Well, I'm bad.

And there I was, resolving not to be one of those people who starts a blog and never posts. Oh, well. After spending a week sick, Steve sensibly dragged me out hiking last Saturday. He thought we'd do a reccy of the Tetrahedron, just to see if we could get in and if there was any snow. The book we have said that the logging road was decommissioned, which would have put paid to the adventure, as I don't much like hiking up logging roads. Turns out the road was not decommissioned, which was great, but it was pretty wintery, which was less great. I told Steve that the next best thing to having a girlfriend with a 4x4 is a girlfriend who grew up in the Kootenays. As I was flying up ice-encrusted roads with an igloo-sized high centre of ice -- in my tiny little Toyota Echo -- I just thought I would channel my parents flying up our driveway in Argenta in little tiny Datsun station wagons... and it worked. The ghost of 'Swampy' smiled upon me, and we made it to the lower parking lot, where we were the only non-4x4 in the place. Mind you, I haven't had the heart to look at the skid plate (but I did check for random car-bleeding on the snow when I pulled out). The path was stomped hard, so we didn't think we'd need the snowshoes. We slogged up the path to the upper lot -- thanks, Angel, for poo-ing for the SECOND time right in the MIDDLE of the path when I, not expecting poo no. 2, hadn't brought a spare BAG -- and saw (along with surprise poo) spectacular icicles on a north facing cliff. Once we reached the alpine area, it became nice and flat-ish and we were in the sun even in the trees. Even though the path was still packed hard, it would have been nice to have the snowshoes in order to tromp around on the frozen lakes. Not, mind you, that my track record with frozen water has been spectacular this year, but it still would have been fun. We hiked into the Bachelor Lakes cabin where there was a small mob of young -- ok, younger -- people in pyjamas and with empty bottles of rum scattered about. They were very nice, and the cabin was HUGE, at least by Kootenay standards, and Very, Very Warm. We eventually dragged ourselves (ok, I dragged myself; Steve was off taking pictures of the lake) away from the wood stove and scouted a few areas we would like to hike with the snowshoes, and, oh, maybe some FOOD? Yes, we, consummate hikers, not only didn't bring the snowshoes, but didn't bring the trailmix either. (I didn't bring a coat, but that should surprise no-one who knows me.) The hike back was much, much faster than the hike in. The sunlight was lovely, and the shadows were infinitely artistic, and Steve wanted to take lots of photos. I wanted to sprint back to the car. "Why are you walking so fast?" "Why are you so grumpy?" I swear I could smell the trailmix from a kilometre away but I stopped, somewhat ungraciously, for photographs and to pack a few snowchunks over the poo. Once back at the car, we snapped a few photos of the intrepid Echo, and were back on our way. To bed. Monday was a walk -- just a walk, Steve said -- up the civilized trail at Chapman Creek. It was a fun walk, mostly level, and with the sound of the river always in earshot. For some reason, I was expecting to see a body the entire trip. Morbid much? Little did I know, the body would be ours! Well, not quite. We reached a big rockfall where the trail went basically straight up the hilly/cliffy bit but, before we could discuss whether to go up or turn around, we heard a big scree slide and cracky branches that sounded for all the world like something big was headed our way. Unanimously, we chose up. Thank goodness there was a rope handhold, or it would have been way suckier. That is, suckier than it was, all hopped up on adrenaline and... more adrenaline. Once at the top, we walked all romantic hand-in-hand down an old logging/wagon road which... disappeared. Rather than trespass or walk a paved road back to the car, we decided -- and I do mean 'we' as I had a hand in it too -- to bushwack straight back down the hilly/cliffy bit to meet up with the trail by the river. This is where you should start laughing, because I haven't bushwacked in years, and never in a coastal rainforest and Steve... well, I wouldn't let Steve lead, so any experience he might have had was completely wasted on the enterprise. We reached the bottom a little muddy, a lot twiggy and having a load of fun. This weekend I get to decide what to do. Fleamarket anyone? Steve?

