Building an Ark

So it's been raining for 26 days now in Vancouver. If we hit 28, that's the new record. I don't know what I expected life in the (former) rainforest to be like, but I'd sure like to be able to have a frizz-free hair day...

Where is my umbrella?
Where is my guy?
I need that fella
To keep me warm and dry...

For some music to get you in the ark-building, galosh-wearing, umbrella-wielding mood, click here to stream Vancouver band Hey Ocean's "Rainy Day Song."

Boxing Day Dinner

Boxing Day Dinner at Auntie Bev's and Uncle Doug's. A Lemon Family Tradition.












No one had the heart to tell Mom they were Christmas ornaments, not earrrings.













Auntie Bev made me my favorite Christmas Jello-Treats from when I was a kid.












Auntie Bev didn't know my mom is seriously scared of Jello. Its shaky gelatinous deliciousness makes her want to gag. So what does Auntie Bev do? She drops one down my Mom's shirt. This is the aftermath.

Christmas Eve 2005

Well, both Alex and I are having a somewhat blue (like, maybe baby blue, not really navy or azure) Christmas without our loved ones. So Laura and Edy, this one's for you. We wish you were here and hope you are having a good Christmas with your family. With your own families, not each others'. Because if you were having Christmas at some secret location without us, we'd be mad. Miss you.

Love, Dani and Al.

Here's a picture of Popo trying his hand at Italian cuisine for our Christmas Eve dinner.

Above: Spot the unwrapped Christmas Kitty under the Tree. Zorica fixed the Worst Haircut Ever. It's a Christmas Miracle. Mom put a certain tasty Italian treat on the Christmas tree to remind us of Edy. Dani fell asleep waiting to go to church. Dani and Al man the Lemon Family Call Centre (Edy and Laura phoned in simultaneously). Al loves a good Christmas tree. Dani makes Land of Nod cinnamon buns for tommorrow morning...

Scorned!

So I am walking to work this morning, past the purple house, and there's a blonde woman, mid-thirties, hovering uncertainly by the gate where I have trysts with my ginger-cat friend every morning. She sort of stared at me as I started to walk by, like she was expecting me, so I slowed down and said, "Oh, do you live here? I love your cat." And she said, "No, I don't live here. But I visit that cat every day." She looked at me a little accusingly, like I had swooped down as some sad-cat-lady-femme-fatale and stolen her place. I didn't know what to say so I just said, "Oh. Me too. He's great." I smiled my most non-threatening smile. Silence. "I've been visiting him for months now," she said. "He's not here today." Silence. Clearly meant to insinuate that this is my fault. Smart Cat; of course he wasn't there, he wanted to avoid this kind of confrontation, where the Other Woman meets the Other Woman. I felt like we should break into some rendition of the Brandy-Monica duet "The Boy is Mine" re: the cat, but decided to leave it at that, we engaged in a few minutes of tense/fake friendly chit-chat, and I moseyed down to work.

To think, that cat was playin' me this whoooooole time.

New Acquaintances

Every day when I walk to work, I pass an old Victorian house on Bute Street. Its dilapitated exterior is cheerily painted two shades of purple, and more often than not a large ginger cat is perched on the garden gate, underneath an arbor covered with vines. He is usually very aloof, this ginger-cat; I'm usually reproached for even daring to suggest I would pet him by his jumping off the gate and padding disdainfully towards the porch.

Today I think he must have mistaken me for someone else, or sense I was in need of a little love, because when I tentatively stretched out my hand to him, he rubbed his head eagerly against it and began to purr loudly. I could hardly believe my luck and I held my breath as he continued to purr and shut his eyes in delight. Quite suddenly, he jumped off the gate and onto my shoulders, wrapping himself comfortably around my neck and licking my ear (which I thought was rather forward). I tried to politely encourage him to jump back on the fence, and he did, but he got carried away again and jumped back on within seconds.

Finally I had to say goodbye and continue on to work. Our little tete-a-tete made me miss my own kitties so much, and the stress relief of talking nonsense to a kitty for at least a few minutes a day, but I was grateful we had finally made friends. I went to work with ginger hairs on my black coat, and a smile on my face.

A Very Charlie Brown Christmas Tree





So, I decided it was high time I had a Christmas tree, and not being exactly flush with cash, I didn't think I'd be able to find one in my price range and I'd have to decorate my poor fake fig tree again (who isn't exactly big on Christmas spirit). But at Magic Dollar they had shitty little trees for 6.99. So here is my very-loved, very-crappy, very-first Christmas tree of my very own. Happy Holidays everyone.

Happy Halloween!

Halloween was always my favorite holiday as a kid. For as long as I remember, my mom has been hanging ghosts, made from balloons and her old white sheer drapes, on our balcony. The house was always festooned with paper bats, skeletons and pumpkins, and a motion detector ghost at the front door that screamed when anyone approached. The house always felt busy and bustling with a sense of purpose, with Mom bringing out her secret stash of candy and coins for UNICEF boxes, and Dad coming home from work to take us out trick or treating. We'd eat a quick dinner, occasionally interrupted by overeager early bird trick or treaters. We'd always be surprised with a pumpkin shaped cookie or a Halloween cupcake as a treat for dessert.

