Category Archives: Life

Packing trauma

My daughter and 80 other grade 6/7s just pulled away on a school bus, headed for three days at outdoors camp. She was so excited this morning, she didn’t even complain when I woke her up at 7 a.m.

She DID complain as we packed her bags last night, and I vetoed the pink jean shorts and the flowered tank top and added a toque and soccer pants (which are actually long johns but can only be called soccer pants in my daughter’s presence).

I showed her the weather forecast (thunderstorms) and gave her the “no such thing as bad weather, only bad gear” line, but they had little impact.

Eventually, I left the room to count to ten and hiss at Min: “She doesn’t care about being warm! She only cares about looking cute!”

Very calmly, he said: “You should call your dad right now and apologize for when you were 12.”

Dad (since today’s your birthday and all), I hereby apologize.

Graphic design flashbacks

My kids’ elementary school traditionally has a yearbook, and, in a moment of insanity, I volunteered to do this year’s layout.

I used to work as a professional graphic designer. TWELVE years ago.

Since then, the software has changed along with everything else. I watched quite a few YouTube tutorials along the way, creating this book, and I sent a couple confused emails to graphic designer friends. But somehow, the project has reached its final stages.

[Cue theme music from Jaws.]

Printing. This morning, I take the files to the printer and then hope, hope, hope that (a) they don’t say, “sorry, you’ll have to reformat the entire project,” (b) the colours don’t turn even more psychedelic than I planned and (c) I don’t have a stroke while waiting to see the proofs.

I swear, this is much more stressful than my actual work.

Cross your fingers for me!

Mailbox goodies

These arrived yesterday:

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They’re Korean editions of The Lowdown on Denim and I can’t stop flipping through the pages. It’s so fun/strange to see a book which I wrote (apparently), but can’t read.

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I love these sorts of mailbox surprises. I often envy those highly organized writers who track their hours worked, or their royalty due dates, or their rate per word. I know I should probably try to become more like them.

On the other hand, there’s great joy in opening the mailbox and finding an unexpected cheque, or a forgotten proof, or, say, a Korean book about blue jeans.

And why ruin a good surprise for the sake of a little organization?

Hometown weekend

The kids and I headed to Creston on the long weekend for the 75th annual Blossom Festival. Along with getting thoroughly spoiled by my parents, we went to the parade, tried some carnival games, and explored the farmer’s market. We also went for a tour of Spectrum Farms and the stables of the Therapeutic Riding Association. That stop was my personal favourite, because who was doing tours but… Luanne Armstrong.

Fortunately for me, I was with my librarian aunt and my book-obsessed daughter. My aunt introduced us all and my daughter immediately said, “You’re Luanne Armstrong? I read I’ll Be Home Soon and I voted for you in the Chocolate Lily awards!”

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It turns out I’ll be Home Soon won the Chocolate Lily (which my daughter now thinks was entirely due to her vote), and the four of us received the grand tour of the riding stables and met all eight horses.

When not hobnobbing with literary stars, we walked trails, played in parks, barbecued hamburgers (well, actually, we ate the hamburgers that grandpa barbecued), met old friends and a new baby, read books, attempted fishing in three-foot waves (don’t tell Min), spotted bears along the highway, picked lettuce from the garden, searched for snakes, and met a donkey.

What more could you ask from a Blossom Festival?

Cooking is dangerous

I was making wontons a couple nights ago. They tend to spit when I flip them, so I was holding up a splatter screen between me and the frying pan. But somehow, hot oil popped out of the pan, over the screen, and onto my eyelid.

The science writer in me thought, “Wow, it’s amazing that my eye can see airborne oil and signal my brain quickly enough that I fry my eyelid instead of my eye.”

The science writer in me is not the vain type. The vain side of me was looking in the mirror the next morning at my blistered left eyelid and thinking about the UBC presentation I’m giving tonight.

I may scrap my intended script. I may speak about cyclops myths instead. And maybe about pirates.

Art + school = why do we even have to talk about this?

I am about to rant, so if you’re curled up somewhere with a cup of tea and you’d like to preserve your serenity, you may want to skip this post and have a look at these book recommendations.

Still here? Well, then…

I received this letter from the cash-strapped Vancouver School Board a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been stewing about it ever since.

Dear Parent or Guardian of Students in Grade 4, 5, and 6:

The Vancouver School Board is exploring the possibility of offering a district-wide User-Pay Elementary Band or Strings Program beginning in September 2016. This program would be for interested students in the upper intermediate grades (Strings: Grades 5-7, Band: Grades 6-7) whose families are willing to pay for this complementary experience.

The intent would be to provide these programs in schools where we have a minimum number of students (20) who have indicated an interest in participating. If the minimum cannot be achieved at a particular site, then unfortunately, the program cannot be offered at that school. The fee to participate in the program for next year will likely be between $400 and $500 per year per student.

It goes on. But let’s stop for a moment and consider the $400 to $500 per student. It seems like a ridiculous amount of money. And yet, it’s less (much less) than what Min and I pay each year to fund Julia’s voice and piano lessons and Matthew’s guitar lessons. Outside of school. Because, unlike my elementary school which had a dedicated music teacher and a band program and a guitar program and school musicals, our kids’ elementary school has none of these things.

So, should we cough up the cash for some strings lessons?

NO! No, no, no, no, no.

Because art in school is not just for kids whose parents can afford it. Is this really something that needs to be said? At the moment, the PACs in B.C. — the parents — pay for the library books, the instruments, and tons of the art supplies used in elementary schools. The school boards don’t fund these things, because the province doesn’t give them the money to fund these things. WHICH IS RIDICULOUS!

How are we going to raise creative, resourceful kids without books and instruments and art supplies? Even LNG engineers are one day going to have to creatively solve problems, and they’re not going to learn to do this by completing math workbooks. (Though incidentally, the parents pay for the math workbooks at my kids’ elementary school.)

Honestly, I think I’m going to settle myself on the sidewalk in front of the VSB office and protest by pulling all the hairs from my head one by one. I think that would be less painful then trying to explain WHY WE NEED BOOKS AND INSTRUMENTS FOR ALL KIDS IN ALL SCHOOLS!

Done. Whew. You can check out those reading recommendations now.

Notebook mysteries

Because my bedside table is overflowing, I decided to go through my full notebooks and then get rid of them (which is code for putting them in the crawlspace, because I find it impossible to part with notebooks).

Here’s what I discovered while flipping through the pages: my notebooks are crazy. There are grocery lists and PAC meeting notes, drafts of letters and story ideas, to-do lists, revision notes, prices for internet connections, bubble maps of title possibilities, strange doodles, words I can’t decipher, and something that reads “Three friends — The Furies — gay boyfriend.”

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WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? What if it was going to be something brilliant, and now it will be nothing because I failed to communicate to myself in complete sentences?

Also, there are pages and pages in these notebooks that I have no memory of writing. I don’t remember coming up with the ideas, or starting the stories, or ever being interested in the topics.

I’m pretty sure an alien secretly lives in my brain.

Book 9-1-1

Homes in Vancouver are small. We don’t have endless space for bookshelves. And my husband doesn’t share my view that books make nice decorations on the kitchen counter, or that stacks of hardcovers can serve as perfectly good side tables.

The kids have shelves in their rooms, where books are stacked in double rows. I have a shelf in the family room similarly crammed, as well as a couple desk drawers, two bedside table drawers, and one stack beside my bedside table (which usually escapes spousal attention unless it teeters too high).

Still not enough. It never feels like enough, and I’m always having to give away books that I love.

Then, last night, a friend called with a book issue. Her son was sick. He’d been sleeping all afternoon but at 8:30 pm, was wide awake and looking for something to read. Unfortunately, he was right in the middle of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and they’d forgotten their copy in Whistler on the weekend. Could I help?

I was so pleased to turn on my flashlight, sneak past my sleeping son, and withdraw the hardcover from the back row of his top shelf.

Even in a space-aware state, I’m still the person to call in a literary emergency.

Sighted in the wild

My daughter and I went exploring at the new Kidsbooks location. What a store! It’s absolutely stunning in there. I’m already planning to secretly move in, and hide my sleeping bag between the Star Wars books during the day.

I spotted DNA Detective in the non-fiction section. And no, I didn’t secretly turn it face-out.

It was already like that.

Really.

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