NnYbs5pfLSwY_p59l7aM67k6qMaGR3Ngju8dxfLgFg_knXi2qG9Ja2Fsf6Eto/s1600/IMG_2288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qidS8iJcG8ZbX0oF3DDVWUqY69XEeDOZj148iGuaFyp1oYtAi0ISvMzEULu3YvyV_L0sHb-BvtiCM2NnYbs5pfLSwY_p59l7aM67k6qMaGR3Ngju8dxfLgFg_knXi2qG9Ja2Fsf6Eto/s1600/IMG_2288.JPG" height="438" width="640" /></a></div>
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Oh, they're also free of other common allergens out there — the biscotti, that is. And Leah. I won't speak for the hypo-allergenic qualities of Kali or the flowers. :)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEise7TZAENIq8vB5AnGOrEckE3PzM9wm5MiXUvAkzJ6TSjx_uD98b5JzAm51AGkuuoFWo9IkH3uOsj9e85-scWvUdasym0fab8rAJB4cFOiU0c_6qhuz31T3_Nx9TJM_RwhUywD-T-axYM/s1600/IMG_2294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEise7TZAENIq8vB5AnGOrEckE3PzM9wm5MiXUvAkzJ6TSjx_uD98b5JzAm51AGkuuoFWo9IkH3uOsj9e85-scWvUdasym0fab8rAJB4cFOiU0c_6qhuz31T3_Nx9TJM_RwhUywD-T-axYM/s1600/IMG_2294.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>In the interest of giving the most impartial review possible, I offered my Tutti Gourmet biscotti to Paul and various non-diabetic, gluten-tolerant friends. Given a choice between high-quality wheat flour biscotti and Tutti Gourmet's products, I sensed most of them would probably opt for the traditional recipe. <i>However</i>, all agreed that Tutti Gourmet biscotti are really tasty and way better than other gluten-free products. Paul says, "These are by far the best gluten-free baked goods I've tried" (and he has tried quite a few!).<br />
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Freddie says, "They don't smell as good as day-old tripe, but for human food they're not bad!" (The bag he's sniffing above is <i>empty</i>, by the way. No biscotti left inside, just crumbs ... hint, hint.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjApWqRW6czJHcC06dXlXAdpr23p4ohkxVMSQlNp6VosUQqb23Of6nIWXlICXQa5Lqv_6COUMZXCM4QXo_0uzKNNdj1x3m4J5RKw_5UygIYJN8QZx2bSGjNmpygz2MmEtQpKXRpdf-wmU/s1600/IMG_2295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjApWqRW6czJHcC06dXlXAdpr23p4ohkxVMSQlNp6VosUQqb23Of6nIWXlICXQa5Lqv_6COUMZXCM4QXo_0uzKNNdj1x3m4J5RKw_5UygIYJN8QZx2bSGjNmpygz2MmEtQpKXRpdf-wmU/s1600/IMG_2295.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Blood sugar-wise, Bana Krisps are still the better snack choice for me — impressively short ingredient list, wheat-free, low-carb, über-tasty — but woman cannot live by Bana Krisp alone. Especially if — like right now — her blood sugar is trending low. Bring on the Tutti Gourmet biscotti!<br />
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Here's a nice young Italian-Canadian man going out for coffee and biscotti with his nonna.</div>
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Buon appetito!<br />
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Next post, we're back to walking with Freddie!</div>
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* Since I mentioned (in my previous post) being impressed by the error-free French on the Bana Krisp packaging, I'll just add here that I was a teeny bit bummed to find a noun/modifier agreement error on the biscotti ("votre boissons préférée"). <i>Zut alors!</i> But I've seen much worse.<br />
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** Hmm ... according <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biscotti" target="_blank">the Wikipedia entry on biscotti</a>, the singular is <i>biscotto</i> ... but it comes from the medieval Latin <i>biscoctus</i>, meaning "twice-cooked/baked." So my guess wasn't completely absurd!<br />
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-91203051804322384482014-05-07T21:49:00.000-07:002014-05-09T22:07:09.343-07:00The Elephant in the Garden and Other CuriositiesFreddie and I have had some excellent walks recently — a combination of summery weather, summery spirits/activities all around, and some big improvements in Freddie's adolescent reactivity. He's not perfect, but maybe the two year mark will prove to be the turning point it's rumoured to be!<br />
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Here are some sights from walks over the past couple of days ... including the elephant(s) of the post title!<br />
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This reminds me of Provence.<br />
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The blank wall also gives me the urge to paint! Keep scrolling for some far more impressive graffiti than I could ever manage ...<br />