We had some pretty great Halloween costumes in our day. Alex liked his Batman mask so much that he didn't take it off for like, 2 years (no really). I was Wonderwoman. Al had a successful few years as a Ghostbuster, alternated for variety with a huge foam Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume. I was at various times a punk rocker, a Table-for-Two, a gypsy and a bumblebee.

As we got older, Alex would go off with our next door neighbour Steve and his dad, or with a group of friends, to trick or treat. I never wanted to go with friends; I much preferred going with my dad and it was even better if I got to be ALONE with my dad. Halloween was always special time for me to spend alone with him. We'd usually do the "front" part of our neighborhood with Al, much to my chagrin, as I wanted Dad all to myself. The desire for candy usually helped me overcome those feelings of sibling rivalry. Highlights included the Oughtreds', where we'd get FULL SIZE chocolate bars or chips, and our next door neighbour Dorothy's, who would save "special" treats like cans of pop and big chocolate bars, for her "special kids," like me and Al. The front neighborhood was always teeming with our friends from school...it was always like a "who's who" of Gordon Head elementary in the cul-de-sac. After making the rounds in the front, we'd usually go home to check in with Mom at Halloween Headquarters, and drop our pillow cases of candy off to be sorted. Then Dad and I would push through the door in the back fence and make the rounds of the "back" neighbourhood.

At that point, porch lights would start to go off and trick-or-treating time would slow down. It was home then to pick up Mom and Al and attend the neighborhood fireworks. I remember so many Halloween nights spent hovering near the open garage of some neighbour, who would have urns of hot chocolate and mulled wine, that we drank out of styrofoam cups while noshing on a hot dog and watching as the neighborhood dads tried their hardest not to blow their fingers off as they set off fireworks.

It was a sad day for me when my mom told me that I was too old to trick-or-treat. She cut us off relatively early; alot of my friends continued to go for years after my mom had forbidden Al and I to keep going and I would scoff and pretend it was totally uncool when I really wanted to go, too. Halloween wasn't really redeemed until a special Halloween night with my high school boyfriend (and our friends! get your mind out of the gutter!) on top of Mount Tolmie, watching a bright red full moon, dancing to music pouring out of a car stereo, and talking about the future. Being in love was the only consolation for giving up the candy.

I can't say this has been the most festive Halloween; I had to hand in an assessment, attend class, go for a run, and study. No trick or treaters have knocked on my apartment door, although I bought some candy "just in case" (I know, I know, wishful thinking). I didn't even engage in my usual obsessive-compulsive pumpkin carving:I don't mean to brag, but I've won a few contests in my day. I can't wait until I have a balcony to hang my own ghosts in, and carry on Mom's tradition.

Dani's Movie Corner (Wherein, I Make Like Roger Ebert)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a classic novel of such fame as Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice must be in want of a film adaptation. I have just finished watching Joe Wright’s attempt to bring what is one of my favorite stories to life, and I have to admit…I liked it. I long ago pledged my heart irrevocably to the Beeb’s 1996 miniseries where Colin Firth swims in the lake (siiiiigh) and Jennifer Ehle made the case for a smart and sarcastic romantic heroine. And while this film couldn’t possibly hope to do justice to Austen’s novel in two hours, it does a remarkably effective job of hitting the emotional highpoints and creating complicated, sympathetic characters in Lizzie (Keira Knightley) and Darcy (Matthew MacFadyen).

The emotional theme of Deborah Moggach's screenplay was secrets. The audience’s journey is to watch the emotional toll on Lizzie of the secrets she must keep: the real reason Jane is left jilted by Mr. Bingley, her infamous first proposal from Mr. Darcy, his later benevolence that saves her family from ruin, and her darkest secret of all, her growing feelings for Darcy. Darcy must learn, conversely, to reveal secrets in order to acquaint Lizzie with his true character, to show he is capable of loving, that her headlong rush into sympathy for Wickham was misguided, and to subtly shift her social perceptions about the “cold” upper class.

I really wanted to hate Keira Knightley in this role. She’s no Jennifer Ehle. Yet she portrays a more human Lizzie than Ehle, one who is headstrong but shows at times a lack of confidence, a raw sensitivity that is implied by Austen but never fully explored. At times she is full of laughter and impertinent remarks, at others socially awkward and agonizing around Darcy as she becomes fully aware of the impropriety of her family and the lack of generosity she showed him early in their acquaintance. MacFadyen is suitably hunky as Darcy. He’s less brooding and intense than Colin Firth, portraying Darcy as someone who is powerfully shy, stiffened by years of social training, but eager to love and to be open with someone he can trust with that vulnerability.

