tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18452666588060732812024-03-12T17:50:16.309-07:00Denise Levine Creative | Writing<em>THERE WAS AN INCIDENT...</em><br><br>
I love to travel. Whether it’s taking in the mystery of historical sites, watching nature unfold, or learning about different cultures, I embrace it all. This blog is all about sharing the experiences and adventures of my travels, so I can hopefully inspire and encourage others who share the same passion. Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-43860005390771727502017-10-22T18:05:00.000-07:002017-10-22T18:05:39.790-07:00Travel Planning to Make the Most of your Holiday - Part One<br /><br />My friends, family, and clients can tell you that I have some of the most amazing, fun-filled and rewarding vacations that they have ever heard anyone speak of. And this is true. My theory is that if I am going to spend X amount of dollars on a trip and take time away from my day-to-day life, then I want to make the most of it. I want to come home raving about my adventures, brimming with excitement, and owning a plethora of incredible memories and experiences that I will never forget. And that’s exactly what happens, every time.<br /><br /><br />I am a planner by nature, but I also have a spontaneous streak, which when going on holiday, ends up being a 80/20 split. In other words, I will plan out most of my vacation in advance, but will leave some of it to chance, depending on the place I am going and what it is I am doing. My agenda over the last 5 years has been focused mainly on Britain and Europe, and as such, good planning has allowed me to see and do every I wanted to enjoy. Yes, it takes time and effort—but I can assure you it is well worth it.<br /><br /><br />The first thing I do is think about what is of interest to me at this time in my life, simply because my interests and curiosities tend to change and evolve all the time. Last year, I was thinking of Greece for 2017, and the reason why is because I have always had a fascination with Greek history, mythology and architecture since I was a kid. I have drawn the Parthenon about 15 times, have read and re-read Homer’s works and those of the great Greek philosophers too. Having a personal interest in the place(s) you’re going to actually changes the dynamic of the trip itself. It starts to create meaning and will absolutely enrich your travels. Take the time to think about where your interests lie, and what would be fascinating for you to see or do.<br /><br /><br />Once you decide where you would like to go, you need to take into account the time of year, which may include some restrictions based on your job, family, etc. For me, January and February are considered two of the busiest investment months in my industry. I tend to choose September because I don’t have small children and I prefer to go after the summer when the crowds have disapated a little, and ok, when the kids are back in school. The weather should also play a part in your timing—two different hemispheres and all. I wouldn’t want to accidentally book a trip somewhere where that country’s “summer” may cause me to spontaneously combust when I’m not used to that kind of heat. You get my drift.<br /><br /><br />Next, do you go on your own or with a friend? If you have a boyfriend/girlfriend or a spouse, it might be a given you would go together, or possibly not, depending. I am single, and have a preference to travel on my own; however, on my last two trips, my friend Sheila accompanied me. If you do decide to travel with a friend, then my suggestion is to make sure that you are very comfortable being in the same space together for the duration of the trip. An honest, open dialogue is required before you decide on travelling together (and during, for that matter), because once you are at your destination, you don’t want discover that every little quirk about your friend is making you mental. Set out some rules and guidelines for some “alone” time so you don’t end up killing each other. Also, you need to have the same objectives as to what you want to get out of the trip. It’s fair to say that you can have different objectives to some extent and still make it work, but if one is a beach bum and the other is looking to seek out historical monuments, then you may find it a challenge. Also, being on the same economic level is important. If you are like me and picky about where you stay, then set a price range at the beginning of your research so there are no unpleasant surprises or disappointments.<br /><br /><br />Now it’s time to write down an itinerary; for example, if you are going to Italy, where do you want to go in Italy and for how long. For me, this takes a little research that can easily be done through travel guides, either on-line or the old-fashioned way. I absolutely LOVE Rick Steves’ iBooks because they work off-line, have great tips and recommendations, opening/closing times, maps, etc. Rick also has great TV shows and Travel Talks that you can access on You Tube that help you actually see the places you may want to go to. I also like the Eye-Witness Travel books—they have very detailed explanations and gorgeous pictures, and each area of a city is broken down into subsections that help you efficiently plan your time. I am not in the ranks with the aforementioned travel guru; however, I will also explain in each of my posts for my trips, where I went and why, so that may help you as well.<br /><br /><br />Once you have an idea of where you would like to go, start writing out dates and places. I do it the old-fashioned way, with paper and pen. That way you can cross out and change things as you play with the dates and the length of time in each place—and believe me, there will be a lot of that. Of course how long you plan to stay somewhere is based on what you want to do there, and if there are specific events you are going for, you will have to coordinate your timing to make it work. It’s like the chicken and the egg in some ways—which comes first. It’s actually a combination of both determining what you want to do, but also researching what there is to do—making the unknown known.<br /><br /><br />These are the primary considerations I use to get started, and as you begin this process, you will start to feel the excitement building—I know I do! Part Two of this post will be more focused determining your activities, points of interest, etc., how to finalize your plans and ensure you don’t waste time in line ups!<br /><br /><br />NEXT BLOG: TRAVEL PLANNING TO MAKE THE MOST OF YOUR HOLIDAY - <br /> PART TWO<br /><br /><br /> <br /><br /> Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-87797980539414272922017-10-15T17:27:00.001-07:002017-10-15T17:27:12.327-07:00Enjoying the Expedia Experience <div>
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<i>The opportunity to start writing about my travels finally surfaces! I thought I would begin with how I book some of my travel. My next blog post will be a little more about how I make the most of my holidays through some advanced planning, and then finally on to my actual trips—the latest one being Greece! Thank you for following my blog as it develops into a travel focus—I truly appreciate your support!</i></div>
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There are a number of different third party services that offer discount travel that you can book on-line or over the phone. I personally like <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> as they have been consistent in their service and reward you for their usage. I have been using them for a number of years now to book most of my travel. The main reason I do so is because not only do I get discounts if I book a flight and hotel together, but I also see a variety of choices that I never knew existed before. </div>
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Their on-line system is quite easy to use, so I start with my destinations, and scope out the hotels in the cities that I am travelling to first. You can search by area, for example, London England is a fairly large city--so if I want to stay in a hotel on The Strand, then it will populate with just those hotels. If I am going somewhere new, it’s great to have all the hotels in front of me, each with pictures, map, amenities and traveller reviews, all on one page. It also gives you various rooms and price points, and allows you to reserve in advance with free cancellation, or book straight away. If you reserve without paying, then you simply pay the hotel when you check out, in whatever the local currency is. The price is guaranteed, but of course the currency conversation is not! There are ways to hedge you bets with currency; however, that is a whole other post.</div>
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The cool thing is that you can see a wide range of hotels, and also read the reviews. A word on travel reviews: There are people who generally have a pleasant disposition when travelling (and in general), and then there are people who bitch about everything little thing. If the bulk of the reviews have a high rating, then go with that. <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> also gives the hotel the ability to respond to reviews, which is something that shows me the hotel management cares about their guests' experiences. As well, after your check-in, <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> canvases you for an easy 10 second review, with that feedback going directly to the hotel. </div>
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This may sound weird, but I spend quite a number of hours researching hotels--I am very picky about where I stay. The location is key--think about the things you want to see and where the hotel is relative to that. In Athens for example, much of wanted to see was in the area around the Acropolis so I chose a hotel that allowed me to walk everywhere. I also choose the location from a safety aspect. Typically I find that hotels closer to train stations may cost less, but if you're a single female traveller like me, you may want to steer clear of those areas. When I was in Naples briefly, I found it hard to find a restaurant around the train station which felt safe--lots of shifty eyes my way--and on my camera! Once you have booked a hotel, <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> will provide you with a variety of activities that you can book through them. I have done this several times as well, from car service to and from airports, to catamaran sailing in <span style="background-color: yellow;">Santorini</span>. The prices for the activities are paid in your local currency and up front.</div>
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I also do my due diligence though by way of pricing to make sure that I am indeed getting the best deal when I book through <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span>. Many hotels would prefer that you book through them direct, and provide offers to reward you for doing that. The challenge though in booking direct is that you don’t have the option to pay in your own currency, and, if you are booking a flight, hotel and car for example, it is much less expensive to book that all together on a third party site like <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> versus individually. However, as I said, I always work out the math to make sure it makes sense—I can’t help myself given I am a Financial Planner—it’s in my nature. </div>
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I often get asked if, because I booked through a third party, I get treated differently at the hotel (they can see that you did not book directly through them). For the hotels, it is a form of marketing—they offer those prices through <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> at a discount so they can gain business they may have never had. There is no questions that the market for deep discount is growing exponentially on a continuous basis, so it would be smart for the hospitality industry to partake in that. I can honestly say that I have never felt any sort of discrimination of any type by using <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> to book my hotels. But then again, it might be thanks to what I do before I arrive.</div>
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I contact each hotel about 2 weeks before I arrive to confirm my reservation (including room type, etc), let them know I am excited to stay at their hotel, and how much I look forward to writing a fantastic review on <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> and Trip Advisor about their amazing hotel. That last point is key. I was just in Greece, and Trip Advisor signs were all over hotels and restaurants there. The competition is fierce, and guest reviews are playing more and more of an important role in how travellers make their choices on where to stay, where to eat, and what to do. Also, upon check-in, I confirm everything to ensure it matches what I have booked, along with mentioning the great review I plan to give. I always have my booking information on my phone through Expedia’s mobile app readily available in case there is any discrepency. </div>
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Lastly, I find all the people at the <span style="background-color: yellow;">Expedia</span> call centre in Cairo, Egypt, an absolute joy to speak with. I will usually plan everything out on-line and then given them a call (especially if I am booking multiple destinations) and have them put the package together so I maximize my savings. Every single time I have called over the years, I have always spoken to a knowledgeable, professional, and patient (my trips can be complicated!) individual. Their focus on providing outstanding customer service is one of the key reasons why I am a loyal customer. In fact, when I go to Egypt next year, I will be stopping in to see them whilst in Cairo—that’s how much of a positive impact that amazing team has made on me.</div>
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Thank you again for your support in reading my blog. Please feel free to make any comments or ask questions if you like—I am happy to chat anytime about my travels!</div>
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NEXT BLOG: TRAVEL PLANNING TO MAKE THE MOST OF YOUR HOLIDAY!</div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-38725753272894499462017-04-14T11:07:00.003-07:002017-04-14T11:07:47.922-07:00A FRESH START - THE TRAVELS OF LADY LEVINE<br /><br />I have been on somewhat of a hiatus from my writing over the last year. I suppose life has just happened to whisk me away into various directions, and I woke up one day (today, actually) realizing I have truly missed my long, lost love—writing. I also came to the conclusion as to WHY I love writing—I want to share my excitement of travelling! Just ask some of my friends on Facebook (yes, I went back)—every time someone travels and posts pictures and stories, I have to chime in with some suggestions or ideas or just plain “I love that place!”.<br /><br /><br />So, I have decided given the amount of travelling I do, that I would like to focus my “There Was an Incident” Blog specifically on sharing my travelling adventures. Don’t worry, there are plenty of incidents when I travel, so the idea of the title still holds true. Words cannot express (but I will find a way!) how much I enjoy going to new places, meeting interesting people, learning about the art, architecture, history and culture of wherever it is that I am, and then being able to impart that to others. <br /><br /><br />I am a Financial Planner by day (and a fabulous one at that), so it’s in my nature to plan. I don’t plan everything mind you, but when it comes to travelling here is my theory: If I am going to spend “X” amount of dollars going somewhere, and I have particular interests in the places I am going to, AND I hate standing in a line up, then why not invest some time into planning so I make the most of my time and see what I want to see. So far, that theory has tested well and I have had some of the most spectacular trips as a result. Just as a point of interest, I am now finding that my clients are asking me for travel advice along with how to plan their retirement—I’ll take that as a compliment and happy to do it!<br /><br /><br />My intention through this blog is to share my experiences with you, so if you happened to be thinking about going to the same spots, then maybe there is a tip or two that I have imparted that will be helpful to you. If you can’t get away to where you want to go, then maybe there is a sliver of inspiration or a thread of enjoyment reading about places you have dreamed of going some day in the future.<div>
<br /><br />As a final note, you may wonder who Lady Levine is—well, that’s me! A few years back I made a land purchase outside of Canada, and received a lovely title certificate, giving me the option to use the title ‘Lady”. When I am in England, it works well, but most of the world thinks Lady is just my first name—I used to try and explain but only received confused looks in return. However, it makes for a lovely title to my travels…and so a new, wonderful direction is born through what I will call “The Travels of Lady Levine”.</div>
Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-14309842826360016522016-08-05T00:11:00.000-07:002016-08-05T11:56:41.513-07:00Taking Back Reality...Good-Bye Facebook<br />
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I entered a brave new world today. I left Facebook—a place that I frequented as regularly as a neighbourhood pub. I enjoyed my virtual pub for quite a long time. For me, it started out by connecting with old school friends, catching up on people’s lives, seeing and hearing all that had transpired over the years. It helped me connect with family members that live on the other side of the globe and gave me a glimpse into their world so far away from mine. It opened my eyes and my mind to some of the goings on in the world, both good and bad.<br />
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Being part of Facebook made me feel connected. I laughed at silly cat videos, cried at sad stories with happy or not so happy endings, and shared in all that my friends had to say. It also gave me the opportunity to share—the adventures I went on, my thoughts and ideas, my hopes and dreams.<br />
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I loved my virtual pub—who wouldn’t? Then I started to notice how things slowly changed for me. I was spending more and more time on Facebook—time I did not have to spend. It wasn’t about staying connected anymore, rather, it became a place where I could get the attention I craved, whether intentional or not. I became engrossed in subjects that I thought I knew something about, yet realized I actually knew nothing. Instead of it becoming a learning experience, it became about me being right or having the last say. <br />
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And before I knew it, I was losing my connection to the physical realm. I was abandoning my creative energies over and over again. Time just drifted away every day, all for the sake of my virtual world, where I felt I was losing my real self. <br />
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So I decided to take back my time and energy. When I made my decision to “Denexit” known (I thought that was a cute term, being in the financial services industry and all, and, my exit was certainly unexpected), the outpouring of support from everyone I knew on Facebook was overwhelming. I had no idea that I made such an impact on my friends with all those thoughts, hopes and dreams I had shared. I was truly touched.<br />
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I am part of a generation that grew up without technology and social media, and I feel most fortunate that I have the use of it and can appreciate its place in our world. However, I also feel even more fortunate to have the memory of days where creativity, imagination, interpersonal skills and human interaction mattered most, and I’m pleased to report that those memories are alive and well today. That’s my reality, and I couldn’t be happier.<br />
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-46936588657657123762016-01-16T00:53:00.000-08:002016-01-16T01:25:39.248-08:00My "Gut" Feeling...Celebrating the Absence of Crohn's<br />
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I'm writing this blog post on a very important day—the 12th anniversary of the surgery that saved my life from Crohn's disease. It's tough to know where to start, so in the interest of time, I'll give you the Reader’s Digest version.<br />
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I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease 2 years prior to my surgery, and 2 years prior to my diagnosis, I had contracted the H-Pylori bacteria while living in Ontario for a few years—I was 29. That bacteria is nasty—it burrows a hole in your stomach (ulcer) and it takes three sets of the heavy-duty antibiotics to kill it. Antibiotics killed it alright, and everything else in my gut. However, at the time, I was naive to how this all worked, and simply did as I was told by the doctors. The reason I mention this bacteria is that I believe this was the root of the cause of the Crohn’s (and my GI specialist concurred). My gut was wide open to any and all pathogens, and probiotics were not even mentioned as an after-treatment to replace all the lovely good bacteria that was obliterated alongside the bad.<br />
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Fast forward 2 years, and I’m now back in Vancouver and decide it’s time for a divorce. It was my doing to end the marriage—our daughter’s diagnosis of autism whilst in Ontario took a weak marriage and broke it. It was a very difficult time, our lives were in turmoil, and weren’t a happy pair. The stress was at an all time high, and back then, I had no idea how to manage it, nor did I seek out help—I just dealt with it. In the midst of all this, I started having stomach issues—first I just chalked it up to a bad meal or two. Then it turned into wanting to be sick within a few hours of eating, and then finally into actually being sick. It turned from a rarity, to once in awhile, to more often, and finally into a regular occurrence, with the diagnosis in amongst there somewhere.<br />
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Crohn’s is a inflammatory bowel disease that can arrive anywhere along the digestive system, starting at the mouth and ending, well, you know where. For me, the disease had taken hold in my small intestine, as determined by a test called a small-bowel follow through. It’s lovely—you drink a delicious cup of barium (not sure that stuff was meant for human consumption) to highlight the digestive tract for the x-ray machine. Parts of my small intestine where extremely inflamed, to the point where when I was at my worst (just before surgery), the damaged parts were the width of a piece of string (they are usually an inch in diameter).<br />
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The pain just kept getting worse and worse, to the point where I had planned special places on my commute home (West Vancouver to Steveston) where I could safely stop and keel over in pain in my car without alerting the public. My GI guy said they use a pain scale in the medical field, with childbirth being about a 5, and terminal cancer being 10. Based on my condition, I was at an 8. It was so horrific near the end, that I just wanted it all to go away. It was only for a fleeting moment that I felt that way—until I was able to get a grip and remember I had a beautiful daughter who needed me.<br />
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My GI guy had me on a few different anti-inflammatory medications, but the only one that worked was prednisone. I was in love with it—why? Because it took the pain away. I went on it three times within a year and a half—I was able to eat again, and without being sick. After round three, my GI guy finally said no more, and warned me that any more, and I would be getting hip-replacement surgery in 5 years time. The drug let me eat, but it was eating my bone marrow. <br />
