Our handmade Christmas tree

Sebastian and the Christmas Roman

Gettin in the spirit if things

I guess it's inevitable that the older you get the more people you know die. There's something about December and the holidays that seem to be an extra common time of year to lose someone. I'm not sure why that is, but it's true. It's been a year since Rio's suicide, a day I don't think I could ever forget. I also found out the other day that a friend of mine from Victoria just died of cancer. It's strange to suddenly have this time of year laced with something other than light-hearted anticipation and time with family. I'm sure there will be more December deaths over the years. There's something  about having a friend's suicide on the mind at this time of year that especially cheapens the aspects of Christmas I already dislike. But death is the most inevitable part of life. I want to a way over time to celebrate a more honest holiday that can incorporate the realistic parts of our lives without it feeling completely bizarre.

us, last fish tacos of the season

and the rain begins...

in the yard

cooking is the new `gardening`

always with the cheesy santa nightlight... 

Our Holiday Pop-up Shop

Oh, December. There's something kind of twisted about December being a much needed break for me this year because it's generally a pretty busy, demanding month, no? But it is; at least, one of these days it will be. I'm done with trips to the city and class until January, and am preparing to just relax for a week or two before doing some stock writing, starting two freelance editing jobs, finishing off Christmas preparations, etc.etc.etc. Sebastian and I had the flu this week and are still recuperating in this very cluttered and messy house. It's taking all the strength to not rampage around the house right now, but instead sit down with a good book and knitting projects for our Pop-up Shop, which opened at the Shed yesterday. It's running for eight days total, this weekend and next weekend, and is brimming with precious found and crafted local items we've collected from the community. This is something I wanted to take part in in Montreal but never got my act together. Tomorrow I'll kick off my true vacation with an americano, knitting in hand, laid back in this adorable little Christmas shack on the water. I will try to post some more photos in the weeks to come.
I've found myself more generous towards Christmas this year. I hung lights outside. I've put together plans for a wooden Christmas tree for Alex to make. I'm not entirely disgusted; I'm a little excited. Don't get me wrong, I do love opening gifts (I just hate having to deal with them afterwards) and I love getting together with family, and having any excuse for a big meal.  
But I have beef on both a personal level and a social level. On one hand, I'm not a Christian, and I'm minimalistic. So on both accounts Christmas is a bit of an affront. I have to politely overlook worshipping something I don't believe in, and I have to be bombarded with things which, for the most part, I don't want.
I've learned to smile and say thank you and not feel guilty about promptly thrifting gifts that don't have meanings or uses. Everyone has excessive gift-givers in their lives. My theory is that they give gifts because it's how they show their love, and it makes them feel good. I think in a roundabout way it's a bit selfish to give people things they don't need or really want. I find it overwhelming and a bit of an anti-present. I spend days and days reorganizing and decluttering after a bit gift-giving event. It's wasteful.
My biggest issue though is this: every time we get new items as presents, it's something else that's eventually going to end up in the landfill, and if it's not a natural material, it's going to be there for a long, long time. I find this particularly ironic and frustrating with gifts for kids. It's a gift for about a day, or a month, or maybe a year at best. After that, it's one of the biggest anti-gifts you could give the next generation, and future generations. It's more shit for them to deal with later. It's more decay, more waste, more pollution, more reliance on and support for foreign industry that produces nothing but more shit, more trouble. It's further contributing to creating a society that places highest value in material possessions. It's overlooking beautiful things that already exist and need to be reused, recycled, whatever. It's contributing to a disposable idealism. Yah, it probably sounds smug or over-the-top to some. But I really do think it's true, and I think if we really love the people we're giving gifts to we will consider a more holistic approach to gift-giving, not just appealing to the consumer side of each of us.
There's a theory about the Seventh Generation that I try to think about every time I make a purchase. Admittedly, I've gotten totally sucked into thinking about stuff especially for Sebastian. I find myself buying him things he doesn't need, or accepting new things instead of second-hand. We could definitely be doing better with consumption, and it's something I definitely take seriously. At this time of year especially I have to pause and ask, Is it actually a good gift? Is it going to be something positive for the receiver's future, and, ideally, their kids and theirs? Or is it something designed to make someone feel good for a tiny amount of time?