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Freddie has been big into digging lately. He buries his ball then shovels it out. It's great exercise ... worth the 20-minute hosing down that's needed to get the sand out!<br />
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(Freddie might not shed fur, but our home often feels more like a beach cabin than a condo.)<br />
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Stick with the sandbox, Freddie.<br />
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This is Lucy. She's ready to make her move.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIZmpcQnKWX99YLJkglcR8KroxH3WqSRztaYfPLgL88Oqj1GP6vNXdH-ybSz3pTc2cwyokUcWDqsYbu2Iy2CzqnA11lCVr1xeQkr1NFtWCqXiRVxcKrOs_KieGPMKDjb50IKzJ5laYN8/s1600/IMG_2237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIZmpcQnKWX99YLJkglcR8KroxH3WqSRztaYfPLgL88Oqj1GP6vNXdH-ybSz3pTc2cwyokUcWDqsYbu2Iy2CzqnA11lCVr1xeQkr1NFtWCqXiRVxcKrOs_KieGPMKDjb50IKzJ5laYN8/s1600/IMG_2237.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
A few seconds after I took this shot, Freddie and Lucy were wrestling, and the ball had disappeared.<br />
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I hope some big, powerful pooch with a good nose has managed to unearth it.<br />
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Phone Call</div>
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Panthers Softball</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToRQOD_BmGCAQubaTStzpbbOaQ2tIPN6nsuAw_2vDrki7WMyrzCuddIifE86zFSHwiviMOjNOnGCvwXpUGEWBegHa0ksl_vt13JOfFKPt6wOQQ5329ujRfhGjLMTFC2WGCoW-pi2cJz4/s1600/IMG_2250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhToRQOD_BmGCAQubaTStzpbbOaQ2tIPN6nsuAw_2vDrki7WMyrzCuddIifE86zFSHwiviMOjNOnGCvwXpUGEWBegHa0ksl_vt13JOfFKPt6wOQQ5329ujRfhGjLMTFC2WGCoW-pi2cJz4/s1600/IMG_2250.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Another Smartphone shot. In the aftermath of my own phone acquisition, I've done a pretty good job of not wasting time on the thing. It hasn't been much of an effort; I tend to forget that I have it. Home internet use, however, is another story ... </div>
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Ironically — perhaps predictably — this blog, which started out, in part, as something to <i>replace</i> time-wasting on the internet, has started to generate its own time-sucking mechanisms, in the form of "para-blogging" (i.e. publicizing posts all over Google + and FB, networking, etc.). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyKYVnWxoGJ3hgt6m6-a_dF9OpnLstouqbzrmS091keBFQ9vChqWMPCj7JCVBmismvRfgJHISq__aLT8pJbTIY5_XLIpDLJ5DPy5bd5oX56Kl6TzZph3Jj3aWU_dDi7gCGf0DTdtecbg/s1600/IMG_2257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfyKYVnWxoGJ3hgt6m6-a_dF9OpnLstouqbzrmS091keBFQ9vChqWMPCj7JCVBmismvRfgJHISq__aLT8pJbTIY5_XLIpDLJ5DPy5bd5oX56Kl6TzZph3Jj3aWU_dDi7gCGf0DTdtecbg/s1600/IMG_2257.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>I've made some great connections this way — Tony in Oregon, Heather in Wisconsin, Torill in Norway ... dog people, diabetic people, groovy people all over the world — but I fear I'm losing sight of the original purpose of <i>Walking With Freddie </i>(something quick-ish and Freddie-ish that I could do online and share with a small, interested audience), not to mention spending too much time clacking away on my laptop. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKzxcsu7a1w8hyphenhyphenGXoDCnhbtMkmoXtXJKkxXlFGYWpQcCOX2kFdSSNs6bQ9RehhhzQube4I18am0-MVoEJPjqgEEydzWS1VYLfZazpMl-WCGCt2NGQQwHSO1ixslcEy6Ze7srXkHzlAR0/s1600/IMG_2266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKzxcsu7a1w8hyphenhyphenGXoDCnhbtMkmoXtXJKkxXlFGYWpQcCOX2kFdSSNs6bQ9RehhhzQube4I18am0-MVoEJPjqgEEydzWS1VYLfZazpMl-WCGCt2NGQQwHSO1ixslcEy6Ze7srXkHzlAR0/s1600/IMG_2266.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gWhEFqRWzu6YrnSCh0ldJgV3E3FMEWywtevQfK7GCYznzIJtDZPhcTzDcxa4y7F1uvffp3i9JoWzTjLchD-bOvLEtMvnVgImwaC_vijgzwDgLacR_NfDdxY3-3zG9CwDTeLfXC2bNMc/s1600/IMG_2278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gWhEFqRWzu6YrnSCh0ldJgV3E3FMEWywtevQfK7GCYznzIJtDZPhcTzDcxa4y7F1uvffp3i9JoWzTjLchD-bOvLEtMvnVgImwaC_vijgzwDgLacR_NfDdxY3-3zG9CwDTeLfXC2bNMc/s1600/IMG_2278.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>Now, building up an audience that goes beyond my immediate circles does appeal to me. The desire to share written stuff with other people, with strangers even, is one of the reasons I keep throwing little fiction puppies into the lair of the crazy, dying book-publishing beast, and it's the main reason I've been sucked into the virtual vortex of the blogosphere (yeah, this sentence is a metaphorical disaster zone ;-)). But whether my blog posts get read by two hundred people or twenty people — or by Paul and Leah and my parents — shouldn't really matter. It doesn't matter. Having one friend is a million times better than having none. </div>