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During this time, aside from severe hair loss and issues with my teeth from all the stomach acid, I had obviously lost a considerable amount of weight. I was a healthy size 10 and just kept moving down the scale. Initially, it was interesting because it was neat to be shrinking and buying smaller sizes, and my stupid boyfriend at the time thought it was great because I was really slim and looked fantastic (what idiot is happy his girlfriend has a chronic illness?). The defining moment came when I was in the American Eagle dressing room and tried on a size 4 pair of jeans and they were too big. The sales girl was all “Oh my god, that’s so awesome, I’ll go get you a size 2!”. And then I lost it—I had a full-on breakdown in the dressing room while waiting for my size 2 jeans. When you can’t control what your body is doing anymore, it is a sick and horrible feeling. I was beside myself and knew that something big was coming. It was called surgery.<br />
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Hearing the words, “Your body is shutting down, you will be dead in two weeks if we don’t get you into surgery” is terribly sobering. Death is something that was supposed to happen when I was old, not at 33 years of age. I was at the point now where I hadn’t eaten anything solid in over 3 months, and was even throwing up water.<br />
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I will yada yada over the surgery and all the details of time spent in the hospital—but when I woke up from my surgery, four and a half feet of my small intestine was removed in 3 different places. I no longer had a terminal ilium (where the small and large intestine meet) so I have to have B12 shot into my arm muscle every three weeks for the rest of my life (B12 is absorbed by the terminal ilium). But that is a small price to pay for being alive. When they brought me my first solid food while I was in the hospital, I just starred at the sandwich for 2 hours, afraid to eat it because it might be painful. The radiologist’s report cited that upon inspection of what was removed from me, he couldn’t believe I had survived. The surgeon did an amazing job—internally and externally (you can’t even see the 6 inch incision anymore). He tried to tell me I would be on medication for the rest of my life, and would be back in for more surgery in a 3 to 5 years, and I said no to both.<br />
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I haven’t taken a stitch of modern medicine since that day. I use peppermint oil on my forehead if I get a headache. I drink chamomile tea if I feel a bit of heartburn. I take probiotics religiously every day. I meditate every morning and every night and I am grateful every day that I am here. My diet and exercise program is improving all the time, and I have learned various stress-relieving techniques that I practice daily. I live in the moment as much as I can, and truly enjoy my life. I literally have nothing to complain about and I savour what this beautiful world, even in amongst the not-so-great situations, has to offer. <br />
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There is much, much more to my story by way of what I do to keep myself (and my gut) healthy, which will be saved for a further post. The important thing to me is, I have internalized the concept that I no longer have the disease, and I no longer identify with it. I have altered my destiny by denying that there is no cure. And I wish that empowered thinking for everyone.Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-54777188411587455402015-11-16T20:59:00.001-08:002015-11-16T21:00:16.427-08:00Positive Healing Energy - For Everyone<div>
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This is a bit of an unusual blog post for me. This one is not about my travels or neat experiences. It's about what has been going through my head in the wake of the last few months and years for that matter, from terrorism to climate change, and everything in between. It's about the simple regard for human life, and the quality and dignity that each and every person deserves. It's about cherishing our beautiful planet and the creatures on it with us, and creating harmony so we may all live a joyful existence. It's about each person having the capability to really make a difference when you feel so helpless, lost and confused about what to do or what to think.</div>
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Every morning when I wake up, I meditate for about 30 minutes--I have been doing this for a long time now. During that time, I radiate only healthy, healing, positive thoughts for our planet and all living creatures on it, including myself and everyone I love and care about. I would like to start a world-wide trend where everyone does this. You visualize happy, healthy people everywhere in the world, who are safe and free; living in harmony with all creatures on the planet; and our Earth is slowly being healed. Sound crazy? Fine. If you need science to back this up, because sometimes seeing is believing to some people, then read about the vibrational energy of thought and you'll see how real it is--everyone from the ancient Egyptians to Einstein knew about it. Look at the world and what is happening--social media is now more than ever a conduit for so much negativity--where do all those negative thoughts go? They create our reality. I intend on using social media not to stick my head in the sand; rather, I want to use it to spread as much positive, light energy as possible. I hope my fellow humans can help do the same--the rewards are deeply intrinsic and altruistic both personally and globally.</div>
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#positivehealingenergy</div>
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</footer>Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-15641240177694405772015-09-06T04:12:00.001-07:002015-09-06T21:48:21.119-07:00TU-MI or not TU-MI...That Is the Carry-On Question<br />
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I left today for a three and a half week trip to Italy, all on my own, that covers five different Italian cities and a whole lot of train rides. Needless to say, I am crazy excited right now. I fly into Rome and will use the rail to take me around, which then made me wonder amidst my planning, what I was going to do for luggage. Since I'm going solo, I will be the one lugging the case on and off the trains, which then made using my big hard case not a viable option (I think I could easily fit an actual person in there if I tried, that's how big it is). <br />
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When I was researching travelling through Italy, I have to say that Rick Steves, travel guru extraordinaire, was a life-saver. That guy is just awesome--he's so nice and friendly looking AND he knows his stuff thanks to all the travelling he has done (he also replies to Tweets). All his little tips and tricks to help you have the best vacation ever are so useful and practical and his website contains all his shows and talks. I downloaded his books on Rome, Florence and Tuscany, and Venice through iBooks, which then goes on to both my iPad and my iPhone. The iPad is for the planning, and the iPhone is out in the field with me. The cool thing is you can look at his books that have walking tours, maps and pretty much any other information you need to know, all off-line on your iPhone--it's absolutely fabulous!<br />
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One of the things I learned from him as a solo traveller is to watch your stuff when you are travelling through Italy, especially on the trains. If you can keep your bag small and light, you will just simply travel better overall, but you will also be able to put your bag in the overhead bins above your seat on the train. You then can keep an eye on it and it doesn't have to go into the communal luggage rack at the end of each car.<br />
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Perfect--I like that. Here's the thing: How light can one woman pack for a 25 day vacation? Can it all be stuffed into a carry-on size piece of luggage--that just seemed insane to me. First things first, I wanted to know what the acceptable size limit for carry-on was for British Airways (all the airlines are slightly different--BA is 22" x 18" x 10"). Then I started to research on the net because whatever I bought, I would also need it to eventually expand--there was no question about that. What I discovered in the end is that I really actually prefer to check my luggage so I don't have to babysit it before I get on the plane, so worrying about BA's size limit was a waste of time for me. I did still want a carry-on though for the sake of the train's overhead bin.<br />
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With internet research done, I had decided to go to the new outlet mall at YVR (Vancouver International Airport) to pick up my Samsonite Fiero Hardcase 20" Carry-On Spinner in a lovely rose colour (which incidentally meets BA's size requirements). I mentioned this to one of my friends who has a strong dislike for the outlet mall (I won't say why), and she suggested the Tumi store in Pacific Centre. It made sense because even though I pass by the airport every day, the outlet mall is new, and is infamous for its traffic issues, whereas I have always found it easy to make my way into Pacific Centre's parkade.<br />
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And so one day after work, I decided to do just that. I had never heard of Tumi before so I had to hunt down where the store was in the mall. When I found it, it was gleaming and bright--a shiny new store that just screamed beautiful luggage. It was so shiny that I almost walked right through the mirrors they had at the back--or I just wasn't watching where I was going--one of the two. Since I came from work, I was dressed in business attire, and as I walked into the store, I got a once over from the female sales associate. Excuse me? How odd. That's happened before to me in Louis Vuitton where I've just dropped in wearing Lululemon, but even they were more welcoming, and they sell clothing! This is a LUGGAGE store lady, so step off. She then did the "Can I help you?" in the driest voice possible while still eyeing up my wardrobe--she may or may not have rolled her eyes too. I explained what I was looking for and she pointed me directly to possibly the most beautiful piece of luggage I have ever seen, if luggage can be beautiful, that is. It was perfect--great size, nice streamlined look, expandable--awesome, I may have found my luggage! Until I asked the price.<br />
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Now keep in mind that this piece of luggage is CARRY-ON size. Yes, it's made out of some ridiculously durable material that has been trampled on by a heard of elephants or something and still survived, blah, blah, blah... Ok folks, it was $800. Yes, you read it right, $800. God only knows how much the full size ones were! She sees the look of horror on my face and with a very serious tone and without skipping a beat says, "It's an investment". I almost burst out laughing, but controlled the urge. I did let her know I was a Financial Planner and that I'm more into appreciating assets AND I could take a whole other trip somewhere for that price. I promptly called my supposed helpful friend as I turned and walked out of the shiny luggage store (almost falling because it was just that shiny) to thank her for the great suggestion. <br />
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I did eventually make it to the Samsonite shop at the outlet mall, picked up my lovely pink bag amid all the frantic luggage shoppers, for less than a quarter of the price of the shiny bag. When heading back to the car, low and behold, I see a guy with a Tumi bag and my curiosity gets the better of me. How much is the Tumi bag at the outlet? After all, they are just so beautiful, then I thought, why not, let's have a look see.<br />
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I walk into the Tumi outlet shop, with my pink bag in tow and immediately get a look of disgust shot at me for bringing in a substandard piece of luggage into their store. I take a look at the price for the same bag (an earlier model of course) and we're now down to only $565--I don't think so. The sales lady comes over before I can walk away and says, "You know, it's an investment". Right, ok, well we're done here--have heard that one before (they really need to change their sales pitch).<br />
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And off I go into the sunset (literally) with my very suitable and very durable carry-on that is gorgeous and pink and semi-shiny. It fits ALL of my fabulous wardrobe for my amazing Italian adventure that I am now about to embark on.<br />
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Ciao ciao! </div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-44011831688916551772015-08-31T15:51:00.001-07:002015-08-31T15:55:49.964-07:00REVISITED: London - Day 1: Lost in History<br />
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<i>This is a blog post I wrote from my first day in London whilst on my first trip to England in 2011. I revisit it now because I am about to embark on another epic trip, this time to Italy and then finishing off in England. Ensuring there is a stay in London is a must when I fly off the continent--words can't describe how at home I feel there. The history, the energy, the people--I love it all. </i><br />
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I can’t even begin to explain how much planning I put into this trip, in fact, I really feel that I could land a career in the travel industry after this one. Who am I kidding--the planning was half the fun, for every Saturday morning during the months prior, I spent researching where I wanted to go and why. Learning the intricacies of everything in my scope of interest was awesome, and when that plane landed at Heathrow, all my preparation was ready to be put into motion.<br />
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I’m so grateful for having the ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere--so having a long sleep on the plane for the bulk of the trip allowed me to end up on London’s time zone fairly quickly. I think if you don’t make a concerted effort to do that, then you’ll end up messing up your first few days, and there was no room in my schedule for that! <br />
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Before I left Canada, I purchased my Brit Rail pass--it came with two tickets for the Heathrow Express. Brilliant--15 mins from the airport into Paddington Station--that’s a fast train. True to its name, Paddington Station had a Paddington Bear kiosk, and when I arrived there I thought of my friend Tara who lived right near the station when she lived in London (how lucky was she!). It was so easy to find everything, including the taxi that took me from train station to my hotel. The taxi ride was a little frightening to say the least--not only are they driving on the wrong side of the road, but everyone there drives like a maniac (I know that might be the pot calling the kettle black)--I’m pretty sure I had my hands over my eyes for a good part of the ride (mmm...similar to my passengers). <br />
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The hotel was on Northumberland, which is one of streets that off-shoots from Trafalgar Square--a more than perfect location! My hotel was awesome--thanks to the internet now, nothing should be a surprise when you arrive. I literally walked into my hotel room, did a quick check of place (it was fabulous, with good, usable bath stuff too) changed, threw my camera around my neck, and with my handbag over my shoulder, away I went for a trip down Charing Cross Road, heading for the British Museum. Sounds easy enough, right? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lord Nelson's Column</td></tr>
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As I walked towards Trafalgar Square with map in hand, I quickly realized that everything was WAY bigger in reality from what I imagined, and it didn’t matter which way I turned, there was something to take a photo of--it was wonderful but confusing at the same time. Lord Nelson’s column, the Lions, The National Gallery, the fountains, and the ship in a bottle...all amazing! I could not believe the amount of people around--New York has nothing on London. Tourists could be spotted at every turn, and from all over the globe as well (the Italians really stood out with all their shouting and arm waving). I also learned through experience that pedestrians DO NOT have the right of way there and more importantly, I learned to not copy what other pedestrians were doing--I was honked back onto the curb many a time.<br />
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Once I left Trafalgar Square and made my way down Charing Cross Road, I soon discovered that there are no street signs anywhere--there may be on occasional sign on the side of a building, but that was it. So naturally, within minutes, I was lost. It’s not all London’s fault for not having proper signage--I will take some of the blame since all it took was me catching a glimpse of a bunch of cute little book stores on Museum Street, and I strayed from my beaten path quite willingly.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute Little Pub</td></tr>
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Even though the British Museum was my destination, I was getting a bit peckish for a bite to eat. There is certainly no shortage of pubs in London--they are so full of character, adorned with gorgeous hanging baskets and merry people spilling out into the streets. But they are also so full of food that seemed a little artery-clogging and anti-happy stomach for me. I needed to be fit for my museum excursion and for the rest of the trip, so I promptly passed on the pub food and reach for my protein bar instead.<br />
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And alas, I arrived at the British Museum. The facade of the gigantic building is fashioned after an ancient Greek temple, with Ionic columns and all--so once I took a few photos of the building itself, I headed inside. I will say that my hat is off to London for making the entrance to many of their museums free of charge, and this one was no exception--what a great way to allow everyone to enjoy. I had already made sure I had downloaded Rick Steves’ audio guide for the museum onto my iPhone and away I went. Apparently my agenda did not match Rick Steves’ agenda. I wanted to see Egypt and Greece, two places that really resonate with me by way of history and culture. So, after fighting with the audio guide out loud with a lot of “no, no, I don’t want to see that, I want Egypt” and after receiving quite a few odd looks from other visitors, I decided to abandon Rick’s voice and just wing it.<br />
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Words can’t describe the things I saw--knowing how far back the artifacts, statues, carvings, etc. dated back to, and the history surrounding them--I was in total awe. Now, there is a specific rule of “don’t touch”, and rightly so--who wants someone’s greasy fingerprints to ruin something that is thousands of years old? Well, it took everything I had to not touch, even with clean hands, but I made sure I didn’t because I respected what I was looking at too much. When you believe in the laws of energy like I do, you want to take full advantage of that concept when you’re with historically significant items, so instead, I got as close as I could without setting off an alarm or alerting security (those who know me would be surprised that didn’t happen). I did however, manage to give a lecture to a family from France who were about to stick their little French fingers all over a statue of Sekhmet--not on my watch, mon amis. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Column from the Erechtheion </td></tr>
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I had mixed emotions as I walked through the museum--much of what was in there didn’t belong there--the Parthenon friezes, the statue of Rameses II, one of the columns from the Erechtheion--they belonged with the buildings or the area they came from. But I had to get past that--everything that was in there was well taken care of and there for people to learn and enjoy, and that made me happy. The best thing of all was being so close to so much of the history that I love. I also felt that I should have been made an honorary curator of the museum since I was able to gather a small crowd as I described how the Parthenon was built (I originally wanted to become an architect). Somehow, it came to light with the group that my profession was that of a Financial Advisor and naturally another 5 minutes was spent discussing the global economy--the irony being we were standing in the Greece section.<br />
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After I took a few photos for other tourists outside the museum, I slowly made my way back towards Trafalgar Square, passing by Piccadilly Circus. “Circus” is a British name for round-about but I can certainly see why it’s called a circus--very cool spot though--lots of people just hanging out and having fun. I was chatted up by a few different locals and it was great--I’m such a sucker for that British accent! I did made the mistake of stopping briefly in the M&M Shop, and was immediately attacked by a giant yellow M&M. It took three people to pull him off me--I have no idea what the hell happened there--I know I am starved for male affection at times, but geez, that’s a bit much.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy lunatic M&M before the attack</td></tr>
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I soon found myself back at Trafalgar Square only to find that there were about 6 roads that come off of that supposed square (it looks more like a giant circle to me), and I knew my hotel was down one of them (remember, no street signs). After a few tries, I eventually found the one that I needed, and up to my room I went. I was going on a protein bar all day, so now I was ravenous but too exhausted to go out. So, what did I find, but a great place called Deliverance. Instead of a creepy redneck Burt Reynold’s movie, this was a food delivery service that delivers right to the hotel. I noticed that the British like to use peas in a lot of their food, so I ordered a few different items, most of which had peas in them, and scooted downstairs to the lobby once the giant bags of food arrived. Needless to say, I had dinner for the next night as well. I always request a little fridge in my room when I travel so I can do stuff like that. True to the rumor that the food there is expensive (but plentiful), I paid the delivery guy and had a little pea-orientated feast up in my room while watching Chicken Run on the telly. I recorded my voice notes shortly after (best way to track a vacation as usually there is no time or energy to write), and away into dreamland I went, only to wake up the next day to another incredible day.Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-54214872272047523182015-06-11T00:15:00.000-07:002015-06-11T00:34:07.836-07:00Good-Bye Steveston High<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I drove by today to see my old high school pulled apart,</span><br />
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How do I say goodbye? Where do I start?</div>
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Steveston High in Richmond, that was the name,</div>
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We were the Packers, and we were anything but lame.</div>
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A large group we were, as diverse as they come,</div>
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Musical instruments for others, jock-straps for some.</div>
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Am I really that sad that the old girl is being torn down?</div>
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Hell no, it's decades overdue! There's no reason to frown!</div>
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You see though, this place is where I was lucky to have learned so much,</div>
