Celebrate Good Times

Happy New Year! Thanks again for following my antics and joining me on this scenic detour through conundrums, coincidences, and sticky situations Fate is leading me on. I think I’ll get to a good place, but what’s the point of the journey if there are no good stories to show for it? Correction. To ‘show for it, eh’?

I must start using that exclamation liberally now that it has been one calendar year (and four months) since my poker faced spouse, P, my four year old cutie pie, Lanes, and I moved to Canada. It seems like eons have passed by since 2011 came about.

A year ago to date, P was fastidiously crafting resumes regardless of what was going on around him. I could have done the cancan with a bunch of cartoon rabbits and he still would have had no clue.  He was a man on a mission and he was going to find some employment come hail or high water (in our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment you can take that statement literally--we've had hunky firemen in our living room to show for it).

Lanes was just starting at a decent preschool and trying to make friends however it is that preschoolers do. She was just three then. As for me, I was new to a fully domesticated life, and I was just dealing with being a full time mom.  Having evaded cooking all this time, I finally realized that a spatula is not something surgeons holler for in TV hospital shows.

This year, P is at least at a temp job. The jury is still out on that, but it’s nice that he gets to leave the house and come back, regardless of how pitiful the pay is. Some job is better than no job. Lanes, now four, has her little clique of pals at her preschool. She excited about going to ‘big kids’ school’ (also known as kindergarten) in September. She is under the impression that that is a really big deal and no longer aspires to be a pirate or a parrot.

As for me, on the rare occasions that we do get to go to dinner parties and meet new people, I no longer have to mumble that Lanes is my job and my days are spent doing laundry, evading neighbors and shoving things in the oven. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but folks do then seem to sympathize and want to move onwards with the conversation. I almost feel like spicing it up by saying things like ‘oh and last Friday I discovered a rare breed of hissing porcupines’.  Just to liven things up.

This week, there was another spate of parties to celebrate the season and the usual question came up. As a reflex, I mumbled, ‘I write. I’m a writer!’. At first the words came out funny. Like the time I saw a beautiful coat and was sure it was too small for me but when I tried it on, it was so perfect, it could have been tailor made for me.  I said the words unbelievably at first, but then it fit like a pen clutching glove.

Between this blog, putting a book out on Kindle and working back achingly hard on my children’s book, I think I have earned that title (in addition to full time mom).  I was deliriously excited to have this new way to describe myself.  My usually short-winded spouse, P, fluttered towards me the first time I said it and chirped in ‘yes yes she is, she is a writer!’.  I was so delighted, I didn’t give him dirty looks when he snored that night.

We did a lot of waiting around in 2011. First, for Lanes’ PR card, which was missing in action for awhile, for no fault of ours. We waded blindly through our mail every day till it arrived (mind you we did see a postal strike this year). 

Second, for P’s job situation to balance out.  We waited in deafening silence for the phone to ring with that all important call. Third, for me to sort out my driver’s license.  We drove around in stunned silence while I navigated the narrow roads of the city.

All in all, we welcome 2012 with open arms. We hope it will bring good health and happiness to all those we love.  We will be ringing in the New Year just the three of us for the first time this year though, as my nutty sister and her family just landed in Seattle after visiting my parents’ in the motherland, where my father is going through yet another bout of chemo and dealing with cranky folks who won’t leave a sick person alone (that’s a whole other blog).

We were hoping to let Lanes stay up and party with us, because really no party is complete without her. We never have any idea what will come out of her mouth (I wonder where she gets that from?).   Her eyes were drooping by 10pm and she is now gurgling slightly in her sleep. 

P and I are waiting eagerly for midnight and the dawn of a New Year! Right after the wishing and clanking of glasses, P is going to brush his teeth and snuggle up with a book as it's way past his bedtime, and I am going to jump on the couch and channel surf and stay up way later than anyone's bedtime. We're rebels I tell you, rebels! Lanes will probably wake up around then and jump into our bed, or as she says it, the magic fairy brings her there, and she is not coming out of her own volition. 


I hear 2012 is the Year of the Dragon, according to the Chinese Calendar. As I am a ‘dragon’ , a feisty rather than ferocious one (although I do have quite the temper) I’m really hoping it will be a good one.

