Mindfulness

A relative warned me about the person sharing the semi-private hospital room with my father-in-law. He looks like a gang member, a young Chinese guy with body jewellery, I was told. Did you talk to him?, I asked. No, was the reply, he was too scary-looking.

We went down to VGH later that evening. The roommate was asleep, the mouth of his foreign face agape, and shirtless, his slight brown upper body showing. I told Shaula and Matthew to keep it down. As Betty's father recounted his day, he mentioned that his roommate was scheduled for some scans and exploratory tests. Betty's dad took in much of what the doctors and nurses said because his roommate spoke only Cantonese and required the services of a translator.

My father-in-law has since returned home. Before his discharge, he overheard the results of his neighbour's tests—there was little anyone could do to save him. The patient asked the doctors whether going to the US could result in a different outcome, and was told no, his liver cancer was too advanced.

The "gang member", the "scary-looking" tough guy, I would learn, spent much of the time during my father-in-law's two-night stay in agony, sobbing, in tears—crying.

Last Weekend

Sunday. Off to Tiffany & Co., where we were helped by an associate reminiscent of über actress Uma Thurman. Then it was chic and tony Robson Street for some chow at celebrity haunt Cin Cin. The sign on the door said Open at 5:00PM, so we improvised and lunched at the IDIBC award-winning Tropika instead. We sat across from A-List news anchor Mi-Jung Lee. The afternoon ended with a jaunt over to the VAG for the Monet To Dalí exhibition.

Since I'm on a roll dropping names left and right, Suzanne Vega owns one of my B&W prints. I have an autographed copy of Hans Fenger's The Langley Schools Music Project, and happen to know somebody who once got Sarah McLachlan's husband upset by accidently sitting on his jacket at the Juno Awards. And when people say "Les Miz", I know they mean Les Misérable, that's how "in" I am.

Toodle-loo for now!

***

On a more serious note, I would recommend the Monet to Dalí show. The paintings and sculptures are the real things, on loan from the Cleveland Museum of Art. I was especially thrilled by one of the side rooms: flanking Rousseau's Fight Between a Tiger and a Buffalo were a Max Ernst and a Dalí (see paintings below).

The exhibition catalogue, good as it is, is no substitute for looking at the originals, more like frottage. The Matisses hanging on the walls were more vibrant than the reproductions of them in the book, for instance, and a sense of scale is altogether lost in printed form—Dalí's The Dream is physically rather small, requiring very small strokes and a steady hand to render the tiny background figures, something not apparent to the reader.





So yeah, it's worth the trip down there, if not just for the people watching.

It's Mostly a Nonfiction Week!

Three hundred pages into this 700-page memoir, Hollywood Animal, and it's still going strong. If I'm not too lazy, I'll post a capsule review. Sure is one ugly jacket cover, though.


I've read two of Harpur's books over the last two decades. Water Into Wine is his most recent. Another "god"-awful dust jacket design.


I already have the softcover edition of To See Every Bird on Earth, but at $6, couldn't resist picking up the hardcover as well.


my new filing technique is unstoppable consists of sets of one-page clipart-based comic strips. Oddly, each strip does not end with a punch line. The title caught my eye, a quick skim, and I had to buy. $2 at Chapters.


Let me mention that I'm sweating profusely while typing these words out. I almost slipped off the seat, I'm so bloody warm....

My next read will mostly likely be Lolita.

Canada Day 2007

We went down to Steveston on Canada Day for the Salmon Festival. Parking was a nightmare, probably because we arrived so late. The parade was already over. We ended up parking almost 2km away from the heart of the festivities, on a sidestreet. Our first stop was for lunch at a small Mexican restaurant, a little off the beaten path.

I ordered a mild chicken burrito to share with Matthew along with a hot-as-hell habanero version for myself. It was so hot that I started to tear and my nose turned red. Shaula accused me of trying to poison her when she sampled some. Needless to say, our next stop was for ice cream to quench the burning.


What follows are snapshots of some of the activities.

Entertainment, crafts, a trade show, booths, and a huge kids' play area at the Steveston Community Centre.


Free Sun Chips and Brisk beverages.


The folks from Sirius Satellite Radio Canada were out in force. I've recently ended my subscription with them—just having XM will do.


Watching the buskers.


Several blocks were closed to traffic. I've never seen so many white folks in one place in Richmond as today. :-)


We're definitely going back next year. Maybe we'll even find the Japanese Canadian Cultural Centre where, I'm told, they have the salmon barbeque.

***

Shaula explained tying shoelaces to Matthew as "strangling one bunny ear with another."

***

Gray is to silver as yellow is to gold.

Heart Surgery

My dad went to the hospital last Tuesday morning for a stress test on the treadmill. He had been complaining about a sore left shoulder and being out of breath when out on his walks, and had finally convinced his GP to order some tests, that the pain was not caused by rheumatism. And a good thing too: my father tested "positive" [for heart disease, I presume—the attending physician was not exactly forthcoming with information] , and needed to stay in the hospital for observation. He had an angiogram the next day at St. Paul's to determine the extent of the blockage.

Fast-forward to today, Monday. My dad's going under the knife tomorrow afternoon for a triple bypass. He should come to at around 5:00PM.

My recommendation is that he change doctors.