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From art history, to Spanish, to writing essays and such.</div>
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And to be the only girl in my drafting class, well that was something to see,</div>
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But who kicked all the boys' asses? Mmm...yeah, that was me.</div>
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An architect I certainly did not become, and that's ok,</div>
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But my appreciation for architecture and engineering is still here today.</div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My love of Mexican food also began at this school,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well, perhaps it was at Chi Chi's during third period--hey, we thought we were cool.</span></div>
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So once high school is over, what have you got?</div>
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A group of people who know exactly who they are and what they will be--I think not!</div>
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The neat thing is this: over time, the school can go, but here's what will stay,</div>
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The good times will shine through, and the bad will fade away.</div>
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And as she gets bulldozed into the ground, I will say this to my school:</div>
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Thanks for all the memories and friends, Steveston High--Packers still rule.</div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-88164418308740676512015-05-11T19:14:00.002-07:002015-05-12T00:41:42.582-07:00ADDICTED TO NETFLIX--MY LIFE IN CAMELOT<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">
When I was a kid in the 80’s, VCRs were all the rage, and thanks to my Dad’s interest in getting all the current technology he could get into our home, we were one of the first families amongst my friends to get a VCR. Years later, we all graduated to DVDs and eventually said good-bye to the “video” stores. My, how times have changed. Here were are now at the age of video on demand—anything you want, anytime, anyplace (provided you have the hardware and technology to stream it in). So when Netflix arrived on the scene, it was a like a dream come true. A seemingly endless supply of movies and TV shows, all at your fingertips.<br />
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It all sounds fabulous, doesn’t it? And it is…until you are home sick for a week. This will be the beginning of a very mono-dependent relationship with Netflix that will bring out the addictive personality in you that you thought you never had.<br />
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Here’s what happened to me…<br />
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I am really not a TV kind of person—I like the occasional movie and a good TV show too, but I’ve got too many things on the go and plainly have no interest in watching other’s people’s success (I’d rather be building my own), especially when I hear about some of the current shows (what the hell is a Duck Dynasty anyway?). I’ve had my X-Box 360 Kinect (love exercising with it) for some time, and I kept seeing all the Netflix ads but paid no attention. Somewhere along the way, I decided to switch internet providers since I was getting screwed on my monthly bill—it doesn’t help when all you have is internet in a world of bundling—no home phone, no cable. Incidentally, Telus was offering a free 42’ LG Smart TV and a few other perks for switching, but the catch was you had to have basic cable on a three year contract (it’s now two). So, being the savvy financial planner I am, I did the math, and figured out that even with the contract, it all made good financial sense, and I got to ditch my 13 year old big-back TV. I ended up donating the TV to a charitable organization who collects furniture for mentally ill people who were homeless and who are now building their home again. It went to a wonderful 65 year old man who was thrilled with it—awesome! <br />
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Nothing radically changed for me at that point because I still wasn’t used to having a TV with cable, so it wasn’t my go-to thing when I was home. I did however, flip through the channels a few times and quickly discovered what absolute crap is on TV (such as the aforementioned program that doesn’t actually have ducks in it). Telus gave me a whack of free special channels to try out , and even though some of them were disappointing, I did manage to find my groove with a few, and coupled with the lovely PVR, well, I was on my way to entering into this decade.<br />
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So, got the new TV, the cable, the special channels, and the PVR—the only bridge not yet crossed was ordering Netflix. Since the new TV hooks directly into the internet, and, being the smart TV that it is, it made signing up for Netflix as easy as one click away. I took the plunge and voila, it was done—and unbeknownst to me, so was my life, for the foreseeable future anyway.<br />
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It was like a whole new world—so many movies, so many choices! I was in awe—what do I watch first? It made my DVD collection look like a joke—this was crazy—all wonderfully categorized too! Some of those great 80’s flicks were in there, along with current TV shows and movies that seemed to have just come out of the theatre. And so began my infatuation with Netflix.<br />
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It started with a movie here and there throughout the week—it was easy because I ordered Netflix at the beginning of spring and anyone who knows me, knows I am out and about outdoors when the weather is good (and even in the rain actually). When I did enter into my movie heaven, it was wonderful to find some of my interests were more than satiated. Loads of great documentaries that were very interesting and helpful when it came to physical/spiritual health, some beautiful films on nature and our planet, the classics, super cool thrillers, sci-fis and fantasy movies with knights and castles that took me to another time and dimension. <br />
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And then it happened…I was very ill this past Christmas through until New Years. Yes, six days at home—all day, all night. Granted, the first day I could barely open my eyes much less reach for the TV controller. But when those eyes were open, even though I was too ill to do anything constructive, I was still somehow able to focus incessantly on the journey I was about to embark on with Netflix.<br />
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Here’s what happens…someone suggests that you may like a particular TV series—in my case, it was Merlin. A show right up my alley, with knights, romance and adventure. Perfect. What someone didn’t tell me is that it had six seasons, and about twenty-two episodes per season. That’s a lot of TV. I started watching in between making hot drinks and blowing my nose. It is amazing how time can pass when you are fully engaged in a complete and utter fantasy, experienced through the power of Netflix. Poof! All of a sudden, it’s 2am and you’re rationalizing with yourself that it’s late and you really should go to bed, but you’re desperate to see what happens to Prince Arthur and Merlin in the next episode. Plus, you’re at home sick, so hey, what’s the big deal. Well, that’s great when you have no where to be but home. Does it screw up your sleep schedule and give you a skewed sense of time? Yes. Does watching back to back episodes of a TV show make you feel like you are now part of that show and that is your current reality? Yes. No joke, I was living in Camelot alright (sometimes I think I still do actually), dragons and all.<br />
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I realized my Netflix addiction was over the edge when I attempted to leave my home once I was well, and regain my normal life in the supposed real world. I was still two seasons away from completing the series, so what do you think I did every day after work and on weekends for the next two weeks? You guessed it, I went back to Camelot to see Merlin and the gang. Oh, just as a point of interest, if you don’t think that being a serial Netflix’er will enter into your dreams at night (when you do eventually get some sleep), think again. You will eat, breathe, and live the show you are watching AND you will have the most spectacular dreams you have ever had in your life. Maybe it’s because I picked a six-season TV show—I went hard-core.<br />
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When friends and family are starting to wonder where you are and what you have been doing over the course of the last two weeks, and you have been LYING to save the embarrassment of admitting to them that you’re hooked on a TV show and won’t stop until it’s finished, that’s when you know the addictive personality (which we all have to some degree—just ask my closet) has taken over. Don’t worry, my cats were fed and I was able to function in the real world most of the time.<br />
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Then the last episode came and I was a blithering mess. Thanks to “living” in the show, it was all too real and I had to count on the support of some of my friends who had been through the same experience of Merlin. Most of them watched it over the course of the six years when it was on air, like a normal person—unlike me, where I unnaturally crammed it all in within three weeks and was enduring the fallout as a result.<br />
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Fortunately, I was able to see what my Netflix addition had done to me—I could no longer live in Camelot (well, there was really no choice given I had watched it all). Slowly, I was able regain my life with the support of my interests and hobbies, and to begin a more healthy relationship with Netflix and the TV. I called it mono-dependent earlier since it was I that needed Netflix—it didn’t need me. As the days grew longer, memories of that time passed, spring arrived, and before I knew it, I had a golf club in my hands. <br />
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There is a whole real world out there beyond the TV—that’s where I want to be, out exploring for myself versus through someone else’s lens. Do I get pulled in occasionally for a movie once in awhile—absolutely—but I know my limits now. Is my PVR recording a couple of good shows from cable that I watch right away once recorded—of course! I am back to my own reality though, and couldn’t be happier. I have to go now—my cat Merlin and I are about to sit down for a show. <br />
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-66437613825584380732015-03-03T22:30:00.001-08:002015-03-03T23:38:14.603-08:00Give Me Some Elbow Room Please!<br />
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I recently had a good friend of mine from out of town come and stay with me for a few nights. He used to live in Vancouver, in fact, we went to elementary school together. In just a few short years, we will have know each other four decades—yikes! Naturally, when past Vancouverites come back here to play, they want to visit some of their old haunts in this gorgeous and somewhat unique city. David had a few requests of sights to see and places to go, but the one thing that was on his “must do” list was to have breakfast at The Elbow Room...and as soon as he said it, my face lit up. <br />
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It all started with two gentlemen (dare I say), Patrick Savoie and Brian Searle, who created a bustling little restaurant with delicious food at reasonable prices. About 13 years after they opened in 1983, they moved to their new location, on Davie St. between Seymour and Richards, with their loyal customer base in tow, still serving up delicious feasts for breakfast and lunch as they did 30 years ago. I hadn’t been there since the late 80‘s / early 90’s when it was will over on Jervis St. in the heritage building (it was the first mayor of Vancouver’s house incidentally), so I was all over the idea.<br />
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So why so much fuss over The Elbow Room? How is this restaurant any different than the rest, and, why would David absolutely NEED to go there? Let me tell you why: they are the only place where outside of having a fantastic meal, you will have the most fun getting some friendly abuse from your server AND you can give it back as well. The menu is peppered with clues that this is somewhat of a unique dining experience, and if you don’t get the clues, you’ll figure it out soon enough via the witty servers or with Patrick and Brian (just an FYI, Patrick is the bigger trouble-maker of the two).<br />
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My first experience was in the late 80’s when as soon as you walked through the door, you were told to find yourself a table, get your own coffee, and if you didn’t eat your ENTIRE plate of food, you had to make a donation to the charity they supported. Fair enough—I can manage finding a seat and coffee, but finishing a gigantic breakfast pancake that was the size of my wall clock at home was a little challenging. Yes, I did ante-up a little cash in the end, but all for a good cause. Besides, what’s a small donation when you can have a delish meal AND have all this amazing free entertainment? I also got a full-on mocking in front of the whole restaurant because I couldn’t finish my monstrosity of a pancake—naturally, they went with “What’s a matter, it’s too big for you?”. Yep. ‘Cause that’s how they roll.<br />
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Flash back to modern day, and David and I gleefully (meaning we may have skipped from the car to the restaurant) made our way into the restaurant that fateful Sunday morning. Being the popular place it is, you can expect you may have to wait a tad for a table, but we lucked out that morning. Immediately, we were engulfed with the hustle and bustle of the servers while taking in the ample nostalgia on the walls. The hostess was gracious, and happily seated us, letting us know our server would be along any moment. We sat down and all I remember saying to David was, “What the hell is this? How come she was so nice? Are we in the right place?”. So the server comes along (she was actually a really cool girl as is all the staff there), and she’s all pleasant and stuff, she takes our order then walks away…and my jaw is on the ground. I came here to be insulted g*d-damn it! And I am older now and I can dish it out WAY better than when I was in my 20’s! <br />
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Brian, one of the owners, was the person who brought us our food, which was to die for by the way—I had the French toast—huge and delicious. He put our plates down with a smile and says he will bring me some syrup. David could see me seething—I just couldn’t take the niceties anymore, so when he came back, I said in a loud, stern tone, “Well it took you long enough old man”. He paused for a moment, and came right back at me basically telling me to stuff it, but in a more direct, non-PG kind of way. AH-HA! Finally, the restaurant I know and love! Well, it just went from there. Then the server got in on it, and others tables around us too—although, I may have inadvertently scared a few people who did not catch on to the gist of how this place works.<br />
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If you have not been yet, I would highly recommend a visit—it’s very addictive. You will have a great experience and support a local restaurant that will make you a wonderful meal at a good price, with plenty of friendly abuse thrown in for good measure, if you so please. The main reason they are tops in my book? For their long standing, generous support to A Loving Spoonful, and for truly believing that no one with AIDS should ever go hungry. <br />
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In the end, David and I had a blast while eating a fabulous breakfast (that I did finish this time but I still made a donation anyway), throwing around friendly insults and frightening other patrons—now that’s a breakfast!<br />
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http://www.theelbowroomcafe.com</div>
Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-29845823770773212192014-03-10T00:44:00.001-07:002014-03-10T00:58:31.667-07:00From One Canuck to Many<br />
I had the pleasure last night to be invited to the hockey game at Rogers Arena where our beloved Vancouver Canucks were hosting the Calgary Flames. Unless you’re a season ticket holder (or friends with one) or have access to a corporate box, the tickets aren’t so easy to come by unless you’re willing to pay the large price tag attached. I usually go to one game a year, and this was the one for 2014.<br />
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I’m a Vancouverite, and have been all my life, but most of all, I’m Canadian. And to be Canadian is to not only enjoy but to also be proud of our national sport--hockey. I believe that to be a globally accepted concept given we just won Olympic Gold for both the women’s and the men’s teams in the recent 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi.<br />
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So on a glorious, rainy evening after working a long day, I stepped out with my good friend Sheila to see the game. Rogers Arena is smack on the border of Yaletown and Downtown in Vancouver. Ah yes, Yaletown--an interesting part of the city and an area that I instantly become directionally challenged in as soon as I enter. Given the insane torrential downpour, we opted for the ridiculous $40 cash parking below the arena (parking is usually much cheaper around the stadium). Funny how when I went to the KISS concert it was only $25…whatever.<br />
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I decided to wear my Markus Naslund No. 19 jersey--yes, an original on-ice jersey that you could fit two of me in, but it doubles as a handy top and a coat all in one thanks to its sturdy polyester material (it’s like a little oven in there). I wasn’t alone in my attire--sure enough, as soon as you enter the seating level of the arena, it’s just a sea of chaotic blue. We were already late thanks to the traffic, so we had missed the anthem and the pre-game show, and arrived just 5 minutes into the first period. Sheila had amazing corporate seats--lower bowl, 5 rows up from behind the Calgary net--it was fabulous. It was certainly much easier walking down those stairs in my riding boots versus the 5 inch heels I had on to see KISS!<br />
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To be clear, I know enough about hockey to understand the language, the terms, the calls, and whether to jump for joy or shout in anger. I know the players, and which ones I like...based on my terms, such as how cute they are and if they can fight. Take Kevin Bieksa for example; an awesome defenseman, a great fighter, and one very good looking guy. He’s my favourite. Stats? Not sure, but whatever he’s doing, he’s doing a great job of it. I vote for a no-touch jersey-less exhibition game some day *sigh*.</div>
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So you noticed I mentioned fighting--now, that doesn’t mean that I’m a fan of violence, but sometimes on the ice there is just cause to make a statement and that statement can only be made through a good punch or two. Besides, the refs usually break it up fairly quickly anyway. I remember taking my friend Hedieh to a game once--it was her first time seeing a hockey game live. I was a little nervous because she had never really seen “that” side of me. We were having a nice, quiet, civil conversation, and all of a sudden one of our players was pulled down with no call against the other team and a fight broke out. Well, no sooner was I talking about afternoon tea when I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd shouting obscenities at the referees. I sat back down after a minute after almost losing my voice, to simply carry on my nice conversation in a much more calmer tone, as if nothing had happend, while Hedieh just looked at me horrified.<br />
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I always am interested to see who is sitting around me in my section--that can make or break a game as a spectator. This one time, I was in one of the sections in the upper bowl (it’s usually madness up there), and by the time the game was done, half of the people in the section has been removed--but boy, was it a good time.<br />
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Our section this time was pretty quiet--well, there was the guy with Tourette’s Syndrome a few rows down from us that had a lot to say. I was impressed by the fact that no one gave him a hard time--it was nice to see given mental illness is not always so easily understood. Then there were the two children (sans adults) sitting in front of us, so I felt I couldn’t be my usual “x-rated-non-child-friendly” self. Lastly, there was the fellow sitting right next to me (I found out later his name was David), who in the third period, was getting calls from his 8 year old daughter, TaylorAnn, trying to figure out where her Daddy was sitting in the arena. We did make it on camera (you could see it on the jumbo-tron), so I suggested he stand up and wave when they came down the ice and the camera panned in our direction. And sure enough, I could see Sheila and myself (I was all hair--hey, it was raining out), all thanks to David, who oddly was the only person in the section wearing a solid red sweater (mmm...kind of Calgary-ish if you ask me). I would like to personally thank David for being the crazed guy in the red waving madly for no reason (that’s how it looked to everyone else in the arena) because it helped my Mom find me too, which then allowed me to make a call to her to stop all her incoming calls, saying “Where are you? I can’t see you? Are you sure you’re there?”.</div>
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Watching the game in the arena versus at home is totally different--there’s no announcer giving a play-by-play. It kind of sucks in a way, but then hey, you’ve got those uniformed hockey players right there in front of you. I was surprised how many people there were not really watching the game but just having a lot of side conversations through the whole game. When there’s a break in the game between periods, they throw on some music and get people to do dance-offs or have the little tykes from Tim Horton’s Hockey on the ice to play their game (it was just too cute). Because I’m not the least bit shy, I usually do whatever I can to get on the jumbo-tron, but, thanks to kids directly in front of us and the heavy meal I ate before the game, I wasn’t in usual form. There was one Valentine’s Day where I was stood up by one of my guy friends who was supposed to go to the game with me, and I sat next to a couple who felt sorry for me and felt alchol would be of help. Well, eight Smirnoff Ice later, and you can better believe I got on camera. One thing that was really cool during this game, was an interview they did with a lady who was celebrating her 93rd birthday! The entire arena sang happy birthday to Violet--neat. Incidentally, she happened to be in our row, so we got to personally talk to her--she was amazing for 93!<br />
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As I mentioned at the beginning, this game was against Calgary--Vancouver’s arch-nemesis. I’ve been to few of the games against Calgary, and it was always enjoyable to get the section I was sitting in to sing anything loudly enough that made Miikka Kiprusoff (Calgary’s long-time famed goalie) get off his game. Well, Mr. Kiprusoff has since retired and has been replaced with a young fellow, Joni Ortio, who, even while I was in prime seating, was just too young and innocent looking to make fun of--no one wants to see a goalie cry. I did happen to find a second-favourite player...No. 29, Tom Sestito. There’s a nice 6’5” player who looked like he could bowl through anything, and hey, he’s cute too. His name is difficult to say and made me crave tortilla chips, but when said with a Spanish accent, it works quite nicely. </div>