It's been stormy here off and on for a week or two. A lot of ferries have been cancelled, power outages, rainfall warnings and many indoor days. This is winter on the West Coast. It hits the islands especially hard, or anywhere that relies on the ferry, like here. You have to consider what you'd do if the infrastructure keeping you fed and warm should fail, if only for a week or two. Aside from being in a high-risk earthquake area, we rely on the ferries so much. A lot of the time in the winter they can't dock because of high swells and wind. It's usually okay here, because we're pretty sheltered, but we've already had a couple of power outages. So, amidst our crazy schedules, we're also trying to adapt and prepare for winter, something we haven't had to think of much living in cities for so long.

There are some items we've stocked up on:
beeswax candles
flashlights
camping stove
cast iron pans
fire wood

There are some things we still need:
more of everything
matches
batteries
a store of easily cooked "emergency" food
non-cordless phone
back up water (the water stores eventually go dry when the power is out)
old pots and pans for fire cooking

Meanwhile, we've been battling the ultimate West Coast winter problem: mould. Even living in Victoria I've had some bizarre mould encounters, and it rains so much less there. There was the orange shelf fungus I found beside my bed in the Rainbow House (to which my guy roommates replied, oh yah that's where the little white mushroom used to be) and the completely moulded underside of one of Alex and I's mattresses (never put a mattress directly on the floor!). Also, just in general, how a loaf of bread would mould almost instantly in a cold, damp house. I'm sure I have some other scarring mould stories that I've just blocked out of my mind.
Alex said something the other day that really stuck with me. I think he was just making a philosophical comment about life everywhere, but on a literal level it seemed particularly poignant here in BC. He said that we're all just constantly fighting against decay but that decay is nature. Here, it almost seems like our houses are being engulfed by nature, especially in the winter. Almost nothing you do can stop it. Our house has been almost completely redone in the last couple years, we don't have that much stuff to constrict air flow, we keep the heat on, we have new windows and so on. But we still find mould, pink, green, and, unfortunately, black. It's just surface mould, but it's a big job to maintain it. It seems like it can appear in one damp afternoon. We've made some storage adjustments, gotten rid of many things we don't need, and wiped everything down with natural bleach. Every morning we wipe all the windows down and once and awhile we check on all the nooks and crannies. So far it seems under control again.

Today, we have a rare day of sunshine. We've got to get outside and soak it all up.

A belated Halloween picture

We think he was a French pirate but you'd have to ask him.

It's Autumn. I haven't been in this part of the province for anything other than summer and the odd winter weekend since I was seventeen. On the Coast, you're immersed in the elements with few distractions and so far I think it's a great thing. The infamous rainforest downpours haven't started yet; we've been enjoying pretty mild and sunny days. Knowing it won't last, we've been spending as much time outside as we can. Alex works outside and travels to Keats Island on a tiny boat each morning. He's also never lived in a small town, so I'm especially interested in seeing how the winter is for him. The weather dictates our days but also local harvests. We've been getting as much food from the roadside stands at farms in the Henry Reed area of Gibsons. Every time I go there's something slightly different, depending on the growing week and the weather. Right now there's obviously a lot of squash, kale, chard and garlic. There's also peppers, hot and sweet, and broccoli. We've had bundles of apples from Keats and up the road and the Wilson Creek farms which we're getting through a bit too quickly. The biggest harvest right now though is mushrooms. Plywood signs advertise mushroom buyers for local pickers along the highway. There are big luscious chanterelles in our fridge. After the great garden massacre (our garden got weedwacked and ripped out by our landlord, but don't get me started...), we've had to rely a bit more on the farms. But we still have arugula, radishes and a bit of lettuce clinging on through these frosty mornings.  

A cameraless family does not make for good bloggers. We have a video camera but it takes poor photos. We've  been using it for months, hence the odd quality. But, it's better than nothing.