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The pool has been filled!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4U8TOWzvjLu48gWWZRxzwbVY458GFJJdLkHbABWUl4Rn7e1FxrL8YnLTWThVEJi7mOAhcwoz6g5iWi80Gascj7HIunufgsXjGGghMceOB376GA0newDrQ0CEGBp9zs4uvq_99Xm4bKU/s1600/IMG_2263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4U8TOWzvjLu48gWWZRxzwbVY458GFJJdLkHbABWUl4Rn7e1FxrL8YnLTWThVEJi7mOAhcwoz6g5iWi80Gascj7HIunufgsXjGGghMceOB376GA0newDrQ0CEGBp9zs4uvq_99Xm4bKU/s1600/IMG_2263.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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So! With much gratitude to <i>WWF</i> readers everywhere, I'm going to cut back substantially on my publicity & networking efforts.<br />
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There are walks and runs and swims to go on, live conversations and games of fetch to be had, herb gardens to be tended ... and, yeah, essays to be marked.<br />
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Sticky Wicket?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3wncMlxpIUVqeYwmAY-VGinTLGMElnaUnV5V8WC2iyGu2kyOv6YtPYWPETWUCY-Zc8a2QDkfToFtmo_Xutjk0EUCbaPwAtL_mhsrx_BPV1GTRjLb4vQGFMOXGAx8t0MxsD33nJK_F0I/s1600/IMG_2260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3wncMlxpIUVqeYwmAY-VGinTLGMElnaUnV5V8WC2iyGu2kyOv6YtPYWPETWUCY-Zc8a2QDkfToFtmo_Xutjk0EUCbaPwAtL_mhsrx_BPV1GTRjLb4vQGFMOXGAx8t0MxsD33nJK_F0I/s1600/IMG_2260.JPG" height="640" width="568" /></a></div>
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OK! Let's admire some beach graffiti!<br />
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Freddie was a very good boy on this low-tide beach walk, all the way from Kits Pool to Hastings Mill at the north end of Alma Street. No hyper reactions to people or dogs. Each time we encountered someone, he stopped and waited for me to let him know if it was OK to say hi. And his greetings were all polite. Just one bit of naughtiness — snitching Ollie's ball and playing keep-away in the tide pools. Oh, Freddie.<br />
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I don't know who paints this stuff on the bulwarks of Nofo's swanky waterfront properties, but it's pretty groovy. </div>
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So is the natural handiwork ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7N39QaUBjK16fJoe24nuvXGI56QF2Mh7OxSq59EfvJ4ODjZIg6tk6fS35QqpHCtCDc6zeEv0_u0lj2qZXiCUmfGwgyz2rvNziLFRzFL6QL2nyTmb2N3vqa82RprbawfLk3MtEYwwWJY/s1600/IMG_2277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ7N39QaUBjK16fJoe24nuvXGI56QF2Mh7OxSq59EfvJ4ODjZIg6tk6fS35QqpHCtCDc6zeEv0_u0lj2qZXiCUmfGwgyz2rvNziLFRzFL6QL2nyTmb2N3vqa82RprbawfLk3MtEYwwWJY/s1600/IMG_2277.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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But now, what are we to make of this?</div>
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"What elephant?" says Freddie.</div>
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Thanks for stopping by! Freddie and I hope you'll leave comments and come back and all that jazz ... but if you, too, are cutting back on cyber-time, we'll of course understand.<br />
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Play bows to all ...</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-22868774542436076392014-05-04T17:10:00.001-07:002014-05-04T17:21:52.971-07:00Let the 3-month marathon begin!After a marathon play session down at the dog beach with cousin Dusty and some other friends, Freddie and I watched the front runners in the Vancouver Marathon as they flew through Kits Point. Although my own fitness pursuits have hardly ever been competitive, or even goal-oriented, I still get a charge out of watching elite athletes do their eyes-on-the-prize thing ...<br />
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I think this guy was in 3rd place at this point. Couldn't get my camera out in time to capture #1 and #2!<br />
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These folks were next.</div>
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Legs!</div>
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I'm pretty sure this was the lead woman.<br />
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Don't blink!</div>