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There’s no question that all these men have talent, and watching them play is like watching a finely choreographed dance (most of the time). It is truly an experience being there, seeing it all happen, especially when they win (which they did that night, 2 to 1). I will add my two humanitarian cents by saying that it does sadden me that society places such a huge spotlight on this form of entertainment along with rather ridiculously large pay cheques. It’s tough when you think about how we don’t even pay our doctors who save people’s lives a fraction of what a professional sports person or actor/actress gets paid. Do I watch movies? Yes. Do I attend an occasional hockey game? Absolutely. So I suppose I could be called a hypocrite then, but it certainly is some food for thought. </div>
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Perhaps it’s best to look at all the good that comes from the support we give our hockey team--the charitable organizations like Canuck Place, and all the support our Canuck players personally give to our children in need who are eternally grateful. Even the joy that Fin, our Canuck’s creepy orca-headed-man-mascot-guy (they should just give him a full orca suit already), brings to the kids--whether it’s in a hospital or in the arena.<br />
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Thank you, Vancouver Canucks, for the smiles and fun--your fans love you. Now win the f*cking Cup already please.</div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-88089952889064374812014-02-09T23:16:00.000-08:002014-02-09T23:27:09.303-08:00My New Furry Bundles of Joy...aka THE FELLOWS<br />
In July last year, my beloved cat Dexter passed away and my home felt empty and lonely without him. The time was right in December last year to fill that void, so I popped on to the net to see how things looked. I will say that I struggled with the thought of not going to a shelter--it’s not my style to not go to one, after all, that’s where most of my animals in the past had come from, and will again someday. This time, I wanted to do things differently.<br />
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I wanted a kitten--but a unique one. After a little research, I discovered the lynx breed was for me. Initially, I contacted a fellow in Alaska, and when he sent me pictures of an actual full desert lynx kitten (he was only 4 months old and already 50 cm from nose to tail!) that was playing with a live porcupine, I had to decline. I would like a pet that won’t eat me as a late night snack while I’m sleeping, please. I eventually found Trilhouette Heritage Farms (<a href="http://www.trilhouetteheritagefarms.com/">http://www.trilhouetteheritagefarms.com</a>), run by two wonderful ladies that breed domesticated lynx cats. I drove all the way out to Mission--eek--it’s far, but well worth it, because as soon as I walked through the door and saw Merlin for the first time, I knew he was mine. I’ve always had black cats in my life since I was little, so why would my 40’s be any exception? He was a gorgeous, black desert lynx who stared up into my eyes when I picked him up. Yes, he was the one. He wasn’t ready to come with me just yet, and I was taking a trip to see my Grandparents, so we agreed that the beginning of December was perfect timing.<br />
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When I returned from my trip, out to Mission I went again, this time with my Mom in tow. My parents have always been part of big events in my life, and this was no different. The intention was to only get one--Merlin--but I ended up coming home with two. Magi was the other black kitten there--they were from two separate litters and two different breeds (both lynx)--he was so sweet and appeared to be taking care of Merlin. He would affectionately come over to me, rub up against me, and look at me with those big, adorable eyes. How could I do it--leave the last one behind when he was so diligently looking after his little friend and working his magic on me? And so, with a stunned look from my Mom, I packed them both into the cat traveller. What can I say, I went with my gut. As a point of interest, it takes MORE than two cats to make one a crazy cat lady, just incase you were wondering.<br />
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And home we drove from Mission that night, bringing them into their new home, or, as they would call it if they could, Disneyland. You have to see my place to understand that these cats, which are part wildcat, could see it as a curious paradise--plants and trees everywhere, nooks and crannies of all sorts in each room...you see my point.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first night.</td></tr>
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The first night I camped out on the sofa so they could just settle in the one space versus having a plethora of rooms to create mischief in. And, after they had a good sniff around, to sleep they finally fell, together in the little bed I bought (remember, there was only supposed to be one).<br />
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These guys are special--they are each a mixed breed of domestic cat and jungle cat or bobcat. Merlin is a desert lynx and Magi is a highland lynx. The are both black melanistic lnyx which is a rare colour--they have really neat ghost spots that can only be seen in the light. They also both have polydactyl feet (Merlin on all four and Magi on his front), essentially giving them little hands, if you will. Given their breeds, they will grow to an above-average size relative to the typical domestic cat--about 18 to 20 lbs each. I knew this going in, so that means I have no right to complain one day when I have 40 lbs worth of cat trying to take a nap on me. Incidentally, they have grown exponentially since I got them...it’s a tad worrisome.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Magi having a snooze.</td></tr>
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What amazing little personalities they have! Magi is true to his name--he is the protector, the watchful eye--he is graceful, majestic, and is a little more wound up. He has a good healthy appetite, and refuses to be manhandled. He watches over Merlin, cleans him on occasion, and will steal food and treats from him in a heartbeat. Magi also likes to stalk and kill his treats before batting and chasing them around the house, then finally devouring them. If you decide to infringe on his feast, he will growl full-on, which, when I heard that the first time, I was a little concerned. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Merlin having a stretch.</td></tr>
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Merlin is the laid back boy--he’s my Dexter re-incarnated. He rubs his gums on everything, especially my computer, he tries to escape out the front door every chance he gets, and he and I have hugs each morning, just like Dexter and I used to. He’s a bit clumsy and does not have the poise or prowess that Magi seems to have--he’s just a cuddly ball of fur. <br />
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They are certainly living up to the cat-like nature of destroying my bath time by making sure I am nicely settled in my beautifully scented bath first before each taking a big sh*t in the litter while I am helpless in the tub. They are definitely nocturnal like most cats, and in such a short time, have already mastered the art of running across my face in the middle of the night routine. Sitting over my breathing passages will be next I’m sure.<br />
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Together, they spell trouble with a capital T. I knew that going in--they would keep each other company, in good times and bad. The fact that nothing has been destroyed in my home as of yet (and we’re going on to month No. 3) is a miracle, or the best is yet to come--we’ll see. They have an over-abundance of toys that light up, squeak, etc. and they are so much fun to watch. It’s so good to know that all the money spent on toys becomes redundant when you can throw down a bottle cap or a brown paper bag that cost nothing and it’s way more exciting than the expensive toys. And anything can become a toy--including my Betsey Johnson rings, so I found out. The breeders did a fantastic job training them to scratch on the scratching pads, so my furniture is safe from their very sharp little dagger-like claws (fingers crossed). I have yet to venture into the territory of attempting to trim them--it needs to happen soon though. Apparently to them, my hands are fun things to play with while I’m sleeping--not so easy to explain to clients the next day when it looks like I don't know how to use my cutlery.<br />
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My home feels alive again, and I couldn’t be happier. Am I seriously sleep deprived and concerned for my overall well-being at night? Yes, I am. It doesn’t matter though--having these two beautiful creatures, to love and take care of is a joy all of its own. I believe in life being able to connect with life--no matter what species--the animal kingdom demonstrates that to us all the time. I feel lucky that I’ve already established an amazing connection with Merlin and Magi (aka: The Fellows)--one that I know will last a very, very long time.</div>
Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-84175811871496866382013-10-14T13:48:00.001-07:002013-10-14T14:09:39.294-07:00Gaining "Sight" On What I Am Grateful For<br />
Today is a day where we celebrate everything in our lives that makes us give thanks. I’ve had a couple of experiences as of late that made me really stop and think of what exactly I’m grateful for. Where do I start? The question of “What are you thankful for in life?” is almost impossible to answer without it sounding like a cliche. So, how DO I answer that exactly? <br />
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Of course, I think I have THE most wonderful parents. Do they make me crazy? Yes! But I love them with all my heart. We’re a small but mighty family, if you will--extremely close and we truly enjoy each other’s company for certain periods of time (I’m just saying what everyone is thinking about when they spend too much time with their family). My Dad just went through a major operation that made me realize exactly how mortal we are and that we are not here for an endless period of time and moreover, how important it is to always let each other know how you feel. Some people don’t have any family at all, and if they do, they may be treated horribly or have been abandoned by them. I feel very lucky to have the family that I do.<br />
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I have also been blessed with a beautiful daughter who faces life with the adversity of autism. She is the bravest and most incredible person I know. This is someone who has taught me the true meaning of compassion and understanding, which transcends to the rest of my world, and has helped me become the person I am. How fortunate am I to be her mother. <br />
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I also literally don’t know what I would do without the amazing friends I have. My friends have come into my life at different times, and I cherish them all, because to me, they are an extension of my family and I would be lost without them. I have a favourite saying: “The best things in life aren’t things.” To me, they are the people and experiences in my life that make me who I am and always make me strive to be a better person. I think of all the “things” I have and yes, naturally I enjoy my wardrobe with the plethora of clothes, handbags, and shoes in it. I love my home and all the comforts I’ve put into call it a home. I like using all my gadgets, driving my car, and taking trips. I work hard to have those “things” and it’s all great, don’t get me wrong BUT if you took everything away from me, at the end day--just give me my family and my friends. <br />
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Mmmm...wait just a moment. Maybe there are a few other things I am thankful for now that I think about it. And it was this experience that took me to that stage of recognition: <br />
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My friend Sheila was kind enough to take me out for dinner on my birthday a few weeks back. We collaborated on where we wanted to go, and agreed upon a restaurant called Dark Table. This restaurant concept is all over the world and is quite a unique dining experience. Why? Well, you eat your meal in absolute and total darkness--it’s literally pitch black. No light of any sort. So, just to clarify, you do order your food ahead of time where you can see the menu. Your server (all the servers are visually impaired) meets you at the door outside and then you follow him or her into the restaurant or rather into the abyss as I like to say. No joke, you can’t see a thing. <br />
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After the server guided us to our table and we were finally seated, we had to feel around to see where everything was--it was very, very weird. It sounded like a normal restaurant, with other patrons chatting away and music in the background. When it came to buttering my bread, I didn’t spread it properly, so I ate the whole pad of butter in one go...ick! I could not for the life of me figure out what the hell the appetizer was. Given there is no “feeling” at the end of a utensil, I almost shoved four ravioli up my nose and couldn’t tell if I even finished my plate of food. I kept putting an empty spoon up to my mouth during dessert. It’s funny, because everyone was eating in the dark and no one could see me, I started to relax to the point where I was licking the seasoning salt quite vivaciously off the glass of my caesar. I also finally used my fingers to eat the dessert purely out of frustration. <br />
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From a sensory perspective, I realized exactly how much I rely on my vision to help me enjoy food. The food was good, but there was something missing from the experience--I get visual pleasure out of seeing what I am about to eat (most of the time). I also use my vision to help me think--I felt kind of stupid and lost not only while poking around for my food, but just in general. I could hear Sheila’s voice, but couldn’t see her facial expressions or her body language--things I often use to pick up non-verbal cues when communicating. I did become totally and utterly relaxed after the meal, but logic would dictate that after eating big meal while sitting in complete darkness, one would just want to fall asleep right then and there in the chair. Outside of upsetting the person you’re with, what would stop you? <br />
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The perfect ending to this experience was when we left. Our server came to get us up from the table--Sheila was behind me and I was behind him, or so I thought. I walked right into him and he was actually facing me. Awkward moment? Of course not! We just hugged for a bit...closely (interestingly enough that seems to be my modus operandi these days). And just as we were about to enter back into the land of the seeing, I gave the server one last hug and a peck on the cheek, and there it was--my sight was back in all it’s glory. How fortunate were we to know that after dinner, we would have our sight again.<br />
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And there you have it. Outside of friends and family, I am eternally grateful and thankful for my health--to have all my senses fully functional. I can see all the bright and bold colours of the autumn leaves on the trees right now. I can hear the beautiful sound of my daughter’s voice when she says “I love you Mom”. I can touch and hold my Grandma’s hand, a hand that helped me learn how to crochet and cook. I can taste the salt on my skin when I swim freely in the open ocean. I have everything and recognize that every day. <br />
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And lastly, we can’t forget the sense that is not so “common”... <br />
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There is so much good in this world, and so much of the time, it gets masked by the bad. I am perhaps one of the few people on this planet who doesn’t have cable, and I love it. I also choose not to watch the news (I keep tabs with the on-line financial news only due to my job in the financial industry) and I like it that way. I receive good news stories through social media channels like Twitter or Facebook, where I can surround myself with all the beautiful happiness that is out there. Someone said to me once that I’m just sticking my head in the sand, and yes, perhaps I am to some degree. Much of what the Dalai Lama does resonates with me and I do the same. He said that in a difficult situation, he recognizes the tragedy within it, feels the pain of it for a moment, and then lets it go. I do recognize the bad that goes on around me and in the world, and I do feel the hurt, the pain, the suffering for that person, animal, etc., but then I let it go. I never hang on to it, because it doesn’t help to do that. I find other ways to help the situation instead, if I can (I’ll be writing a blog post on homelessness shortly that explains this concept in greater detail).<br />
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Every single person has the ability to be loving, kind, compassionate and understanding to our fellow humans, and to all living things (except spiders and snakes...just kidding, or am I?), including our mother Earth. It’s a choice--I’ve seen and heard of people who have faced extreme adversity in their lives only to overcome those odds and become a better person. I am so grateful for being able to recognize that I am not the center of the universe, and that I can do so much to help the lives of those around me. That might not seem like a typical thing to be grateful for, but as you may already have discovered, I am light years from typical. <br />
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Happy Thanksgiving!</div>
Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-19469124909142851082013-10-07T01:13:00.000-07:002013-10-21T22:56:25.146-07:00Single Women in Our 40's - What DO We Really Want?<br />
This blog post is dedicated to my Grandma who is turning 90 shortly and who still kisses, hugs, and acts goofy with my Grandpa, after 65 years of marriage. She is always telling me to “never chase a man”. Her theory, and it’s a good one, is, if a man is interested, he will come to you...he will do the “wooing”, and of course, it will just feel natural. I love my Grandma so much...she is so sweet and prays for me every night to find love. It should be easy then, right? <br />
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I’m not sure what 43 is supposed to feel like, so maybe I’m completely off the mark on this one, but I can honestly say that I’ve never felt better than how I feel at this point in my life. Of course, I wish I had all my now-learned insightfulness when I was 20 just to save myself some of the inherent pain of supposed beneficial experience over the last few decades. <br />
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I’ve been single for a number of years now, with a few on and off longer-term dating experiences during that time. Some were good, and some were frightening, and after just turning 43 last week, I took some time to reflect and think about why I’m still single, and why a big handful of my girlfriends are single too. By the way, for those of you in the United Kingdom, when I say girlfriend, I mean a friend that’s a girl. When I was in Scotland and Wales last year, I quickly learned to make that distinction. I like men, always have, and always will. <br />
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I know so many women my age that are single. Incidentally, the bulk of them live in the vicinity of Vancouver, Canada, and all live within the statistics that show there is one single man to six single women in this city. Interesting. And then the question becomes who is this one single guy? Is he the psychotic maniac that just tried to run you off the road on your drive home? And if so, then what happens to the stats--is it now one single man that’s normal to six single women, making it really one single man to a hundred single women? I know the guys will be up in arms reading this--yes, there are crazy, nut-bar women out there too, but the fact of the matter is, women have a harder time meeting men in this city, period. There just aren’t enough of you. <br />
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When I look at all my single girlfriends (and myself for that matter), they are all smart, funny, attractive, somewhat sporty, happy, healthy, independent...whoa, back up. I said independent. We, as women, take that as a complete and utter positive, and so we should. I most certainly do. I love the fact that I can fix a hole in the drywall from plowing my driver through the wall by accident when yanking my clubs out of the closet last spring. I can replace a lightbulb, paint a wall, and change the oil in my car. I can manage my time, my home, and my finances (well, that’s an easy one given I’m a Financial Planner). I make my own healthy meals, I make my own money, and I make my own schedule. I create my social life, family life, and work life. I do what I want, when I want, and how much I want, and answer to no one. I make my very own happiness each and every day, and depend on no one or nothing to do that for me. So if we ditch the term “independent” since it sounds rather callous and cold, what, then, is missing from this fabulous life? <br />
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A man. Which man? Who is he and where is he? The old adage of “It will just happen when you least expect it”--one more time of being told that and I think I’m going to puke. Sorry, but WHEN is this supposed to happen because I don’t ever expect it (even though I’m hopeful)! And there’s another nail on the head. I have no expectations of people, unless they are blatantly being disrespectful or if they were hired to do a specific job, etc, and aren’t doing it. When you don’t have expectations of people, they will not disappoint you or let you down--easier said than done. Hurtfulness can come packaged in many different ways, but sometimes we initiate it by placing expectations on people, then we become disappointed when they don’t meet OUR expectations which they had nothing to do with it the first place, yet we get angry at them for not doing what we hoped they’d do! <br />
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Feminism is a beautiful thing...I can’t imagine living in a time where I wouldn’t be able to vote, had to quit my job if I got married or pregnant, or not be able to participate in a sport, all because I was a woman. So even though we are so happy to have moved onto a more even playing field as time goes on, I often hear single women in my age group say that they wish (and I’ve said this myself too), that the men in their age would hold open a door for them, pull out their chair for them to sit, etc. Most of those men were raised by first generation feminists, with their mother’s saying, “Son, women are very independent now--they can open their own doors--this isn’t the 40’s anymore. They’ll really appreciate you recognizing that.” So do we? Being a die-hard romantic and a Libra true to form, I want both--the benefits of the feminism movement AND doors being held open for me. And I don’t see why I can’t have it, after all, I’m just asking for a basic show of kindness when it comes down to it. Yes, I’m physically capable of opening a door. But when I’m carrying a laptop case, a purse, a smoothie, my keys, my gym bag, a yoga mat and potentially the kitchen sink, it’s just so nice when that door gets opened for you, especially by a man, and even more so when you’re not carrying anything at all. <br />