Lazy Sunday bucket-standing

The delay in posts should give some indication of our lives since September. Gone are the days of seven-day work weeks (now we're down to six), though the days are still ever-demanding. But amidst all the activity one of us is always home with Sebastain, and on my days I try not to get anything done, but just sit with him and read, go for walks, stand with him as he explores the trails around Lower Gibsons, talks to dogs, and collects maple leaves. Every day I'm home with him is like a deep breath.
The days Alex is home with him I'm in Vancouver, commuting commuting, or I'm at the Shed down on the wharf enjoying the view and the suddenly lessened demand for burritos and tacos. I've got this eclectic jumble of days and I like it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on some aspects of the MFA program at UBC because of all this juggling and commuting (mostly the drinking aspect, although I think I've done okay thanks to the last ferry option), but I'm doing the best I can and I think I'm doing a good job so far. I just got a job as a "mentor" for a writer through Booming Ground which is exactly the sort of thing I needed more experience with when I'm thrust out of the university nest and looking for freelance editing work, should I head down that path. I've also been working on a series of Montreal poem for Rhea Tregebov's class which I'm really enjoying. I should also say that I owe all the manageable days to Alex, who has been extremely supportive of this whole Masters thing.
I think life has felt a bit chaotic because of the extra energy we've been giving our housing situation. We've been having some conflict with our landlord, which has reminded me of the overwhelming power human-drama can have on otherwise calm and satisfying days. The house came with some heavy personal and financial baggage that we were only peripherally aware of but has escalated to an uncomfortable degree. We've had to pause from our demanding projects and to-do lists, and take some time to really think about what's important to us, where we want to be, what kind of house we want and what kind of sacrifices we can make to get it. When we took this house we didn't know how committed we were to the Sunshine Coast, I didn't know how many days I would have to commute into the city, and we didn't know if we would be content here coming from Montreal. Now we have a better idea and are happy to stay on the Coast. The house is beautiful, and we've had an amazing summer here so close to the beach, swimming off the dock after work, having fires outside and gardening. But it's not a place we can stay long-term, and now we know we'd like to be somewhere with long-term in mind. So, come spring, if not sooner, we'll be finding somewhere to put some roots down for a while.

For a few days now Sebastain has been doing some serious work out on the deck. This work includes: a tin bucket of water, a stick, leaves and petunias. Someone's gotta do it. Aside from dismantling the (non)hanging basket and splashing the water, there has been a lot of sniffing the concoction, sniffing the bean plant and sniffing the flowers. But there have also been breaks to eat tomatoes off the vine and chew on tough bean stalks which were not left there to be eaten but to dry out for next year's seeds (ahem).
But this concoction business has lead to a lot of signing practice. This is the typical "conversation" we have out on the deck these days: patting his chest,  point to palm, finger to mouth which translates to... "help! more! water!" The "help" and "book" signs seem to be his favourite these days. We read so.many.books a day. I guess that makes sense if you know his parents...

 

   

Sebastian is starting to sign, which is exciting, although it doesn't seem like the dam has broken, so to speak. I remember when Olive learned to sign, seemingly all of a sudden, and as though she suddenly understood something wonderful about communication. I remember one day babysitting her and she just signed for food constantly. I think all we did that day was eat and eat and eat because it was a remarkable cause and effect for her. I think the fact that someone other than her parents understood and responded to sign language helped her understand the implication of a sign. But Sebastian is more of a pointer and yeller. I guess it's an effective form of communication on it's own; he usually gets what he's after pretty quickly despite our efforts to always show him the sign first. His "sign" for milk is to wiggle down in my arms as far as he can or just shove his hand down my shirt. His sign for "eat" or "more" is, like I said, just pointing and whining or yelling. It's funny teaching him to use the signs instead because although they are less annoying and somehow more impressive, they're likely less effective. I don't always catch his signs, but I do always hear him when he yells. Sometime I question whether or not it's worth it. I guess if he ever learns more sophisticated words like "cat" or "diaper" it will be worthwhile. Right now he signs "all done." It's an interesting first sign because in signing all done he's not asking for more, but just acknowledging the situation and shows us that he understands. Occasionally he seems to be signing for food. It's a tricky one to recognize because his fingers are often in his mouth. Today we stopped off at the Jean's, the food co-op out in the boonies, and he signed "eat" and pointed at the building. So I took him inside and bought him some strawberries. Lucky kid. 