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And the marathon of my post title? That would be the summer teaching semester, which begins tomorrow! The term is 13 weeks long — two marathon miles for every week of class. But I refuse to count them down, or to be so focused on the August finish line that I fail to appreciate the scenery, the feel of the ground under my feet, even the rain and puddles and potholes ... at least until Week 11, anyway. That's my goal.</div>
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City by the Sea</div>
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Filigree</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6t8m0aXpn4mejHadgW6t_i3mkgzE5IqYYil-2_3GWVUJXrbR7EqHJ1FmUHld3AcV1sPDA29sEcvvnffNWNNmzCU-OwqYolQI0ERf-5t7NZi-S3Qg0gl5ZtsBcU_zGODeTZM15tsUcUg/s1600/IMG_2200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6t8m0aXpn4mejHadgW6t_i3mkgzE5IqYYil-2_3GWVUJXrbR7EqHJ1FmUHld3AcV1sPDA29sEcvvnffNWNNmzCU-OwqYolQI0ERf-5t7NZi-S3Qg0gl5ZtsBcU_zGODeTZM15tsUcUg/s1600/IMG_2200.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Recall at Low Tide</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQbJsqEyMAKKg8efFpKHiN6puMWr0ZBX6RBWdZ88iuSZ9D49oKnRW19L85krNT5o6yhfC2O21cZHYRBAdOYoOd8rPyVIoBtmaSGDslTj0AXIMEE_3K8O-6QKT33UPPUz6Ur6G1jzcPUQ/s1600/IMG_2198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQbJsqEyMAKKg8efFpKHiN6puMWr0ZBX6RBWdZ88iuSZ9D49oKnRW19L85krNT5o6yhfC2O21cZHYRBAdOYoOd8rPyVIoBtmaSGDslTj0AXIMEE_3K8O-6QKT33UPPUz6Ur6G1jzcPUQ/s1600/IMG_2198.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Slopes</div>
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The Waterfall Building, W. 2nd Avenue</div>
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Spot the tongue!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy7DPJ5QpHddVgQrDu86bbdYz1uYjwjl7ZlB63v0TumEgYaMCp8rq-SwtHhkb3NWZ_joz1I9YFX-EobcXVMD8c863_2LD4BAy5RAYP2_nZFwbH7VXy6WqhhC7Q5KI1fSgziwWHqhHPAaA/s1600/IMG_2177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy7DPJ5QpHddVgQrDu86bbdYz1uYjwjl7ZlB63v0TumEgYaMCp8rq-SwtHhkb3NWZ_joz1I9YFX-EobcXVMD8c863_2LD4BAy5RAYP2_nZFwbH7VXy6WqhhC7Q5KI1fSgziwWHqhHPAaA/s1600/IMG_2177.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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This shot is dedicated to my nephew-in-law, Mike, who is off to Red Deer, Alberta this week to begin his career as a city planner — one of the grooviest and most important jobs around, I think.<br />
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Mike likes bikes. For this and other reasons, he's going to be a stellar planner!<br />
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Arbutus Sidewalk</div>
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<a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/hung-over-and-intoxicated-all-at-once.html" target="_blank">Lilacs, Take 2</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOB8xfaQss_Z7UdGFFGHYOOG2kYPG855OCJVyiJYPoYNxQIx2UxCuL7SSF5VRbhXosO-AAckYBPpvhMdkDIeSD_lzXyxyGgHRgyGFHtIxd0iXBCKMAjGHjZjbXZhCk5Iz4VWEITUxyU0I/s1600/IMG_2185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOB8xfaQss_Z7UdGFFGHYOOG2kYPG855OCJVyiJYPoYNxQIx2UxCuL7SSF5VRbhXosO-AAckYBPpvhMdkDIeSD_lzXyxyGgHRgyGFHtIxd0iXBCKMAjGHjZjbXZhCk5Iz4VWEITUxyU0I/s1600/IMG_2185.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Quilchena Dog Park ... but where are the dogs?</div>
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Finally ... friends!</div>
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The Word on the Street ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJ-Yezd-0uncZemuSdCE4yT_K_WZ_XIHFShllqlJvk2jy4uT6_mlKP_3Z_RXq_ryAM3EntHwZwCSlVkA4ZNpA-aWungH1ZtxnRfFaUZ_QzRhnEATvQZHekFMRw8U0GdsguvNoRjkCXl4/s1600/IMG_2163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJ-Yezd-0uncZemuSdCE4yT_K_WZ_XIHFShllqlJvk2jy4uT6_mlKP_3Z_RXq_ryAM3EntHwZwCSlVkA4ZNpA-aWungH1ZtxnRfFaUZ_QzRhnEATvQZHekFMRw8U0GdsguvNoRjkCXl4/s1600/IMG_2163.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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And on that note ... Freddie, Paul, and I shall make our way to the starting line. See you at the first water station ... and have a gunk-free week, everyone!<br />
