Off to Vancouver tomorrow for my next round of tests and oncologist meetings. These are routine things that must be done every few weeks as per the drug trial protocol.
As luck would have it, tomorrow is Roz's birthday so she and Edith will be coming up for a gathering to celebrate the day. I'll be taking Momzy into town with me so she can join in the fun. Penny will drive her home tonight as I'll be staying over to visit with some other friends later in the evening. Another friend is driving me back to the Coast and staying for a couple of days. Sure am glad I've been catching up on my sleep! Should be a fun time, so I'd hate to nod off in the middle of it all.
Monday, June 27, 2011
crack me up
I'm happy to report the coconut cracking technique employed by the folks at America's Test Kitchen has proved to be a winner. Unfortunately, it took me two coconuts to find that out. The first attempt was inflicted upon a less-than fresh nut - suspect my early attempts to break the shell caused undetectable hairline crack that allowed air in and the ripening/rotting process to begin. As a result, a sniff of the coconut water was less than promising and a very small sip didn't entice me to gulp the rest. Worse, the revealed coconut meat was covered in a light coating of slime that had festered into an odiferous green patch on one side. A few areas on the rest of the off-white flesh exhibited a strange pinkish hue. Out of respect for the medical professionals who have worked so hard to keep me alive and healthy, I tossed the entire shell and contents without further thought.
Today's effort was much more rewarding. Rather than cloudy, the coconut water was clear and sweet in both smell and taste. The shell took less effort to crack after its time in the oven, and the meat was easily removed from the shell. The coconut water will be incorporated into a cold mango/ginger soup. If I stop eating the fresh succulent flesh, there might be enough left to mix into a cake or some cookies. Yup, more than worth the effort. And little effort it was using this method.
Today's effort was much more rewarding. Rather than cloudy, the coconut water was clear and sweet in both smell and taste. The shell took less effort to crack after its time in the oven, and the meat was easily removed from the shell. The coconut water will be incorporated into a cold mango/ginger soup. If I stop eating the fresh succulent flesh, there might be enough left to mix into a cake or some cookies. Yup, more than worth the effort. And little effort it was using this method.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Lime in de coconut
The ongoing healing/cathartic work seems to being having the desired effect. I've produced a couple of great (to my mind anyway) art pieces and have plans for more. The finished pieces will likely remain private as the images are likely too disturbing for some viewers (e.g. Momzy). Phil suggested I pummel a pillow from time to time as well. A good thought that but I have a better idea, one that will allow me to physically work off any pent up angst while providing a sweet treat as a reward/positive reinforcement for my effort.
I have purchased a coconut and will attempt a new way of cracking it (instructions via YouTube video) as my tried and true method (using a hammer to beat the orb into submission) only succeeds in increasing my blood pressure. The YouTube method requires the piercing of the one soft "eye" in order to drain the water inside the coconut. Once the fluid is drained, the coconut is placed in a 400-degree oven for about 15-20 minutes. After it is removed from the oven, the still-warm coconut is hit with a hammer - the video insists this will have a more satisfying result than my usual attempts as the shell will be dry and the meat will start to pull away. I'm very curious to see how my oven fairs. If you hear a loud bang, you'll know the source. Perhaps I should start the production with a short prayer.
I have purchased a coconut and will attempt a new way of cracking it (instructions via YouTube video) as my tried and true method (using a hammer to beat the orb into submission) only succeeds in increasing my blood pressure. The YouTube method requires the piercing of the one soft "eye" in order to drain the water inside the coconut. Once the fluid is drained, the coconut is placed in a 400-degree oven for about 15-20 minutes. After it is removed from the oven, the still-warm coconut is hit with a hammer - the video insists this will have a more satisfying result than my usual attempts as the shell will be dry and the meat will start to pull away. I'm very curious to see how my oven fairs. If you hear a loud bang, you'll know the source. Perhaps I should start the production with a short prayer.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Getting the Healing Done
An odd few weeks on many fronts.