It's late August. It's blackberry season. We're fortunate to have a gold mine of a laneway and property-boarder absolutely thick with blackberry vines. Coming from the west coast, it baffled me to see blackberries in plastic containers at Montreal and Ottawa markets selling for four or five bucks a pop, not only because they are such invasive weeds here but also because the blackberries out East actually taste nothing like blackberries. I've been trying to take full advantage of the season by getting out with Seb on my back in the Ergo once a day. He loves them, and is usually content to chill out there for an hour or so as long as he can graze on the fruit. Most of my clothes have dark purple stains down the back as a result of little sticky hands.
But we have competition! There's the old guy with a full body get-up, neck brace, handmade vine-grabbing tools, ladder, bucket-clipped-the-belt, and shears. It's intense. In the last few days he's been replaced by the industrious old Chinese ladies next door who done modest leather gloves but seem to be freakishly apt at this whole berry business. They're into making wine, and some sort of blackberry vodka mixture. But amidst the neighbourhood hunting and gathering there is enough to go around. We aren't as diligent as maybe we should be, but we still have at least five big freezer bags full and we aren't done yet. Alex even made some delicious jam the other day.
Other than the berries, the garden needs lots of daily harvesting attention. It's sometimes challenging to incorporate handfuls of kale, chard, calendular, squash blossoms and lettuce into every meal, especially when all we're craving these days is sushi or halibut burritos from The Shed. We also to have a never-ending supply of purple beans, basil, zucchini and new potatoes courtesy of our backyard, my ma's and the Roberts Creek Farm Gate market. But I've been determined to eat as much fresh backyard food as humanly possible and find ways to preserve the rest for less abundant days. Alex made and froze a big batch of fresh pesto last week from garden basil, kale and parsley. I've got a calendular infused oil experiment going on in a jar and paper bag on the porch. We're also trying to harvest as many seeds as we can for next year. It's not the simplest task. I feel like there's a lot to know; each fruit or plant has a different story. Right now I think I safely have a few packets of calendular and borage seeds. The last of the beans are drying on their stalks waiting to be harvested and preserved. The cilantro has gone to seed and we're waiting for it to dry out so we can have homegrown coriander seeds for curry and soups.
Meanwhile, I wait for and fawn over the squash in the garden. The plot they are in also holds some mammoth sunflowers and literally the most intense, prolific, sprawling tomato plant I've ever seen. Yesterday I stripped it of all it's remaining flowers and even tore off most of its fruitless branches and leaves to speed up the ripening process. The branches and leave filled half a five gallon bucket. We have them soaking in water near the fire pit for fertilizer. The squash on the other hand seem to be withering. We neglected to feed it, and judging from the health of the tomato plant I'd say it's leaching all nutrients right out from under the poor things. So I collected some seaweed from the beach, added some comfrey leave and compost and have that brewing as well, hoping the rich sludge which I dilute and water with each night will give some life to these sprawling plants.
I'm kind of in love with the garden right now. There's something so satisfying about watching the little fruits grow each day, knowing that I can help them if I pare here and there etc... Sebastian and I head out a couple times a day just to check things out, and some days when he is napping I just sit on the slope of the backyard amongst the sprawling vines with a book, or not, and feel utterly content.

The last few days have brought a subtle yet undeniable change in season. We've had almost nothing but beautiful sunny days here for weeks, and it continues, but something is evolving. The sunlight is a little different; it hits the garden differently, it's duller in our rooms at five am when Sebastian wakes up briefly for milk. The sea breeze is heavier somehow, weighted with something more than salt air. It's a strange time of year. There's always mild regret for all we haven't done this summer, and an excitement for what's to come. I love autumn. At this time of year I force myself to enjoy the last weeks of summer without thinking too intently about the changes ahead. The fall is rich with complexity, such an intriguing time. We've been fortunate to have so many people visit this summer. I wasn't sure what being immobile would be like after so much moving, but friends just keep passing through, seeking us out. In the last month or two we've had at least a dozen house guests, and several more in the next couple weeks. This week we had five alone. Some days we're tired, crave solitude but mostly we're happy to have people here, aware that the winter likely won't be so generous. We've been trying to spend as much time as possible at the beach, in the ocean, outside by the fire in the evenings. Sebastian and I wander out to the hilly garden every morning to see how things are growing. The peas, herbs and borage are done. The squash is just beginning. The strawberries never did happen, but the weed-like plants double and triple and quadrupled in quantity. The rest is in between. As the sun changes and the prehistoric-sized squash plants and sunflowers cast shadows on the rest of the plants we have to make tough decisions about what we want to survive the most. The zucchini, carrots, beets are hidden in the mass of cabbage and squash, and in the shadows of the pretty but otherwise useless (or should I say useful only with labour-intensive processing) calendular and sunflowers. Leaves are developing mildew because they're not getting sun. But it's amazing, really, how plants adapt. Their will to survive, the competitive nature when it comes to sunlight. We've crammed a hell of a lot of food into four small plots and I think it's all doing alright.
Right now I've got a one year old strolling around the house (he doesn't crawl anymore) singing, maybe a little bored, patiently waiting to go to the beach.