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In talking to women of all ages that are on their own, they agree with me on what seemingly would be a bizarre concept, of being in a monogamous relationship, but you each live in your own place, have your own money, see each other a few times a week, travel and explore together, and maybe there’s a sleep over here and there, and that way, you have your relationship while still maintaining some independence. The women of my generation specifically are thinking exactly like that, for the most part. Right now men are reading this going “What the f---?” (or maybe not?). I’m sorry guys, but that’s becoming today’s reality of the independent woman. <br />
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My father once told me if I don’t “play a little dumb” once in awhile, it will be hard to attract a man in the long run. Sorry Dad, but that doesn’t work for me. I think what he was trying to say, is that sometimes men can be threatened by a strong and powerful woman. Men tend to admire us for our intelligence and our non-dependent nature, but then are seemingly threatened by it at the same time. That’s not my man. I want someone who will stand up to me and speak to me like an equal. I usually make most men cower (not literally of course) and they eventually succumb to my opinions and ideas. I don’t like that. I’ve only met one man in my life that actually stood up to me through our friendship for a number of years and didn’t back down from me--always with respect of course, but challenged me in my thought processes. I think of him often actually, because I miss that connection--it’s so rare to find, certainly for someone like me. <br />
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Case and point: when we alpha-females play, we play hard. I love sword-fighting. The last two-handed longsword class I was in, I took the drill one step further and disarmed my male opponent of his sword. Apparently that was not allowed and I was reprimanded by the instructor who then whispered to me as he walked away, “That was awesome!”. I also apparently disarmed my partner of his masculinity given he was quite put out by my actions instead of rising to the occasion and congratulating me for being a good sword-fighter (he was never in danger by the way). However, there are some men who don’t feel threatened by a dominant woman. For example, last year, I went with a friend of mine to her Events and Adventures night for singles at the indoor Go Kart track in Richmond. I’ve been there many times, and I can drive a race car, even if it’s just a pint-sized one. I usually beat most people that are racing against me, it just is what it is. I also have a strong competitive streak in me too, which doesn’t help in situations like this. Sure enough, I beat out most of the men and the one fellow who won against me (he looked very much like the rapper Ice Tea), came up to me after the race and told me how awesome it was that I almost kicked him out of first place (we were nano-seconds apart at the finish). Thank you. That was cool. <br />
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What I have discovered through my dating years and experience with men is that just as we women don’t want to be painted all with the same brush, we can’t paint men all with the same brush either. There are a LOT of women who live in crazy-town out there, who drive men mental and tend to cling-on to become el desperado, making our gender synonymous with term “psycho crazy chick”. I’m not one of those women. What scares me is that I’m at the other end of the spectrum. I am doing just fine without a man. But deep down, I think we all want to have that special someone in our lives, and it makes no matter whether you’re a man or a woman. That feeling of falling in love is irreplaceable (chocolate comes close though)--everyone wants to feel those endorphins flowing through them. <br />
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Much like many of my girlfriends, I would love to fall in love. As time goes by, the definition of “being in love” changes for me based on my experiences and how I am developing as a person. Love is different to everyone, that’s what makes it so hard to find. And when you find “it”, why doesn’t it stick around? Sometimes it does, sometimes it gets complicated because people make it more complicated than it should be. Another one of my theories is that you can feel anything and everything for a particular man, but if he doesn’t feel the same way back, then let him go--it will never work if you’re not both on the same page. <br />
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Of course I’m the one who believes in that Knight-in-Shining-Armour idea--I also need wooing--I must be woo-ed. I know I’m not alone in those thoughts, am I ladies? If guys are trying to figure out what the one thing is that women who are “independent” are looking for, this is it: we want to feel safe. Period. I’ve heard that time and time again. I may be independent to the max, but I want to be with a man who makes me feel protected and safe, but who also gives me my space to be me and do the things that help me fulfill and enrich my life. I don’t want to do everything with a man, rather, I would want us to each have those same fulfilling and enriching experiences for ourselves, and then bring our lives together to help us grow and evolve with each other. <br />
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Then the ultimate question is posed to me and to all women alike who are in the same boat: If you’re so busy with everything you’re doing, places you’re going, and people you’re seeing, then how do you have room to welcome Prince Charming into your life? My answer is simply that when the right man comes along, he will fit into your life and vice-versa, and it will be seamless. Compromise is always on the table, but it will feel good, not as if you’re losing something. When it comes to time, you’ll make time, if that special person is important enough to you. So for now, I’m going to have to stick with my Grandma’s advice...after all, it worked for her then, and today, she’s still in love...65 years later. Thanks Grandma, xox.Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-85235832779924300222013-09-29T16:00:00.000-07:002013-10-04T00:09:24.282-07:00Packers Still Rule, 25 Years LaterTwenty-five years ago, I graduated high school. It’s hard to believe that much time has passed--it feels like a lifetime ago. I had the opportunity to help organize our event last night, to put all these amazing people in the same space together after a quarter of a century. And you know what I discovered? We are a damn good looking group of 43 year olds! Seriously--maybe the BC Packers plant down the road was emitting something else other than the overwhelming stench of rotting fish, but whatever it was, we turned out to be an awesome bunch, us Steveston Packers. <br />
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*Just a small disclaimer: I am going to write this in a way that “protects the innocent” if you will...in other words, I am not going to put names to any of my stories. That way, even though I have nothing but positive things to say, I can speak freely about the night without making people feel awkward or embarrassed. For those who were there, it might turn into a fun game to see how many people’s names you can guess based on the stories and descriptions. All I ask is that if you comment, please be respectful and follow my lead sans names. If it’s you, and you feel comfortable, feel free to LOL.* <br />
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High school is always the Breakfast Club--when you are in school that is. Everyone is trying to figure out who they are and how they fit in. What an awkward and weird period in one’s life. When you get out of school and head into the real world, those roles dissipate over time and you become your own person, hopefully building and evolving on your passions and discovering what makes you happy. In anticipation of this reunion, it gave way to some thought about who I was then and who I have become. <br />
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I was VERY different in high school--quiet, somewhat shy, not terribly outspoken at all, and a little naive too. I did a lot of activities outside of school, so I almost dis-engaged myself to some degree. I’m ok with that. To the untrained eye, I’ve changed quite dramatically, but in actual fact, my vivacious and gregarious personality has always been present, it’s just become more visible, evolving as I get older. Evolution of persona is going to be different for everyone, and it isn’t always displayed in an outward way like mine. I noticed some people last night who more the observers to all the goings on--and that’s awesome--we need more people in this world who can sit back and not feel they need to be the centre of attention. I’ve somehow slighted myself in that comment, so I’ll simply say that I truly enjoy talking to people and have a genuine interest in them, I just happen to do it in a very extroverted way. <br />
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I had a roomie for the weekend that came in for the reunion (and our little elementary school one beforehand). She is someone who has gone to school with me right from Grade 1 to Grade 12, and while I don’t happen to see her for years at a time (she lives in Vernon), we are able to pick up right where we left off, and it’s wonderful. After lounging in front of the fire at my place, we finally got our asses off the sofa, put our party clothes on (incase some of you were wondering, my circa 1970’s look last night was a Betsey Johnson runway piece, which has probably burned a hole into your retinas by now given it was quite colourful to say the least) and headed to the Buck and Ear in Steveston. Here’s some event planning for you: no planning needed, except setting it up on Facebook (thanks Jen!), a venue and labels. Let’s face it, everyone is just so busy these days, that planning a formal event is extremely time consuming (memories from the 20th are coming back), so we went with a local spot and voila. <br />
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For someone with a photographic memory, I am terrible at remembering names--faces yes, names no, so labels came in handy (except mine, which just pulled my hair out). And after talking to quite a few people last night, it’s not just our memories that seem to be failing at this age--apparently my waning eyesight and my new habit of having to hold out tiny printing away from my face seems to be common place these days. It’s hard for me to live in denial now thanks to the obvious answer from last night: get some glasses. <br />
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One of my classmates was just like me back in school when it came to being a bit quieter. I haven’t seen him since school and holy moly, he was now very boisterous--we talked about that and it was really interesting. It was almost as if he was a different person so it gave me a chance to understand why people say that about me. He did insist however, that I was someone else, saying he remembers me at his birthday party, etc. So please, let me clarify... <br />
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For the record, I am not the sister of the fellow who shares my last name (which is actually my ex-husband’s last name, who incidentally also when to Steveston two years ahead of our class). My pseudo-brother is really a neat guy--didn’t chat with him much last night, but has a ridiculous amount of style, is extremely witty from the looks of his Facebook comments, and owns and manages a successful business. I would like him to bring his actual sister to one of these things just so we can get a photo showing that we are NOT the same person. <br />
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A highlight of the night was connecting with a girlfriend I hadn’t seen since we graduated. She looks fantastic and married to THE nicest guy who graciously came with her. We had a good laugh remembering skipping out of Algebra class, hopping in her car and going for lunch at Chi Chi’s and then doing a little shopping at the Mall. Interestingly enough, we both passed Algebra though! She and her husband tried to sell me on their single guy friend who has moderate to severe anger issues...yes folks, this is the pot of available men that we single women have to choose from now. <br />
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Through school, I had many crushes. There was a core group of fellows that hung around together that at one time or another, I had a thing for. One of these guys was always in my art classes--he usually astounded his fellow classmates and teachers alike with his stunning artwork. The cool thing about him now, is that he actually followed his talent, whereby his artwork has been on coin sets and stamps. Another one of the fellows in this group used to play the guitar (and I think still does)--every time I see him at one of these reunions, I think of the Rolling Stones immediately. He posted a picture of his daughter in a music store on Facebook recently, holding a guitar...how neat is that to see his talent passed on to his child (I can only hope that she has an aptitude for music other than the Stones). And the musical talent continues with another fellow who followed in his father’s footsteps and is a famous percussionist in a band that plays all over the world, and, to prove how small this world is, happens to be dating my good friend’s friend. To round out the 4 man crush thing, I remember in one of my drama classes doing a lip-sync to Def Leppard (don’t ask), and I borrowed this guy’s cardboard guitar at the last minute. He had put a lot of effort into making it very realistic looking, and in one fatal swoop during my drama act, I completely destroyed it...we laughed about it last night, but I remember seeing the look of horror on his face when I lopped off the buttons by mistake on stage. He lives in Seattle now--a city that I absolutely love, and looks exactly as he did in school. <br />
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Then there was my BIG crush....from Grade 8 all the way through high school to Grade 12. I was just too shy to ever say more than just a few nervous words to him in school, and although I don’t live with regrets in my life typically, I do wish I had been a little more forward. I’ll never forget in Grade 8 when I was being bullied by one of the “tough” girls, he came over and used the water fountain that was next to me to check in to see if I was ok, or at least that was my perception anyway. He is still the gorgeous man I always thought he was, just way taller now, and married with kids of course. I was wearing flats last night (I NEVER wear flats usually) although I feel I would have been better off in my ballet toe shoes just to get a little height when talking to him. It was nice to have an actual conversation where that shyness and anxiety was minimized...but interestingly enough, still slightly present. Do I feel badly that I hugged him repeatedly at the end of night to the point where I feel that I was borderline molesting him--absolutely not <enter wicked grin>. <br />
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And to prove that finding love exists over forty, one of my close guy friends brought his new love...and she turned out to be just as wonderful as he said. She named me the closet hippie...I’m slowly coming out of that closet though, with all my herbs and essential oils in tow. He is so in love, and it’s so cool to see. It gives me hope that I will find my true love some day, just like the story on the tapestry I brought back from Dover Castle, with a knight, et al. Another one of my classmates just fell in love as well...they looked amazing together and so happy. He told me the old adage that everyone is telling me: it will happen when you least expect it. I would like that please. <br />
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It was so much fun getting to know everyone on a more personal level last night and moreover, hearing how diverse our careers and lives are. One of the girls could have been a model--just gorgeous, and she follows her passion of training horses. Another classmate does some very unique cooking along with a plethora of other interests to keep himself busy. I could simply immerse myself in this one person’s hair (it’s gorgeous), and usually do at these reunions--she also shares my birthday of October 1st (crazy Libra). Any absence of male affection is quickly forgotten next to one of my female friends who I just adore. I got to chat with another friend I went to school with from Grade 2 onward who also brought her younger sister that I hadn’t seen since she was a kid, who is now married with her own baby. Another friend and I talked about how nice it would be to see one of our classmates who now lives in Japan, and who posts THE weirdest and most bizarre pictures of insects AND their descript stories that you could ever imagine. <br />
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Eventually the night came to a close, and even though I woke up this morning tired, with a storm going on outside, and hardly any voice, I was truly happy to have experienced what I did last night. Time is out to charm you (thanks Axel Rose), if you let it, that is. And that’s exactly what I saw last night...we’re no longer just the athlete, the brain, the criminal, the princess or the basket case, rather, we are simply amazing (and don’t forget good-looking) individuals now. Oh, there’s just one last thing: Packers rule baby.Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-79213006438756191052013-09-23T14:27:00.000-07:002013-09-23T21:41:24.511-07:00Levine Times Two = Fun Times Forty<span style="text-align: center;">Some people get really weirded-out when they hear that I am good friends with my ex-husband’s wife--in fact, not just some people, most people. Life doesn’t come with a set of rules--it’s society and ourselves that create conditioning around how things are supposed to look or supposed to be. I can safely say that there are not too many women who enjoy hanging out with their ex’s spouse, but then, I’m not most women. </span><br />
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I kept my married name and so I have the same last name as Cheryl. She is awesome. By becoming an amazing step-mother to my autistic daughter, she instantaneously earned a thumbs up in my book. We always have fun when we’re together--we have the same boisterous, exuberant personality so out in public we can be quite the spectacle. Coupled with the fact that we really don’t care what people think, it makes for great fun together and we have a lot in common given we are both in our 40's. We can also be polar opposites in a lot of areas too though. For example, Cheryl loves to shop--she could shop all day, every day. I hate shopping. I go in, get what I want, and get out. I’d rather spend my time seeing things, taking photos, etc. and not trapped indoors and in line-ups with a bunch of people. <br />
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She came over for a visit at the end of the summer and we thought it would be fun to go to Seattle. The rationale was to do a combination of shopping AND seeing the sights in order to appease each other. When making a trip across the border these days, if you want to bring anything back from the US without paying duty, you have to spend more than a day there--even then, there’s a cap on what dollar amount you can bring back based on the length of your stay. So naturally, if you’re going to go, why not stay for an overnight? It’s doesn’t guarantee you a hassle-free experience at the border on the way back, but it’s worth a try. <br />
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We hopped in my Rav4 and away we went. Sure enough, even early on a Sunday morning there was a gigantic line up (neither of us have Nexus yet), so it was time for a small purchase at the Duty Free. The $5 spent on jelly beans and shortbread were worth their weight in gold to move us ahead by about 30 cars in the line up. <br />
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After we crossed the border, we thought it would be wise to have breakfast before we go crazy in the shops, you know, store up some energy, so we decided on Applebee’s. If you really enjoy a large portion of nutritionally devoid food with the onset of a slight sick feeling afterward, then I would highly recommend going there. <br />
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Once the poor dining experience was over and the nausea passed, we bee-lined it to Nordstrom Rack in Lynnwood. Ladies, if you want ridiculous deals on high-end name brand shoes that may be a season or two behind, this is the place for you. $15 Michael Kors shoes? Hello! All of a sudden, shopping wasn’t so bad. We went with the concept of divide and conquer. There were enablers everywhere in there--the staff, the women--even the husbands (I really don’t understand men who shop with their women FOR their women--yikes). When we re-united after 20 minutes, my cart was full of shoes, socks for Antonia, a couple of skirts, and whack of Betsey Johnson jewelry that was about 70% off. Cheryl had picked out two pairs of shoes, and even that was iffy--she was a shopaholic tease! We got up to the cash till, and being the great financial planner that I am, I didn’t realize that the total would be that out of line--being around all those shoes tends to skew my sense of reality. So after the cashier had bagged everything, reluctantly, I asked her to take a few things out, including a pair of Betsey boots that I didn’t really need (yeah right). The cashier was clearly overwhelmed, so after I paid, Cheryl picked up all my bags and as we start walking, whispers “Hurry up, I think the boots are in here.” I’m thinking “What??”, but we high-tailed it to the car, and peeled out of the parking lot like criminals and I was freaking out. We got to the gas station across the bridge--and keep in mind, I have not stolen a thing in my life--and all I can think of is OMG the cashier accidentally gave me the boots...AWESOME! You can imagine my disappointment when we actually looked in the bags and the boots weren’t there--Cheryl just thought the bags were too heavy so the boots must have been in the pile of bags...nope. So we weren’t thieves after all...so much for living on the edge. </div>
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Next stop--the hotel. When it came to where to stay, that was easy--The Fairmont Olympic. Great location, amazing building, and a plethora of wonderful childhood memories for me. It used to be the Four Seasons up until the mid-2000’s. My favourite Uncle who passed away a few years back worked at the Four Seasons in Vancouver for 35 years so we would go down to Seattle regularly and stay there when I was a kid. </div>
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Seattle is a city that I could see myself living in. It’s very similar to Vancouver, just a bit more historic and with way more one-way streets. We opted NOT to go to the Space Needle only because last time I tried that with my Mom, we took a wrong turn and I ended up driving to Aurora on a freeway without exits for 25 minutes. Instead we decided to drive around the downtown core and go for a walk on the waterfront. Funny, Seattle is just like Vancouver in that as a tourist, you’ll be walking through the touristy area (Pioneer Square for Seattle and Gastown for Vancouver) and then take one step too many and land right in the scary part of town. The Hemp Fest was on, so the waterfront as a little crowded. I was in utter disbelief that there is free parking on Sundays at the water--we must have read the sign about 50 times to be certain that this foreign concept was correct.<br />
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For dinner, we settled on Purple, right at University and 5th. One word: DELISH. The ambiance was fabulous too...they have a giant wine cellar that spirals right up to the top of the 3 story-open concept restaurant. The night ended with a jump into the hotel’s hot tub and pool, and for me after Cheryl had gone to sleep, a stroll around the hotel when no one was around (it was about 1am). That’s my favourite time to take pictures and also to breathe in all the history this hotel exudes. I took some amazing shots that brought back a plethora of childhood memories of running around the ballrooms and hiding in the giant curtains.</div>