There was that meltdown at the Cancer Agency on May 17. Later found out that a woman who has been on a very similar cancer journey - Judy Burtnick - died that same day. Her passing hit me harder than I would have expected, mostly because I didn't know her very well. I first met Judy when I was on the psych ward at St. Mary's back in 2007. Although not assigned to my case, she was a counsellor with Mental Health and Addictions so I saw her around on the ward. A charming woman with a great sense of humour, we met up several months later in the waiting room at the BC Cancer Agency. She and her partner both had breast cancer, and her partner and I had the same oncologist. The three of us struck up a conversation which continued every time we met after that. Judy and I received our "terminal" diagnosis at about the same time. Whenever we bumped into each other, usually in the aisles of Clayton's grocery store, we joked about how good looking we were for a couple of dead women. The joke was on me as Judy seemed to be in much better health than me. So why did she go first?
A couple of weeks ago, I came across Pat Parker's obit in the local paper. Pat was a chemo buddy from the days when I hooked up with IV at St. Mary's ACU. Pat and his wonderful wife Jeanie always had something interesting to talk about whether it was the recommendation of a newly discovered wine or their critique of Cirque du Soleil's O show in Vegas (they went a couple of months before Penny and I). We hadn't been in contact for several months so I was shocked to learn of Pat's death. Such a sweet, gentle man.
So why am I still here?
I've started seeing a counsellor, Karen Flood, at the BC Cancer Agency. She specializes in working with breast cancer patients. In the brief 1-1/2 hours we spent together, several mental light bulbs went off in my tiny brain.
The first thing Karen said that really struck a chord was that I seem to be currently "living in limbo". Up until now I've spent most of my time (when not sleeping or in treatment) getting ready to leave, as it were. I've put my affairs in order, made many of the details of my funeral/ash disposal wishes known (some yet to be finalized), did my best to ensure Momzy was properly cared for and that her affairs were in order, completed some home renovations to enable me to stay in my much-loved wee house as long as possible ... Given that nobody was certain I would make it to my next birthday (which was in March), I'm now left wondering what to do next. While I have never found myself in such a situation, I have to imagine my current mindset is not unlike that of a patient who has prepared for a very dramatic surgery, we'll say a heart transplant, only to be told on the day of the scheduled operation that the procedure has been delayed. Don't get me wrong. I'm more than a tad thrilled to have the chance to enjoy more time with the people I care so much about and have the opportunity to do some of the things I haven't done yet, but I was kinda geared up to share some heavenly milk and cookies with my dad! Hope he saves some for me as it seems our rendezvous ain't happening just yet. Not that I'm complaining about that. But it would be nice to see him again. Tears started flowing with that thought.
Karen also noted that I have done next to nothing in the creative realm over the past four years. A strange thing for an artist, to be sure. Yeah, I've made the necessary items for the annual weaving guild exchange (mittens last year, felted bird pin this year), started knitting two sweaters and several scarves (none of which are completed), looked at my empty loom a few times, and did a few cursory dye experiments, but nothing that gets to the core of my soul. While sitting in Karen's comfy office, I remembered a mixed media piece I started planning shortly after my surgery. I fully intended to abuse a piece of canvas in a very similar manner to the way cancer had attacked my left breast. More tears flowed as I visualized slashing the canvas in a crescent moon-like line to represent the shape of my scar. I imagined throwing blood on it, stitching up the wound, burning it with a soldering iron (think radiation burns), and other similar indignities. That scenario has planned over and over in my head these past four years, but I haven't been able to translate the thought into anything concrete. In fact, I haven't done a single thing that can be remotely described as cathartic this whole time! Cried more in the time I spent in Karen's office than I have spent since the initial cancer diagnosis. Sorta throws to the wind the theory that I've been coping extremely well, doesn't it?
Well, I've made a start. Bought a canvas at the dollar store on the way home that day. Drew the curved line, slashed it with a knife, and poured blood over the incision (not my blood but some that conveniently arrived in a package of roast beef that I was having for dinner that night). Can't find my soldering iron. If it doesn't turn up by tomorrow, I'll use a match instead. And yes, I'll do the burning outside. Have started assembling bits for two more pieces that I hope will be equally cathartic. And I've returned to dyeing experiments with natural materials - I'm sure there is a metaphor in there somewhere.
