My Gallifreyan Zombie Killer

I want to introduce you to one of my sons.  He has Asperger's Syndrome.

Being on the spectrum, my son doesn't like change very much.  Routines are extremely important to him, which is really hard for me (and him) because I'm a chaos magnet.

We don't go too many places with him because I don't want to stress him out; however, I do look for opportunities to take him somewhere new, somewhere different, just so he can practise interacting with the community.  I do as much as I can to minimize his anxiety on a daily basis, but once in a while, I will push him outside his comfort zone.  I've tried really hard over the years to go into his world as much as I can.  I think there is a part of him that recognizes that, and that's why he'll allow me to pull him into my world just a little bit.

I've never kept the fact that he has Asperger's a secret.  I'll tell everyone and anyone who is within earshot.  It's funny the things people will say to you upon being told that your child is Aspie.  "So what is he really good at?"

Hmm, what?

"You know, can he play the piano really well?  Can he hear a song on the radio and just play it?"

Umm, no.  He has Asperger's Syndrome; he's not a Savant.

"Oh, so then what is he an expert in?  What is the one thing he is interested in?  My friend knows this family and their son is Aspie and he loves bugs.  My aunt's neighbour's friend's child loves trains and knows everything about them.  So what is it for your son?"

Well, he doesn't have *one* area of interest.

"Are you sure he has Asperger's Syndrome?"

Yes, quite sure.

I get asked about his area of expertise so often that I started thinking about just what it is he is interested in.  Sure, he loves to use the computer.

So what?  So do a lot of people.  He doesn't know how to build one and doesn't seem to have any interest in learning to do software coding.  He just likes using it.

Scientific methodology appeals to him.  So do numbers.  But I'm not sure that he actually loves those things; he likes them because he finds them comforting.  They are stable and consistent.  For him, one plus one will always equal two. 
It's so much easier than trying to figure out what a person's mood is when they say something to you and what the appropriate response should be; it doesn't always equal two and if he's guessed the wrong answer, the results can be disastrous.

So what is it that he does currently love?  He loves the television series Dr. Who, and he loves zombies.  That's kind of cool for me because I like those things too.  My son and I will lie in my bed together and watch episodes of Dr. Who or we'll watch zombie movies.  It's just him and me.  The rest of the family isn't interested, but that's okay.  The bedroom becomes a TARDIS; my son is The Doctor and I'm his beautiful travelling companion.  I enjoy the adventures he takes me on.

I won't list off all the books and graphic novels my son has about zombies.

But I guess he's read and observed enough to be considered somewhat of a zombie expert.  He will ask total strangers (and has), "Do you think a flame thrower would be a good weapon against a zombie?"

He'll pause for several minutes and then follow up with "It wouldn't be. The flames won't kill the zombie; it's already dead.  And it is still coming at you, but it's on fire.  Now you have two problems."

He'll then go on to list the pros and cons of all sorts of various weapons.

By the way, according to him, a machete would be the best weapon because it is light, doesn't need ammunition and can be used for other things ... not just for killing zombies.

In the city I live in, they do an annual event called a Zombie Walk.  It's where a bunch of people dress up as either zombies or zombie killers and parade through the streets for an afternoon.  It's not a protest.  There is no political message behind it.  It's just something fun to do.

I decided to take my son to the Zombie Walk this year.  Like I said before, I look for opportunities to get him out and engaged with the world. 

He was reluctant to go.  He kept asking me over and over "Do I *have* to go?"

My response was "Yes, you do."

So his dad, his brother and I dressed up as zombies; he dressed up as a zombie killer.

We gathered downtown with over 6,000 other people covered in fake gore.

There was an Umbrella Corporation army truck there as well as several Umbrella Corp. soldiers.  There were other types of zombie killers there, and they all smiled and nodded at my son and told him they were all on the same team.  He had a plastic machine gun and was "shooting" zombies for quite a while.  The majority of the zombies he shot, total strangers, would play along and fall down at his feet.  They'd get up and smile at him; he smiled back.  Lots of positive social interaction.  Weird and strange social interaction, yes, but still positive.