It's been a momentous week or two. We've gone from a baby who throws fits when diapered to a baby who sits happily on his mini toilet seat and pees while simultaneously requesting a story (we got him accustomed to the toilet through books). He is successfully going to the bathroom in the toilet almost every time when he's diaperless. Sometimes he crawls to the bathroom himself when he needs to go. I thought it would take so long, and that it would be difficult for him. I worried for a while it was traumatic for him and was really wary of continuing because I know a transition like toilet training can make such an impact on and be emotionally taxing for children. But after less than a week of struggle he's adapted really well. I still diaper him occasionally throughout the day, when we leave the house and while he sleeps, and I probably always will until he's toilet trained.
Meanwhile, the little guy will be one year old in three days. I'm sure there will be plenty of photos to post a la grandparent's cameras (ours is still broken). We also seem to be stockpiling little videos as he walks more and more so I'll try not to let the blog become devoid of images.

And just like that, the kid can walk (well, sort of). I think I'm almost as ecstatic as he is; I guess his enthusiasm is catching. All it took was five hours of driving to and from and around Powell River to see my good friend from Montreal Jessica and her boys Maxim and Benjamin. Benjo just learned to walk. He's a month older than Sebastian. They were roaming around the Laughing Oyster, Jess's family's restaurant, and something must have clicked in Sebastian because that night when we got home he took about five steps. There had been one-step attempts the day or two before and of course months of cruising and the occasional stiff-legged stand alone in the middle of the room. He's got places to go, this son of mine. He wants to move bad.They say it's great for a kid's left and right brain to crawl for as long as possible. It helps them with things like math later in life. But what can you do.
In one week it will be his first birthday. I'm so so excited. He doesn't have any baby friends in Gibsons yet. There are some acquaintances and likely candidates but so far his best buddy is three year old Uma. So there will be no birthday party. Instead we're going to have a big family dinner for him. Mary and Bob (Alex's parents) have been slowly making their was across the country from Ottawa in their Subaru and will arrive tomorrow for ten or so days. They're staying at a B&B a block away. I expect to find my son kidnapped as of tomorrow. I am prepared for that and hope I can be as generous as possible to make up for their missed months.
We've been having a pretty mild, cloudy summer so far but the last week has been sunny. The garden is exploding: tomatoes are ripening, the seventeen-pound-squash vines are looking prehistoric and trailing across the yard, the carrots are actually growing (for once) and we've been having garden salad at least once a day for a long time now. Alex, Sebastian and I try to swim at the beach every night when one or the other has finished work. The tide is always high, we walk down to the dock and take turns jumping in. It's paradise, truly. There's nothing like a swim in the early evening as the sun is hitting the last of the beach and the mountains and the water is calm and warmed from the day. I'm in awe of this place even after twenty-odd years.
There's been a big black bear hanging around the place. He sauntered through the neighbour's yard last week and Alex just returned from a walk at dusk and ran into it two streets over. He (and others who have run into it) says it looked about seven feet tall which for a black bear is pretty damn big. The coyotes, oddly, are still hanging around as well. I've run into them a couple times and we often seem then outside the house or lurking around the neighbour's yard at night. It's not abnormal, but it's something you look out for in a condensed populated neighbourhood like Granthams. At my childhood home it's not as big of a concern despite the wilderness of it because there's plenty of space for everyone.There's been a big black bear hanging around out there as well. Maybe it's the same one, who knows. Apparently a couple years ago there was a bear in the house next door's kitchen. The owners are away for months at a time and somehow a bear got in and helped itself. Ridiculous.