So that's what my little brain has been up to this past while. Wonder what it will be like when it comes out the other side.
Here's a bit of inspiration from Van Morrison:
There was that meltdown at the Cancer Agency on May 17. Later found out that a woman who has been on a very similar cancer journey - Judy Burtnick - died that same day. Her passing hit me harder than I would have expected, mostly because I didn't know her very well. I first met Judy when I was on the psych ward at St. Mary's back in 2007. Although not assigned to my case, she was a counsellor with Mental Health and Addictions so I saw her around on the ward. A charming woman with a great sense of humour, we met up several months later in the waiting room at the BC Cancer Agency. She and her partner both had breast cancer, and her partner and I had the same oncologist. The three of us struck up a conversation which continued every time we met after that. Judy and I received our "terminal" diagnosis at about the same time. Whenever we bumped into each other, usually in the aisles of Clayton's grocery store, we joked about how good looking we were for a couple of dead women. The joke was on me as Judy seemed to be in much better health than me. So why did she go first?
A couple of weeks ago, I came across Pat Parker's obit in the local paper. Pat was a chemo buddy from the days when I hooked up with IV at St. Mary's ACU. Pat and his wonderful wife Jeanie always had something interesting to talk about whether it was the recommendation of a newly discovered wine or their critique of Cirque du Soleil's O show in Vegas (they went a couple of months before Penny and I). We hadn't been in contact for several months so I was shocked to learn of Pat's death. Such a sweet, gentle man.
So why am I still here?
I've started seeing a counsellor, Karen Flood, at the BC Cancer Agency. She specializes in working with breast cancer patients. In the brief 1-1/2 hours we spent together, several mental light bulbs went off in my tiny brain.
The first thing Karen said that really struck a chord was that I seem to be currently "living in limbo". Up until now I've spent most of my time (when not sleeping or in treatment) getting ready to leave, as it were. I've put my affairs in order, made many of the details of my funeral/ash disposal wishes known (some yet to be finalized), did my best to ensure Momzy was properly cared for and that her affairs were in order, completed some home renovations to enable me to stay in my much-loved wee house as long as possible ... Given that nobody was certain I would make it to my next birthday (which was in March), I'm now left wondering what to do next. While I have never found myself in such a situation, I have to imagine my current mindset is not unlike that of a patient who has prepared for a very dramatic surgery, we'll say a heart transplant, only to be told on the day of the scheduled operation that the procedure has been delayed. Don't get me wrong. I'm more than a tad thrilled to have the chance to enjoy more time with the people I care so much about and have the opportunity to do some of the things I haven't done yet, but I was kinda geared up to share some heavenly milk and cookies with my dad! Hope he saves some for me as it seems our rendezvous ain't happening just yet. Not that I'm complaining about that. But it would be nice to see him again. Tears started flowing with that thought.
Karen also noted that I have done next to nothing in the creative realm over the past four years. A strange thing for an artist, to be sure. Yeah, I've made the necessary items for the annual weaving guild exchange (mittens last year, felted bird pin this year), started knitting two sweaters and several scarves (none of which are completed), looked at my empty loom a few times, and did a few cursory dye experiments, but nothing that gets to the core of my soul. While sitting in Karen's comfy office, I remembered a mixed media piece I started planning shortly after my surgery. I fully intended to abuse a piece of canvas in a very similar manner to the way cancer had attacked my left breast. More tears flowed as I visualized slashing the canvas in a crescent moon-like line to represent the shape of my scar. I imagined throwing blood on it, stitching up the wound, burning it with a soldering iron (think radiation burns), and other similar indignities. That scenario has planned over and over in my head these past four years, but I haven't been able to translate the thought into anything concrete. In fact, I haven't done a single thing that can be remotely described as cathartic this whole time! Cried more in the time I spent in Karen's office than I have spent since the initial cancer diagnosis. Sorta throws to the wind the theory that I've been coping extremely well, doesn't it?
