walk

the rain

If all I ask for in a day is that it be better than the day before then today has been a full on success. We went for a walk on a beach in Deep Cove, all fragments of white shells, and grey sand with blue mussels, and smooth black basalt semi-coated in grippy ivory barnacles and brown bladderwrack. The ocean was clear and inviting looking; I am so eager for summer swims. Along the shoreline, towering Douglas-fir and arbutus, blue skies above and warm sun on our backs. Clams squirted as we walked, a waterfront fountain display that has never failed to amuse me. Also, yesterday was pretty terrible. In a way it was quite fitting that my post last night disappeared. I had spent all night and the next morning preparing for and worrying about a job interview. The interview itself was not enjoyable, but in some ways easier than expected - or at least it all went a lot faster than I was anticipating. Shaken from the interview and slightly baffled at being asked to answer math equations that no person in an office workplace in this century would not have access to a calculator for, I frustratingly completely misunderstood the wording on the multiple choice questions and though I wrote the correct answers beside the questions, didn't end up circling anything because nothing matched up right. Back at home, my favorite new sundresses appeared oddly tiny when I hung them up to dry. I tried one on out of a dreadful curiosity; I am now converted to the act of reading garment labels before casually tossing them into the laundry. I then sat for some time diligently stretching out the fabric and blocking it over my knees, all of which had zero effect on the now butt-length dresses. Until- a tearing sound that caused me to fling the dress aside. I now had tiny dresses, one with a long rip across the skirt.

The rain came overnight, its soft patter emanating through our old windows. Outside, our garden bed turned to mud and the cherry blossoms looked wasted and heavy. Some cold, rainy days are cozy inside, and others great for invigorating outdoor adventures. Some are just cold and rainy.

Later in the evening, with my face pressed between the couch cushion and Jer's arm, I listened to sirens wailing through the city streets and thought: at least we're safe. We're here and we're safe and these really are small problems, almost nothing at all of importance. And I am so lucky to be with such a supportive man.

As part of our cheer-up campaign (ongoing throughout the day- it worked until the next thing went wrong) we did an impromptu pastry tour, hitting up Fry's, Fol Épi and Crust for buttery goodness. We stocked up on seeds for our garden and even replaced the favorite dresses.

Seven loves her strawberry medicine. She follows Jer when she smells it and laps it up happily. Zephyr is very jealous. She has been nipping me and charging around and sulking in the kitchen. We're going to try to get her some placebo strawberry paste so she feels special too.

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sound in the forest

One of my favorite things about my days off is having real breakfasts. I like to soak 1/3 cup steel cut oats in 1/3 cup water and a spoonful of yogurt overnight then cook it in 1/3 cup water the next morning. And I like to make coffee. Very much. Lately before work I've just been making toast to bring with me and most of it ends up quite cold and chewy before I get to it. Waking up even earlier, even for something as glorious as breakfast is so not happening though. Good thing I've been applying for work hither and thither these past few days. Hopefully something better will come up soon. I've been thinking about things I could do that would actually be fulfilling, and while I haven't seen them in the job postings yet I still have hope. Illustrating children's books would be delightful. Reading books and finding every typo and spelling mistake and forming opinions would be right up my alley as well. Something creative, please... I went for a walk near MacKenzie Bight in the highlands with my brother this afternoon. It rained on the way there, but under the canopy the trees were only dripping. I sometimes miss the chilly, crystalline magic of the forests in the Kootenays under their winter snow. There, silence reigns except the occasional clumps of snow falling. The sun comes in sideways and catches the rough snow crystals, the whole forest peaceful and glittering. Here, the thought of winter seems far. The forest is full of sounds. First, the pitter-pat of rain on leaves, then gurgling and rushing as we neared a small rivulet. The gurgles faded down the path behind us and a few steps later new burbles announced the next stream. In one spot, various streams had converged and taken over the paths. This is where we turned around. The roar of the waterfall almost masked the sound of soft raindrops on the small pool at the top of the falls. Over it all, but woven into the louder stream sounds and only evident where the raindrops, the breeze and the leaves were the only backdrop, the clomping of our wet boots. Modern humans are so inelegant in the forest.

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