On the way home, he told me he was glad he went because he had a good time even though he thought he wouldn't, and he'd like to go back next year.

Yes!

So the next time someone asks me what my Aspie son is good at, I guess I'll just have to tell them:
Killing zombies ... and running! 

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Wednesdays ...

Just over a month ago, I found out that a good friend of mine was in rough shape and was a few weeks away from being homeless.  I made arrangements with her to drive up and get her and bring her and as many of her worldly possessions that would fit into the trunk and back seat of my Honda back down to the Lower Mainland.  We'd find her a shelter here and, hopefully, they'd get her on the path to finding an affordable and secure place to live longer term.  A week and a half before I was supposed to drive up there, I got a phone call informing me that she'd had a heart attack.  Her heart had stopped, but they managed to get it started again.  She went in for immediate surgery and had a stent placed.  Three days later she was released from hospital.  Five days after that, I was driving her and her things back here.

She managed to find a good shelter that was willing to work with her recent health issues.  It sounds like they've been doing a wonderful job of getting all her health concerns addressed, as well as working towards finding her a more permanent residence.
She can come and visit me at my home, and she's allowed to spend the night.  We did that a few weeks ago.  So I thought nothing of making the same arrangements with her for last Wednesday.  Come and visit all afternoon, spend the night, and I'd take her back the next day.

Before that, my father had flown out for a visit and stayed with us for a week.  It was a wonderful visit.  My brother also came over and stayed a few days at the same time.  My brother is also currently in a rough place in his life and needs a little support to "start over again."  So it was decided then that he'd move over here from the island and stay with us a while so that he can do what he needs to do just to hit zero again.  For those of you who are struggling in this economy, you know exactly how striving to reach zero feels almost like an impossible dream.  My brother said he'd be back in about a week or two because he needed to take care of things where he was (like giving a month's notice to his landlord and move his stuff out, et cetera).

A couple days after my brother left and my dad left, my friend called me from the shelter and I made arrangements with her to come and spend Wednesday into Thursday with me.  

The Tuesday night before, I was babysitting my nieces and my mother informed me that my brother and his kids were coming over on Wednesday.  I admit that for a split second I panicked, but then I calmed down and thought that, while things will be a little cramped, it was just one night that she'd be in our full house and it would be fun.

So Wednesday August the 3rd rolls around.  I go and pick up my friend at 11:00 a.m.  We spend a wonderful afternoon just visiting and catching up.  My older boys are all excited and chatting with us off and on about a concert they're going to that night (Slayer/Rob Zombie) downtown.  Firework competition display is also going on that night, so they were a bit concerned about public transit being quite busy.
Older boys head off around 4:00 p.m.  I make dinner (spaghetti with no-salt-added tomato sauce -- really good, by the way) and my friend and I visit some more.  Phone rings around 8:00 p.m. and it's my ex-husband.  He's the father to my oldest two boys and, despite separation and divorce, we have managed to stay really good friends.  He informs me that oldest son called him because second son (18 years old) drank way too much alcohol and is puking and incoherent at the bus terminal.  Ex is driving on his way to get second son.  

Fifteen minutes later, phone rings again.  It's my brother's daughter calling to say they were on the 8:15 ferry.  A quick mental calculation indicated they'd arrive at my house by 11:00 p.m.

Phone rings again 10 minutes later.  Ex is telling me that second son is lying in the dirt beside some railroad tracks and refusing to move.  My ex is having a hell of a time getting son into the car.  I tell ex to tell son that he has 5 minutes to get in the car or else an ambulance is going to be called.  I also tell my ex that, once son gets into car, he needs to take son straight to the local hospital and I'll meet them there.

I apologize profusely to my friend, but am thankful that she's there.  My husband would be on his way to bed soon and she was willing to let my brother and his kids in if I was still at the hospital with son.  Almost 9:00 p.m. and I'm off to the hospital.

