Climb for Hospice

So, Ali and I left the city yesterday to enjoy some time in nature. Ali had told me about this great campsite she knew of in Brackendale that was right by the river, so I agreed to jam the car full of camping stuff, and pick her up at 9am.

Good morning! Ready to go, Ali?

READY!

And so, into the woods we go. After a wrong turn here and an “I don’t remember this” statement or two, we were finally on our way down the World’s Longest Backwoods Road which was rife with pot holes and death-wish squirrels. Ali realized that she had to make a work-related phone call, so I turned down the stereo so that she could book flights for someone and seethe in relative silence.

Given that we’re driving into the middle of Upper Cougar Crotch (as my mother likes to call any sort of wilderness-related destination), the fact that Ali lost cell reception wasn’t all that surprising. We drove on for a few minutes more until BLAM! I hit The World’s Largest Pot Hole dead-on and my front tire blew out.

Awesome.

That’s ok! We’ll just call BCAA… Oooooh, right. That no-cell-phone-reception thing. Well, looks like it’s up to us now. Hey tire… you, me… bring it on.  Awwwwwww, yeeeeah…

Now, for those that know me, you will recall that I have two rather large dog crates in the back of my car. Which, of course, are tied down with enough rope and bungee cord to create excitement in certain sections of the population. I’m not sure, but I believe a photo of my securely-tied dog crates was the feature picture on TieMeUpTieMeDown.com last month

Aaaaaaaaanyway… While Ali grabbed the “How to Change a Tire” book from the glove compartment, I set out to find a way to remove the spare tire from under the dog crates, without actually having to remove the dog crates.

Let me tell you this: changing a tire isn’t all that tough, but it does take some strength.  And a little bit of rhythm.

You kind of get a rhythm going when you’re jacking a car up, so I was really in the groove for a while there. But then Ali wanted to play, so being the generous friend that I am, I gave her a shot at it, too.

Jenn is not amused.  At all.  “Hurry up, Lady!”

And so, after completing the tire change, Ali and I were really quite proud of ourselves. After a well-deserved high-five, we posed for a photo with our conquered prey.  ALL HAIL TEAM LUG NUT!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand then we drove back into Squamish and went to the Canadian Tire, crossing our fingers that it was actually open on a Sunday morning. Don’t forget the Tire of Doom! Buckle up for safety!

Now, I will admit it: I was scared to drive on that little tire, and the fact that it is referred to as a “donut” didn’t do much for my confidence. I put on the 4-way flashers and drove about 40km/hr back up The World’s Longest Backwoods Road toward civilization. 4 hours later (kidding!)… we reached Canadian Tire safely, and as I walked in the three people at the service counter stopped their conversation and just sort of stared at me. Looking down, I realized that I was probably the dirtiest I had been since childhood. Apparently this is not a good look for me. The nice lady at the desk said they were “booked solid” that day, but that she would squeeze me in ASAP. Ali and I went to grab a coffee and by the time we got back, the car was ready! …sort of.

Turns out that the rim was shot, and so they couldn’t put a new tire on. I would have to drive home on the donut. “Ummm… is that safe?”, I ask. The lady looked at me and said, “No. Not at all”, then handed me back my keys.

And so, I now have to drive from Squamish to Ladner, down the Sea-to-Sky hwy, in the rain, on a donut.

“Well, better put the 4-ways on”, says Ali, and away we went…

I white-knuckled it home, dreading that the donut would blow at any minute, and send the car careening off a cliff. In my head I had decided that should the donut fail on me, I would try my best to swerve left, so as to ensure that Ali would have a good chance at walking away from any accident. Was I nervous? Nooooooooooooooooo…

(Yep. Those are bite marks on my hand, as I kept chewing on myself to keep from screaming.)

However, we FINALLY made it home (after a few stops where I simply had to pull over and relax for a moment), and when we made it through the Deas Tunnel, both Ali and I took our first real breath since we changed the damn tire however many hours ago. Then we started laughing. Then we realized that we suck at camping.

Or, do we?

Yep, that’s right – we went back to my place, lit a pathetic fire in the fire pit on my balcony, ate some terrible hot dogs, and chowed on the Worst S’mores Ever. We finally got to experience camping after all…

Best. Camping trip. EVER.  THREE CHEERS FOR TEAM LUG NUT!!