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Summer Term 2013</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDtWqXfg8CcvPNFXrnCHd4sEb3RPxwxL0Al5UVa51DP14nOhNrg3Qgc87pgBrApHKLdVEA1cTVbwLY3eyJaGk8pG3U1Isr4Fm2QXyG3TZRy5C3XqaBXYEi4iftCoAx2MHpfAvmlclNjs/s1600/IMG_1012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDtWqXfg8CcvPNFXrnCHd4sEb3RPxwxL0Al5UVa51DP14nOhNrg3Qgc87pgBrApHKLdVEA1cTVbwLY3eyJaGk8pG3U1Isr4Fm2QXyG3TZRy5C3XqaBXYEi4iftCoAx2MHpfAvmlclNjs/s1600/IMG_1012.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-69748880474422909532014-04-30T19:05:00.000-07:002014-04-30T19:05:20.700-07:00Hung Over and Intoxicated, All at OnceWould you believe neither of these states has anything to do with alcohol?<br />
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I do love red wine ... and gimlet season has begun (Paul recently made me a tasty one with lime juice and stevia, instead of Rose's lime cordial) ... but this community bookshare cabinet fashioned from wine crates is the closest I've come to booze in the past two days.<br />
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(This bookshare is close to another very groovy one that I photographed <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/happy-birthday-freddie.html" target="_blank">here</a>.)<br />
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The cause of the hangover?<br />
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Low blood sugar at 3 a.m., followed by fitful sleep for the rest of the night. Ugh. Freddie — burned out from a long day of meetings at the college — slept through it, though he has otherwise been doing quite well with early morning alerts.<br />
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I'd been planning to row this morning — my first time back on the water since <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/h2oh.html" target="_blank">capsizing last week</a> — and since I was more or less awake at my usual rowing alarm time of 06:00, I got up and went to the lake.<br />
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This was the sky over 4th Avenue as I waited for the bus.<br />
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Rowing was great. Nice flat water, which I managed to stay on top of for the full 10km.<br />
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The low hangover hit when I got home. Headache, lethargy, fogginess ... ugh.<br />
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But a puppy still needs to walk! And even though Paul would happily have done all of Freddie's constitutionals today, it was such a beautiful day that I packed up some library books that needed returning, leashed Freddie, and dragged my hungover carcass out the door ....<br />
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... into the first really summery day of the season. Intoxicating!</div>
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Lilacs! The best smell under the sun.<br />
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(Lousy photo. I'll try to do these guys justice next time ... though the smell really is the thing.)<br />
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Thai Spirit House</div>
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Weather Vane</div>
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Make a Wish</div>
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At Play 1</div>
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Destination 1<br />
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(I refrained from taking any pics inside, as it was very busy.)</div>
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Destination 2</div>
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Behold ... the Nofo Dog Beach!</div>
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At Play 2</div>
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Cool Grass</div>
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And now ... it's 6:30 p.m., and I'm writing this entry OUTSIDE, on the balcony, with the scent of potted basil wafting in the air and our wind chime catching the odd breeze. Birds are chirping; Freddie's snoozing. Paul is making dinner. OK, there's also a truck idling in the lane and a weed whacker zizzing away in the distance ... but my hangover is pretty much gone, and there ain't much reason to complain.<br />
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Hope you're having a good evening, too ... thanks for stopping by!</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4342173745400299982.post-86329409665982833452014-04-28T18:41:00.000-07:002014-04-28T19:00:11.916-07:00Happy Birthday, Freddie!In doggy years, Freddie is now a fourteen-year-old boy. Yep ... that seems about right! In celebration of his two <i>human</i> years, he got to invite two friends to play down at the Spanish Banks dog beach, where the tide was super-low. He invited Kali and Plouf, and they all had a blast in the sunshine and great expanses of puddles and sand (as did Heather, Paul, and Leah!).<br />