Sebastian's not down with diapers these days. I can't blame him. It only took a few attempts at pinning him down on the change table with all my one-handed strength and wrestling with a carefully folded cloth diaper to realize I'd have to let him be most of the time. After a week or two of cleaning up endless puddles of baby pee Alex and I decided to embark on "elimination communication" more seriously. I check Diaper-free Baby out of the library, learned a few things, mustered all the patience I could and have since being trying to coax him onto the toilet. He's not down with the toilet, either. No, he's fascinated with it but, until I came home with a secondhand baby toilet seat yesterday, he refused to use it. Many times throughout the day I watch him open and close the toilet lid, try to flush the toilet, occasionally I've even caught him elbow deep in toilet water. It's almost involved as much cleaning up as just letting him pee all over the place. But that's okay. The other day he saw me spit my toothpaste into the toilet bowl because I was hurrying to hold him over the seat. Since then he's stood at the toilet about twenty times a day and pretended to spit into the water with a cheeky smile on his face. Sometimes I think he's mocking me....
But I know there's a lot of un-training to do. The theory is that along with everyone else babies have the instinct to hold their bladders until they have somewhere other than their pants to go. Hence newborns often peeing as soon as the diaper comes off. But that instinct is muted with diapers until the time comes to toilet train, and by then a kid has followed his instinct for a brief time, been taught to deny it, then asked to reconnect with it. With this in mind, EC makes sense to me. More than half the world doesn't diaper their babies. How could they? It takes so much time, water, energy. They simply know when their kids are going to pee and help them do it somewhere appropriate.
So we're giving it a shot. I like to honour Sebastian's signs that he's ready for changes. With sleep, he led the way. He seems to know when he's ready to leave a phase behind, but needs a lot of help getting to the next stage. I'm happy to do that for him. Obviously the point here is not to potty train him yet, I wouldn't expect that from a one year old, but to respect that he doesn't want a diaper on and find ways to make that a more comfortable reality for us all. I'm not approaching it with full-fledged vigilance because I don't want Sebastian or I to stress out about it. So far I think we're making a little progress.

Rainy weather doesn't usually get me down. You can't think that way when you live in a rain forest. But it's been grey and rainy for weeks now. I mean, come on July. I swear I spotted some mould in the densest garden plot the other day. Weird insects are breeding in the calendular and cabbage; I'm a little squeamish every time I got out there. The cherries are rotting on the tree. How do farmers do it? How do they just fret at the window watching their survival means disintegrate in flood, drought, infestation? Anyhow, between our amateur garden and my mother's impressive permaculture set-up we're still getting a decent yield. Last night we ate peas, potatoes, kale, rosemary and radishes from the garden. We've been enjoying the handfuls of cherries off the tree that we can actually reach and are taking advantage of the neighbourhood farms' successes as well. Right now the sun is making a fair effort above heavy low-lying rain clouds; outside we go for a bit of vit D.

Aside from not having any new photos, I don't have much to say. The last week or two has left me drained. A combination of the family's seven-days-a-week work schedule, house guests, lack of sleep and so on. In times like this I think about weaning Sebastian more seriously. He'll be a year old in a couple weeks, which is the World Health Organization's recommended duration for breastfeeding. Not that I really care about what WHO has to say., and in fact I think it recommends breastfeeding for as long as possible after a year. Weaning is something that's been in the back of my mind for a few months now, probably since the thrush fiasco. I haven't thought about it seriously because I knew neither Sebastian nor I were ready, I wasn't going to wean him before his first birthday, and I wasn't by any means eager to stop. But, these days especially, I am increasingly aware of how independent he's becoming and also how physically demanding breastfeeding can be. Foolishly, and conflictingly because I don't really believe in taking supplements, I haven't regularly taken vitamins while nursing, and we've undergone a lot of changes and stresses in the last year. With the stable, relaxing yet continually demanding schedule of the summer I can finally take a breath, take some perspective and recognize how much energy this last year, last two years, has taken. I gave a lot of myself moving to Montreal, a lot of myself being pregnant, and a lot of myself to nurturing my son. Now I think I'm ready to start taking a bit back for myself. Travelling to Vancouver for grad school in September will certainly be a remedy that I'm looking forward to. But it will be physically taxing no doubt, and that's the main issue I have with breastfeeding these days. I can feel my body being extended a bit farther then it can handle. I'm eating well, lots of fresh veggies from the garden are now filtering into our kitchen, and I'm consuming more meat than I probably ever have from working at The Shed. I've switched to green tea instead of coffee for a while, and I'm taking really good quality Herbalife multi vitamins. I guess I don't want to weaning Sebastian to come from a negative place. I'd like to fully acknowledge what I'm doing, because I know it will be hard for him and I know it will emotional for me. So for now I'm trying to take better care of myself and I'm encouraging him to nurse less. By the time September comes around he might be down to a couple times a day, which would be a huge improvement for me, or I might just have more energy to give him. We'll see.