Hooray!

Ok, let’s see here…

*grabs calculator*

If the length of the ogling swimming pool is 25 metres, and Kili is 19, 340 feet…

*tappity tap tap*

… that means that Kili is 5895 metres, and so that’s going to be…

*tappity tap tap tap*

236 lengths of the pool… which divided by 2 is…

*tap tap*

188 LAPS of the pool.

Hmmm.

SO! If it takes me about 60 seconds to do one lap of the pool, then all I need to do to simulate the amount of energy it will take to climb Kili is…

*tappity tap tap tap tap*

…swim for two solid hours.

Not a problem.

Now, where is my flowered swim cap and matching oxygen tank?

In my world, there are two types of camping: Car Camping and NOT Car Camping…

Car Camping involves jamming your vehicle with as much stuff as possible to make your camping trip not the least bit like camping. Some of my favourite items that I have seen when I drive by camp sites stuffed full of Car Campers are: Mini fridges, bbqs, stoves, fold-up chairs, Taj Mahal tent-like structures (which are usually connected to other large tents under a complicated series of tarps), showers, kegs of beer, fold-up cots, air mattresses large enough to be recognized by the U.N., and gazebos. Yes, gazebos. All of this is brought to ensure that the camper does not get dirty, wet, uncomfortable, unhappy, or exposed to any sort of outdoor element whatsoever.

Why do these people even go camping at all?!

“Oh, I LOVE camping!” Sure you do.  “I love getting back to nature!” Yes, I’m sure you can really enjoy all that nature has to offer while reclining on your inflatable love seat, watching your portable TV while drinking wine (from a glass) under your walled-in gazebo. It must be beautiful for you out there.

Car Camping is not camping. It’s not even ‘roughing it’. It’s essentially outdoor slumming.

I do not like Car Camping (I don’t like camping at all, really), because I think it’s all a lie. You cram the car full of enough outdoor stuff to make it feel as though you’re going to be inside. Sure it’s all fun and games to get drunk and roast marshmallows before bed, but when you wake up, YOU’RE STILL CAMPING. That’s not fair! If I’m going to be inside, I want to be INSIDE!

Car Camping is the cock-tease of outdoor pursuits.

That brings us to the second type of camping: Not Car Camping.

Not Car Camping is where you cram your backpack full of all the things you think you’ll need in order to hike to the middle of nowhere and sleep outside without dying, getting hypothermia, being eaten by a wild boar, breaking a leg, losing a toe, or starving to death.

Sometimes you have a tent. Most times you don’t. You need the room in your backpack that a tent takes up, so you sacrifice your “comfort” for a Bivy sack*, and then cram more pasta and oatmeal into your pack.

Thankfully some genius created the compression sack, and this really helps to maximize space while maximizing “comfort”. You can squish a whole lot of useful crap into these compression sacks, and still have room left over for more pasta and oatmeal.

Of course you need a stove (a small one). And pots. Thankfully some genius created the Alpine Pot Set with lids that double as plates. And one simply cannot Not Car Camp without the ever important spork. Now you’re set for a hearty meal of pasta. Or oatmeal.

You also have to pack in your own water. Of course on a multi-day trip, it’s simply not possible to carry that much water, so you need either iodine tabs (and the saving grace of Gatorade powder), or a purifier.

You also need to pack your own toilet paper. In AND out. Don’t worry, I won’t link a photo to that. However, I’m sure if you’re really keen on seeing that there are multiple websites that cater specifically to that. But make sure you know how to clear your browser history before you venture into that world, mkay?

As I have said before, I am the anti-camper. However, I would much rather Not Car Camp than Car Camp. If I’m Not Car Camping, at least I know what to expect: this is going to suck donkey nuts. However, if I am Car Camping, I get all confused: Ahhhh, the indoors… wait… this isn’t my condo! My bed is comfy, and my slippers are here, but… but… WHERE THE HELL IS MY TOILET!?

Sadly, I am going Car Camping this weekend. I was looking forward to Not Car Camping, but Car Camping won over. But I’m still going to bring my spork, (because I believe in peaceful protest). And so, I’m off to Canadian Tire to pick up an air pump, a precast hot dog roasting stick, and a portable satellite dish. Wish me luck – you’ll be sure to have a very entertaining blog to read upon my return.