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Freddie is fast, but he's no match for Kali the Komet!</div>
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Reflections 1</div>
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Doesn't Plouf look like a Pharaoh's dog here?</div>
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(That's K and F in the background, being ball-obsessed.)</div>
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Reflections 2</div>
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After <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/h2oh.html" target="_blank">my harrowing water experience last week</a>, I was happy to spend time in the shallows! (Harrowing more in the aftermath than in the moment .... I have a better understanding now of the wacky things one's body can do in response to trauma and have no trouble believing that recovery from train wrecks — literal or otherwise — can take years ... or even forever.)<br />
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The rest of these pics were taken during Freddie's birth-week. (Paul and I have always stretched birthday celebrations into a full week, though, arguably, every day is Freddie Day around here!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxE-ruZpeehZrXFo4rOLItU3kwJSehpXtmdd1qU5I6ff_ROPH8yZIzGcbi4Z2tmrq04j8JwMXKN11WgDzhW0UPgQnT-26LlJloUve67h-VOVK7t19j74FpxEhLNidR0zSi0sKhSLgH6GE/s1600/IMG_2127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxE-ruZpeehZrXFo4rOLItU3kwJSehpXtmdd1qU5I6ff_ROPH8yZIzGcbi4Z2tmrq04j8JwMXKN11WgDzhW0UPgQnT-26LlJloUve67h-VOVK7t19j74FpxEhLNidR0zSi0sKhSLgH6GE/s1600/IMG_2127.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Another Community Book Share! This lovely one is at West 2nd and Trafalgar. I borrowed a copy of Michael Crummey's novel <i>Galore</i>, which I've been keen to read ever since it came out five years ago (that's roughly eight months in book publishing time!). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNW4YYFiuWhl9MacMS6T2DZp1lSOEcvJ3zOlCQnm67ycDg2Mvfzxbbqz9Y_8y0CBRJkCXAy5uh9-aTlbwaGjKaJPGNgHD-EsH79EzMkXnPwLkVE1fdjUOea0IWbHNto13H2ZihWnie4s/s1600/IMG_2124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNW4YYFiuWhl9MacMS6T2DZp1lSOEcvJ3zOlCQnm67ycDg2Mvfzxbbqz9Y_8y0CBRJkCXAy5uh9-aTlbwaGjKaJPGNgHD-EsH79EzMkXnPwLkVE1fdjUOea0IWbHNto13H2ZihWnie4s/s1600/IMG_2124.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bu1aRafp8qFLDOJhxyjnQO33jWQPZG6-VnE-BxP_d745yRttd14AgZgAp1EK4Jwt1rvzZoIvIlcK82w_mcamzOZTXGgXNRC0SHWtc-xSkV9jMgaodNWDmRFTImnOCmQ7Cw49_lifIAg/s1600/IMG_2125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_bu1aRafp8qFLDOJhxyjnQO33jWQPZG6-VnE-BxP_d745yRttd14AgZgAp1EK4Jwt1rvzZoIvIlcK82w_mcamzOZTXGgXNRC0SHWtc-xSkV9jMgaodNWDmRFTImnOCmQ7Cw49_lifIAg/s1600/IMG_2125.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
Here is the story of the Book Exchange: <br />
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And here is <a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/vancouversun/obituary.aspx?n=siri-heiberg&pid=137976378" target="_blank">Siri's Heiberg's obituary</a>.<br />
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Her husband, <a href="http://johnkidder.ca/?page_id=24" target="_blank">John Kidder</a>, is the Green Party candidate for Fraser-Nicola.<br />
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The world needs more Readers and more Greens! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllCqdCENSc19ijtrg_XiFc5h6QKqWD2qtNv9Fol6-3UajctdiLGvFAKDULnS3qzgIaL91ihGdpQX4rXN_iuVLslZClD0Z5tfyfeRuIwwa3LnsIdGXr3V_GVyFH8JAwryvMV6F8pWPbf0/s1600/IMG_2089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllCqdCENSc19ijtrg_XiFc5h6QKqWD2qtNv9Fol6-3UajctdiLGvFAKDULnS3qzgIaL91ihGdpQX4rXN_iuVLslZClD0Z5tfyfeRuIwwa3LnsIdGXr3V_GVyFH8JAwryvMV6F8pWPbf0/s1600/IMG_2089.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Reflections 3</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpWq2ho5S6kfpTAkDDJpFkneoQQ_rY_RM9RBaTVVw7Xj77b5J_qZU4jKp1bJNmKLjBrgXkp_uet4aImn3301B1df_eEVepPkjKwkdfNAQz70LiJW3QQR8_HYbcN02NX0SDPQe8cC0At3k/s1600/IMG_2123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpWq2ho5S6kfpTAkDDJpFkneoQQ_rY_RM9RBaTVVw7Xj77b5J_qZU4jKp1bJNmKLjBrgXkp_uet4aImn3301B1df_eEVepPkjKwkdfNAQz70LiJW3QQR8_HYbcN02NX0SDPQe8cC0At3k/s1600/IMG_2123.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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A while back, <a href="http://walkingwithfreddie.blogspot.ca/2014/04/what-do-type-2-diabetes-and-designer.html" target="_blank">I wrote about buying a new pair of runners</a>. The reason (for the runners)? Freddie and I are attempting a new activity: CANI-CROSS! Here is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6uf0hFa6JNY" target="_blank">a short video of what cani-cross looks like</a> in action. Freddie and I aren't quite coordinated yet. Freddie likes to pull, yes, but we've been doing a lot of work on getting him <i>not</i> to pull when we're out for regular walks .... so he's understandably a bit confused that there are now times when I <i>want</i> him to pull.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmaGCWUW99XEUnABFO_8WAgvv_fAgqkLFGvY459yGD6a6pBtEAIUA5vl2RCD_K9HOttMR5zTbEJBu47BxLVBo42xZzSUJLwEVPkx4hajlJs1735yNOeHZ2H_u7ESAyO_qqyC1_vSUutM/s1600/IMG_0152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmaGCWUW99XEUnABFO_8WAgvv_fAgqkLFGvY459yGD6a6pBtEAIUA5vl2RCD_K9HOttMR5zTbEJBu47BxLVBo42xZzSUJLwEVPkx4hajlJs1735yNOeHZ2H_u7ESAyO_qqyC1_vSUutM/s1600/IMG_0152.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a>I think he'll figure out that the special harness he wears for running means that it's OK to pull.<br />
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When he does get going, it's exhilarating!<br />
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Here's my crappy attempt #1 to photograph the belt that I wear:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSiI6ynI8UKf8qNwOQ5UFvk0KI1xRemwfNGA9OVmRmq3t1HTO8OZ32wNDz8F6WpOhQDEDR6HMBK-zvZohvOboVTXN2rJTcVqrrA2cd8iFCxITHIDbiIHuk19x6uuBL3KHyISjkKERaZU/s1600/IMG_0153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSiI6ynI8UKf8qNwOQ5UFvk0KI1xRemwfNGA9OVmRmq3t1HTO8OZ32wNDz8F6WpOhQDEDR6HMBK-zvZohvOboVTXN2rJTcVqrrA2cd8iFCxITHIDbiIHuk19x6uuBL3KHyISjkKERaZU/s1600/IMG_0153.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here's attempt #2. At least you can see the bungee leash ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJijFS6SpyZu9z0j07c2SjGcdNFYXE1GpPKnYx0s768AlVlDhCTlZqZq866uWBSr7mig0mVphhZ-U0TwTSxE2iO0Ay1KAGrBG295XuXagb92_ZXpHU9yO7za8bVtaVFMP803W26nuP4M/s1600/IMG_0154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwJijFS6SpyZu9z0j07c2SjGcdNFYXE1GpPKnYx0s768AlVlDhCTlZqZq866uWBSr7mig0mVphhZ-U0TwTSxE2iO0Ay1KAGrBG295XuXagb92_ZXpHU9yO7za8bVtaVFMP803W26nuP4M/s1600/IMG_0154.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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For a future post, I'll get Paul to photograph us properly. For now, you can check out the <a href="http://www.canadog.ca/" target="_blank">Canadog website</a>, if you're interested in this kind of equipment. I'm really pleased with Canadog's gear. It's sturdy, fits well (both Freddie's part and mine), and they're currently having a 15% off sale on all their stuff. (This is an unsolicited and unpaid endorsement, but they're welcome to send me trial products anytime. ;-))<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7NymcMTabqqMeGCkYnaIChTZmtN9WgMtOE1nH6mDUHaHElljeIDYfbs_qNKrSEOzPNUxTdmpuZIx47shtPZPPZZWIAiNfftC-H9chgPDUATEu94MZymmxXJ2NlLgeBY0XSN1tRKHKhbU/s1600/IMG_2113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7NymcMTabqqMeGCkYnaIChTZmtN9WgMtOE1nH6mDUHaHElljeIDYfbs_qNKrSEOzPNUxTdmpuZIx47shtPZPPZZWIAiNfftC-H9chgPDUATEu94MZymmxXJ2NlLgeBY0XSN1tRKHKhbU/s1600/IMG_2113.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Spot the owl!</div>
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<a href="http://www.bardonthebeach.org/" target="_blank">Bard on the Beach</a> is gearing up for a new season (below). The Main Stage will feature safe crowd pleasers that we've enjoyed a few times (<i>The Tempest</i> and <i>A Midsummer Night's Dream</i>), so we'll probably give those a miss. I'm kind of in the mood for <i>Richard III</i> or <i>Othello</i> ... but those don't seem to be box office smashes with the summer theatre-going crowd. Not sure what the preference says about me! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9XZ8EctD9jR5nKlraXmE_KcPm4jOlTtJn1HrijTqAfyQxvWdhyphenhyphenL-hNuqj1EButSsGNyVTKa1sz3xwW4Kf8wRktkT9nb_rvCK8OhY7i735DyDTN_gcbf0CMSfY7MHhcSVf6iIYbzJkFI/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9XZ8EctD9jR5nKlraXmE_KcPm4jOlTtJn1HrijTqAfyQxvWdhyphenhyphenL-hNuqj1EButSsGNyVTKa1sz3xwW4Kf8wRktkT9nb_rvCK8OhY7i735DyDTN_gcbf0CMSfY7MHhcSVf6iIYbzJkFI/s1600/IMG_0151.JPG" height="408" width="640" /></a></div>
