Tsunami Anniversary

On my walk this morning I came across a newspaper lying on a driveway. The headline read something like “Tsunami Survivors – One Year Later”. One year ago I was with Rik and four new friends in a beachside bungalow. We heard the water crashing onto shore, I wanted to run but it was coming through the door. The minutes that followed transformed my life and how I live each day. I was a quick study, I learned my lesson well – I am going to die someday…

The cover shot was of three kids laughing and playing in the surf. Was it for real? They all looked so happy. I wonder if the kids in the picture were Sri Lankan – maybe they were from Arugam Bay? I felt a strange mix of emotion: stupidity - for not trying to publish a timely piece in a magazine or newspaper; and guilt - for thinking of profiting from this devastating event, and for coming back to Canada.

I wanted to be with my family. I needed to heal, and feel safe again. My desire to feel safe is tested daily. Oddly enough, on this anniversary, the SOCAL coast is being pounded by a 20 foot swell. It seems that the waves are following me.

I’ve been back on the beach, but it took a solid half-hour of deep breathing to make my way to the water’s edge. When we were in Malibu, I made regular trips to the beach to do my yoga. My ears have become highly tuned to the sound of crashing waves. When they become larger and louder, adrenaline pumps and I pounce to my feet. I am happy and enjoying life – but things are not the same. I no longer care for ocean-front living.

The jig is up

The jig is up, the presents are out of the closet and the fuzzy sugar coating is building up nicely on my teeth. This morning I sat with Holly as she read the letter that Santa left for her. Santa’s letter revived my holiday spirit.

“I know that as time goes on you will think of me less and less and our relationship will start to change. You must know that I am always watching over you through your parents’ eyes and love you deeply.

“You are a rare child, someone who is uniquely their own self, someone who is bigger than those around you because you give so much and ask so little in return…

“You are changing, your body is changing from a young girl and slowly transforming into a young woman…”

Holly’s eyes popped out, “I didn’t know he knew that!”

Who is Mr. Claus? For Holly, he is a charming and loving man who flies around the world leaving letters and toys for good girls and boys. For me, Santa is the creative spirit that inspires me to make gifts and share my love. Thinking of him as a jolly man with a flying sled, takes oodles imagination. That’s a gift that Holly shares with me.

Recycled Art

Making gifts has helped to clear my holiday fogginess. My bahumbug disappears when I’m using my heart and hands to make gifts. My inspiration came from a co-op art gallery in Joshua Tree. Instead of shopping, I’m putting my collection of odds and ends to good use. I cut up my torn sarong and used the beads from my broken jewelry to make wall-hangings for my parents and sister. Voila – recycled art! My sarong invokes strong memories of the tsunami. It was very healing to turn it into something beautiful.

Christmas Countdown

Today, I accompanied my niece Holly around the block as she delivered presents to her neighbours. While rooting through a neighbour’s recycling bin I found 2 newspapers. Holly looked at me sideways, a mix of terror and disgust. I was delighted; a crossword addict will go to great lengths to get a puzzle-fix.

The front page announced: “Procrastinating holiday shoppers have 3 more days”. Hmmm, I guess that means only three days left to buy love, respect and a generous reputation. The neighboring article cites a poll that finds “Americans dependent on gadgets” (hint, hint…buy more from Best Buy).

I’m sick of Christmas commercialism. I don’t watch much TV, yet I still feel bombarded by messages to shop and spend. Exorbitant light displays also make me feel ill. The house around the corner is a tacky yet intriguing hodgepodge of energy wastage: a trio of giant snow-people look completely uninterested in Baby Jesus and his plastic glowing parents; a massive, inflated Snow-globe blocks the front door (a definate fire hazard); and more bright nonsense surrounds the whole mess. I pray for rolling blackouts.

Freeing the Prisoners

So it seems that our trailer has become the preferred accommodation of Joshua tree rodentia. We've used our humane trap to capture more than a handful of sneakers. These buggers are bigger and swifter than all the rest we've had the misfortune of hosting.

The J-Tree Wood Rats have managed to get into our oven. I was convinced that the oven was impenetrable and so I stored our most precious food in there - our delectable cookies. The buggers followed the wiring right to the sweet source - highway to cookie heaven.