*Note: the linked Bivy Sack was labeled as “Deluxe Bivy”. Niiiiiiiiiiice.

Given that I now have some free time that I could devote to my writing, my step-mother recommended that I see a friend of hers who is a ‘writing coach’.  Now, I don’t really know what a writing coach is, but it sounds interesting nonetheless. Who knows, maybe he’ll be able to give me some ideas on how to forge ahead. Sort of take the reins a bit and steer me in the right direction. Be there to offer support and guidance, and let me know how I can improve. Be some sort of leader, if you will. Some form of instructor who focuses on my abilities… if only there were a word for a person like that.

I met the WC at a coffee shop on Dunbar and we had a nice hour-long chat about life, spirituality, travel and travel writing. I told him about my trip to Kili and, as it turns out, he had actually climbed Kili as a child. I told him about going to Kigali, and he told me that someone in his family works as security for a government figure there. I told him about wanting to go see Zanzibar, and he told me that he had lived there for seven years. You know, I’m thinking that this relationship could really work…

He certainly gave me some things to think about regarding writing, travel and spirituality, and left me with some suggestions on where to go next, and what books to look at picking up in the used book store. I’ll see him again next week, and hopefully I will have completed the ‘homework’ he gave me by then.

I’ll be honest; I’d love to turn this blog into something more, but as I spoke with the WC, I realized that I didn’t know what direction I wanted it to go in. Hell, I didn’t even know what direction I *didn’t* want it to go in. Am I wanting to do Travel Writing? Am I going the direction of Inspiring Others? What about Self-Help? Am I going to write about the Spirituality of Adventure?

I DON’T KNOW!

Man… this whole ‘think before you write’ thing is complicated!

I’m so confused.

I love going to the swimming pool! I mean, it’s the best thing EVER! I wish I could go every single day, and spend lots and lots of time ogling. I MEAN SWIMMING! …and spend lots and lots of time SWIMMING.

I went swimming for the second time yesterday, and I have to say this: that’s freaking hard work! I could barely swim a length let alone attempt an entire lap. It was a very humbling experience given that I used to be able to swim a mile. But then again, at that age swimming wasn’t nearly as fatiguing given that I didn’t have to walk around the deck with my gut sucked in. That’s very tiring, you know.

Although I was fully intent on sauntering out of the change room and over to the lanes to dive in and start my swim, as I walked in I kind of freaked out, and simply made a bee-line for the hot tub where I could hide.

“I meant to do that. This is why I’m here. I’m… ummm… recovering from… surgery for my… uhhh… liver, and the doctor advised me to… to… to sit in the hot tub at the public pool!”  Yes. That’s it. Totally believable.

But here’s the thing about the hot tub – you simply cannot sit in it by yourself and look at all composed. You quickly realize that you have nothing to do but people watch. And then you realize that the pool is full of elderly women participating in the Osteo-fit class, and that you are now stuck watching bobbing flowered swim caps and listening to the Beach Boys.

However, as a welcome distraction, there are the (far too young) attractive lifeguards wandering around the pool deck, and you can make quite a game of looking at them. It was really quite exciting when I made eye contact with one of them, and he started to come over to the hot tub.

FYI: It is very difficult to be coquettish when one is looking like a wet rat in a black sausage casing. Why don’t they put bubble bath in that hot tub?

Anyway, the (far too young) attractive lifeguard came over my way, and as I smiled at him, he smiled back. ‘Direct hit!’ I thought to myself, preparing for the inevitable pick-up line he was about to give. But then he bent down and picked up a piece of wet paper towel that I had tracked in from the change room. Smooth, Robyn, reeeeeal smooth.

Ok, so now I realized that I no longer had a choice. I had to get out of that hot tub at some point. I mean really, you can’t sit in that hot tub for too long, especially when all you can do is either gawk at the (far too young) lifeguard, or spend precious moments promising yourself that you’ll never buy a flowered swim cap.

Ok…. here we go…

-Pull bathing suit out of butt.

-Suck in gut.

-Stand.

-Confidently walk over to the lanes, trying not to dwell on the nubbly, wet, fungus-deck.

-Bend down, splash water from the pool onto yourself. Try to muffle squeaky scream when you realize just how cold that water is after raisin-izing yourself in the hot tub for 30 minutes. Stand and act like an Olympic swimmer as you perch on the pool edge preparing to dive in.