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When we left the next day, it seemed as though we just got there. We did one last shop at Nordstrom Rack downtown, and headed towards the Outlet Mall. Once there, I did not enjoy the experience, possibly because I wasn’t interested in shopping anymore and neither was my visa, but mainly because people were so pushy and rude. I was quite shocked--especially in the Coach store. Hey, I love handbags, but how much Coach sh*t does one person need--according to what I saw, apparently a lot. We got the hell out of there as soon as possible (with no deals to be found), and headed for something to quench our thirst. And I certainly found it when we went through the McDonald’s drive thru to end up with THE largest unsweetened iced tea (it must have been at least 2 liters) I have ever seen. Cheryl ordered the 2 liter diet Pepsi, and between the two of us, we were wired on major caffeine with several bathroom stops as we made our way to Bellingham. <br />
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We saw lots of interesting things while driving. There was one part of the highway where they had one of those signs up that show what the speed limit should be and then your speed--everyone else got a number flashed at them--I just got an unhappy face. Naturally we burst out laughing at that--only I would get the unhappy face. At one point, we passed an inordinate amount of hay trucks all in a row driving next to us, and it soon became like a video game called avoid-the-random-tufts-of-hay-from-hitting-your-car-and-windshield. On the way back while heading to the border, we noticed that every single exit had about 5 fast food choices available on the sign. Mexican food was always one of the choices--even to the point where one of the signs indicated there was a Taco Bell, a Taco Time AND a Taco Del Mar--that’s just craziness...oh the choice! <br />
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Once in Bellingham, we stopped in at Marshall’s and noticed that the closer you get to the Canadian border, the lesser of a deal you get at the shops (although I did find a cute little pair of cowboy boots there). Trader Joe’s was the final place we needed to go and after we loaded up on low priced, GMO-free, organic groceries, I knew I was exhausted when Cheryl had asked if she could just use the washroom at Starbucks before we head back, and I said “Sure, we’ll just go through the drive-thru.” <br />
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We swapped spots in the car so she could handle the border situation--I really suck at it thanks to what my parents did to me as a child when we crossed the border (see my blog post “The Great Bargain Caper” for details). I just kept my mouth shut (Cheryl suggested I chew gum) while she engaged in a wonderful conversation with the female border guard that was just casually chit-chatting at 11pm on a Monday night with a one hour wait behind us. <br />
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When we got home, we still had enough energy to look at all the fab things we bought (I far outweighed Cheryl in the purchase department). We also talked about what an amazing time we had together. I really cherish my relationship with Cheryl--she and Geoff are like family to me and I feel very lucky to have them in my life. Do we still weird people out with us hanging out together? Yes. Will that ever change? Not as long as there are places in this world where you can shop AND supposedly see the sights.</div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-35896990149609631922013-09-19T01:22:00.000-07:002013-09-19T01:31:54.888-07:00Mars and Venus Venture Off Course<br />
A friend’s recent situation inspired me to write this blog post. I’ve always thought that the older we get, the more respectful we become as a person, with friends and family, and also with matters of the heart. What I’m discovering is that it appears to be quite the opposite at times. My friend’s relationship issue just showed me a glimpse of how much we protect ourselves at the risk of hurting others, and it made me stop and think. <br />
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I suppose it’s actually society that sits at the top of the food chain when it comes to interpersonal communication, but it’s always the relationship between men and women that is highlighted. Assumptions are abundant, and everything has to mean something these days. Why? A simple gesture of being polite or neighbourly is greeted with a frown or massive look of confusion. Oh my god! I smiled at you--I clearly want to marry you and have your children. Yeah right. <br />
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My belief system is based on the concept “Do what you want, as long as you don’t harm anyone or anything”. I consider myself to be quite selfish at times, but not to the point where I hurt anyone. What I have seen as of late, specifically through my friend’s situation, is that some men AND women don’t seem to care if they hurt someone through their actions. Or, if they do care, they don’t show it, which, to the other person, is the same as not caring at all (mind-reading is not a typical human trait). <br />
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It makes no matter whether you’re in the dating world or not, women are always saying men are jerks. Men are always saying women are crazy. The reality is that some people are not only jerks but are also crazy, and more importantly, it transcends gender. There are some people out there that are just plain frightening regardless of whether they live on Mars or Venus, so to speak. Examples I’ve seen lately tell me that this whole Mars and Venus thing can really be just an excuse for men and women to act certain ways. I had one of my guy friends tell me years ago that it’s normal for guys to cheat because they have been hardwired since the beginning of time to plant their seed. If we were still in the Paleolithic Era I would say yes, I see your point. But last time I checked, it’s 2013...give me a f’ing break. <br />
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If we agree that we’re all human (although there are some people that believe aliens have invaded the planet), then unless you are mentally incapacitated, is it fair to say that most people, whether you are a guy or a girl, know the carnal difference between right and wrong? You can assume the answer is yes, but what I am discovering, which should be no surprise, is that everyone acts, thinks, talks, reacts, etc. based on what they have been exposed to and what they have experienced in their life. So the answer is really a big, fat, subjective “no”, and moreover, trying to logicalize someone’s behaviour can drain your brain. I’ve learned to realize that unless you have lived in that person’s exact shoes, you’ll never really know how they see things. One reality; two different experiences and viewpoints <enter relationship issues>. <br />
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Bizarre and illogical behaviour comes in all shapes and sizes. I’ve seen people get dumped through a text. Or how many times have I heard, “He just never called me again”. Been there myself. What I find interesting is the lack of respect that seems to be extremely abundant and come to the forefront amongst the population in recent years, and is now (or I’m just noticing it) popping up my generation (I’m in my early 40’s). With the age of social media growing exponentially, I am hopeful that my generation for the most part is still at the stage of open and honest communication that doesn’t involve hiding behind our opposable thumbs. My hopefulness has now turned to more of a cautiously optimistic stance, but it’s positive nonetheless. <br />
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Time and energy are two things that should be carefully spent. You only have so much of each. I choose to live my life where I will continue to put myself out there to be kind, courteous, and communicative to my fellow humans, man or woman, whether I know them or not, and whether they like it or not. My intentions are always good. I will always have a smile on my face. The filter is shrinking with age, and I’m finding it easier to ditch the political correctness (how can you tell). <br />
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I wish for all of us that we can just say what we want to say, always with respect, but just get it out. And most importantly, whether you’re a Martian or a Venusian, garner the respect you deserve, give others the respect they deserve, and always be true to yourself. Life is just so much happier that way...that, and karma can be a bit of a bitch.Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-13736390688350311792013-08-23T14:30:00.000-07:002013-08-23T14:57:22.711-07:00Shakespeare Please...Bard on the Beach StyleI’ve been lucky that for two years in a row now, I’ve been to London’s Globe Theatre to see the best traditionally-performed Shakespeare in the world. The first year, I thought it would be fun to stand in the courtyard, the cheap seats if you will (it lost its appeal very quickly when my back started to ache within the first act and I couldn’t bend down in the book store later), and the second year I sat on the bench with a cushion which was helpful but still not the most comfortable. But hey, that’s what you get when you are given an authentic back-in-the-day Shakespeare experience, which is exactly what the Globe Theatre provides, from the seats, to the theatre, the acting, right down to the costumes. Outside of Stratford-Upon-Avon, you won’t find anything closer to the real thing.<br />
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Living in Vancouver can make it hard to visit the Globe regularly, so the next best thing to England’s plays would be Bard on the Beach. Each year they produce four plays in a variety of styles, eras, costumes, accents, etc. all within the fabulous Vanier Park which provides a magnificent back-drop to the company’s main stage tent. <br />
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For years, I have been the traditionalist when it comes to how the plays are produced--I prefer the period dress and performances as if I was back in the 16th century. Going to England only furthered that sentiment, and I’m not even English (although apparently I can start speaking with an English accent all of sudden without realizing it). <br />
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That having been said, I have always immensely enjoyed my eight years plus of attending Bard on the Beach. My friend Ron is a member and has been for quite some time. Each year he gets two Bard packs (if you purchase all four plays you are given a discount) and away we go. Long gone are the days where you had to “claim” your seat by writing your name (or a reasonable facsimile of who you wanted to be) and then when the gates opened, you had to run like mad and stick the name on the seat you wanted. I always chose the name of a goddess like Athena or Venus--it made for good conversation with the people around me when I went back to my seat. Now there is assigned seating when you purchase the tickets which makes the whole experience that much more relaxing without the possibility of anyone getting mowed down in the process. <br />
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The gift shop housed inside the village is great--it has everything and anything Shakespeare you can think of. A book of insults, magnetic poetry, finger puppets, aprons and t-shirts, and the list goes on. Sadly, I basically have the store in my home, minus the finger-puppets. They also have some tasty refreshments too. We always tend to grab a bite to eat before going; however, if you need to eat upon your arrival, they have sandwiches now and a plethora of snacks and drinks. The main attraction for me is the caramel corn--and some sort of beverage to avoid any kind of coughing fit during the play. Lastly, to complete the village experience (and more importantly a biological necessity), and this may seem like an odd thing to mention, but the portable washrooms are very nice, and I mean that sincerely. They do not smell at all, and there is hand-sanitizer everywhere. The first year I went I remember thinking, “Oh how cool, they even have a purse-holder in here!”. I quickly realized just as the handbag almost touched down, that it was not a place for my purse but rather, it was a urinal. There’s nothing further that needs to be said on that subject. <br />
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Going to the plays this year, I opened my eyes a little further to what I was seeing in each of the shows, and realized that the Bard on the Beach productions are truly quite unique. The Twelfth Night was set at a spa in the early 1900’s. Hamlet was done modern day with the use of cell phones and iPads. Measure For Measure brought us back to the New Orleans about a century ago, with southern accents to boot. And lastly, Elizabeth Rex--a play that was not written by Shakespeare but rather had him in it, so indeed a different perspective on Queen Elizabeth’s life, all done in period dress. I was extremely impressed, especially given my traditionalist viewpoint of what Shakespeare “should” be. <br />
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The acting, the singing, the sets, the costumes--all incredible, talented performers, directors, producers, set creators and costume designers. Even though I already knew this, it was this year in particular that made me realize Shakespeare is truly timeless. Bard on the Beach has proven that year over year, with their use of creative variety on the classic plays, they are able to capture an audience of all age groups and bring to life for us something we can relate to in our lives now. It just proves that what was written over 500 years ago is still relevant today, it’s all just how you interpret it. <br />
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I rave about my experience each year that I go, and will always continue to do so. Get out there and enjoy those performances--abandon your thoughts around the Shakespeare you learned in school and open up to a whole new world. I promise, you won’t be disappointed. And, maybe someday, there will be purse-holders in the portable washrooms...I think Hamlet said it best: ”Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.” </div>
Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-60812410735039078432013-07-30T09:31:00.000-07:002013-07-30T09:31:02.008-07:00Ode to Dexter the CatIt was 12 years ago when we first met on that Halloween day,<br />
Who knew that a big ball of fur like you could steal my heart away.<br />
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There were many black cats at the shelter where I went,<br />
Just one look from you and I knew my time was well spent.<br />
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They said you were chatty but not a noise did I hear,<br />
So I bought you on MasterCard without any fear.<br />
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But in the car you started meowing and wouldn’t shut up,<br />
You were chatty like me, just my luck.<br />
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From the start, you showed me how special you were as much as you could,<br />
Especially on that day when you thought the deck railing you jumped on was wood.<br />
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Four stories you fell and survived to tell the tale,<br />
The scratch marks are still there and the legend of 9 lives will prevail.<br />
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When Bodie the dog came home with us to stay,<br />
You made it very clear you hated him by hiding away.<br />
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Quickly you became friends but when left alone together trouble was abound,<br />
And when he got sick, you slept on his bed with him without making a sound.<br />
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A hunting instinct I did always for you wish,<br />
The birds loved to tease you and and so did the fish.<br />
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But you were happy to let your rag-doll abilities of hiding things kick in,<br />
So someday when I move and find everything you took, I just may grin.<br />
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Your love for food was evident, for an empty dish you did dread,<br />
Always running to the kitchen when the word “treats” was said.<br />
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Making sure you were fed was never left to chance,<br />
And as such, my party guests were always warned in advance.<br />
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You would hop on the table in a single bound,<br />
Only to hear someone shouting “Dexter! Get down!”<br />
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And when you decided to eat bugs from the outdoors,<br />
You always chose the carpet to be sick on versus the floor.<br />
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Your character and presence was something else indeed,<br />
Preparing to move your bowels by racing around the house with such speed.<br />
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I love how you always had such a relaxed and easy slumbering day,<br />
But made sure to run over my face when I was sleeping, because hey, that was just your way.<br />
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Often I thought you were trying to kill me in my sleep,<br />
For several nights I woke up with you lurking over me like a creep.<br />
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Everyone laughed when I got rid of your litter box--I said just you wait and see,<br />
And sure enough, after a few months of training, you used the toilet like me.<br />
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My family and friends have fond memories of you too,<br />
For often you head-butted the ones that mattered to you.<br />
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You’ve danced to Thriller and scarfed chips during scary movie night,<br />
You’ve peed on someone’s coat and once opened a door to give everyone a fright.<br />
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Your silky fine fur was abundant thanks to your mixed breed,<br />
But it soon became the bane of my existence for there was fur where fur shouldn’t be.<br />
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All over my home, in the food, and on vacation,<br />
How many times did I say “Oh my god, this is Dexter’s hair” with exclamation!<br />
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Over the years you gave me cuddles, hugs and plenty of drool,<br />
I felt so lucky to have such a beautiful cat who was just plain cool.<br />
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But then the time came where I could see you were getting sick,<br />
And I did everything I could to save you but nothing did the trick.<br />
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After you passed and I made your arrangements to get you back in my home,<br />
I was asked if I wanted a keepsake of your fur, and laughed--little did they know.<br />
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I had to say goodbye to you and it hurt right down to the core,<br />
You will be missed my sweet cat, but in pain you are no more.<br />
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Unconditional love is what you gave me and I loved you right to the end,<br />
My memories of you will always stay with me, for you were my best friend.Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-176040460068589392013-06-12T01:19:00.000-07:002013-06-26T14:43:06.054-07:00RE-DEFINING THE DEFINITION OF A SNOBA recent weekend getaway invoked me to re-think what constitutes being defined as a “snob”. In the traditional sense of the word, “snob” gives rise to thoughts of someone who is arrogant, rude and disrespectful. I don’t fit that definition; however, it is fair to say that I have an appreciation for the finer things in life, but I also have an extremely grateful, down-to-earth nature. Throughout this trip, I had what I would like to call “Snob Moments” that hit me a little by surprise and prompted me to think that perhaps I am a snob, but only by my definition.<br />
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My friend Sheila and I decided that we would take a weekend trip to Victoria for her birthday. Victoria is the capital of British Columbia, Canada and is located on Vancouver Island--it is a beautiful city with a gorgeous inner harbour laced with a variety of outstanding buildings built back at the turn of the 20th century. Victoria was named in honour of Queen Victoria and as such, the city has many British-like qualities to it, hence the reason why I feel somewhat at home there. Of the beautiful buidlings in the harbour, the most notable is The Empress Hotel...which, we were going to be staying at, because, quite frankly, there is no other place to stay whilst in Victoria.<br />
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A trip to Victoria always starts with a ferry ride if you live on the mainland. I noticed that at both Tsawwassen and Schwartz Bay terminals, there is always a little market with a group of shops--if you like hats and scarves (which I do), then these markets are the BEST place to get hats and scarves of all sorts. I picked up an awesome navy captain’s hat...from the rack versus from an actual captain, wink wink.<br />
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Once we arrived on Vancouver Island, we headed straight to Cordova Bay Golf Course as our first point of interest, only to find out that a golf tournament just started, so we did a round at their putting course. We were sure the green had some weird magnetic issue that pulled the ball away from the hole. <b>Snob Moment No. 1 - Putting Course Snob</b>, came not because I was having rough time on the putting course but rather because it wasn’t really a course--just an elaborate putting green. I’ve been to proper putting courses where it’s like a miniature golf course...but this was just not up to par (no pun intended).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craigdarroch Castle</td></tr>
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Our next stop was Craigdarroch Castle--a beautiful little castle in the heart of Victoria that was once the home of the Dunsmuir family. In the past, I have obtained from their gift shop a replica of Lady Dunsmuir’s travel clock and a tiara, amongst other things. I noticed something happened when we drove up to the castle. Usually, I get very excited at the anticipation of seeing and being near old things. Given I had been to Britain two years in a row now and had stepped into some of the most spectacular castles that were not just a century old but rather several centuries old, I just wasn’t impressed by this castle anymore--it did nothing for me at all. Sheila happened to feel the same way, so in <b>Snob Moment No. 2 - Castle Snob</b>, I did not feel alone. We scoffed at the poor stone masonry along with the steep price of admission. Britain offers up their heritage at either no cost or a very minimal cost in order for the enjoyment of everyone, and for generations to come. We snapped a few photos of the outside, popped into the gift shop so I could pick up a cheap tiara-like headband (left mine at home by mistake and needed it for high tea the next day--<b>Snob Moment No. 3 - Tiara Snob</b>, and off we went for a bite to eat at the Sticky Wicket.<br />
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The Sticky Wicket is one of Victoria’s best and most lively bars--it boasts 4 stories with an awesome roof-top deck that even has two beach volleyball courts on it. The food is fantastic and so are the brews. I had their quinoa burger and it was amazing! I am VERY picky about my veggie burgers and this one was tops--a little goat cheese and spinach to boot--delish! Since it was chilly out, we passed on the outdoor eating but went up in the world’s slowest elevator to the 4th floor to check out the roof before we headed to our hotel.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Favourite Hotel - The Empress</td></tr>