When I arrive at the hospital I see my ex standing behind our son who is sitting in a wheelchair.  At least I assumed it was our son.  All I could see was a body with a bucket on its head.  I walk over and confirm that bucket head really is my son.  Triage nurse comes over and asks what the problem is.  My ex says he thinks our son has a bad case of "Captain Morganitis."  Nurse has no idea what Captain Morgan is and is not amused.  Ex says that son has had too much to drink.  Nurse replies "then why did you bring him here?"  I jump in at this point and say "I'm concerned about dehydration due to excessive vomiting and also want to rule out alcohol poisoning."  Nurse nods her head in understanding and simply says "oh."

Son is taken back to a bed in the ER, told to put on a gown and then an IV was put in.  There are obviously more things said and done in here (some quite humorous), but I have to skip over them at this time to keep the story moving.  

 
Ex is talking to me about how things are going with him.  His dad died a couple of months ago and his mother recently moved in with him as she was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer.  The bucket son had on his head is the bucket she keeps with her after radiation treatment.  Ex explains that she has about a week's worth of rad treatments to go.  He lets me know he's seeing a therapist and is on stress leave from work right now.  We talk for a bit and then ex needs to leave for about half an hour (needs to pick something up from the store before it closes to take to his mom).  He says he'll be back, and he is.  By that time, a bag of IV fluid had been put into son and he's more alert.  Alcohol poisoning is ruled out and we're given the go ahead to take him home and care for him there.  Son takes off hospital gown and leaves the hospital in his underwear (no interest in putting on his vomit soaked clothing).  We live in a small town, it's after 10:30 at night, and no one seems to notice or care.

Son rides with his dad back to my house.  When I pull up, I see my mom's van parked across the street.  I can't understand why she's there.  My brother isn't arriving until 11:00 and is she really at my house this late to see him come in?!?
Ex stops car in front of my house.  Son tries to argue that we should just let him sleep on the bathroom floor downstairs as he won't make it upstairs to his bed.  I disagree and figure as long as we get him moving, I can get him into his bed.  My mom, however, comes out the front door and is standing in the path between us and the house.  Immediately she comments "He's got no shoes on.  Where are his shoes?  Isn't he going to need his shoes?  He's going to be walking across gravel in sock feet."

I want her to get out of the way and don't feel like having this discussion right at this moment and so I say "his dad picked him up rolling around and puking in gravel; he can walk across this 6 inches of it just fine.  I do NOT want to talk about this right here right now."

I get son moving and, sure enough, I get him upstairs into his bedroom and into his bed.  I come out of his room and into the upstairs living room where my friend is sitting.  I ask her "Why is my mom here?"  She says to me "I need to talk to you.  Is there somewhere private we can go?"

So we go out the back behind my garage.  My friend relates how my mother came over and my third son answered the door and my mom let herself in.  She starts to come upstairs and is yelling for my husband.  Husband is in bed, but he gets up to see what she wants.  She wants to know if my brother is here yet.  No, he isn't.  She wants to know where I am.  Hubby tells her.  She wants to know when my brother will get here.  My friend tells her.  Then my mom blurts out that she needs to speak to him because there was a murder on the island.  My friend then took my mom downstairs and was talking to her there while hubby went back to bed.  My friend tells my mom that she shouldn't tell this to my brother with his kids present.

Just as my friend is finishing telling me all of this, my brother pulls up at the back where we are.  I walk over and calmly tell him that our mom is there and that she'd like to talk to him alone.  My brother asks if everything is okay.  I say "I think so.  She just wants to have a moment to talk to you alone." 

My brother lets the kids out of the van and proceeds to go around the block to the front of the house where my mother still is.

I take the kids inside and let them settle in front of the television.  Then I go out the front to tell my mom that my brother is here and on his way to the front.  She's standing in the street talking to my ex who is still there as well.

My brother pulls up and says hi to my ex.  They are good friends as well.  My brother has to take two ferries to get off the island because he's going from a small island to a bigger island then back to the mainland.  A small ferry and then a big ferry.

My brother starts relating how they were delayed from getting off the small ferry.  The captain had said over the intercom that everyone needed to have ID ready.  Police boarded the boat and were checking ID's, writing down licence plate numbers and searching all vehicles.  My brother was driving a van and the police searched it top to bottom.  Then everyone was allowed to disembark.  He didn't know why they were doing that, but thought maybe it was an Amber Alert.