-Realize that you have no idea how to dive, and now have to attempt to belly flop with grace.

-Shake hands out, take two steps back, pretend to stretch out shoulders pre-dive.

-Slip on wet kickboard, flail arms, turn backward and fall head first into the pool, completely destroying all hopes of keeping your hair dry and your dignity intact. Swear at yourself for not buying a flowered swim cap from the lobby gift shop.

-Come to surface. Secretly show gratitude for the overly-loud Osteo-fit class’ Beach Boys music, which perfectly covered the sound of your entrance into the water.

I spent the next 45 minutes doing lengths of the pool, mostly with the kickboard, and marveling at how tiring this whole swimming thing is. However, I should expect to be tired after 45 minutes of exercise, so it’s really not that bad. Then I actually looked at the clock and saw that I had, in fact, been in the pool for about 12 minutes.

Swimming is not easy. It is not the fun little way to spend time that it once was. How on earth did Ali and I swim ALL DAY when we were kids?! We were probably hopped up on sugar or something.

Nevertheless, I did enjoy my swim day hour minutes, and look forward to going back. Maybe I can convince Ali to join me next time…

So, Ali and I were sitting around the other day putting together packages of Raffle Prizes for the Kili Gala. There has been an incredible amount of items donated from businesses local and beyond. After all was said and done, Ali and I were able to combine some great things and created a total of 28 different raffle prizes to be won. The  best part was naming them all…

The Fit For a Bit package (A gift basket from Parsley Sage & Thyme – with cleanse kit, and a personal training session with Cara!)

The Leave Me Alone package (a lovely basket of all things girly and bathtime-esque, complete with a bottle of wine!)

The Wakey-Wakey package (a pound of Hazelmere coffee and a month of Bootcamp!)

The Boys Night Out package (4 Whitecaps Soccer tickets AND a $25 gift certificate to The Landing!)

We’re having way too much fun now!

So today I am off to apply for the temporary liquor license, and I’ll probably be picking up some beer and wine, as well. I had a VERY generous donation of 4 dozen Granville Island beer, so that really helps to keep costs down AND appease the beer-snob masses.

I need to make a Costco run at some point, too. We can’t have a Gala without snacks now, can we?! Mmmm… snaaaaacks.

Drinking, dancing, snacking! Raffle prizes and a 50/50 draw! Entertainment-laden fundraising at its best, and all in the heart of little ol’ Ladner!  Wheee!

SO. Get your friends, your dancing shoes, your twoonies, and your designated drivers ready, because in 17 days, we’ve got a party going on!!

My younger brother Cameron is in the Air Cadets, and when he heard of my trip to Kili he wanted to help. Being a younger brother, his version of “help” is basically torturing me solely for his own amusement.

Perfect.

I think Cam has taken a particular interest in my Protein Bar Taste Test, and most likely because he can see how it tortures me so, and just how rotten tasting some of these bars have been. My abused stomach causes him much delight, I am sure.

Cam is a good kid though, really he is. He’s got a great imagination, and has a very wonderful sense of compassion. So when he found a way to help me out, he went above and beyond.

This is what Cam has given me…

What is in this bag, you ask?

These.

Yes, those are what you think they are – MREs. That stands for “Meal, Ready-To-Eat”, and they are the rations given to armed forces personnel. Cam thought that it would be oh-so-amusing for me to use some of these things on my hike up Kili. Why? Because they’re disgusting, that’s why. Thanks Cam.

So, I rooted through the bag, and look what I found!

A new contender for my on-going, not-fun-anymore Protein Bar Taste Test!

What else have we got in here? Hmmmm…. let’s see…

Ok. Looks normal enough…

No problems there…

Uhhhh…

Oh, geez…

WHAT?!

For some reason, this frightens me most of all. Well, until I looked at the drinks…

I have a feeling that the ingredients and product descriptions were very carefully worded, specifically to avoid lawsuits.

What in the WORLD am I going to do with this stuff?! EAT IT!? Pfffft… not bloody likely!

…

…OK! OK! I’ll eat it!  But this is just for Cam’s sake, because I know that HE has to eat this stuff from time to time, or else he’ll starve. From the looks of some of the “nutritional” ingredients and product descriptions, I’m thinking I’d choose starvation.

