When I was younger, about 14 or so, my little brother (who was about 5 at the time) would go off on grand adventures every once in a while. Well at least they seemed like a lot of fun at the time. I remember once we went to the petting zoo, well actually it’s a petting zoo/farm so the animals actually do things like give milk and have babies (two activities which seem suspiciously absent from many other petting zoos.

The day started with an uncomfortable bus ride during which a pair of cranky old ladies sitting across from us had an overly-loud discussion about how disgusting it was to see girls having babies when they’re way too young. I was a bit embarased but Daniel, always the trouble maker kept interrupting them…’when are we going to get there Mom?’ He would ask with an impish grin daring me to correct him. I mean geez, did those two old biddies really think that I had a kid at the ripe old age of eleven. I mean I wasn’t even ‘ripe’ at eleven.

Anyway, this story isn’t about snooty old ladies, it’s about geese. You see the petting zoo/farm included an inclosed pond. It was a giant, ugly concrete thing with a thin ribbon of green slime outlining dark water peppered with drab feathers. The geese were huge beasts, most of them white with a bright orange bulbous beak. Safetly segregated in the fenced pond, the geese seemed almost regal, until you stepped through the gate.

When I watch horror movies I want to turn away from throat slitting; I don’t know why that in particular gets me but it does. It sends shivers up my spine and spasms through my throat - but I don’t turn away, some morbid horror keeps me watching. The same morbid horror always drew Daniel and I into the pond. We would sneak through the double gates, a bag of bread crusts in our hands. We would watch, frozen as the geese transformed from gentle creatures to manic beasts. They would rush at us, hissing with rage, charging like a herd of angry women in 6 inch heels maintaining their balance only through forward momentum. Every once in a while one of the outliers would peel off distracted by a large hunk of bread but the main pack kept its hideous form, a wave of flapping white and angry orange, neck stretched forward as if impatient to peck off our fingers.

We ran. Oh how we ran. Dodging back through the double gates to safety. And then we would laugh, the thirll of adreniline making us drunk with the gidiness that comes with facing death and defeating it.

You see, it really is a story about geese.

Ok, first things first, sorry about the lack of posts over the past two weeks. I was going to post while I was away but then I ended up with a couple of days of work plus a bunch of family time, etc.

Also on my list of things to do last week was voting in the federal elections. It was actually the first time I voted since, during the last election I was out of the country and too damn lazy to get a mail-in ballot.

So one of the parties called me the day before the election to tell me that I was voting at Seycove which suprised me because it was hardly the closest school. Anyway, off I went marching downhill to Seycove in the beautiful Vancouver rain trying to avoid getting the giant golf umbrella caught in the brambles and slogging through the mud. I arrived at Seycove only to be told that I was actually supposed to vote at Dorothy Lynus School, the complete opposite direction from Seycove.

So off I set again, soggy umbrella, mud splattered jeans, picture id tucked in my jacket pocket. I marched onwards and upwards determined to do my civic duty and what-have-you. Dodging school kids on their way to art class (I assume) I handed over my id and went to pick up my ballot. ‘Jillian?’ the election worker asked when I gave my last name.
‘No, Jaime.’ I answered, ‘Jillian is my mother.’
‘Oh, no problem. Is your Mom going to come and vote later.’ The dutiful election worker shuffled her bright yellow list.
‘No. Why is she on the electors list.’
‘Yep, she’s right here.’ And there she was, right below my name complete with the correct spelling, address, etc.
‘But she’s not Canadian.’
‘Oh, she must be if she’s on the list.’ The old election worker was trying to be polite but her message was clear…I can’t believe that elections Canada knows more about your mother than you do.

They don’t damn it!

Long story short, my local election chief is convinced that my Mother is an idiot who blindly handed her ID over to a stranger in a mall and swore that she was Canadian because, ‘She obviously didn’t understand what was going on. But don’t worry, she’s not going to go to jail unless she actually votes.’

My mother is not an idiot, she does not give picture ID to strangers in a mall, she knows she can’t vote and wasn’t remotely interested in breaking the law to do so. Something went wrong somewhere and no one cared (yep, they actually said that they weren’t concerned).

As a touch of irony, the same day Bert was walking the dog with someone who was complaining that he couldn’t vote because his Canadian citizenship ceremony was scheduled for the next day!?!

Um so in a rather random act of online booking I am back in Vancouver for 10 days. Bert and I were considering a quick vacation but decided that even though plane tickets were cheap the inevitable hotels, taxis, bus rides and of course food would add up pretty quickly.

So instead I came home. I was looking for tickets online on Friday and found that the cheapest fare available had me travelling on Saturday. Now one of the upsides of being in professional limbo is the fact that I can actually take off on no notice at all so a few phone calls and a six hour plane ride later I am once again home sweet home.

As if to celebrate my return Vancouver has decided to hold off on rain. Granted the mountains on the North Shore are still shrouded in a a thick layer of clouds but the sun is poking through every now and again.

Anyway I will still be blogging (as you can see) and will still be impatiently waiting for news from ‘le grand bureaucracy’ but I will be doing both from the other side of the country…cool eh.

What was that?

Oh, just the dog rolling over on her bed.

Wow, I can’t believe that woke me up.

Speaking of which, I wonder if the dog needs a rabies booster.

Hmm, come to think of it I have no idea how often dogs need rabies shots.

Ok Jaime get back to sleep it’s 3 am and the dogs not going to contract rabies between now and the morning.

Ok…It’s not working

Damn it I’m tired

Try counting sheep

Ok, here I go

Wait, why sheep?

Why not donkeys or pigeons?

And could a sheep even leap over a fence anyway.

That wool does look mighty heavy.

Oh shut up, just count.

One

Two

Three

Four

I forgot to test the door stain yesterday.

Where is the stain anyway?

It must be in the toolbox.

I should really take it out and put it on the counter as a reminder.

Actually the door looks quite nice as it is.

But it really doesn’t go with the floors.

Damn it.

When did I stop counting?

Damn, damn, damn,

Ok

One

Two

Three

I hope the dog wakes me up early enough to get the garbage out

I can’t believe that I forgot on Monday

I’m sure Meeka will be up by 8

That’s plenty of time

Damn, damn, damn

I did it again

(Repeat above for 30-90 minutes then wake up, too late for the garbage, forget about the door…)

Most of the people in my life fall into one of ten categories as follows:

1. Friends I see on a fairly regular basis*

2. Friends I email on a fairly regular basis but hardly ever see in flesh and blood (what a morbid saying, maybe I should reprase it as bread and wine…yes, much better)*

3. Friends of friends (I typically don’t think that these people like me because otherwise they would want to be my friends too…it’s one of those weird Jaime things I can’t explain)

* in both 1 and 2 above take ‘fairly regular basis’ to mean anything from a few times a week to once a month

4. Colleagues I like

5. Colleagues I neither like nor dislike

(4 and 5 can also be distinguished as those I go to lunch with (4) versus those I only go to lunch with if they’re paying (5))

6. Close family (ie. the ones you don’t get to choose)

7. Family who I would recognize if I saw them but only communicate with through Christmas cards (odly enough, this category of family also happens to be the category which reveals the most about their medical health - as if I really need to know about my great uncle’s wobbly bowels)

8. People I recognize on the street but don’t really want to invite into my home

9. People I avoid on the street because they’ve invited me into their home (thereby crossing an invisible boundary of stranger interactions)

10. People I don’t know and will likely never meet but for whom I have a whole speech planned in my mind if ever an unlikely meeting should occur (this includes people like George W. Bush, Pat Robertson, Anne Coulter and other such nut jobs)