My mom says she has more information that may shed some light on that, but my brother can finish visiting with my ex first.  I say "No.  You can't leave him hanging like that.  Tell him.  Finish what you started."  My ex agrees with me.

So my mom proceeds to tell my brother that there was a murder on the island.  His landlord is dead and her son has been flown to hospital in critical condition.  Suspect is at large.  He should call the police and talk to them.

My brother calls the island RCMP and talks to an officer there.  He gives them my number and they are told to call any time.  They do.  Calls were coming in from them up to about 5:00 a.m.

We decide not to tell his kids that night.  They are safe here.  My brother just tells them that there's some stuff he has to deal with back home.  My mom goes home.  Kids go to bed.  My friend and I talk for a little bit.

Over the course of the next few hours I find out a bit more about what happened.  The suspect is a friend of my brother's.  My brother and his kids were actually with the suspect and the victims about 10 minutes before the assaults happened. 

The island is on complete shutdown.  No ferries coming or going.  About 50 officers and SWAT have gone to the island.  Helicopters, Coast Guard and police boats are patrolling the island.  Residents are warned to go inside and keep doors and windows locked.  They are told to keep their pets inside so as to not impede the dog teams that have gone over.

My brother is worried about the safety of his ex (mother of his kids) as well as all his friends on the island.  Police were on a manhunt but could not find the suspect.

No one on the island slept that night.  My brother didn't sleep that night.  I finally fell asleep around 4:00 a.m., but was up by 6:30 a.m.

Around 9:00 a.m. word came through that suspect was located and arrested.

*News story here*.  

The next day, Thursday, was a long exhausting day.  My brother's kids were informed of the basics of what had happened.  I apologized profusely to my friend saying that had I known even one of those things were going to occur, I would have postponed my invitation for when she should come and visit.  I asked her if she could call the shelter and see if she could spend another night.  I said I would drive her back, but on only two and a half hours of sleep, I'd rather not drive if I didn't have to.  She said they usually don't like people staying away for more than one night, but when she called and explained the situation, they let her stay an extra night due to "unusual circumstances."

Like I said earlier, there are a lot more details throughout the entire evening, but I thought I'd write down just the bare bones gist of things because I needed to get it out.

On Being a Bitch!

(Originally this was an e-mail that I had written to some female friends to vent on January 10, 2011)

Yes, ladies, sometimes I can be a bitch.
I'm not talking about those "roar" moments where you're proud of yourself
for taking a stand. Nope. I'm talking about those moments when your
emotions get the better of you and you freak out over something kind of
stupid ... but you just can't stop yourself in the moment.
Saturday night was my raging bitch moment (fingers crossed that that'll be
it for the year, but I doubt it).

Here's what happened:
My husband loves the symphony. I do not.
Friday night he asks me if we have any plans for Saturday night. I say we
don't. He says he'd like to go to the symphony and he wanted to invite a
friend to go with him (a mutual female friend). I don't have any problems
with that and am grateful that he checked to make sure there wasn't anything
else going on. I tell him this.
Saturday rolls around and he says he's going to leave around 4:30 pm
(symphony doesn't start until 8 pm [Beethoven, btw]) because they're going
to grab a bite to eat beforehand. Fine. No problem. I'm thinking they'll
go for sushi or chinese or something like that.
He gets home around 11:30 pm. I ask him how the concert was. He said it
was really good. I ask him how dinner was. He said it was good. Still
making conversation, I ask him where they ended up going for dinner. He
tells me they went to The Keg.

THAT's when mega-ugly super bitch took over my mind.
Anyone who knows me knows that The Keg is my all time favorite restaurant.
We only get to go on special occasions, like my birthday or our wedding
anniversary. So it's like my "special place."