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Tennyson School Sign 1</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaeRGIuMVXfWnGD-8FXGhF7bbVCErI8EJ0YAf-IPmzGp9exjx3YvCX1BK6XDv6m7vol4Lz1Q7plsH7jeCEIf62Muvin4vwk4Ok1Yxoym1yx7eIDrSe8xh4YfD9cC4aiwMrIAeBN17L9M/s1600/IMG_2090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMaeRGIuMVXfWnGD-8FXGhF7bbVCErI8EJ0YAf-IPmzGp9exjx3YvCX1BK6XDv6m7vol4Lz1Q7plsH7jeCEIf62Muvin4vwk4Ok1Yxoym1yx7eIDrSe8xh4YfD9cC4aiwMrIAeBN17L9M/s1600/IMG_2090.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Tennyson School Sign 2</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp4VkQHOhwLiySd0IC8VnAy1zo8Pc6vBrZc9I6YOLSH4Vcy_Hb-99dWJA28jZn1xDb1VF0xFT_3qbeCc27z9HqRiyRNwQHHBa2rfJbA6nZBqW-wlczuGrPzTbFqFLo-tjger7XByXf7yw/s1600/IMG_2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp4VkQHOhwLiySd0IC8VnAy1zo8Pc6vBrZc9I6YOLSH4Vcy_Hb-99dWJA28jZn1xDb1VF0xFT_3qbeCc27z9HqRiyRNwQHHBa2rfJbA6nZBqW-wlczuGrPzTbFqFLo-tjger7XByXf7yw/s1600/IMG_2019.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
"We are going to raise the funds to buy the essentials for the children around the world."<br />
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(The definitive articles are charmingly ambitious!)<br />
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I like to imagine a pre-White-People setting just below/beyond this image ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-pG4mfBVRxZ22ot346ApDJQUfQR2KjTvkb8iI9runmRHPl_MVC8y6m2FQXooKjAZKtx7dfOxCM2eG0YPWaoXaK5TabtccpSy1kVaZQpQNQRtq6b7cqx7NFnW3fxYHhFAbdwU-qMQa8E/s1600/IMG_2126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif-pG4mfBVRxZ22ot346ApDJQUfQR2KjTvkb8iI9runmRHPl_MVC8y6m2FQXooKjAZKtx7dfOxCM2eG0YPWaoXaK5TabtccpSy1kVaZQpQNQRtq6b7cqx7NFnW3fxYHhFAbdwU-qMQa8E/s1600/IMG_2126.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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Breaking Down Barriers</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekcYwDLZf_b6uBoE4UZu13HiAKdWyueErjJ0e4Y1FwVkTGc8ECc5pK-mW-0NL6Xn9pjKuv2IKVQwDEPT1agChyphenhyphen3wovueS8-gerL010yjdXWyFfKA7jms3eMAyDQIg4sVS-jj6QV9ajbY/s1600/IMG_2109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekcYwDLZf_b6uBoE4UZu13HiAKdWyueErjJ0e4Y1FwVkTGc8ECc5pK-mW-0NL6Xn9pjKuv2IKVQwDEPT1agChyphenhyphen3wovueS8-gerL010yjdXWyFfKA7jms3eMAyDQIg4sVS-jj6QV9ajbY/s1600/IMG_2109.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Does this school courtyard look a little like a prison compound, or is that just me? Fortunately, the rest of the joint is quite a bit more appealing!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwXcjUgMqcQ76LP7BFgoakZdathyLKmzt9CRfNX_4CMaWad5py6FWiYTlu6yRjo98BGvAwtcSOEcE1zOW8W1vcpKcZyVN74gtvHJaqiIuJg9f_EQ2lUHzBqmygKpnOuGrO8b2jn6LZEY/s1600/IMG_2091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfwXcjUgMqcQ76LP7BFgoakZdathyLKmzt9CRfNX_4CMaWad5py6FWiYTlu6yRjo98BGvAwtcSOEcE1zOW8W1vcpKcZyVN74gtvHJaqiIuJg9f_EQ2lUHzBqmygKpnOuGrO8b2jn6LZEY/s1600/IMG_2091.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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Symmetry ... almost</div>
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Little Puppy deferring to Big Freddie (raised paw, tail low)</div>
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(Soon after, they were happily romping. :-))</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogmA8Ys01bmATILjzH1QCSSKdAGq3Fd9Lu3JJtiUwBjXC6AH9yFdbprCkUbuKzcj_mydTF0QtKFAHkeDWWbqilyWHtL6vCVaQa4ZdmAFfLEHj_83kl_Xwen7zEt75oCtwJkin8TpzPUo/s1600/IMG_2142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogmA8Ys01bmATILjzH1QCSSKdAGq3Fd9Lu3JJtiUwBjXC6AH9yFdbprCkUbuKzcj_mydTF0QtKFAHkeDWWbqilyWHtL6vCVaQa4ZdmAFfLEHj_83kl_Xwen7zEt75oCtwJkin8TpzPUo/s1600/IMG_2142.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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I've been doing some interesting reading about the extensive repertoire of "calming signals" that dogs use with each other and with their humans in stressful or potentially aggressive situations (the puppy's body language above would be an example, I think). This led to an equally interesting conversation with Paul about the calming signals that <i>humans</i> employ — for instance, in the craziness of Whole Foods at 5:00 on a Saturday afternoon. Material for a future post, perhaps ... <br />
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In the meantime, Freddie and I sign off with play bows to all. :)</div>
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<br />Heather Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01676867547620051963noreply@blogger.com3