SO… I am going to take these MREs camping this weekend! That’s right, it’ll be me, Ali, Black Tusk, and a backpack laden with this horrendous, horrendous “food”. I have no idea what to expect (aside from some seriously amusing photos of my reactions when I eat this stuff… and most likely some sort of immodium-necessitated issue), but what the heck. Why not, right?

But before I decided to throw caution to the wind (and my taste buds into the great beyond), I figured that I needed to ask Cam for advice. This is the answer he gave me:  “always have lots and lots and lots of water when you eat those things! belch!!! with the jam, try to warm it up or something or else it just comes out like jello. oh and close your eyes when you eat the meals and try to imagine what the real food would taste like if you had it.”

Gotta’ love that kid, eh?

Thanks Cam!!  xo

A week ago today I lost my job.

I haven’t told many people, because I didn’t see the point in doing so. I told some key people of course, and I let the Hospice know as well, given that this could very well affect my climb. But I sort of kept it ‘secret’ for seven days.

But there it is. Cat’s out of the bag now. I am no longer employed.

Last Wednesday, I had a meeting at the Delta Hospice, and was still sort of numb from the whole ‘jobless’ ordeal that had occurred two days prior. Nevertheless, I put my emotions aside, and tried to walk into the Hospice with my head held high.

I went in and was greeted at the front desk by one of the cheerful volunteers. “I’m here for a meeting”, I say, and she says, “I know! Follow me”. We walk down the hall, and this lovely woman turns to me and with a huge smile says, “I hear congratulations are in order!”

I sort of stumble and say, “Ummmmm… for what?”

And she says, “I hear that a whole world of new opportunities has just opened up for you”

And there it was.

For the past week I had been trying to be as positive as I could about losing my job, and sure I’d gone the ‘this is a good thing’ route. But to hear someone else say it like that, like it was some tremendous thing, and something to be excited about… well, that just made a world of difference. And what do you know… my head was held high, then.

I love the team at The Delta Hospice. Everyone there , be they staff or volunteers, seems to be kind, compassionate, selfless, and positive. There’s a level of reality, and of gratitude there, you know? The work they do can be so very difficult, but the team they have there makes it possible for them to come back each morning, and look forward to the day. Yes, of course there is a level of satisfaction with doing a job so rewarding and fulfilling, but it wouldn’t be possible without a supportive, open team. If only we all could work in such an environment.

The Delta Hospice Society: Home of The Dream Team!

And so, as for me, I’m going to take some time for myself. Maybe do a bit more training, focus on some things that I’ve been wanting to do for a while, catch up with great friends, be inspired, and keep my eyes open for new career opportunities while doing so. Sounds pretty good, eh?

Congratulations, indeed.

Before I start today’s blog, I just want to point out to the entire world that Tyler Garnham admitted to me that he drank a few bottles of Bud Light beer last summer. Not only that, it was Bud Light LIME. Seriously. Yah, I know. My respect for him as a total Beer Snob just dropped considerably, too. It hurts when your world crashes down like that, doesn’t it? Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, marrying for money, Tyler being a beer snob… its all just crumbled away. My god. What is there to believe in anymore?

Aaaaaaaaaanyway…

The other day my dad brought me an article from the Financial Post section of The Vancouver Sun newspaper. Now, it wasn’t the entire article that caught his eye, it was merely two paragraphs (which is good, because the rest of that article was booooooring!). And so what did those two paragraphs say that made my dad think of me?

Three years ago, at age 54, Palmer climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro to raise money for Cerebral Palsy. His story began in a conventional way, as he urged entrepreneurs to: achieve clarity in their mission, set lofty goals, and prepare (he walked 32 kilometers a week for a year).

But when he neared the top of the 5,790 metre mountain, as the thin air tore his lungs and he could barely lift his feet, Palmer learned the true secret of success. Many factors kept him going: knowing he had come so far; the faith of 200 sponsors for his cause, and the anticipation of a breathtaking sunrise at the top. As his African guide told him later, “it’s not the strongest people who make it to the top of Kilimanjaro, but the ones with the best attitude.”

That got me.