I think it’s about time everyone had a really good year, I even wish that for my crazy tummy rubbing neighbor who thinks I need a work out.  On that note, I have one hour to midnight so I better go and do something unusual like comb my hair and doll myself up for 2012. So happy happy New Year everyone, and to all more musings next week, where my shenanigans might lead me to save a furry friend or step up towards a long shelved aspiration...

Not Blue, Not White, But Just Right

I might as well have been stuck in a cocoon for the last week. I have no idea where the time went or what happened. All I know was that my four year old, Lanes, was home with holidays and I was preparing for the first party we were hosting this month. With Lanes constantly in the kitchen with me, and getting underfoot while I was trying to do all things domestic, I’m afraid I just over did things a bit! A lot of chocolate was consumed--by me.

First off, I catered for twice as many folks as we actually had. I don’t know what I was not thinking.  My gastronomically frugal spouse, P, is now looking rather pale at the prospect of having various reincarnations of meatloaf for the remainder of the week, when party number two comes along and yet another meatloaf surfs his way. I guess I could change the menu, but since I’m distracted with Lanes, I don’t see that happening.

I had over prepped for the party and when the time came for our guests to arrive, I went for a shower and came out feeling really wiped out. I realized that they were fun down to earth folks, and just went for a home and home meal instead of a decked out holiday feast.  We really enjoyed their company, although my OCD acted up and I had to clean up as I went along. I told them its part of my ‘charm’ (read, I’m a nutjob, but a loveable one--you know you're old when you don't even try to hide these things).

The next day, we went for a late lunch at their place and for the first time since we moved to Canada, we had a fun time without worrying about Lanes at all! This was mostly because Lanes was busy with their children and the kids of another couple, who are also our friends. We actually got to play a game without having Lanes run off with a deck of cards or trying to swallow the dice. We don't meet up often at all, so it was really quality time.

As a result of the flurry of activity of the week, when everything was all done and Lanes was occupied playing with the toys Santa brought with her dad, I fell into a deep dreamless slumber.  My back and shoulder pain and heartburn had returned at the end of this week, like unwanted guests and I just was beyond functioning!

Lanes is rather sad that Santa didn’t bring her a yoyo, even after she asked him for it so nicely, so now I’m on a mission to find a lightweight version of one. Good luck to me.  I’m very determined to do this because although she was bummed out, she didn’t sulk and she appreciated what she did get. I’m glad they kept her busy for today. Too bad kids have the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to these things.

In other news, we went out around the neighborhood and Lanes was making snide comments about my driving. I brilliantly wanted to parallel park on a hill and Lanes squealed ‘oooh, I don’t want to look, I’m closing my eyes!’ and P stopped muttering under his breath to burst out laughing. Luckily for me, I was concentrating so hard that I missed the comment. 

Before that she was pleading with me not to go too far and that perhaps its better if Daddy drove. At the end of the day she told me I did a good job and gave me directions on how to get to our parking lot. I guess this is how the term backseat driver came about. Someone must have been driving around with their preschooler.

All in all, our holiday season was cozy. We have a few more dinner parties to go to, at the homes our new friends we made in Canada. This is first Christmas holiday season that P and I are without our families, and we thought it might be sad, especially with Lanes wishing she was with her cousins in Seattle, but all three of us, had a lovely day. Our own little family.  So it wasn’t blue.

Lanes was hoping for a dusting of snow, but we got only rain. So it wasn’t white. But I think, all in all it was just right.  I must sign off now because I’m still in pain and really tired. For your amusement and in honor of our crazy a$$ ghetto fabulous apartment, I have changed the words to ‘Deck the Halls’ to the following song below—Seasons Greetings to all! More musings from BC next week…

Duck! The walls are wet and moldy

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Move  in here, ’n you’ll be sorry

Fa la la lala, la blah blah blah.

Board the lifts at your own peril,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

See what happened to poor ole Sheryl,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Pipes are bursting right before us,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Fireman dash to save this circus.

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Now my friends have made a wager,

Fa la la la la , la blah blah blah.

To see when we’ll snap with displeasure.

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Halls are full of nicks and gashes,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Tenants fear as each day passes.

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Duck! The walls are wet and moldy,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Move in here ’n you’ll be sorry.