I hate touching the trap, even though it's just a plastic cube. I'm very squeamish and unnaturally girly when it comes to touching the poopy tube. In the beginning, I washed it thoroughly. I filled it with hot soapy water and let it sit - hoping that time would clean the crap out of it. My plan backfired. One morning I found a dead mouse in it - two big beady eyes bobbing on the surface. It was not humane, I felt awful.

In J-Tree we started averaging 2 prisoners a night. We started transferring intruders into a large Rubbermaid bin. I'm so lucky that Rik is not afraid of the crap trap and the rodents. He has become very skilled at transferring rats from the tube, into a plastic bag. My job is to open the Rubbermaid bin wide enough to throw the bag in but not wide enough for the other guys to escape. I also use this time to throw in some snacks, to hold them over until their release.

Today we drove 4 prisoners out to the other end of the park. It took a while to get them out of the bin. I thought they'd be leaping out. Nope. They weren't too sure what to do. Poor buggers, I think their big beady eyes couldn't adjust to the bright sunshine. They went from dark to extreme light and were very freaked out. One little guy wouldn't take off; he kept hiding under the lid. I felt awful again. This was not humane.

I'm so sick of cleaning up their turds but I can't kill them. They obviously love our trailer. I don't blame them, I love it too - it's warm, comfortable, and filled with great food. Now our duty is to find out where they're getting in and plug it up...

Soda Cookies

In the trailer once again, the house-sitting gig is up. It was good while it lasted, but it definitely lost its sweetness when I suffered a snotacular allergic reaction to the 3 cats.

Back in the silver bullet, home-sweet-home - I really do love it. I’m baking cookies for my muffin. I just looked in the oven and they’re poofing up real good. Hmmm…I wonder if it was the Italian Soda?

When I was about 3 feet tall I used to love this game-show called “Just Like Mom”. Parent-child teams would compete to determine which team knew each other the best. The climax of the show was cookie bake-off. The kids (sans parents) would bake cookies and their parents had to guess which was their child’s creation, or in some cases – devastation. This was the nastiest, hence BEST, part of the show. Let me tell you, these kids had no clue how to bake cookies. Some were so daft, they’d add ketchup. Another ingredient that I found disgustingly intriguing was Orange Crush.

My sister and I had it all figured out. If given the chance, we’d rock the kid’s game-show circuit. We devised strategies for all of our favourite shows. For example, on Just Like Mom, we planned to add an exorbitant amount of Orange Crush to the cookies. Some people might consider this to be cheating, but we thought it was just plain smart.

This is a picture taken before our Thanksgiving feast. It was an amazingly organic meal lovingly prepared by the womanly members of my new familia. Before he got too full, Holly (my niece), made sure Pitch got a healthy serving of lovin'. Now that's something to thankful for.

World of Warcrap

Rik is playing World of Warcraft. I could join him, but do I really want to run around in a virtual world, honing my virtual skills. I could pretend to hunt and make-believe that I can cook. Hmmm, let me think about that… No. But since I do have the option, I should quit my bitching and just let him play.

I have to admit that I’m starting to get intrigued by the whole thing. It’s an amazing looking game. But the first night that Rik entered this virtual world, he didn’t come out until the wee hours of the morning. I had a not a so wee reaction. Quite frankly, I was pissed.

Sunday, November 27.
It’s 3:52 AM, and for the first time in our short marriage, Rik and I are entering completely opposite cycles of the day. I’ve lapped him so to speak. He hasn’t been to bed yet and I’m getting up. Did I really marry a man who will sacrifice sleep, health, relaxation to play computer games?

I swear that ferkin computer keeps him up. He’s wired; it’s tampering with his brain waves. Instead of yawning (a healthy sign that it’s time for beddy-bye) his jaw clenchs; his shoulders lurch forward and his eyes bug out. It’s whack crack that thing.

I’m fuming, and for what? Sadly, I kinda like this anger, it gives me energy. I guess drama is my drug. It’s the dark side giving me the force. I know that this is not a great thing, or even close to a good thing, but gosh-darn-it, anger is very exciting.

Rik just crawled into bed. I looked into his bugged-out eyes and “ewwed” with utmost disgust. I was unkind, but seriously, his eyes are brimming with blood. He told me that I have very little compassion and he walked out. My plan backfired, he’s back online. We begin to messenger back and forth. It’s actually a very effective way to deal with our conflict. Rik explains that his eyes are bloodshot because of all the exercise (he’s a clever man, but I’m too stubborn to swallow his whoey).