So, my camera broke. At least I think it did. I haven't given up hope yet but it doesn't look good. I suspect a single grain of sand in the lens. Sigh. There will be no more photos of the wee lad until further notice.
This leads me to consider the ridiculousness of a disposable culture. Computers, cameras, ipods, cellphones... these inventions are not meant to last more than a couple years because, obviously, by then we should have moved onto better, more impressive models. Well, when you're someone who doesn't give a shit about impressing yourself or others but just wants the many hundreds of dollars spent on each little piece of technology to function with a reasonable level of reliability, this culture is very frustrating. Thinking of all the crap like this going into the landfill is basically one of the most stressful things for me. The saddest part is that at this point in our lives I really, for the first time, value having a camera. I have come to love taking photos of Sebastian, our life, our home, the town etc... and sharing them, saving them for year to come. So now what?
I don't have the energy for a rant right now. I think we all know how it would sound. 

On his way home from work Alex pulled up a coworker's crap trap between Keats Island and the Gibsons pier and got these two beasts for dinner. When I got home I found them half alive wrapped in a garbage bag in the fridge, then watched him tackle them, boil them and shell them. The kitchen was a salty, facintating place for a while. The plan was to make crab cakes but we got derailed and ended up eating Annie's pasta for dinner instead... Oh well. Tomorrow we will take advantage of the fruits de mer.
There have been coyotes around Granthams for the last couple weeks. I don't think this is unusual, but I'm surprised at how long they've been lurking. We've even seen them in the morning along Marine Dr eating trash on garbage day and we see them outside our livingroom window at dusk in the same place, overlooking the ocean. Growing up in more or less the boonies wild animals weren't really a huge concern. We were always aware of black bears, and often heard the eeriness of a pack of coyotes howling in the forest. Once Lee was stalked by a cougar in the middle of the day. But there was no point in really worrying about it beyong taking the usual precautions. But here, with town so close and development now surrounding almost the entire area, I think the threat of unpredicable wildlife is a little more serious. Food is obviously lacking in the animal world right now if the coyotes are here night after night. I've been keeping an extra sharp eye out for plump and juicy little Sebi in the garden.
Last night I was washing dishes and outside the window was a scraggly old raccoon. He looked so sage and kept reappearing as though he was standing there to listen to our conversation. So I went outside to see him. Usually I want nothing to do with raccoons but there was something about this old guy. We stood outside together for a long time, just looking at each other. He played with a stick for a while. Then later as Alex and I were drinking a bottle of wine on the deck the raccoon climbed the cherry tree and sat in the branch almost overhanging the deck, like he was just hanging out with us. Then we saw the coyote. As it got dark we lost track of the raccoon and suddenly heard it being shredded in the driveway by the wild dog. It was over quickly, no fighting, just that fierce snorting sound raccoons make when they're going down and the viscious snarls of a creature about to have a meal. I guess like the crabs, the raccoon didn't stand a chance.