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This is where the MAJOR excitement set in for me. We were staying at The Empress! The Empress is THE grande dame of hotels in Canada and is owned by Fairmont. They have done a wonderful job of restoring the hotel to its heyday grandure and it exudes first class in every aspect, from the interior, to the guest rooms, and to the courteous and gracious staff--everything is perfect. I scored a wicked deal thanks to my corporate discount and my insatiable ability to flirt with the reservation clerks (who, late at night, are mostly men). We were going to be staying in one of the Fairmont Gold rooms. The Gold rooms are on a floor that have their own check in and concierge. And here is the piece de resistance: it has its very own, what I like to call, “special food room”--a beautifully furnished lounge only for people staying on that floor, with afternoon snacks, evening hors d'oeuvres, and a breakfast buffet--all complimentary! You are treated like absolute royalty (enter <b>Snob Moment No. 4 - Hotel Snob</b>, as I do believe that I was royalty in a past life thanks to a tarot card reader that told me so). They also upgraded our room to a junior suite with a harbour view at no cost--it was wonderful! It was Sheila’s birthday and because they knew that in advance, they had a nice card wishing her happy birthday and a cute little cup and spoon made of chocolate waiting for us in the room.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLzVr5DBz0FJk8NsDo_Xj4SwYiKeotG1K6TryEalEYbAzSLHWc3HYxJChrLw6Qfqxa77_mPeLgjInojoeyBQmCESB2Kcm6ZvF2-jKB_BlKjEYFTwGT6xYC9Up_MdQn2jM0nR19xPfsH0/s1600/IMG_9793.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYLzVr5DBz0FJk8NsDo_Xj4SwYiKeotG1K6TryEalEYbAzSLHWc3HYxJChrLw6Qfqxa77_mPeLgjInojoeyBQmCESB2Kcm6ZvF2-jKB_BlKjEYFTwGT6xYC9Up_MdQn2jM0nR19xPfsH0/s320/IMG_9793.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delicious Chocolate Birthday Treat for Sheila </td></tr>
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We wasted no time in making our way into the special food room for a little dessert, even though we literally just finished a nice heavy meal at the Sticky Wicket what almost seemed like moments ago. We sat in comfy leather chairs just staring out at the harbour whilst delving into our macaroons that were flown in from France - <b>Snob Moment No. 5 - Macaroon Snob</b>. They were absolutely incredible--perfect texture and not too sweet. I may have waved to a few people who were curiously looking up at us, wondering “Who are those people up there?”. It was actually a little reminiscent of my childhood in that I was the one always looking up at the hotel and its guests with awe and curiosity.<br />
Once we had our fill, we headed out, and in good ol’ Victoria fashion, no sooner had we stepped out of the hotel when a barrage of naked bike-riding protestors rode by. I scrambled for my camera but it was too late--I got a blurry pic of one naked butt-cheek and that was it (maybe it was just as well). To us, it wasn’t a big deal, but to the tourists visiting from other countries where they don’t protest naked, it may have come as a shock judging by the look on a few horrified faces. Moving on, we took a stroll down Government, headed up Fort, popped into the mall so I could grab a cheap bathing suit (I accidentally left mine at home and was certain I would need a hot tub later that night), and worked our way to Russell Books--the holy grail of all books stores, in my opinion. They just opened a lower floor of vintage books, and to my pleasure, I found the cutest little 1940’s published Through The Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll--almost exactly what I was looking for. I am very particular about my old books, and although I would have preferred one published in England versus New York (<b>Snob Moment No. 6 - Vintage Book Snob</b>), this one would do. I was privileged to learn quite a bit about Lewis Carroll when I was in Oxford a few years back, and so finding this book was quite nice.<br />
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We did stroll past the Dutch Bakery, which is a couple of stores down from the book shop. I’ve been going there since I was 5 years old--the same family owns it too. When in Victoria, it’s tradition with my family to have a croquette with mustard and a dollar roll (savory and sweet) from the bakery--and to further the tradition, I usually call my Dad while eating the croquette just to rub it in his face (it’s a family thing), but I just couldn’t fathom the thought as I could literally stuff nothing further into my mouth at that time or I may have been physically ill on the spot, and no one should be sick outside the Dutch Bakery, ever.<br />
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We quenched our thirst at Murchie’s and realized that we were both going to pass out if we sat any longer given we were both deprived of sleep the night before. I don’t mind missing sleep if it is for “good reason”, again, wink wink. But if it’s because the cat keeps walking across my face at 2am, then yeah, I mind. So we agreed that a Harbour Ferry ride would do the trick to pull us out of our apparent food coma. And what perfect timing--the weather was just starting to clear up!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Harbour Ferry</td></tr>
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Harbour Ferries are awesome--they are like little water taxis that can take you to a few points of interest for a reasonable cost, either within the harbour, or, if you like, you can do a longer run up the Gorge. We did the shorter run and hopped off at Fisherman’s Wharf. The big attraction (outside of a gorgeous outdoorsy guy who smiled at me as he walked by us with his bike) are the seals--how handy that there is a fresh seafood shop right at the water’s edge. <br />
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Sure enough, in a matter of moments, THE largest seal I’ve seen in awhile swam right up to take the dangling fish out of an excited child’s hand. When I was younger, my Dad had a good friend who was the head trainer for the orca whales at the Vancouver Aquarium (this was back in the 70’s), and, thanks to spending half my childhood there behind the scenes as well as volunteering in my adult years, I have developed a huge affinity and comfort level with all sea creatures. It took everything I had not to want to jump in the water with the seal--it was the water that looked a little frightening or else I would have.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkHpqwncpCK6Ws3UV9h8wRUJ_SBmvSc8wS4vJRy7gHWXTCG_vojg7WS7vzLNGf08vIaVnypSQzi_2xHFGAh7s17zMqmox2qyO3PqzhzDPK0lsWqNtp641OlzeFhYLDKjk-0XNePAkQcM/s1600/IMG_9888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkHpqwncpCK6Ws3UV9h8wRUJ_SBmvSc8wS4vJRy7gHWXTCG_vojg7WS7vzLNGf08vIaVnypSQzi_2xHFGAh7s17zMqmox2qyO3PqzhzDPK0lsWqNtp641OlzeFhYLDKjk-0XNePAkQcM/s320/IMG_9888.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant Cute Seal at Fisherman's Wharf</td></tr>
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On our way back, all we could think about was making sure that we made it in time for the hors d'oeuvres that were waiting for us in the special food room back at the hotel. They were delish! I will acknowledge <b>Snob Moment No. 7 - Cheese Snob</b>, only because I had the most fantastic brie (that was also imported from France) and can truly appreciate the subtleties of the flavours within the cheese--but the reality is, dairy just doesn’t work for me, so the Cheese Snob is something I will have to part with. We had our usual table that overlooked the front of the hotel and harbour and we both realized that we could get very used to this lifestyle very quickly! We had dinner reservations at 8pm at the Wharfside Restaurant so we had a little time to kill at the hotel gift shop. I have been a Friend of the Empress (an awesome loyalty program) for a number of years that gives you various privileges in the hotel as well as at some of the attractions in the city. <b>Snob Moment No. 8 - Tea Snob</b>, arrived when I gave my two cents to the ladies running the shop about the benefits of loose tea versus bagged tea (there’s a joke here based on what I just said that I’ll pass on right now) and also ensuring that the tea is drank from fine bone china--that is a must as it truly does make the tea taste better. I added one item to my Empress House Collection--a beautiful square plate for my scones. There’s a reason why I have to slowly add to this collection--I’m sure you can guess why. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7zpatI6Fk5IE_h1-gN8T5O6Z6KZ0JIaaaVBdsWk8_2OU986m3o0wlJPEht8swE2CLdWl0yqoFNWyIog9fht6lsA9XMgD56pJVmYMvsZ3kujsMuEbhw07OgZesJTim3dQdrsJNk-fVxM/s1600/IMG_9913.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7zpatI6Fk5IE_h1-gN8T5O6Z6KZ0JIaaaVBdsWk8_2OU986m3o0wlJPEht8swE2CLdWl0yqoFNWyIog9fht6lsA9XMgD56pJVmYMvsZ3kujsMuEbhw07OgZesJTim3dQdrsJNk-fVxM/s320/IMG_9913.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guest List when The Empress Opened in 1909</td></tr>
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We did a wander around the hotel to snap a few photos and to see if we could get a glimpse of Francis Rattenbury (the hotel’s architect who is thought to haunt the basement where the archives are). Unfortunately we didn’t see him--I would have liked to, but then again, I’m weird that way.<br />
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Sure enough, it was time for dinner! We had the most delicious and
unique martini with the “surpise” rim...sounds a little creepy but it
was actually blue kool-aid.<br />
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I don’t drink much, so this really did it
for me--I don’t need ANYTHING to make me more hyper than I already am
naturally...poor Sheila had to suffer through it. We could barely finish
our meals, in fact we didn’t (their salmon wellington is fantastic
though), and wouldn’t you know it, it was already time for our ghost
walk. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnjKpJSTbtSPgmH96unqp673R-v5ePye9qJZavrGACUZ9uq1oeFxIqhpTUErU_WzcGO7ebLZ2CX_4tR4x4cdSq9UWq2u1vFX3gDEI8nqVvuqHZR1S5JG1VCHU1MZ9YBJ2aMHLjpfHlAI/s1600/IMG_9923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHnjKpJSTbtSPgmH96unqp673R-v5ePye9qJZavrGACUZ9uq1oeFxIqhpTUErU_WzcGO7ebLZ2CX_4tR4x4cdSq9UWq2u1vFX3gDEI8nqVvuqHZR1S5JG1VCHU1MZ9YBJ2aMHLjpfHlAI/s320/IMG_9923.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tasty Martini with the "Surprise" Rim</td></tr>
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Victoria is known to be the most haunted city in British Columbia thanks to essentially being built on Native Indian burial grounds. There are so many stories of tragedy and horrible circumstance, some of which took place in The Empress for that matter, and in areas all around the inner harbour. Ghost Walks is one of the most popular ghost walk tours, and it was started by John Adams, a famous local historian. He still runs them, and this particular night his son did our walk. Being taken to the various sites on the walk while being told the stories is quite fun and fascinating. Unfortunately I didn’t capture anything on film nor did I have any kind of paranormal experience but it was great nonetheless. And, doing a quick shop for a bathing suit earlier was becoming growingly important given we were both freezing after the hour and a half of being out in the cold. We scooted back to the hotel and got in that hot tub as quickly as humanly possible. There is something I just love about smelling like chlorine before going to bed when I am on vacation--you just know you’re on vacation because how else are you going to bed smelling like that.<br />
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The next morning, we had our plan of enjoying our delicious breakfast in the special food room--I’ll be damned if that brie wasn’t there again, so I had the tiniest bit to satisfy my palette, and then after breakfast, there was of potential going to the Royal BC Museum. I’ve been to some fine museums in some of the biggest cities, and I have to say, this one is pretty spectacular. The sunny weather outside was pulling us in a different direction though, so we passed on the museum this time. We snapped a few photos of the Parliament Buildings (which were also designed by Francis Rattenbury incidentally, along with the CPR terminal building that will now house the Robert Bateman Experience). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGPaLHfRVfu46Wiz2CrQr3O16wI4ax0nMzHyGqC1G2-KTMvWWU-Sl6CP5Z9Msa9sLTvtJbkJZ8Kis6aMjNAF0O-p-hMfNf5xtVzo_LoqLKo5Dq3c5N2v2nHA9we9Dhy3CZQtzdBpjJoE/s1600/IMG_9975.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGPaLHfRVfu46Wiz2CrQr3O16wI4ax0nMzHyGqC1G2-KTMvWWU-Sl6CP5Z9Msa9sLTvtJbkJZ8Kis6aMjNAF0O-p-hMfNf5xtVzo_LoqLKo5Dq3c5N2v2nHA9we9Dhy3CZQtzdBpjJoE/s320/IMG_9975.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fountain in front of Parliament </td></tr>
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Enter <b>Snob Moment No. 9 - Wishing-Fountain Snob</b>, whereby I discovered that I have a very defined and self-created process for throwing a coin into a fountain to make a wish. The look on Sheila’s face was priceless as I made the suggestion but then stipulated what needed to be done in advance, reviewed the dates on the dimes we were using to ensure they had some particular meaning to each of us, explained how the coin should be tossed, how the wish should be visualized, which way to toss the coin and what to do when it actually is tossed. I really think I’m mental--and so does she, in fact, so do most of my friends. Crazy or not, it should be noted that I’ve tossed a lot of coins into a lot of fountains, in a lot of places, and made a lot of wishes...and they all have come true...so ha!<br />
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We then mused around the old Bastion Square Market, did a little window shopping, and before making our way back to The Empress for high tea, we stopped into Rogers Chocolates. I picked up a few fine confectionaries for my Mom and perhaps a few for myself, and without thinking about what I was saying while I was paying, asked the young clerk if she’s seen anything flying around in the back of the shop as of late. Probably a bit of a mistake given she went white as a ghost (pun intended)--Rogers Chocolates is famous for it being haunted. In fact, the girls were telling me last time I was there all about it--I even captured something on film. Clearly this staff member was new and not too welcoming of that news--oh well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnabHY_FcDZ9npBKj2Zij8mvB8qFuIT5nqIiaaQd5CQxjQzzzZR59UpuT9bc5Gm2g7ouBVy_0ftK_vtMXwyfxOmGO6UNuv48usMRRt3X1yDHSXIrQdgVcK1AR1Ilk7-Rnh1H47RlFkO8/s1600/IMG_0003.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnabHY_FcDZ9npBKj2Zij8mvB8qFuIT5nqIiaaQd5CQxjQzzzZR59UpuT9bc5Gm2g7ouBVy_0ftK_vtMXwyfxOmGO6UNuv48usMRRt3X1yDHSXIrQdgVcK1AR1Ilk7-Rnh1H47RlFkO8/s320/IMG_0003.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High Tea Goodness at The Empress</td></tr>
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It was time to eat, yet again, and this time it was High Tea at The Empress. There is no better place to have High Tea--it is simply marvelous and given I am very particular about how High Tea is done, this is indeed <b>Snob Moment No. 10 - High Tea Snob</b>. The ambiance of the hotel, the decor, the china, the service, the view, the piano, the silver, the little sandwiches, the scones, the preserves, the clotted cream, the miniature incredibly detailed desserts, and of course the tea...all so perfect. I will admit, it was the first time I could not finish everything--perhaps it was the ridiculous amount of food we had been consuming since the moment we started the trip? Fortunately, you can take what is left as take-away, and so we had a little snack for on the way to the ferry.<br />
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We reluctantly went down to the main lobby to retrieve our luggage and vehicle...an overwhelming feeling of sadness swept over us as we said good bye to this lovely place. When the hotel valet brought my car around, I couldn’t help myself and asked him if they took it for a joy ride--even the sheepishly adorable grin on the young man’s face was going to be missed...ok, now I’m just being silly--he was cute though and found me quite amusing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJb97CntOuszlw5Fh0s6tNSbp5lq18huhDpnDqrC0nI2z8lP9NHRmbLzQTltk-uuYg8kKLGWNs3dow061v6WzzZRJVhCDAOiWt2_1pHryVoJgZbfkYG6WppCuTW7F2GmoQICjFVbdJsM/s1600/IMG_0013.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJb97CntOuszlw5Fh0s6tNSbp5lq18huhDpnDqrC0nI2z8lP9NHRmbLzQTltk-uuYg8kKLGWNs3dow061v6WzzZRJVhCDAOiWt2_1pHryVoJgZbfkYG6WppCuTW7F2GmoQICjFVbdJsM/s320/IMG_0013.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cordova Bay Golf Course</td></tr>
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We drove away actually waving and shouting good bye to the hotel. But within moments got excited again about the prospect of playing the round of golf we intended on playing on our way in. It was fantastic! Sheila is new to golf and did just amazing! Cordova Bay has some of the most stunning views as well, so I made sure the camera was packed in the golf bag. Once done, we ate our somewhat warmed tea left-overs and headed to the ferry. I didn’t buy another hat at the market, but I found some great scarves and headbands, and a belly-dancing waist scarf with jingling coins all over it (big smile)! I then found out that the special room (this is a different special room from The Empress but a BC Ferries reasonable facsimile if you will, called the Seawest Lounge) was on this ferry, and it was quite frankly, the end to the perfect weekend away. To understand the full benefit of the Seawest Lounge and how it is responsible for my sanity on board the ferries, you will have to read my blog entitled “A Bus Ride and A Special Room”. You will then be able to also deduce why my final snob moment arises and is called <b>Snob Moment No. 11 - Can’t Stand Noise On The Ferry Snob</b>.<br />
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And so there you have it--a little piece of Victoria laid out over a weekend of snobbery, along with good friendship, tasty food, and fabulous adventure.<br />
<br />Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-88245489539691197992013-04-17T00:24:00.001-07:002013-04-17T00:30:43.498-07:00My Parents...Insanity Now, and Even More Insanity Later<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m not sure what has prompted me to write about my parents...maybe it’s because my jaw has continuously dropped to the floor a few too many times lately in utter disbelief.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I love my parents very much, and they know that because I tell them all the time. We have such a good time together and I feel extremely fortunate to have the relationship I do with them. So everything I am about to say is in good humour...and humour is exactly what I am finding in all these “situations” we seem to be experiencing, along with astonishment, and at times, frustration. Maybe it’s the generation? Maybe it’s the pressure to fit into a new tech-savvy world that has been thrust upon them? Maybe it’s us as the kids that are creating expectations for our parents that they just can’t meet?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">They really try their best to adapt to the world of technology. The other day, my Mom insisted that she just missed a call on her cell phone from me, even though it was 5 hours later. And that’s when she actually has the phone with her or if it’s actually on. My Dad’s answer to anything these days is “We can just Photoshop that”...yes, he happens to be a professional photographer, but Photoshop doesn’t apply to anything but photos last time I checked. When you’re using that phrase for everything, that becomes a problem. It’s also a problem if you can’t use Photoshop effectively when using the teeth-whitening tool--he sent me a “touched up” photo of him and my Mom from Christmas, and I just about fell off my chair given they both looked like a bleaching experiment gone bad. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The bulk of the population can book airline tickets on line--not much can go wrong, you just follow along with the screens. So when I get calls from my mother describing that the computer “just did something” and when asked what happened, she just kept repeating “I don’t know--it’s so stupid--you’ll just have to come over and see--I, I can’t describe it.” Then my Dad feels he has to add in his idea for a solution, and that’s just to go right to the airport and buy the tickets there. I didn’t even know how to respond to that one. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And then they got a tablet for purchasing their cable, internet and phone all in one go...why? There should be an age limit for giving those things out. I would personally like to thank Telus for making my life more difficult now--it wasn’t bad enough that I get the usual computer calls weekly, but now there’s a tablet involved now too which means twice as many calls--that’s just great. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My parents have always been loud…and not just because they’re losing their hearing—they literally have no concept of how loud they are in public and nor do they care. Whenever I go on a trip, my parents always insist on taking me to the airport and sending me off with a proper goodbye. My Dad felt that checking my luggage was a more than noteworthy photo opportunity. And, thanks to the early onset of deafness, everyone in the check-in line with me got to hear my life story—I actually got the “Wow, I feel sorry for you” look more than a few times. Another time, my Dad dropped my Mom and I off at the cruise ship terminal when we went to Alaska. The terminal is fairly simply laid out, but the hard part was Dad parking the car and him trying to find us again inside the terminal. Once he did, he created a HUGE scene to let everyone know what bullsh*t the entire system was and somewhere in there, the Canadian government got blamed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Apparently the filter just completely disappears when you get older as well. I went to the movies with my parents last year and I watched them treat the movie theatre as if it was their own personal living room. They talked to each other through the whole movie, in a non-sound reduced way...fabulous. And because of the losing of the hearing situation, they couldn’t hear me or anyone else shush-ing them throughout the entire movie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I don’t know if stealing also becomes a problem with age, but when I was over at my parents place last, I opened a cupboard and out fell about two dozen Starbucks napkins and an inordinate number of sugar packets, stir sticks and take-away cups. Upon closer observation in their home, I noticed, to my horror, they had many items scattered around that are given as complimentary by coffee shops, restaurants, etc. When I questioned them about it, all they could say is that it was there and free, so they took as many as they could. Of course, why buy those things when you can just steal them? That instantly brought me back to the days when we used to fly to Hawaii back in the 70’s--the age of tight pants (enter Tight Pants song from SNL). My Dad would go into the washroom on the plane and would come out with as much of the little wrapped bar soap he could stuff in his tight pants as possible. And you could see the outline of it all in his pockets, thanks again, to the tight pants. We never had to buy soap...it all makes sense now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My Dad is one of the smartest people I know. He reads tonnes of scientific literature daily and also has single-handedly turned the Starbucks in Steveston into his own personal social house. Everyone knows him there. I can’t meet him there anymore to have quiet father/daughter time because random people just come up and sit with us. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I think along with age comes a certain level of stubbornness too. When my parents visit me, they park in my extra parking space in the underground next to my car. One morning after their visit, I was leaving for work and noticed fresh oil where my Mom parked the night before (and I know the look of clean (and dirty) motor oil given my Neon had multiple fatal leaks in her dying days). So, I called my Mom to let her know and she would have none of it. “How do you know it’s oil? Did you put your finger in it? Have you smelled it?” I don’t know about you, but I’m really not ready to stick my finger into something that emanates from a car’s engine just for the sake of proving a point. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I can only hope to hell that there is no loss of mental faculties...or has that already started? My Mom called me the other night to casually let me know that she heard on the news that the birth control pill I am taking has been rendered ineffective and women taking it are getting pregnant. After my heart jumped through my chest, we quickly discovered that she had the name wrong--heaven forbid you may want to double check the name before you hit your daughter with something like that. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I hear it from my friends in my generation too...everyone has a certain level of frustration dealing with their aging parents, and they’re only just boomer age in most cases. God help us when they get into their 80’s! I know from my line of work some of the challenges that the aging population and their children face, and the concerns are all too real. And perhaps one day, it won’t be a laughing matter, but for now, with my parents, I shake my head in disbelief. And, as I said above, I just try to find the humour, because if I don’t, I might just lose my mind, and then where would my parents be? </span></span></div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-11252882592031061282013-04-07T23:48:00.000-07:002013-04-07T23:59:37.035-07:00MY LIFE AS A COMMUTER...PART 3<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In rounding out my series on commuting, I thought it prudent to include some helpful tips that might be useful when driving around the Vancouver area. I have seen it all and feel the need to impart my knowledge and experience...sadly, much of what you are about to read is my way of coping on the road, but hey, I seem to get from A to B ok. I will add though, that if you adapt any of my suggestions, I will not take responsibility for any negative repercussions you may experience. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">1. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">The red “X” in the Stanley Park causeway means GET OUT OF THAT LANE.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Everyone who lives in the Vancouver area is familiar with Stanley Park and the Lions Gate Bridge, and the roadway-connector of the two called the Stanley Park causeway. Originally when the bridge was built, it was only two lanes; however, within a short period of time the population grew on the North Shore and the two lanes were constructed into three. There is a green and red lighting system above the lanes through the causeway that tells you which direction the middle lane is going. Most people can ascertain whether they should be in that lane based on whether there is red “x” over it or not...yes, most people. Ok, I get the tourists--maybe some of them have never seen a set up like that before and many-a-time have I watched an almost head-on collision to only have the tourist swerve out of the on-coming lane just in the nick of time. But when those are BC plates doing that, it just makes you wonder as to what part of the giant red X above the lane didn’t we see? Or do you really think you can “out-run” the X and make it to the other end of the bridge? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">2. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">That bus is bigger than you.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is a scary one. And the reason I say that is because there are some bus drivers out there that will NOT yield or give way and almost purposefully cause an accident to teach you a lesson. I’ve watched people really take their chances with the buses and I just cringe every time. I will admit that I’ve had a couple of run-ins with bus drivers only because they think they’re driving a sports car--watching those cables come down from the wires on the trolly buses when you’re right next to one is enough to snap you back to reality in a heartbeat. But still I see people zipping by, cutting off, and slamming on breaks all near, around and in front of buses whereby the car is almost crushed like a tin can if not for a few lucky seconds on the driver’s side. The bus is bigger, and the chips on some of the shoulders of the bus drivers are even bigger, so be careful! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">3. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Rain is not snow last time I checked.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Vancouver is famous for it’s rain. I quite enjoy it actually--perhaps it’s because I’ve lived here all my life and it makes no matter to me. What I find interesting is that people on the road just freak out when the water hits the ground. I fully agree that you need to slow down a little and be aware the roads can be somewhat slick, especially after a dry spell. But it’s not snow! We don’t have to cut our speed in half, do we? I think all cars come with windshield wipers, right?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">4. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">One way usually means...one way.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve been guilty of this, but only in downtown Seattle where there are one-way streets galore and I figured out pretty quickly what I had done (thanks Mom). What I don’t get are people who can see that they are going down a one-way street, but keep going anyway! They are being honked at, shouted at, gestured at, etc. but they still keep going anyway! Yes, I understand that maybe you get all of the above typically, but if you hear that kind of noise going on around you, you may want to sit up and take notice.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">5. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Putting a bunch of sh*t on your dash may impair your vision while driving.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This one I don’t get at all. You can only have so many air fresheners in your car at one time. How many things that bobble and move should one person own, AND have in their car at the same time? If you’re driving, there’s no time to play with toys...so what’s the purpose? To impede the potentially already impaired vision of the driver even further? Eek. Leave the toys at home people.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">6. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">If you can’t see cars in your rear view because of a giant blue cloud, you may want to take your car into the shop.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Hey, I’ve been there. My neon blew enough burned oil out the tail pipe to single-handedly puncture a hole in the ozone, so I get that denial enters into the picture when it comes to your car. But when the cars behind you are completely blinded in a thick blue fog thanks to your car’s toxic pollution output, let’s get it fixed already, no one needs to breathe in that crap. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">7. </span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">If you can help it at all, don’t interact with the UPS drivers.</span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">(See previous blog post for details on this one)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">8. </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Taking the HOV and pretending to talk to yourself is ok.</span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes I’ll use highway 99 to get home and when I do, there is no way I’m sitting in the tunnel traffic if I’m getting off at the exit right before. So, the HOV lane is the perfect solution, but naturally, it’s a no-no if you’re the only one in the car, which is why I’ll pretend to talk to someone in the backseat if I get the evil eye from other drivers. I have yet to come across any police, but the way I see it, I win either way (see tip # 10).</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">9. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Playing “lost tourist” is a necessity at times.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This is some people’s regular driving persona, and, sometimes there really are lost tourists out there. I like to be a "lost tourist" to sneak into the Lion’s Gate bridge lane from the Stanley Park lane to avoid scads of traffic during rush hour in the morning. It works well when you pretend to look up at the signs with a confused grimace on your face, throw your hands up into the air in disbelief, and then innocently catch the eye of a driver in the next lane to gain their sympathy to let you in front of them. If possible, try to have a map handy for extra sympathy. Of course, you could really push it and ignore the red “X” but then you run the risk of injury (see tip # 1). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">10. </span><b style="font-size: x-large; letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s important to wave at the firemen and smile at the policemen, NOT.</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I was in New York, it was common place for women to interact with the firemen and policemen, and not just with a gentle wave or a little smile either--we’re talking full on shouting, etc. but then that’s just how things are in NYC anyway (which is why I fit in perfectly there). When I brought that concept back to Vancouver, it didn’t work so well. Sorry to my firemen friends for this, but I have to say that the firemen here, unlike NYC, DON’T reciprocate (or at least not often) with the waving back concept, nor do they look receptive to it in the first place. Smiling at a policeman here is just plain stupid unless you want to be pulled over (so I do it all as often as possible). It all comes from a place of respect for me, but perhaps the perception at their end is the opposite. Regardless, between the uniform and my regard for what each do for a living, I will never stop waving and smiling, ever.</span></span><br />
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-69086785949867813502013-03-25T21:14:00.000-07:002013-03-25T21:14:56.830-07:00MY LIFE AS A COMMUTER...PART 2<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you’ve been keeping up on my blog posts, you will have discovered by now I am not a shy person. Interacting with people is what I do all day at work, and I truly enjoy all my social outlets as well. I like meeting and talking to new people--it’s usually a very positive and pleasant experience...unless it’s on the road. This blog post could be a mile long given I have quite an assortment of stories, so I have chosen a few that you may find interesting. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When I was doing a lot of on-line dating (that has stopped some time ago now and those stories will be in my future published book), I had affectionate little nick names for all of my dates, mainly because each one was a disaster. The names I chose accurately described the person and/or their personality or character trait, so when I name the next potential-date by-driving guy “The Nose Picker”...you can guess why. Everything seems to happen on Granville Street for me, so, there I was, driving up Granville to work one morning, and whilst at one of the lights, a guy pulls up to the right of me. We look at each other, and he’s super cute, so I smile, he smiles and we did this at the next two lights, with the last smiling encounter ending in him signaling for me to pull over so he can give me his number. So I’m thinking...mmm...middle of rush hour on a busy street, should be ok. He ends up pulling in behind me thanks to the bus, and all it took was one look in the rear view and I saw the pick. He was in there full throttle, and all I could do was throw my hands up and shout “Nooooo!”. How was it possible that my on-line dating life was appearing in my Monday morning commute? Eek. Needless to say, I did not stop to get the picker’s number.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Then there was the UPS guy. I had skipped lunch one day and stopped into Meinhardt Foods to pick up a few things, and before I headed down Granville towards home, I opened a bag of organic corn chips and was eating them along the way to satisfy my hunger. I was driving behind a big UPS truck with a driver who thought he was in a sports car--I watched him switch in and out of the lanes with the truck swaying back and forth, looking like it was going to topple each time. We get up to King Edward, and he makes eye contact with me in his side-view mirror so I take the opportunity to point at him, give him the “L” (for Loser) and then hold my hands out to imitate him driving crazily. The light turns green and 2 minutes later we’re now at 41st, and he’s still in front of me. He then makes eye contact again, and gestures at me with the “L”, and then over-does an imitation of me eating my corn chips. Well, I flew into a fury but then burst out laughing, because it was quite funny--I was really plowing those things back. Anyway, we get up to the next light at 49th and now I’m to the right of him, and he has no right door on the truck and my window is down, so he shouts at me, “Hey, I’m pretty funny, aren’t I? What do you say we go out sometime?” I just wasn’t feeling it, so I thanked him for making me look like an oinky pig and sped off.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve had many interactions with Taxi drivers because I prefer the right lane. Please don’t get me wrong--I am not an advocate for unsafe, aggressive driving; however, I am very disappointed in taxi drivers these days. They’re just not like they used to be. The right lane used to move fluently, without delay...now, it’s all clogged up with pokey cab drivers that are distracted on their phones. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On a serious note, my biggest pet peeve while driving is seeing people NOT stop and pull over when an emergency vehicle is coming. When I was younger, a friend of mine’s father was in a serious car accident, and because they could not get through the traffic thanks to people not yielding, he ended up dying before they reached the hospital (the paramedics confirmed he could have been saved it they weren’t delayed). I have zero tolerance for people who disregard the fact that someone’s life may be at stake. I’m a nice person with a happy disposition, but when I see that happen in front of me, the offender gets the pleasure of a full-on lecture from me. Who the hell is teaching people how to drive today anyway? Oh wait, I can answer that.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My friends had a good laugh at this, but I actually was going to apply to be a driving instructor at Young Drivers of Canada. They wouldn’t take me part time (I have a full time job already), and I discovered they pay their full time instructors $26,000 per year...wow...that’s some high quality instruction. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’ve had a few interactions that I’m not proud of, but it’s always in the interest of safety (or is it?). This one is for my friend Deb who is Chinese (well, she’s Chinese but not really). I’ve had to use my limited Asian language skills* at times while driving given Vancouver has a large Asian population. I was driving up Granville (see, everything happens on Granville), and there was a woman (who happen to be Chinese) driving behind me, literally a foot from my bumper. I was certain if there were any unexpected stops she would go right into me. So, I did a huge no-no. I was the first car that the light at King Edward and Granville, I got out of my car, went up to her driver window, and knocked pleasantly on the window (with a smile). She rolled it down, and I shouted “Stay the f--- away from my car” in the best Mandarin I could get out (there is no translation for the F word, so that was in English). Well, the look of horror was priceless--she wasn’t expecting that, but she definitely understood me given she stayed at least three car lengths away from me during the rest of the drive. </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">*</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; letter-spacing: 0px;">Limited Asian language skills = “Hello, how are you?” and “Stay the f--- away from my car."</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now, after all that has been said, please know that I have discovered the link to my somewhat assertive personality in my car directly to my previous commute, whereby I spent almost 3 hours a day in my car. That is no longer. I have moved on to a healthier work environment and a shorter commute resulting in a more sane experience in my vehicle. This is for the good of everyone, meaning, I’m not the lunatic anymore that I have portrayed myself to be. I am quite calm and if something happens whereby I am being shouted at for some reason, I just smile and wave. That seems to throw people into a rage actually, but I know that I can carry on to enjoy my day sans high blood pressure.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The last installment of my Life As A Commuter blog posts is Part 3, Denise’s Driving Survival Tips...stay tuned!</span></span></div>
Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1845266658806073281.post-27322393762175706332013-03-17T20:47:00.001-07:002013-03-17T20:59:36.941-07:00MY LIFE AS A COMMUTER...PART 1<br />
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<b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">The Things I Have Seen...And What People Have Seen From Me</b></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s been a long time coming for me to write about commuting. What a surprise that I now have the time to write about it given that I actually don’t have a lengthy commute anymore.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s amazing what you see on the road--what people do in their vehicles, how they drive, and their reactions to outside stimuli, like me. I put in 13 years of commuting from Steveston to West Vancouver and back again each day--crossing 5 bridges and almost losing my insanity by the end of it (turned out it was actually where I was spending my day that almost cost me my sanity). Writing about my commuting adventures is probably more worthy than one simple blog post given there is such a plethora of material, hence the reason why I’ve split the subject into three parts and a possible on-going feature from time to time. The abundance of stories are not just from commuting to and from work either--I just seem to spend an inordinate amount of time in my car. It makes me happy to be the designated driver for my friends so I know they get home safely and I always offer to drive if there is a choice. The conclusion is that I really enjoy driving--either that or I have some serious control issues or perhaps it’s a combination of both. And if you consider that I aspire to drive NASCAR or a reasonable facsimile someday, then voila, you are now a little bit closer to understanding how I feel behind the wheel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Comedians have played this over and over but it’s true--people really do believe that they are in some kind of invisible bubble when they are in their car. This is what I want to say to the people who are in the bubble: “You know, I can see you in there--I can see you picking your nose and wiping it on the upholstery,” or, “Oh there was no time to shave this morning so you’re doing it in your car where all the little hairs can fall on to your business suit--isn’t that hygienic.” And while I am busy grossing out (yes, I’m an 80‘s girl), I’m watching these people weave all over the road because god forbid you could shove your finger straight up your nose and still drive in your lane at same time. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Now, don’t get me wrong, I have done a ridiculous amount of weird stuff in my car too, but that’s with knowing full well that everyone can see me. I’ve stopped at a light and put lipstick/mascara/eyeliner on--perfectly normal. I’ve eaten bananas in my car and have unintentionally almost caused some serious car accidents as a result of making eye contact with the other drivers (typically male)--I’ve stopped doing that now. I always dance as much as one can dance in their car. I like to sing loudly, and I like to sing to other drivers at times. I also like to air guitar some of my heavy metal when the mood should strike (like Iron Maiden or Slayer for example). I have had to put deodorant on in my car once but that was an isolated incident, but again, I was fully aware I was being watched. I have changed outfits, acted out Shakespeare, and learned other languages like French and Italian--all while driving in my car.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I’m sure you’re wondering what kind of driver<b> I am </b>now. There is one very good friend of mine in particular, Lisa, who will dispute what I am about to write to her dying day because she happened to witness a mixology of incidents while I was driving her home one night. <b>I am an excellent driver--not one accident in my 26 years of driving.</b> And yes, that evening I was with Lisa, I almost mowed down a pedestrian (with a baby carriage) but she had no reflective decals on her at all (she did happened to be in a crosswalk, but that’s beside the point). Then I think there was some guy on his bike, again, in the dark with no reflective wear...and you get the gist. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Another time my good friend Sheral was driving with me down Bellevue in West Vancouver and out of nowhere, some woman just decided to cross the road (NOT at a crosswalk) and I just waved her back to the sidewalk, shouted to her “go back, go back” and stepped on the gas--she went back alright. And if I don’t like you and you are in front of my car, just ask my daughter’s ex-principal at her old elementary school what that’s like. She was horrible to my daughter (my daughter is autistic) so I didn’t see the harm in almost running this woman over in the school parking lot. Ah, there’s nothing like shoving it in neutral, revving the engine, turning on Judas Priest’s “You Got Another Thing Coming”, slamming it into gear and letting it rip--nobody messes with my girl (I’ll ask my friend Jody to back me on that one). </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I openly admit I don’t particularly care for pedestrians which is why I plead my case about living in London, England some day. I would be perfect there considering pedestrians would think twice about walking out in front of moving vehicles. The drivers in London are equally as crazy as me and of course driving on the other side of the road and being on the other side of the car would add a whole new component to my already interesting driving repertoire. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It’s funny--I always ask for feedback and comments on my blog...I will say I’m a little nervous on this one. Maybe you’re the person whose been the unlucky one driving in front of me, or you have been on the receiving end of me shouting driving tips at you (recently I have been doing this in Italian). All I ask, is please be gentle. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In Part 2, stay tuned for more about what I have witnessed while on the road, those all-too-famous interactions I’ve had with other drivers, and lastly, in Part 3, some handy tips from me while driving in Vancouver. </span></span></div>
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Denise Levinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07580078564171405314noreply@blogger.com1