I say to him "You went to The Keg without me?"
He replies "Yeah, but I had a coupon."
Me: "You had a what?"
Him: "A coupon ... I mean, a gift card ... certificate. My mom or my
sister gave it to me at Christmas."
I wasn't at the present opening at his parents' place on Christmas Day
because I was at home cooking the turkey. But, in previous years, his
sister (or mom) would give a present to both of us (one present addressed to
both of us) for The Keg. And he used that to take someone else.
Me: "Are you kidding me? What the hell?!!!"
Him: "Why are you mad?"

And THAT's when mega-ugly super bitch moved from taking over my mind and
completely took over my body and mouth.

Me: "Seriously??? You have NO idea why I might be pissed? I'll give you a
little time to think about it."
And then I left the bedroom. That was around midnight.
I go back in the bedroom around 1 am. He has the lights out and is
sleeping. Not for long. I turn the television on in the room (as well as
the bedroom light). He's not able to sleep well, but he struggles to and
won't say a word to me. He's lying there very quiet and still. I suppose
it must be some survival instinct in him that warns him not to engage
mega-ugly super bitch and his best chance at living is to play dead.
Problem with that theory is that I'm not a bear; I'm a bitch, and the
quieter he is, the angrier I'm getting.

Finally, at 3 am, I turn to him and say "You've put me in such a bad mood
that I can't sleep. And if *I* can't sleep, there's no way I'm going to let
you sleep. When I'm miserable, you're going to be miserable too!"
He says: "I don't understand what I've done wrong."

TWANG. Did you hear that, ladies? That was one of the last threads of
sanity in my head snapping. If this moment had been taking place during a
hockey game, SCHLUMPH would have been the sound heard as my gloves are
thrown down to the ice.

I'm not proud of the profanity that spewed out of my mouth. I won't type
that part of what I said; you all have good imaginations and can insert it
mentally.
Me: "The Keg was a special place for me. It was a special place where you
take me. And now you've ruined that. You've turned it into 'just another
place.'"
He smiles nervously.
Me: "I had no idea that my pain causes you so much enjoyment. I would
appreciate it if, in the future, you'd just use your words and tell me that
you hate me."
Him: "That's not it. I just don't know what to say."
Me: "You better think of something. I'm angry and in pain and you know it
and you're not even attempting to comfort me or apologize or anything."
Him: "I'm sorry. I guess I just didn't think."
Me: "Oh, no! That won't fly with me. You're not going to get away with
the 'I'm just a stupid guy who doesn't use his brain' excuse."
He reaches out his hand to caress my cheek.
Me: "You're off by a couple of inches."
Him: "What?"
Me: "Traditionally, the sign is to cover another's mouth with the hand when
you want them to shut up, not the cheek."
He looks at me like a frightened deer caught in mega-ugly super bitch's high
beam headlights.
Me: "What do you think your sister or your mom will think if they find out
that you took someone else to The Keg with the present they gave?"
Him: "I didn't think about that. All I was thinking was that I didn't have
any money, so use the coupon."
Me: "You had money for the symphony. If you didn't have money for dinner,
then why go out for dinner at all?" (That sentence is one where you can use
your imagination to insert as many profane words as you'd like).
Him: "I had a coupon. I didn't think it would be a big deal."
Me: "And now?"
Him: "Now I know. I understand."
Me: "And just what is it that you know and understand?"
Him: "Don't go to The Keg without you."
Me: "But that's part of the problem. Because of this, I can't go to The
Keg with you at all. Ever. It's just 'some other place' now and we might
as well just go to McDonald's or 7-Eleven. Now there is nothing."
He actually looks a little sad.
Me: "I'm really upset about this, and as long as I'm upset, I'm going to
take it out on you."
Him: "I know."
Me: "It could take me a really long time to get over this."
Him: "I know."
Me: "It won't be over until *I* say it is."
Him: "I know."
It pretty much ended there, and we went to sleep.

Obviously there was more to the conversation as it went on for about half an
hour. I was in a bad mood and don't remember every word that was spoken ...
mostly by me. Like the monologue I had with him about if he were Aspie,
like I think he is, that while it's still incredibly frustrating, I get that
he has issues dealing with social interactions and reading social cues and
understanding the social ramifications of his actions, but since he tells me
repeatedly that he's NOT Aspie then there is no "excuse" for his behaviour
and I'm left to conclude that it was done deliberately, which means that he
knew it would hurt me and didn't care. Yes, ladies, every "there" you can
think of, I went.