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Heater’ s on no matter the weather,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

So our skin now looks like leather,

Fa la la la la, la blah blah blah.

Silent Night, Jingle Some Bells

I have lost my sanity, my wallet, and my ability to apply logic when dealing with a preschooler. Luckily, I found my wallet, which was ‘misplaced’ by tiny sticky fingers. As for my good friends, sanity and logic, is it possible to lose something one never had much of anyways?

Turns out all grand plans to work hard on my children’s book are on hold—possibly till after January.  Considering the migraine I was getting trying to figure out technical requirements, I am kind of happy to be taking a break from it.  I just can’t figure out how to shrink things in terms of megabytes and increase things in terms of dots per image.

It seems for print options, providing I get so far, I have to click on the color with bleed option.  Why is it bleeding? It’s bloody alright, bloody annoying! If I have to bring in the professionals, it will cost me not only an arm and a leg but possibly a kidney and the village idiot from my hometown. I just think I’ll spare myself, and by default, my long suffering spouse, P, the drama this holiday season.

I’m banking on being brighter in 2012. I’ll figure it all out then (when my four year old, Lanes, is back in school). Now that she is officially on holiday, I’m never getting any work done any old how. I’m constantly dragged into one activity or another, and I'm unable to have a moment to myself.

I also hate to admit it, but I’m missing my nutty sister, who used to annoy me by calling twenty five times a day--so that I could stay on the line while she discussed the days grocery list with her children.  She has run off to the motherland with her family to see our parental units, something my Lanes is fortunately not yet aware of.

My little one is planning on running down to Seattle to have a jolly Christmas celebration with her cousins. It’s going to be a long long day for us in Burnaby when the 25^th rolls along and she discovers she only has her loving mom and dad for company.

A note for those of you who feel sorry for me, I am accepting Kit Kat bars.  For now I’m just using the ‘there is still lots of days before Christmas’ excuse. Thank goodness she is still a little hazy on the concept of time (conveniently so at bed time).

Meanwhile, we are not without our usual performances. I got myself a tiny metallic purple case (yes, I know—it suited my needs but not my taste) to fit in a few credit cards and more importantly, our Care Cards (you need to have those cards swiped in whenever you go to a clinic or hospital). Not wanting to lose it in the less than savory locker room before our final swim class, I left it at home. If it fell on that floor, I wouldn't want it back!

When we returned, I was in whirlpool mode, trying to do laundry in the basement while hoping the elevator would not get stuck, cooking dinner on one side while lecturing Lanes about eating lunch on the other—the usual good stuff. I stopped short of waxing the car and reviving my aloe plant. The next morning, I realized my little ‘wallet’ was missing.

It was on Lanes’ table and she described in great detail the place she last saw it (where I put it), so I knew she had a hand (literally) in its disappearance.  Since it was shiny, I kicked myself for being so careless and too tired to sort myself out.

Lanes is a lot like a magpie. If anything is sparkly, she will take it and bury it somewhere in her room. When cleaning it’s amazing the amount of pennies, Christmas ornaments and a couple of notorious times, her father’s wedding ring and car keys, can be found wedged in between rubber duckies and bed time books. If it shimmers, she will come. Somewhere out there a prom is missing its disco ball.

After much panicking on my part, and I must say, lots of praying, it was discovered buried deep in a box inside her closet.  Lanes was all big eyed and her eyebrows were as high as the ceiling thinking trouble was coming, but P talked to her and an apology was issued and accepted.

She was back to her usual bouncy, chatty, food rejecting self.  Her music, art and swim classes have all ended, and she spends her days excitedly awaiting the dawn of Christmas (and her alleged trip to my sister’s place). 

She is also very concerned that Santa might not show up with the yoyo she so longs for (I think it’s going to end badly for my cranium if that wish is granted).  Annoyed that I will not buy her a brother or sister from the supermarket, Lanes has major plans to capture Santa and have him be her play mate. Yep. Again. Long night.

While my life has revolved around Lanes, P is in negotiations with his work place, trying to figure out how they can make him permanent.  I guess whatever happens, at least he has Canadian work experience now.

In other news, I’m having battles with telemarketers. Lately, some jokers keep calling and asking about the quality of my child’s education.  The guy I spoke to barely spoke English, yet he managed to be rude. I was not sure if he was the real deal or part of a phone scam.