Well, I've made a start. Bought a canvas at the dollar store on the way home that day. Drew the curved line, slashed it with a knife, and poured blood over the incision (not my blood but some that conveniently arrived in a package of roast beef that I was having for dinner that night). Can't find my soldering iron. If it doesn't turn up by tomorrow, I'll use a match instead. And yes, I'll do the burning outside. Have started assembling bits for two more pieces that I hope will be equally cathartic. And I've returned to dyeing experiments with natural materials - I'm sure there is a metaphor in there somewhere.
So that's what my little brain has been up to this past while. Wonder what it will be like when it comes out the other side.
Here's a bit of inspiration from Van Morrison:
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Cane Scrutiny
Am happy to report that while there are a few nagging spots on my hands and feet, the current round of hand-foot syndrome is nothing like the initial bout. Thank God! Okay, so I lost a portion of one toenail, have a split between another toe and the sole of my foot, and am experiencing extensive dryness in both toe and finger tips once more. At least there's no blistering! No matter. Should I require assistance re walking, I have a new device that is more than up for the challenge.
When it was apparent that my feet would be causing me some grief, I took the opportunity to check out the range of canes that are available in healthcare supply stores and pharmacies. Most are soulless metal devices with large sponge-covered handle. True, some sport lovely floral or paisley patterns, but none seemed the right "fit" for me. While it seemed a tall order, I wanted a cane that would help me through more than just the physical challenges of compromised feet.
I've long admired the work of Bradley Hunt, a local carver who came to the Sunshine Coast by way of Bella Bella. You can see Bradley's lovely work on the "welcome to Sechelt" sign as you come into town and on the doors of the Heritage Playhouse in Gibsons. His son Shawn is becoming a respected artist in his own right, having caused something of a sensation with a painting that depicted Bill Reid's famous raven atop an Andy Warhol-like soup can. Shawn's an amazing carver, too. He, younger brother Dean and Bradley worked on an entryway for a house in Roberts Creek (see http://www.shawnhunt.net/?p=84 for photos of the project). A very talented family, to say the least. I approached Dean with the idea of carving a cane, and he readily accepted the challenge.
I gave Dean a rough idea of what I wanted (size, general shape, some ideas for possible design inspiration), but left the actual design and finishing details up to him. As I told him, this was to be a fun project for us both, and it turned out to be that and more.
Here's what Dean created.
The details didn't photograph very well (due to the photographer and camera), so here's a brief general description:
The cane is made of two pieces of wood, a maple shaft with a handle of something else that has slipped my mind at the moment (cedar?). Although the shaft was turned on a lathe to achieve the general shape, the surface was subsequently knifed to create a softer finish. The handle was also knifed. The shaft was finished with a coat of varathane, but it still feels much like satin. The rubber tip can be removed and replaced with an ice pick should it be needed during colder weather.
The handle is a stylized crab claw. This is appropriate given that the crab is frequently associated with the zodiac sign Cancer, which is also the name of the disease that plagues me. Dean used the image of the sea creature to also pay homage to my ancestors, many of whom made their living from/on the sea, as well as my own zodiac sign which is Pisces, another "water sign". By placing the crab's claw on the handle of the cane, I can symbolically get a grip on the disease. The claw is painted red, a colour that in Heiltsuk tradition means "vitality/life". The shaft of the cane is etched with a stylized lily motif, a nod to my love of gardening and nature in general. It's interesting that, of all the flowers, he chose the lily as that blossom holds extra special meaning for me. The flower is frequently associated with the Virgin Mary, a spirit guide with whom I feel a close affinity (in many ways more so than any portion of the Holy Trinity). I've heard that the lily is a symbol of luck in China, and the blossom has been used in medicine for many years. There are two circles of abalone inserted in the handle base just above the shaft. According to an online guide to gems, abalone strengthens muscular tissue, especially the heart, and is also a strong anti-carcinogenic. Abalone shells are also frequently used by Native peoples to catch ashes during smudging ceremonies. (Dean told me some of the abalone he uses in his work comes from a broken smudge pot, but I'm not sure that includes the pieces used in my cane.)