For some reason, after reading that short recap, I felt as though I’d been hit by a truck. It was just very honest, and very real. It made total sense. So much of what we achieve is only achievable because we simply believe it’s achievable. That’s why I decided to make my fund raising goal $10,000 – because I believe that it can happen. I believe that this community can raise that money for The Delta Hospice Society. I believe that there are good people in this community, and across the globe (I’ve had donations come in from 5 different countries!), and that together we can make this happen. I believe it.

Don’t you?

Speaking of fund raising…

So, what’s on deck for the Kili Gala Raffle Prize Reveal today? Something quite unique. Something quite… well, revealing, really.

Let’s talk Sugar Box, baby! Jane Brookes is a perfectionist. Jane Brookes believes that women should feel as beautiful as they truly are. And with that, Jane Brookes decided to go into business as a ‘Waxing Specialist’. Jane believes that there are two places on a woman’s body that should always be immaculately groomed: the eyebrows and the… well… the Sugar Box. So she opened a waxing studio specifically catering to those two body parts. This may seem strange to some, but I can assure you, Jane tapped into an absolutely perfect market. She’s a genius.

I have been going to see Jane at Sugar Box for over 4 years now. Her studio on Homer St is my place of choice (she also has a studio on Commercial Drive and a new one on Main St, as well), as it is the ultimate in feminine awesomeness. Pink, but not ultra-freaky-girly, it’s decorated with taste and honesty, and comes complete with a fantastic chandelier. Jane knows exactly what she’s doing when it comes to everything she touches (pun intended). I love her. Everyone loves her!

Jane chats throughout the service you receive, and in all honesty, it’s over before you know it! And the weirdest part is that you almost wish it took longer! Aside from her immaculate hygienic practice (gloves, never re-using the wax sticks), she’s very… ummm… thorough, and not the least bit shy. Jane is a genuinely warm, welcoming, purely phenomenal gal. She’s beautiful, too (and married – sorry boys!), and always has the best things to chat about! And after it’s all said and done… she gives you a lollipop. Everyone loves Sugarbox!!

Jane has graciously, generously, incredibly donated a $100 gift certificate for services at Sugarbox. That’s enough to get a Brazilian AND rhinestones!! Oh, yes… rhinestones. Trust me on this one, ok?

But what about the guys? Sure this raffle prize is all well and good for a woman to win, but isn’t it discriminatory against men?

…I haven’t told you about Jane’s newest enterprise: Toolbox.

June 5th, come on out to The Kili Gala at the Ladner Community Centre. Think about it: if I’m advertising a prize like this, imagine how nutty the party is going to be.

SEE YOU THERE!!

xo

Today… is my birthday.

Now, before you get all giddy and start your ‘whoop-whoop!’ing, I’d like to take this moment to honour my mother. Each year on my birthday, she revels in telling me all about my birth, and how horrendous it was.

First of all, of my two older brothers and I, I was the one that put my mother through her longest labour. She went to the hospital at about 3am on May 15^th, and endured labour like a champ for an entire… three hours. Can you believe it? I mean, really – three hours! How did she ever get through it?!

I do enjoy teasing my mother about this because really, every single birth story I have ever heard relates labour being in the 15 – 60 hour (I’m not kidding am I, Caieta?) range. My mother enjoys then emphatically countering with, “I had your brother after only TWO CONTRACTIONS!”

Yah, yah… whatever mom. Now you’re just making stuff up.

Then she likes to tell me that when I was born, she thought she “had given birth to a slug”. Here, she likes to refer to the miracle of my entry into this world as “gross”, “disgusting”, and “horrible”. This was because I was born ‘In the Caul’. That means that the amniotic sac was still intact as mom squished my skull toward the light of day. (It’s a good thing that the movie “Alien” hadn’t come out yet, or that would have been one panicked delivery room.)

And now, I get to the best part of my birth story…

Y’see, I have a lot of little ‘beauty marks’ on my skin. A lot of people have them (in fact, my friend Eran and I have identical ones on our left feet!), and they don’t bother me at all. Well… they shouldn’t bother me, anyway. But they totally do bother me, thanks to my GENIUS mother who found the absolute best way to warp and humiliate me at the same time.

As a young, impressionable child, I innocently asked my mom about my beauty marks one day. She looked down at her precious daughter, smiled sweetly as only a mother can, and said that I had so many beauty marks because I came out of her butt.