Whaaa! aka Monday Morning

Here I am, killing time at SFU, waiting for classes to start.

I still find it hard to believe that I've been up since 5:30am. I keep reminding myself that this was MY choice. It doesn't really help, but I know by 4:30 I'll be so happy to be heading to the ferry that I'll forget how miserable the morning is. I hear that's how childbirth is; the end result is so great that you forget the trauma of getting there. I wonder if a litre Nalgene container of fresh coffee will help with childbirth too? It sure helps THIS process.

So last night was my first real social engagement since living on the Coast -- Diana's on Friday nights is wonderful, but this was a party where I had to do more than just listen to music, drink tea (and pee about 20 times). Steve's friend Laurel had a dinner party and it was lovely. Everyone was very nice and the chocolate fondue was amazing. I could get used to this!

Mind you, I was grateful all over again for Angel... that little dog is my 'in' on the Sunshine Coast -- actually, she's my 'in' everywhere I go. Cute, well-behaved, and a darn convenient topic of conversation. If I really have nothing to say, I just get her to do tricks and there the conversation goes. Her tricks stand in for the witty conversation I wish I had.

The real challenge will be in March, when we have our housewarming/Steve's birthday. Poor Angel will be doing tricks all night. Actually, we'll just point people towards the view and no talking will be done at all. The entire evening will consist of oooh and aaaah and "do you think I could hit Molly's Reach with this rock if I threw it REALLY hard?" I love living in Gibsons.

Musing and contemplating and thinking, oh my!

I wish it was a bit more interesting, all things considered. You'd think by the last semester of an English B.A., I'd be a bit more profound. All I can think of are a few things I need to pick up for our (our!) new place.

1. Garbage Can. Raccoon foiling must commence NOW.
2. Two resin chairs. Six is a good number for a patio table, and I have four from beside the house that just need an intimate encounter with a tub of vinegar to be useable. Mind you, I'm not sure I actually KNOW more than four people in Gibsons all together, but hopefully Steve can find people to fill them.
3. Two footmats (outdoor). Carpet is not an adequate substitute for mats. At all. Even carpet that is so delaminated that it looks like an outdoor mat is not acceptable.
4. One footmat (indoor). Even though we've hired a cleaning lady (yay!), I don't want to have the footprints of two people, two cats and one muddy dog tracked right through the kitchen. Not that I really expect all of the people, any of the cats or the dog to actually WIPE their feet, but it might help. Maybe I won't get it after all...
5. One wastebasket. For the bedroom. Two people x two ears each x two q-tips/ear/shower x two showers per day = I'm not good at math, but even I can see we need a wastebasket.
6. One plastic tablecloth. For the table on the patio that may or may not ever have more than two people sitting around it. Also: tablecloth weights. I don't anticipate that the weights will keep the cloth on the table (especially during wind like we had last weekend), but it's worth a shot. I can just picture a cat parasailing over the roof, clinging gamely to a tablecloth... Fortunately, tablecloths are cheap at the dollar store. Maybe I should get more than one? We do have two cats.


So far the move has been good. I haven't, as Steve's mum asked, strangled him yet (nor him me). Nice how his family has so much faith in him, eh? To everyone's suprise, we're still waiting on our first fight; it oughta be good when it comes.

Much to MY suprise, the commute is fine. I'll probably be hit by lightning on the way home, but I admit I prefer the 6:20am (am!) ferry to the 8:20 one! I'm still looking on it as a daily adventure, though I don't know how long that will last. I do realize that I commute for six hours for five hours of classes on Wednesdays. Ah, well.

Such is the price of getting out of the city. Oh, and moving in with my boyfriend is pretty cool, too. Gibsons is very nice. It reminds me a lot of the Kootenays, with the tie-die and loggers in - let's call it harmony, for want of a better word. I like how Elphinstone looms behind us and how the wind always blows, like in Kaslo.

bored, in an English class...

...for which we are supposed to make a blog for a group project, I decide to start my own.

This is me. I am holding a book, a dog leash and a poo bag. This is frighteningly representative.