After he realized we had no kids who are going to school (meaning grade 1 and up) he wanted to know about my friends and relatives who have kids in that criteria.  There was no way I was going to give out that information, but since I was busy downloading a Santa video for Lanes, I had no time to think on the fly, so I said we just moved to Canada and I had no family or friends that qualify for his survey.

Then this guy tells me he hopes that I will have a better approach to life! I told him I hope he has a better approach to the English language and hung up! He was being rude and snappish earlier and I was forcing myself to be polite and stay on the line considering tis the holiday season and all. So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt that perhaps maybe he is not a jackass but just misusing his words.  

My brain is not working any more since I’m exhausted. We had a long day today with loads of errands. I finally got my wish for Pyrex dishes.  I can’t believe they make me so happy. With that I’m off to have a chocolate before the song and dance I have to do to get through bedtime with Lanes. Hopefully we will have a more fun week coming up. Tidings of joy from BC next week…

Happy Holla Daze

This week, eight years of marriage were celebrated, seven days of busy work were wasted, four birthdays were forgotten, two old men were unwittingly rescued, and one brilliant surprise arrived in the mail. Welcome to my world. 

The week started happily with our anniversary on Monday. As I have very little time and even less mobility, my poor spouse, P’s, present was probably the most boring it has ever been since we met—clothes.  What was sad was that I was hoping for Pyrex dishes or a saucepan in return. 

Considering I  didn’t cook until 2010, that’s saying a lot.  If someone made a movie of our lives, it would certainly not be a romantic film, or even a romantic comedy, but probably a mockumentary.

Meanwhile, the madness continues in my crazy neighborhood.  Friday was my day for rescuing random old men.  I had coffee with one of the mom’s from my four year old daughter, Lanes’, preschool, and since I have the sense of direction of a blind folded penguin, I was ambling along and swearing because I was losing my way and I didn’t bother to use the facilities before leaving her home.  

I have a horrible knack of making nonsensical decisions.  The name of my autobiography will be ‘Against Better Judgment: How to Sit Around Doing Nothing But Defying Common Sense’. The icy cold breeze didn't help the situation and I was wondering what I would do if I got lost.

I was jet propelling myself down hill, willing my bladder to cooperate when an elderly gentleman crossed my path. He started talking to me and I had to slow down since he was walking with a cane—on the middle of the road. The path was frosty and he said he had to go on a narrow stairway on the edge of the hill to get to his house.

I have a major soft spot when it comes to the elderly and animals. I was determined to see him home safely, whether he wanted me to or not. I didn’t want him to feel like I thought he couldn’t manage, but the ice covered stairs were sparkling menacingly, and I knew I’d be wondering if he made it home if we went our separate ways. 

Much to my bladder’s despair, I pretended I was going his way and asked if he could help me down the stairs.  He looked at me quizzically, and I hoped he didn't see through my plans, but he went with it.  I guess I looked harmless enough. By that time, I had found the right road for me as well and I never walked home faster in my life!

Later that same day, after I got Lanes from preschool, I bumped into my nice Italian neighbor who seems to think that my name is Sweetie.  He was in a spin because we had lost electricity a couple of weeks ago and it had done something to his computer. He insisted that since I was old enough to be his granddaughter (ok, fine, daughter), I was sure to be able to fix his machine. I tried to explain to him that I was more likely to nix it but he was not having it.

Lanes and I reluctantly followed him—there is one thing I learnt—there is no point arguing with old people. If all failed, I’d unplug and plug in his computer. After pressing enter several times, his computer was revived and he was so delighted, Lanes got a sugar free ice cream cone out of the deal (the look of disgust on her face when she dug into it was priceless).

Turns out the nice Italian man is really Spanish and now he knows my name is not Sweetie, but insists Lanes’ name is ‘Beauty!’.  I must say Lanes does not mind at all, because the next day when he brought a homemade dish for us by way of thanks, she tried to share her toys with him. 

Her father, was looking confused and wondering why there was a stranger in the apartment and why he came bearing treats.  The nice Spanish man recounted the tale of his computer with great gusto and anyone would have thought I saved it from being run over my a Mac truck while simultaneously whipping up pancakes. P, surprised at my sudden technical prowess, was amused when I told him later that I just pressed 'enter' for all it was worth.