So there is a lot of power, of healing energy in my little cane. How well those attributes will serve me has yet to be determined. I can say, however, that on the few occasions I've called upon its services, the cane has felt very comfortable in my hand (which is somewhat smaller than most) and proved both solid and stable.
To find out more about Dean Hunt and his amazing work, check out http://www.spiritwrestler.com/catalog/index.php?artists_id=428 I have little doubt that he has a very bright artistic future.
When it was apparent that my feet would be causing me some grief, I took the opportunity to check out the range of canes that are available in healthcare supply stores and pharmacies. Most are soulless metal devices with large sponge-covered handle. True, some sport lovely floral or paisley patterns, but none seemed the right "fit" for me. While it seemed a tall order, I wanted a cane that would help me through more than just the physical challenges of compromised feet.
I've long admired the work of Bradley Hunt, a local carver who came to the Sunshine Coast by way of Bella Bella. You can see Bradley's lovely work on the "welcome to Sechelt" sign as you come into town and on the doors of the Heritage Playhouse in Gibsons. His son Shawn is becoming a respected artist in his own right, having caused something of a sensation with a painting that depicted Bill Reid's famous raven atop an Andy Warhol-like soup can. Shawn's an amazing carver, too. He, younger brother Dean and Bradley worked on an entryway for a house in Roberts Creek (see http://www.shawnhunt.net/?p=84 for photos of the project). A very talented family, to say the least. I approached Dean with the idea of carving a cane, and he readily accepted the challenge.
I gave Dean a rough idea of what I wanted (size, general shape, some ideas for possible design inspiration), but left the actual design and finishing details up to him. As I told him, this was to be a fun project for us both, and it turned out to be that and more.
Here's what Dean created.
The details didn't photograph very well (due to the photographer and camera), so here's a brief general description:
The cane is made of two pieces of wood, a maple shaft with a handle of something else that has slipped my mind at the moment (cedar?). Although the shaft was turned on a lathe to achieve the general shape, the surface was subsequently knifed to create a softer finish. The handle was also knifed. The shaft was finished with a coat of varathane, but it still feels much like satin. The rubber tip can be removed and replaced with an ice pick should it be needed during colder weather.
The handle is a stylized crab claw. This is appropriate given that the crab is frequently associated with the zodiac sign Cancer, which is also the name of the disease that plagues me. Dean used the image of the sea creature to also pay homage to my ancestors, many of whom made their living from/on the sea, as well as my own zodiac sign which is Pisces, another "water sign". By placing the crab's claw on the handle of the cane, I can symbolically get a grip on the disease. The claw is painted red, a colour that in Heiltsuk tradition means "vitality/life". The shaft of the cane is etched with a stylized lily motif, a nod to my love of gardening and nature in general. It's interesting that, of all the flowers, he chose the lily as that blossom holds extra special meaning for me. The flower is frequently associated with the Virgin Mary, a spirit guide with whom I feel a close affinity (in many ways more so than any portion of the Holy Trinity). I've heard that the lily is a symbol of luck in China, and the blossom has been used in medicine for many years. There are two circles of abalone inserted in the handle base just above the shaft. According to an online guide to gems, abalone strengthens muscular tissue, especially the heart, and is also a strong anti-carcinogenic. Abalone shells are also frequently used by Native peoples to catch ashes during smudging ceremonies. (Dean told me some of the abalone he uses in his work comes from a broken smudge pot, but I'm not sure that includes the pieces used in my cane.)
So there is a lot of power, of healing energy in my little cane. How well those attributes will serve me has yet to be determined. I can say, however, that on the few occasions I've called upon its services, the cane has felt very comfortable in my hand (which is somewhat smaller than most) and proved both solid and stable.
To find out more about Dean Hunt and his amazing work, check out http://www.spiritwrestler.com/catalog/index.php?artists_id=428 I have little doubt that he has a very bright artistic future.
Bar Call
Finally got the towel bar/handrail installed in my bathroom. It's 87" long and runs from the door to the bathroom to the back wall of the shower. A portion is situated above the radiator, so towels can be made toasty during the winter months. I can also easily reach the towels from inside the shower area - the water from the shower head doesn't spray against the railing wall.
