Saturday perfection

it's the very best if you can start your saturday on the night before, playing soccer in the sudden, sodden spring. this means you'll sleep a sleep so untroubled that the only dream you'll remember in the morning is that you started a new tube of toothpaste. you won't even remember that dream until you go to brush your teeth and think: that's odd.

take your coffee back to bed. say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you. snuggle the cats. leaf through the globe and mail, saving some for sunday. when you get up, tell yourself you have to drive to the farmers' market rather than ride your bike because they'll have bedding plants. then buy a huge hydrangea with eight blue globes: there, you had to drive. run into jen, smiling in the sunshine. run into carmen, who tells you todd is still in the hospital but doing better. carmen herself is doing better, you note. load up the car with hydrangea and go back for an herb garden.

at 11:45 you realize you're going to be late for your lunch date. at the exact moment you text ted to say "i'm running ten minutes late," he texts you to say "i'm running ten minutes late." over vancouver rice bowls at the ARTery, mutual friends trickle in. karen's taking her dog to hip hop in the park. amy's maybe going to check out the office show: me too! the vue writers are staying for the live music, a girl named jill and her ukelele, but we sneak out.

hey, do you want to just park at your place and walk down? i do. the show is ... well, i like blair brennan's shrink-wrapped tools. gerry morita dances. someone sings. alice major reads. it's the office as figured by people on artists' grants. as you walk back out into the sunshine on 124th street, you think how this is ultimately what you'd want, artists on grants thinking about an office rather than artists in offices dreaming about grants.

ted says he'll walk you a bit. then amy runs after. we meander until we're at our place. does anybody want a drink? better: a fudgsicle. we haul mo away from her yard work, sit on the deck drinking ice water in glasses with green palm trees. our grass is greening too.

after ted and amy leave, you do a little solidarity yard work: put the amazing hydrangea into a pot, clear a couple of beds. just when the heat is starting to feel oppressive, you hail your new neighbours in the back alley: lovely liliane, 8 months pregant, and 3-year-old julia, who has a new bike. romanian, edmontonian, downtown dwellers, friends of david and susan's: me too! julia is determined to get herself up on the swingset, then the rings. we women watch her, our chat sweetly empty. the afternoon melts away.

what could make this day better? you grill your food: no cleanup. you get a message from dear friends saying that all is well, meaning they are well, meaning all is well. you put on the etsy dress you bought on impulse, which of course fits perfectly. you walk to the roxy to see darrin's new play buddy. you hold hands.

walking home you catch the scent of night blossom. you can't tell what it is, exactly, and you can't tell where it comes from, but you can't get enough of it. you would lose yourself here if you could. too soon, it evanesces, and you are home.

Venial equinox

it's the vernal equinox, halfway from the depths of winter to the height of summer. in a nice coincidence, christians are marking good friday. it's persian new year. feels like all the world's engaging in meaningful ceremonies to mark the passage of time, death and rebirth, the end of one cycle and the beginning of another.

well, i have a l'il ceremony of my own. i call it putting away the winter boots.

oh, chie, you are a temptress. i don't know whether it's your cosmopolitan background, your just-nerdy-enough internship with a podiatrist, your sassy designs or your gorgeous colors but i tell you what: i fell in love instantly. i would have bought your boots even if i couldn't stand in them. but when i slipped them on ... oh, www.chiemihara.com

it wasn't like that for us, was it? i'm ashamed -- now -- to say that i didn't even notice you at first. it took mo's keen eye to hook us up. but you were so understanding that you became the go-to boot this winter. skirts, jeans, dresses: nothing flummoxed you. and yes, yes, you could go on through the spring and perhaps even the summer (this is alberta, after all) but .... well .... the seasons are moving on, and so am i.



remember how i thought i could get through a 9-day trip to london on two pairs of shoes? trooping through chelsea i thought my feet would perish, my knees would give in, my back would crack. i found you, little no-name diesel knock-offs, in a little no-name store and thought i could fly. rest well -- you've earned it -- and i'll see you next year.



in their forties, people are meant to be learning all sorts of things about themselves. what i am learning is: i love boots.






i can hardly wait to see what the easter bunny has in store: