in the immortal words of HFM*

Smells like cupcakes. Heck, tastes like 'em, too!

A few photos before I turn in. Touring Vancouver with the parents can be fun, indeed. Careful selection

leads to happy tummies...





*Horsey Foreign Model

what do you do the day after you turn 38?

If you're me, you wake up still full from the enormous meal the night before., so you go for a swim at a community pool full of sloooooooooooow folk, but you grin and bear it because a short, dissatisfying workout is a workout nonetheless.

If you're me, you park yourself for a couple of hours at a favourite coffee shop, sip very good coffee, and blog.

If you're me, you meet an old schoolmate you haven't seen in twenty years (Saturday night aside) for lunch on Granville Island, but you forget to bring your camera.

If you're me, you laze around the afternoon, doing less of the work you brought with you than you should have.

If you're me, you meet your parents
(oh, and your sister and handsome BF), arrived in town this very afternoon, for dinner wherein you enjoy some salad, halibut cheeks, and cheeses (along with very nice BC wine), and do all you can to get them through to the end with minimal crotchety old person complaints.

If you're me, you slightly regret that last statement, even if it's the truth.

If you're me, you go wine shopping with the big sister, and enjoy it immensely.

If you're me, you try not to make a big deal out of 38 even though it somehow feels old, enormous, more than it should.

38

[sigh]

So I'm no longer 37. I think that yesterday I crossed over the boundary dividing mid-thirties from late-thirties. 40 looms. What have I done with my life?

Well, cooked dinner, for one thing. Yes, on my birthday, I cooked dinner. It's fun, after all. I enjoy it. And isn't MY birthday about ME doing the things that I want to do? Of course! So no moaning from Conrad when I got up at 6 to go for a 4-mile run along False Creek (sooooo peaceful, so mild and calm out). And no one in my kitchen while I whipped up food for five of us.

After the run (and coffee at - YES! We're so happy to be back - Safari Cafe), we met Dad for breakfast in the Fairview neighbourhood, not far from City Hall. He had come into town for the day quite by coincidence, and we were able to have a nice breakfast and chat with him. Don't we all look remarkably alike?

A whole bunch of groceries and other shopping later, I was at work in the kitchen. Sheri and Chris were coming for dinner, and I had it in mind to work with some things that Conrad and I like most of all.

Pre-dinner, we all sat out on the balcony, enjoying the cooler air out there (the oven was on for hours yesterday).

Marie had brought back some lavender syrup from her recent trip to France because she'd enjoyed a cocktail there that she wanted us to try. Essentially a kir royale, but instead of cassis, it was sparkling wine with the lavender. And it was exceptional. We definitely have to find some of that syrup and try making it for our friends in Chicago. We munched on some little toasts, goat cheese, olives, walnuts, and fresh tomato compote with mint.

I didn't take too many photos of the food through dinner. We left the salad course unmolested by the camera. Sheri had brought two bottles of BC Pinot Gris, and we opened one to drink alongside the salad.

Dinner was ribs. Jeph may laugh when he sees this because he teases me that I cook nothing else but ribs. Frankly, I love them. And again, it was MY birthday. I made a thick, chunky, tomatoey sauce for them, and had a ratatouille underneath. That was a nod to Conrad and his love for tomato.

Chris had brought us a Cotes du Rhone, and we enjoyed that before moving into a Quail's Gate Pinot Noir Conrad had picked up. Dinner over, we moved out to the balcony to sip wine until dessert.

By this point, everyone was having a very nice time. Sunset came upon us, and the conversation kept up, mirthfully at times.





We left the dessert course unphotographed as well, but enjoyed walnut gateau breton, three Spanish cheeses, three bars of Vosges chocolate, and a bottle of Venturi-Schulze Brandenburg No. 3.

So, I'm 38, I'll get over it. At least I had a terrific, exhausting (in a good way) day of it. And it does make me think already of what to do when I hit 40 in a couple of years!

has it been 20 years?

It'll be a week of reunion-themed blog entries, just to warn the three of you who read this....

Full disclosure: I didn't go to my ten-year. I was living in my hometown still, about a month away from moving to Montreal to start grad school. I saw many of my former classmates around town, and I wasn't especially curious about the lives of the people I had graduated high school with. No, no bitter memories of high school. I did well in school, and by and large I thrived in the social environment. Or so it felt to me. I hit ten years, though, and I just felt like I didn't need to be connected at that point. Looking back, there's no doubt to me that, valid as those feelings were, I still had some growing up to do.

Even a year ago, I wasn't thinking of going to my reunion. Dion and I talked about it a few times last year, and though it was fun to toss out names and figure out where people were, I still didn't feel like I needed to be connected. The reunion invitations came out, and I politely declined.

It nagged at me, though. Gently at first, then more so. I woke up one morning a handful of months ago, and I was resolute in my feelings: we were going.

My former classmate Becca, in her "Where Are They Now?" write-up, has hit it well: there's a sense of community I'd like to regain. By and large, I liked the people I went to school with. I wished ill of no one, not anymore for the one or two whom I might have disliked twenty years ago, and I genuinely wanted to hear about everyone's contented and interesting lives. It was a good decision, and I am grateful to Dion, Liza, Becca, and Michelle most of all for their gentle persuasion.

Last night, while Conrad had an evening to rest after a very long day of travel, I met some former classmates at The Yale here in Vancouver. Over loud live music (but good music - I enjoyed it, and I'm hoarse this morning from yelling all night), several of us got caught up. Liza is the only one, to the best of my recollection, whom I've seen in the past 20 years. She and I last saw each other in Toronto in 2003, and we'll see her again there this autumn. The others? Two decades come and gone. A few of the classmates there last night will not make it up to Terrace this coming weekend, so I was especially glad to see them.

What strikes me is that, with the exception of Sherrie - I truly did not recognize her when I got to the bar, but goodness, she's a beautiful woman - everyone looked quite the same to me. Becca's hair is darker, and so is Adam's from what I could tell in that lighting. Otherwise, though, we're all the same, and that's an extraordinarily comforting feeling. Except that we're not the same, are we? I have no idea who around the table had old histories with each other, but for one all-too-fast evening, it was seven of us enjoying beer (wine for Pam) and getting to know each other once again. Not quite community, but somehow regaining something that had spent 20 years in limbo.

They'll hate me for the old yearbook photos here, perhaps, but it is fascinating to see how much we've changed/not changed. It makes me all the more excited for this coming weekend.

Adam now...... and then...


Becca then... ... and now, with Adam...


Jann Marie then... ... and now, with me...


Liza then... ... and now...
...and with Jann Marie...


Pamela then... ... and now...
... and with Liza...


Sherrie then... ... and now...
... and with me...