What a difference the railing makes to the look, sound, and accessibility of the room. Had a good laugh when Penny and Jon came to check it out. They thought it would be the perfect ballet bar and proceeded to test it for suitable a la plie. Jon almost got permanently stuck in a demi-plie, but his dear wife managed to rescue him in time. Penny did much better with her rendition of a demi-pointe the releve! Too bad the room is too small to record the pair's antics. It really was quite comical.
What a difference the railing makes to the look, sound, and accessibility of the room. Had a good laugh when Penny and Jon came to check it out. They thought it would be the perfect ballet bar and proceeded to test it for suitable a la plie. Jon almost got permanently stuck in a demi-plie, but his dear wife managed to rescue him in time. Penny did much better with her rendition of a demi-pointe the releve! Too bad the room is too small to record the pair's antics. It really was quite comical.
Playing Catch-up
At long last I've managed to gather together some pictures from Dan's visit here in late April/early May. Dan (a dear friend from my days in Ottawa) is curator of marine history at the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic in Halifax. As such, no visit to the Sunshine Coast would have been complete without a pilgrimage to our local shrine of all things related to the near coastal waters.
As luck would have it, Dan was on hand for the annual April Tools event in Maderia Park. What a hoot! It was my first time attending as well, and we had a great time watching the various teams construct their, um, vessels using only a sheet of plywood, duct tape, glue, and string. My GP, Dr J, and his team opted to use hand power (literally) rather than rely on the more common oar method of propulsion. This technique entailed the contestant (Dr J or another of his team members) to lie upon a sheet of plywood cut to resemble the outline of a ship's hull. Short lengths of wood were tied to the hands of the participant to aid in the paddling process. Remarkably, this was one of the few entries that didn't totally capsize (with or without help from competing entries). I think they finished in a very respectable sixth place - all the more respectable because most other entries didn't float let alone finish navigating the race circuit. In addition to the "boat" race, there were many interesting booths pertaining to various aspects of local marine history.
Another water-related activity saw us making a visit to the Maritime Museum in Vancouver. It was a chance for Dan to meet his West Coast counterpart, and an opportunity for me to donate several family documents to the museum's collection. When my father died back in 2004, several of his photos and papers were placed in the museum's care. Since Mom moved to Sechelt, we've been going through various photo albums and other documents and unearthing several articles of interest to the museum. Among them, a large collection of information and photos pertaining to the Tolmie, the Kingsley, and other well-known Vancouver-based vessels. A scrapbook of newspaper articles relating to the installation of the "new" railway bridge next to the Second Narrows/Iron Workers Memorial Bridge in Vancouver were also included (Dad was responsible for getting the three sections barged into place without mishap. The middle section, the last to be placed, had only a few inches clearance on either side. Manoeuvering the section was considered a major feat, so much so that Molson's made a beer ad based on Dad's performance. I think it was Red Cap beer.) There was also an ample album of photos from the time when Dad served as mate on the Klondike, an old paddlewheeler that now sits as a national historic site in Whitehorse, Yukon. Dan took this photo of the museum's archivist and me sorting through the documents I was leaving in her care. Must say I was rather envious of the library, to say nothing of the extensive collection of artifacts in the holding area across the hall.
Of course, no visit to the Sunshine Coast would be complete without taking in some of the local natural sites. I wasn't up for a hike in to the Skookumchuk (Dan got part way in himself on another day. Would have managed to get all the way to the rapids, but he was kinda pooped after first climbing Mount Daniel), but we did have some lovely walks around Sargent's Bay, Cooper's Green, and other shoreline walks. Saw an astounding variety of shore birds including oyster catchers and scoters. Couldn't resist also popping in to Cliff Gilker Park for a glimpse of the waterfall!
There were some land-based activities during the week as well, some of which did not include water of any description. For example, we sought out two public art pieces by Dan's brother, Peter Conlin. The first (along a greenspace on west side of Nanaimo at 40th in the Kensington-Cedar Cottage area). It is essentially a house without walls, only windows and doorways above each of which there is a pronoun (e.g., yours, mine, ours, his, hers).