So Saturday night/Sunday morning was not one of my better moments.
For any of you that might have thought that I was a down-to-earth, calm and
patient person who rarely gets her feathers ruffled and when she does, she
still manages to hold it together and deal with it gracefully, I apologize
for bursting that bubble.
The truth is that once in a blue moon, I can be cursed with a transformation
into mega-ugly super bitch.
While I may not be proud of it, I will admit that sometimes, just a little
bit, it does feel good to let it all out and not hold anything back ... even
if, in the long run, it is over something kind of stupid.

Memorial for my Maternal Grandparents

Life is an adventure.
Many of us have heard the expression:  "It's not about the destination; it's about the journey."
Their lives were many series of journeys.  They had wonderful adventures ... and a few misadventures as well.

For example, my grandmother is the only woman I know who would decide to do battle with a cricket ... and lose.  I learned from her that no ideal was too small or insignificant to attempt to go after, even in the face of certain failure.  With determination, anyone can "fail" with dignified purpose.
Again, it wasn't about killing the cricket (although, I'm sure to her at the time that was the desired outcome); it was about having a story to tell afterwards.  That if you never even try, how will you ever learn that not only can the cricket get away, but that it can also draw blood and almost knock you unconscious.
See, she had the cricket cornered in the basement and, with 2-by-4 in hand, she stood up straight suddenly to deliver the killing blow.  Only she hadn't noticed the metal water pipe running directly above her head.
I also learned from that particular encounter that even something that seems like a sure thing might actually not be.  That life has a way of throwing in unexpected curve balls, and when it does, you carry on anyway.  My grandmother was fond of clichés and the one in particular she would often quote to me is "no use crying over spilled milk."  And I can't recall a time when either of my grandparents ever did.

It's not that they were cold, uncaring and distant.  Far from it.  When I lived with them, every morning when I'd get up to go to school, I'd come downstairs to the kitchen to have breakfast.  And every morning, without fail, I would find a setting at the kitchen table.  They'd have a place mat set up with an empty bowl,  a spoon, a box of cereal, and the sugar bowl.  On the counter the kettle was filled and ready to go, and a mug with a teabag in it sat next to the kettle.  Everything was set up just waiting for me.  I never asked them to do this; I never expected them to do this.  I think they were mindful of the journey I was on and they wanted me to know that not only were they thinking about me, but that they were also willing to do even little things to make my journey just a little bit easier.
From that, I learned that no gesture is ever too small to show kindness and consideration to another.

I remember several years later being invited over to their home for Christmas dinner.  I arrived on Christmas Eve after having spent a long day at work whereby my co-workers and I were celebrating the upcoming holidays with some wine tasting.  By the time I got to my grandparents' house, I was quite tipsy.  And I did not feel very well.  I remember entering their home and saying hello and then announcing that I was, in fact, drunk.  Even though my grandmother often gave the impression that she was concerned about appearances and "being proper," she was also someone who had a lot of common sense.  Without missing a beat, she asked me if I'd like to go lie down and take a nap.  Oh, yes, please!  Like I said before, I was not feeling very well.
After I slept for a couple of hours I came out into the kitchen where my grandparents had, again, set up a mug with a teabag in it and beside that was a little plate with two tylenols sitting on it.  They never said another word to me about it.
From that, I learned that sometimes natural consequences can be a better teacher than a lecture.  I also learned from them that there is no point in kicking a person when they are down.  They saw me on one of my
"misadventures" and didn't judge me for it.  They respected me enough to have the confidence that I'd learn from my own mistakes.  And I did. Mostly.

They travelled the world and through life together.  We should all be so lucky to have lived so well and have someone to share that with.  From them, I've learned how to journey well.
Even now, I don't believe they've reached their destination.  They've just embarked on a whole new adventure.
I wish them "Bon Voyage."

