It's my birthday week!

My birthday week started off most wonderfully. One of my dearest friends, Holly Duke, met up with me in the fishing community of Steveston, BC. We went for a slow bike ride along a flat gravel road, ate fish and chips by the boats, and savoured ice cream scooped into fresh waffle cones. What perfect fun.

This one goes out to the mom I love

Mom:

I'm still eating these crazy hotdogs that you left in my freezer at THANKSGIVING. Thinking of you!

Love,
Bobbi

The thing I like most about running is . . .

when it is over.

Surrounded by Poetry

I am anticipating a summer of poetry, being outside, and going on 3 dates (I may need help with that last one). I am kicking off my summer o' poetry this spring with a Sylvia Plath book I picked up at Companion Book on Hastings in Burnaby. I have been drawn to Plath's poetry since reading "Tulips" in my writing poetry class at Regent last summer. This is the poem I read this morning; it's been following me around ever since.

THE APPLICANT
by Sylvia Plath

First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wear
A glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,

Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? Then
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty? Empty. Here is a hand.

To fill it and willing
To bring teacups and roll away headaches
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed

To thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit ---

Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.

Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that?
Naked as paper to start

But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
In can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.

Missed Connections

This could have almost been my PostSecret . . . almost.

Joy in the little things (or big things when you buy them at Costco)

I spent the last 6 months thinking about making a big purchase: a MAC computer. Everyone I know who has a MAC loves it and assures me that I will too. Amazingly, I have never owned my own computer so I thought this would be a perfect match. Last week I took the plunge and ordered a refurbished beauty online at the Apple store. Man, I was excited. I was so excited that I took a study break last night to drive over to the my place of work, where it had been delivered, to pick it up.

I brought it home.

I plugged it in.

I saw the little light blinking and thought, "That little light is the heartbeat of my very own computer."

I opened it up and admired its shiny goodness.

I turned it on.

It did not turn on. I tried again . . . and again . . . and again: nothing but a dead black screen.

And in fact, that is what Apple told me today - it was DOA (and there are no replacements of this refurbished model, so I will have to order a brand new one and spend a bit more money - gross).

I am currently working at healing these let-down blues and working up the courage to order again. In the meantime I have got the motherload of ALMOND BUTTER from Costco and I eat a bit of it everday with an apple - this gives me joy and by the size of the jar I know it will last a long, long time.


A dose of disappointment and some joy that will last.

On the Fringe at Regent

I spent two semesters at Regent with these fun friends. Amazingly, Matt, the lone fellow in the pics, is a California connection. I worked with his fun sister, Marlene, at my church in California. Last summer he worked there and hung out with some of the students I know and love. It's a small, wonderful world.

My Buns

Fresh out of the oven: hot cross buns just like my mom used to make them every Easter. Except, when I called my mom to get her recipe (which was my Grandma Salkeld's recipe) she told me to "guess" and "just add enough flour until it's right". Sadly, my baking skills are still reaching for that kind of confidence. I opted for hot cross buns the Joy of Cooking way; meanwhile, my sister - who has been baking up Grandma's goodies for years - made them them mom's way. Mine were good, but not quite good enough. Take a look at Kasha's buns. Now those are nice buns.