Peter's second piece is situated a few blocks south on opposite corners at Clarendon and 45th. This work was an interesting variation on weathervanes. Interesting because the pronoun-based signs rotated above a newly installed bike lane - and few things are as controversial and polarizing these days as Vancouver bike lanes.
Anyone interested in reading the artist's statement can check out the Public Art Registry page at
http://app.vancouver.ca/PublicArt_net/ArtworkDetails.aspx?ArtworkID=429&Neighbourhood=&Ownership=&Program=
All in all it was a very nice visit. Only thing that would have made it better would be having Dan's wife Pat along, too. Sadly, she couldn't make the trip. Guess I'll have to find a way to get back to the Maritimes for another visit.
The following week, Trudy (recently of Malmo, Sweden) came for a visit. I've just realized that we didn't take any photos while she was here. Likely too busy talking. And Trudy was cooking up a storm. My freezer is happily stocked so I don't have to worry about cooking if I don't feel up to it - at least not for a very long time. Lucky me to have friends who are such good cooks!
As luck would have it, Dan was on hand for the annual April Tools event in Maderia Park. What a hoot! It was my first time attending as well, and we had a great time watching the various teams construct their, um, vessels using only a sheet of plywood, duct tape, glue, and string. My GP, Dr J, and his team opted to use hand power (literally) rather than rely on the more common oar method of propulsion. This technique entailed the contestant (Dr J or another of his team members) to lie upon a sheet of plywood cut to resemble the outline of a ship's hull. Short lengths of wood were tied to the hands of the participant to aid in the paddling process. Remarkably, this was one of the few entries that didn't totally capsize (with or without help from competing entries). I think they finished in a very respectable sixth place - all the more respectable because most other entries didn't float let alone finish navigating the race circuit. In addition to the "boat" race, there were many interesting booths pertaining to various aspects of local marine history.
Another water-related activity saw us making a visit to the Maritime Museum in Vancouver. It was a chance for Dan to meet his West Coast counterpart, and an opportunity for me to donate several family documents to the museum's collection. When my father died back in 2004, several of his photos and papers were placed in the museum's care. Since Mom moved to Sechelt, we've been going through various photo albums and other documents and unearthing several articles of interest to the museum. Among them, a large collection of information and photos pertaining to the Tolmie, the Kingsley, and other well-known Vancouver-based vessels. A scrapbook of newspaper articles relating to the installation of the "new" railway bridge next to the Second Narrows/Iron Workers Memorial Bridge in Vancouver were also included (Dad was responsible for getting the three sections barged into place without mishap. The middle section, the last to be placed, had only a few inches clearance on either side. Manoeuvering the section was considered a major feat, so much so that Molson's made a beer ad based on Dad's performance. I think it was Red Cap beer.) There was also an ample album of photos from the time when Dad served as mate on the Klondike, an old paddlewheeler that now sits as a national historic site in Whitehorse, Yukon. Dan took this photo of the museum's archivist and me sorting through the documents I was leaving in her care. Must say I was rather envious of the library, to say nothing of the extensive collection of artifacts in the holding area across the hall.
Peter's second piece is situated a few blocks south on opposite corners at Clarendon and 45th. This work was an interesting variation on weathervanes. Interesting because the pronoun-based signs rotated above a newly installed bike lane - and few things are as controversial and polarizing these days as Vancouver bike lanes.
http://app.vancouver.ca/PublicArt_net/ArtworkDetails.aspx?ArtworkID=429&Neighbourhood=&Ownership=&Program=
All in all it was a very nice visit. Only thing that would have made it better would be having Dan's wife Pat along, too. Sadly, she couldn't make the trip. Guess I'll have to find a way to get back to the Maritimes for another visit.
The following week, Trudy (recently of Malmo, Sweden) came for a visit. I've just realized that we didn't take any photos while she was here. Likely too busy talking. And Trudy was cooking up a storm. My freezer is happily stocked so I don't have to worry about cooking if I don't feel up to it - at least not for a very long time. Lucky me to have friends who are such good cooks!
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