As a reward for my ‘good deeds’, I got a lovely surprise in the mail. No, not rainbow colored dinosaurs, geriatric rock stars, or chocolate treats. My driver’s license! Finally, after months falling downhill on foot and rolling up to red lights in a rickety car with a screaming driving instructor, my dream came true. I’m 100% motorized.

I no longer need a ‘chaperone’ with me to drive around town.  I might have to get a sign for my car--yes P, your car is now officially ours. Instead of ‘baby on board’, I might get ‘babe on board’. When I get down in the parking lot, those reading it will still be waiting for the babe to get out—sadly those days are long gone now that my hips and stomach are into acquisitioning more space. But at least my hair looks good.

So this is how I wound up getting my license. Last week, I mentioned I went in to inquire about swapping my US driver’s license for a BC one. I did this while holding onto P’s car keys so that they will subliminally think of me as a driver—for what it’s worth. They wanted to get a sealed copy of my US driving record, which I dutifully secured (after much ado after failing to navigate websites).

I then took it in, and before there was any more deliberation on the matter, I just said in a matter of fact way that they said I could do the swap if I brought in this document and voila there it is so I’m ready for my headshot. I wanted to grin like a jackass, but I was kindly asked to keep a neutral facial expression. And there you go! Or rather, there I go: )

The rest of the week, I have been working really hard on my children’s book.  I had written it back in the day and illustrated all but the last two pages of it.   The colors had run into each other, so I scanned the artwork and I was fixing it on the computer. I am having a really hard time figuring out the technical issues and various rules that CreateSpace has for uploading the book. 

I’m assuming not being able to upload the book is a bad thing. On their website you can click an icon and they call you back immediately. I have been clicking so much on that thing, they must be thinking I’m a lonely cat lady that gets a kick out of getting call backs.

One night when I was sitting in a cloud of gloom, my four year old, Lanes, came up to me and said ‘don’t be sad, Mamma. Take a deep breath’. She gave me a gooey kiss and everything was ok—for about twenty minutes after that.

I must sign off now and squint and mutter at the computer when I can’t figure out trim sizes and some weird thing called a dpi.  I see dpi and think dipstick. Apparently, it's dots per image, whatever that means. If there is something wrong with the images and they fail to upload and my days and nights of hard work are wasted, I'm going to cry! Lanes goes on holiday after next week and then any chances of me getting work done are slim to none.

I have been so obsessed that I have not noticed time passing and I missed wishing my dear friends on the right day for their birthdays. In my head, it’s November 28. I learnt the hard way, when Lanes’ teacher was reminding me of the holiday party, that it is really December, and almost mid-December at that. Even when I rest my eyes, I see pages from the book and I just can't sleep due to anxiety of not being able to figure out how to hand in this work.

All I want for Christmas is for a tech guru to solve my problems. Meanwhile, it’s back to pressing that ‘call me’ button on the publisher's webpage. I wonder how long before they put a warning on my number or blow up my picture for dart practice. More shenanigans from BC next week…

Getting Inaction, Oops, I Meant In Action

This week it was all about being proactive. I decided I would work on this writing thing, finally go in and see what can be done about my driver’s license, and get a grip on those dreaded swimming lessons, that are not even for me, but for my four year old daughter, Lanes. Most of those things didn’t quite go according to plan, and I’m typing this entry with banged up knees and toes. Egos were not bruised in this episode, mostly because they were already deflated to begin with.

Bolstered by newfound enthusiasm after self publishing a work for the first time last week, I decided, rather insanely, that I would bring back to life the children’s book I did back in 2004.  It was written and illustrated and has been sitting in my closet with a solitary pack of silica gel.

The thing is, one tiny packet does not provide a strong line of defense against moisture and most of my artwork is in a very pathetic state. Considering each page took me two days back in the BC (Before Child) days, redrawing and coloring every page with a curious four year old is not a viable option.

Then I had a brainwave to scan the pictures and fix them on this Paint program. It has been so time consuming that I am only one page two. Cleaning has gone to dust, cooking has gone to pots, and I look like I’m giving Einstein a run for his money in the ‘How Not to Do Your Hair’ and 'That's Why We Don't Stick Things in Electrical Outlets' contests. When I close my eyes I see colors and pixels and I’m a mess.