So yes,  according to my mother, I was born a butt-slug.  Apparently not my finest moment.

HOWEVER… there is one thing that my mother tells me about my birth that doesn’t actually send me over the edge: she tells me that she knew right away that I was something special. And she knew in some way that I would be a different type of person, someone who was meant for great things. (She assures me that she did not have an epidural, so it wasn’t the drugs talking or anything.) Now, she never really told me any of this until about a year ago. I grew up sound in the knowledge that I was not a precious snowflake, nor was I the only child on the planet. I was taught that I was to be nice to other people, because I was other people. Sure, I was individual, but that didn’t mean I had the right to pronounce that I was better than someone else.

Since I was a kid, I have felt that I was meant for something big. Something extraordinary. Something important. I’d be happy, I’d be content, and I would be so because I capitalize on whatever it is that’s inside me. My heart, my mind, my passion… maybe my drive, my knowledge, or my talent…

I have instinctively known that somehow, someway, I’d be living a life where I knew that all my dreams could come true if only I asked them to.

…and today, on my 34^th birthday, when I stopped to think about it, I remembered that I was born at 6:49 in the morning.

I’d already won the lotto before I took my first breath.

Thanks, mom.

You may now commence your ‘Whoop-Whoop!’ing.

Today is the last day that I will be 33 years old. When I turn 34, that means that I will have only 89 days before I fly to Africa.

That scares the crap out of me, man.

I bought a Lonely Planet East Africa guide yesterday. I balked at the $41 price tag, but about 5 minutes after I started reading it, I realized that it was pretty much priceless. I have to get from Kigali, Rwanda to Kilimanjaro, and figured out that I can either fly there for about $75, or I can take a bus for about $10. Obviously the frugal part of me knows that the bus is the better choice. But then I started to think about it… do I really want to take a bus through Rwanda? No offense, but no. No, I don’t.

I’d like to see Africa yes, but I don’t want it to be the last thing I see, you know? Maybe I’m overreacting. I’m not sure. I really have no idea what to expect. I’m the type of person that likes to be organized and have things planned out well in advance. I can’t do that with this trip, and this is the trip that I would like to have planned out as far in advance as possible.

But… what will be will be. Maybe in my old age I’m learning to just let go of things and ‘take it as it comes’. If that’s what 34 is all about, then I welcome it!

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Today’s Kili Gala Raffle Draw prize comes courtesy of Local Awesome Guy Tyler Garnham. When I was in 5th grade, my family moved to a new home in Ladner, and it just happened to be next door to where Tyler’s family lived. Being about 5 years older than I am, Tyler was ‘That Cute Boy‘ that lived on my street back then, and he was most assuredly the reason why I had so many girlfriends that wanted to play at my house.

In high school, Tyler was one of those Nice Guys that said hello to everyone, even to the 8th grade dorky chick with the mullet that lived next door to him. He could very well have been like those jean-jacket-wearing, puffy-haired weenies that liked to walk into mulleted waifs like me, but he wasn’t. Thanks Tyler!

I remember thinking that Tyler was really, like, you know, cool n’ stuff because he was like, you know, super like, talented n’ stuff when it came to like, arts n’ graphics n’ stuff. I also thought that he was probably pretty awesome because he got to hang out with Mr. Pelletier a lot. And THAT GUY was cool. Way cooler than Mr. Moorehead… but maybe not as hot. Ohhhhh man, Mr. Moorehead was really attractive! I mean, all of us girls would just pray that we got him as a teacher, and he was the only reason why we all looked forward to receiving our class schedules in August. Yah, he was pretty dreamy…

Wait. Where was I going with this?

RIGHT! Tyler… ok, so turns out that Tyler is uber-talented! I mean, sure we all saw that coming, but it’s great to see that he’s been able to make a living off of it. See? Nice guys DO finish first.

Tyler has donated a phenomenal photograph to the Raffle Draw. This is so totally, like, rad isn’t it!? Yah, I know! The Kili Gala now offers you an opportunity to have a Tyler Garnham photo in your home. No, not a photo OF Tyler Garnham, a photo BY Tyler Garnham. Settle down, ladies.

So, come on out to The Kili Gala on June 5th, and throw your raffle ticket(s) in for this truly awesome prize.  You’re going to be so glad that you did.