Taking My Ass for Granted

"Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone ..."
The butt is a part of the body that one doesn't necessarily think about how important it is.
Sure, older people sit around and discuss bowel movements (frequency and consistency), but I'm not just discussing function, but also form.
I've recently lost the use of my bum (inability to sit) and I can tell you I sure missed that.
Lying around all the time may sound like an ideal way to live, but I can assure you that it isn't. Okay, it might be if it were a lifestyle choice ... with "choice" being the operative word. It's not so great when even if you want to sit, you can't.
So I just wanted to say "Sorry, ass. I always assumed you'd have my lower back. I didn't understand that you are vital to my happiness. I miss you. Please come home."

Dancing Man

Recently got back from a week's long stay at Gabriola Island. It's so beautiful over there. The photo above is a picture of some arbutus trees taken from the beach. This photo has NOT been retouched at all. It's kewl how it kind of looks like a black and white photo with a splash of colour [when it's actually entirely in colour].

So on the third day we were on the island, I was sitting on the beach with my DH and, as the sun shone down on us, I turned to him and said "You know what would be perfect? Getting a tattoo of dancing man. I wonder if there is a tattoo artist on the island. Would be lovely if they could do it on the beach." [although I knew that the chances of getting it done ON the beach would be pretty small (no power for example)].

Dancing man is a petroglyph that can be found on Gabriola. There are quite a few [roughly over 8,000 years old, done by the First Nations]. But dancing man is the one that I fell madly in love with when I first saw it, oh, so many years ago.

This is a photo of a replication of the dancing man petroglyph. They have replications of the petroglyphs at the Gabriola Island Museum so that folks can go and do rubbings on those [thereby helping to protect and preserve the originals].

Anyways, from the beach we ended up heading over to a relative's home on the island. I asked her if she knew of any tattoo artists on the island. She said she didn't, but I could try asking another relative on the island as they tend to be more up on that kind of thing. We had a nice visit and then we left. On the way back to our cabin we decided to stop and get some ice for the cooler. As soon as we parked, I turned my head to the right and what should I see? A sign that said "Pretty Devils Tattoo." Naturally, I had to run up and into the place and harass the poor artist. Thankfully, she turned out to be a very sweet (and patient) talented woman who answered all my questions and let me know that she'd have time in the next few days to do the tattoo. I left the shop and called her the next day (okay, I called her a few times - perhaps I should have gotten a tattoo called "stalker woman" instead of "dancing man"). I finally went in on the Friday and got my dancing man tattoo on the outside calf of my right leg.

This was taken not quite a week later - still in the healing process. As you can see, it's absolutely fabulous. It kind of has almost an Aztec or Mayan feel to it (at least to me). He's so happy and so gosh darned cute! I'm very pleased with how he turned out.

So if you're ever anywhere near Gabriola and you want a tattoo, be sure to give Sue Addison at Pretty Devils a call. Check out her website: http://prettydevils.net/ and see for yourself. She's not only a wonderful artist, but a wonderful person too. I can't wait to go back and get another piece done by her (I'm thinking something to do with stylized Arbutus).

Arrrrrrrr!!!

Pirates Ahoy, Matey!!!

Today we took the boys on Variety's Boat for Hope tour. We got to dress up as pirates and climb aboard a boat that was all decorated up as a pirate ship. The weather was horrible: rainy, cold and windy. But we had a GREAT time. We sailed around False Creek and had a few "ports of call" where, basically, we were "attacked" by some pirates in little dingy boats. We had to brandish our swords and the kids were armed with powerful water guns that they got to "shoot" at the invading pirates. One of the invading pirates was eating a weiner and Mike squirted him right in the hot dog. Once we had "subdued" the invading pirates, we were given some "treasure" to collect. All the kids were completely soaked [from the rain and from squirting water], but they didn't care because they were having too much fun. It was a really good day and I can't wait until next year.

All the boys getting ready to get on our pirate ship.

Mike is keeping an eye out for invading pirates.

Luke joins Mike in scouting for pirates.

Luke is inspecting the ship for any damage.

Some "invading" pirates trying to shoot us with their (water) canons.