The cinematography of the movie is breathtaking, and the beautiful shots of Hertfordshire and Darbyshire made up, in my opinion, for the sin-against-Austen of portraying country life in all its gritty realism. I’m all for keeping Lizzie in filmy white dresses, showing her frolicking across the fields as a lush piano soundtrack plays. I’m of the opinion that if Ms. Austen wanted me to know that Lizzie and Darcy declare their love in the muddy pig pen of her father’s grimy country house, near the woodpile, with geese squawking at their feet, with Lizzie in the same dress she’d been wearing all week, she would have. My romantic sensibilities were a little offended by seeing the flighty Mrs. Bennett portrayed by Brenda Blethyn as an alcoholic. So, in this sense, I felt Wright let Austen down, in not preserving the golden sheen of her novels that portray country life in Georgian England as all carriages, empire-waisted frocks and parasols. But it’s a compelling movie nonetheless. Austen geeks like me should give it a chance and try not compare it to the miniseries. And, oh yeah, Judi Dench as Lady Catherine is something to see. Hearing her bark, “Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?!” is worth the admission alone.

A Time for Pumpkins

To everything, there is a season. And I have to say, that the fall and winter holiday season-that candy and food filled trio of Thanksgiving, Halloween and Christmas-is my favorite, because I can indulge my passion for punkin flavored everything without people thinking I'm like, totally weird. I can't help it. I like gourds, okay?!

Last year was a difficult one. The lady at Tesco thought I was crazy when I asked if she had pumpkin pie filling. In fact, pumpkin anything seems to be a n0-no in England. At least, as an edible food.

So, okay, maybe I'm going a little overboard this year to compensate for the great Pumpkin drought of 2004. I've already bought a few mini-punkins to scatter around my apartment, because in addition to being delicious, pumpkins are actually really cute too. I usually treat myself to coffees on Mondays and Fridays on my way to school, and I've been gorging on pumpkin lattes (nonfat, no whip of course) at Starbucks instead of my usual sugar-free vanilla. And on the way home today, I stopped by Choices, the organic supermarket, for some delicious pumpkin fritters...not like, pastries, but little pieces of pumpkin lightly coated in chickpea flour, to dip in some yummy chutney. And then, um, on the way home from Choices, Cobs' had a pumpkin seed bread, so I bought some of that to stick in the freezer...

Okay, yes. I'll admit it. I am obsessed now. But I have yet to buy a pumpkin pie, so if anyone finds a whole wheat crust, no sugar added, all-pumpkin-all- the-time pie, well, let me know....

Standup at the Safeway



I always have a knack for finding the one cashier at Safeway with personality. I was beginning to be disappointed with my new Safeway...all I seemed to get were slow girls with "in training" on their nametags who scrupulously (and slowly) examined each item I put on the belt before cautiously running it over the scanner.

Lately though, things have been gettin' weird over at that there Safeway. About a week ago, my friend Carly came to visit and Edy made us dinner. We had to run to get eggs (and a bottle of wine at the liquor store next door). The cashier, a guy about our age, looked at the total ($1.36), looked at me, and said without batting an eyelash, "That'll be $5.22." I smiled. "Yeah right." "Nah, come on, I need my TIP," he said. I handed him $1.50 and said, winking, "Keep the change," and took my eggs off the counter. "You better WATCH yourself," he grumbled, "or I'm gonna make you some omelettes!"

On the weekend, I had to stop in again, and I got the same cashier. I handed him my two big cloth Marks & Spencer bags to pack, as I prefer to keep the plastic to a minimum. He looked at me and shook his head, like, "ooooh, god, this girl is trouble." But, trouble as in a "we obviously both have sense of humor" kind of way. "What are you," he demanded. "Some weed-smoking, earth-saving HIPPY?" The other people in line looked a little aghast but I just laughed. "Undercover as a yuppie," I whispered. "Don't tell." "You won't save the earth, you know," he said. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." I pretended to be offended and I said, "shut up and pack my bags!" "Oh, you're gonna get it NOW," he yelled, and stuffed about 20 plastic bags into my cloth bag, and a few at my head for good measure as I ran for the door, laughing. He was bellowing "And where's my TIP?" as I made my escape.

It must be something in the Safeway brand cola, I swear, because today, I got a new cashier. Cute, gay. I was buying some fruit leathers (my favorite! on special! 10 for $3!) and he picks one up, and reads the label: "Fruit to Go! That's me on the end of my shift...a fruit to go! Ha ha!" That was his opening line.

So...what? Do I have "joke with me! I need humor!" tattooed on my forehead? I dunno how I attract these wacky folks but I love it. I'd rather have a conversation with every person I meet than go through my day not talking to anyone. It contrasts rather sharply with my first night in London, when I went to Tesco to get groceries, and asked the cashier (who was sitting on a chair and who refused to pack my bags) how she was doing. She blinked, acted like she didn't understand what I had asked, and said, "Are you American?" Ahhh, the welcome and hospitality of the English people. I'll take English Bay anyday.