Officially, Sebastian's first word after mumum and dadadada is "hot." The root of this comes from the stove, naturally. A way to warn him not to play around the spitting bacon fat or the warm oven. Every time he sees the stove he whispers seriously, "hot.hot.hot.hot.hot.hot." (This doesn't stop him from climbing into the expensive stainless steel oven drawer and rocking around in it). Some days almost everything in the adult world is "hot.hot.hot.hot." When I lift him up to the counter so he can see his lunch being prepared or when we're watering the garden things are often, apparently, urgently hot. (Right now, apparently my ipod is hot.) I wasn't aware. But he also has his own language, one which he barks out with a stern face or babbles sweetly in. He's also developing an industrious side, no doubt from all the DIYing around our house. Alex seems to always be hammering something outside, and I'm constantly making bread and gardening so of course he joins us. It's very important work, piling dirt outside the planters, throwing rocks and banging wooden blocks on the glass door. Hmm.
He's also standing more and more. Those jolly jumper legs are paying off. He clings to my legs and sometimes I look down and realize he's not clinging, just standing. I don't think he realizes it which makes it comical, this tiny person standing the middle of a room with no obvious self-awareness. Then he collapses. He's been able to walk holding onto things for a long time and now he's attempting to run while holding on the couch, which usually results in him tumbling immediately. I hear the trouble making really begins once they learn to walk, so I'm not especially concerned about the next steps.
Another advancement in Sebastian's life is the new found skill to take off his diaper. That's a fun one. I try to let him go nude a lot of the time but other times it's not worth it. Like naps, or going into town. The other day he was trying to go down for a nap and after a lot of noise from his room subsided into silence I crept in with a blanket and there he was, little piquano, fast asleep, naked. He cracks me up.
The other day Sebastian and I walked to the beekeepers for some honey. The deal is there's basically an old unplugged fridge in the driveway stocked with hen and goose eggs, jars of honey and whatever else he's offering. You put your coins in his mail slot. It's nice. The walk took about an hour each way as we tend to meander. After the jutting hills of Granthams (with many stops to eat our apple and drink our water and, well, rest because I'm kind of out of shape) we followed the long quiet road at the foothill of Soames. It's a bit of an old country road, if there is such a thing in this part of the province. Straight, flat, pretty. At one point we looked up and realized there were cotton blooms in the air, an unusual sight here. Snow on a hot, blue sky day. On the way back we picked salmon berries and daisies. It was a wholesome kind of day.

my view when i look down most of the time

alex started his new job on keats island this week

the best way to trick a baby into wearing sunscreen is to let him put it on you

Claire and Cindy, cheeky aunties

Annie, Emma and Sara looking badass if you ask me

Elspeth and Andy

It's been almost a year since Alex and I got married on the bridge in Wakefield amongst most of our closest relatives and friends. We'd kind of overlooking our anniversary until about yesterday. It was swept up in other things: working, Father's Day (I've suddenly got TWO fathers to appreciate on Sunday and in one town, too), and maybe a bit of indifference on both of our parts. But we love the excuse to dress up and go out, so we usually succumb to such events. Our approach to our wedding was somewhat similar. It was swept up in the anticipation of the birth of our first child, in forty hour work weeks, and, well, some indifference. Neither of us felt like a wedding would represent much that we hadn't already vowed or knew or believed in. But as we started planning a little tiny ceremony it grew as we realized for reasons we probably didn't really understand that it was important to have a wedding. I don't think I fully understood why we were getting married until after our wedding, although I did think about it a lot before hand. I didn't want to speak empty words to Alex up there on the altar, I mean, bridge planks. But I think the wedding was less for us as a couple as it was for us as family. Not just Alex, me and Sebastian-the-fetus, but for everyone. There was something really nice in our love and commitment to each other being openly supported, acknowledged and celebrated by those who attended. I think it was the enthusiasm of our family and friends that really made the wedding special. When they got wind of a wedding (which I think we originally imagined with one or two Montreal friends at City Hall or something) they insisted on being there. I realized it was as important to them to bless us into this union as it was for us to let them. I'll never forget how my childhood friends Annie and Emma came (somewhat last minute) from Europe and Vancouver and how my beautiful aunties came (even more last minute) from BC, or how my mother-in-law graciously planned and hosted the entire reception. So this year I'm looking forward to spend some time just with Alex, a calmer, less distracted acknowledgment of our marriage than last year. And on Sunday, our anniversary, Father's Day, we'll naturally be all together, the way it should be.