I am thinking of shelving the entire idea. Now the words that seemed so interesting back in the day have lost their luster and the artwork looks asinine. Then again art is in the eye of the beholder, and  I can pretend that the characters are supposed to have heads twice as big as their torsos. A complete control freak (stress is on the second word), I refuse to let anyone help with the drawings. Yep, I think I’m just going to go back to being a mom thinking of a 9-5 job.

In my misery, I have shoveled several Kit Kat bars down my throat. I have been excited about this book for forever and now I’m not so sure. It’s like going to a school reunion and seeing an old crush and thinking, ‘oh my gosh, what happened to that guy? Yikes’.  That old spark was just not there.

My spouse of few words, P, thinks that I’m being hard on myself and that I should go for it. I guess it’s a good sign about the book because he is one of those guys who always just speaks the truth. Never ask him if you look fat. He will tell you. He even doesn’t care what he gets for dinner because he says it’s nice to see me finally being so driven about something.

Speaking of being driven, I hope to be driving soon, and hopefully without my narcoleptic drill instructor, I mean driving instructor.  Remember, the one with a penchant for shouting ‘Fail!’ every thirty four seconds?  I finally went into the DMV (I think in Canada it’s called something else, but you know what I mean). P was laughing at me because I grabbed the spare car keys and walked in with that and my US driver’s license.

I had a theory that if they see me holding the car keys they will have the image of me confident behind the wheel on a subconscious level and therefore want to help me get my license. I mean if I have a legitimate US license, plus the driving record I secured online, surely that must count for something.

Turns out I have to bring in an unopened copy of my driver’s record and then their people can talk to my people and finally Lanes and I can go to school and back without having to worry out about coming round the mountain and sliding down a hill.  Hopefully, everything will work out. P is still laughing at me and my car key subliminal message theory, but now I think he is considering using these tactics at his temp job.

Where psychology is not helping me, is in the pool with Lanes. It seems that I was happily doing kicks and dances and laughing at my fear of water because the water only came to my hips. Apparently, there is a deep end, and today Lanes and I found that out the hard way.

After going through that miserable, wet, hair infested changing room with women with no clothes, we got into the pool to find out her regular instructor was not there and no one else showed up for class. Lanes was not amused, and the new guy took us to the deep end. The deep end for big people.

I nearly died. The only thing that kept me from having an anxiety attack was trying to show a brave face for Lanes. It might have been obvious because another instructor told me to stop at the red line because I can’t walk anymore from that point. 


I don’t know what gave away my fear and inability to swim. Perhaps it was that I was gripping to the side of the pool for dear life, not even letting go to make way for her students—who might have been eight years old.

I told Lanes’ teacher he was on his own. It was all too much for me and I felt horrible, watching her bobbing in the water with someone she was not familiar with. Luckily, she was distracted by a red watering can floating by and she was ok to be without me for a few moments.

When they came back to me, I was feeling uneasy as there were many people swimming near me and I wanted to cling onto the edge of the pool. Lanes jumped onto my shoulder when she saw me and in my desperation to stay latched the side and cling onto her at the same time, I wobbled (can anyone else wobble in water?), and crashed into an inanely placed bunch of concrete stairs in the odd shaped pool.

I scratched my knee and it’s swollen. I couldn’t figure out why there were so many random steps, because I won’t put my head under water, and then I bashed my toe on another step and nearly stumbled. I had to hoist Lanes onto the instructor, who was blissfully ignorant of my shenanigans, and compose myself. If I lost footing and my neck or head went under water, I would have made a spectacle of myself by having a panic attack.

I’m not so sure the lessons are going swimmingly for me! I can’t wait to get to the point where parents are not allowed to be in the pool. Hopefully, next round, it won’t be a requirement anymore. I really hope we don’t have to go in the scary side of the pool next time.

All in all, this week I have at least set the wheels in motion when it comes to writing and driving. I’m never going to get over the swimming thing, so let’s just let that be. Any thoughts I was harboring about taking lessons for myself are lost and gone forever after today. I would also like to give a shout out to my handsome and brilliant nephews who are having their birthdays this weekend! Here’s to better tidings from BC next week…