Rumours

I have a vivid memory of the first time I heard Fleetwood Mac's Rumours album played. I was a passenger in a friend of a friend's car, driving north on Islington Avenue from Woodbridge to Kleinberg, going to a party in someone's rec room. It was 1977. Last night, at the Air Canada Centre in Toronto, I was transported back to that moment, when Fleetwood Mac sang out their first song of the evening, Second hand news, just as I heard it as the first song on Rumours on that drive. I was spellbound for the rest of the evening. I knew all the lyrics to all the songs on that album, and could easily have sung along last night.

Fleetwood Mac is one of those iconic bands of the 1970's, and my youth. Thirty six years later, we are both sounding great. Their show was fun, entertaining, well thought out, had great visual effects and showed us that they have only become a finer vintage.

While they played Rhiannon, their first hit, the sweet aroma of reefer snuck by me, and their eye catching visuals backing the stage lured me in to their performance, and I was hooked. We heard a smattering from all their albums. Lindsay Buckingham's guitar solo grabbed me — I finally breathed out, when he strung his guitar for the last time. Outstanding! How old is Mick Fleetwood? That man can rock! He was pounding his skins with the passion of a pup still out to prove himself, yet clearly enjoying his role at the helm of this band sporting his black knickers and red shoes. Stevie Nicks' voice was as strong and as identifiable as ever. She was still sporting her black angel look, and as the evening wore on, she donned her trademark top hat for the first of their two encores. Each member was allowed to shine. I was relieving a moment or two along with the rest of this audience.

As my Mom has said, "you need to blow out the cobwebs once in a while," and last night we both did. My Mom and I tapped our toes, bobbed our heads, swayed our shoulders and thoroughly knocked out a mess of cobwebs.

Thank you Fleetwood Mac for providing all that good entertainment.
Don't Stop.

A Father and a daughter

How do you describe that bond that exists between fathers and daughters?

My Dad died sixteen years ago today, unexpectedly, at the age of 63. I was at his side in Japan when he moved on. It's so weird. One minute they are here, and the next, poof, they aren't. I wondered if his soul was lifting up from his body, looking down at the situation, when the doctor declared him dead.

My Dad and I had your typical roller coaster relationship. When I was small, he was, my male role model — strong and protective, a good provider, had a camera on his shoulder at every event to record our lives, I knew I could count on him, he could build anything and taught me how to ride a bike and to drive stick shift. But he also instilled values in me, that only later I recognized. As I grew up we had our moments, our disagreements, didn't quite see eye to eye on a lot of things, but, he was my Dad, for better and for worse, I accepted him, and I think he did me, in his way.

I miss him, and still think of him often. This is my personal Father's Day. Happy Father's Day Dad.
Love, Kathi

Easter Feaster and spring

My indoor spring-scape.

This has been a long winter. Some might say a very long winter. I have one tiny clump of snow still on my boulevard.

With this long weekend of Easter upon us, I am starting to see a glimpse of spring — longer blue skied days, birds are singing, and the raccoons have taken to knocking over my garbage bin again.

There still aren't any real signs of life in my garden, not even on my pussy willow standard, but, as the trend of longer and sunnier days continues, budding gardens can't be far behind. Another sign of spring is that our first yard waste pick-up for the season is next week. Aside from all my retired neighbours, who have way too much time on their hands, I haven't even thought of lifting a twig. I'm sure they will have oodles of bags for the compost truck. I'm actually looking forward to getting out and cleaning up the garden, but am waiting for the lawn to firm up a bit, before I start traipsing over it.

While spring is slow in coming outside, I keep on springing up the inside of my house with tulips, to let me know my own can't be too far away now.

Easter is traditionally the start of spring for me, and with it falling early this year, I hope spring comes early too.

March Break

Me, on top of the Swiss Alps.
One of my favourite March Breaks.

Oh, to be a student again, well, more precisely, to be a student on March Break this week. The coveted week off, by every student, in the middle of what feels like an endless winter.

I was lucky enough to have wonderful March break holidays when I was a kid. During my high school years my Dad and I would go on amazing ski holidays. A week to bond and ski, laugh and create memories. It was all good fun. We skied the American and Canadian Rockies, the Austrian and Swiss Alps, until my grade thirteen year, when I fell down a staircase, while on a ski trip with friends, and ended up with my leg in a cast. Mexico, would have to be substituted for Park City Utah.

March break always seemed to arrive just in the nick of time, when you felt you couldn't deal with the endless grey days any longer. March break should be mandatory for everyone. A respite from work and the everyday routine, is a tonic that we can all benefit from, particularly when we live in a northern, colder climate. Sadly, it is not mandatory for all. Alas, we've just sprung our clocks forward an hour, and the days will be getting longer, and daylight will last longer, so, all in all, things are looking up.

My boys

It's not what you were thinking, I'm talking about the cars I've had the pleasure to call mine, over my driving lifetime. I heard a commercial for the Toronto Auto Show on the radio this morning as I was driving in to work, and it got me to thinking about my past boys. Yes, my cars, contrary to popular thought, have all been boys.

Bob, my first beaut, was a Cortez Gold 1971 Pontiac Grand Prix, with a 455 motor, which seemed to impress, most men, but all I knew was he sure was peppy. Bob had a nose on him that wouldn't quit. He was stylish, had door handles that the likes have, we will not see again. I learned to drive with Bob, learned how to park in any spot, thanks to my brother, be it parallel, back in, drive in, you name it. He had lovely dulcet tones, that there was no way I could sneak in late at night.

 My next boy was an '84 RX7, that I adored, and he was simply my babe. He was a stick shift. This is where my love affair with the standard transmission began. I have been unable to be charmed by the lure of an automatic transmission since. He had brown leather interior and a moon roof that popped out. There was nothing better than driving on a country road on a summer evening with the roof off, and U2's rhythmic Mysterious Ways, or rockin Desire, blaring from my surround sound cassette deck. Bliss. Gearing down as I approached a four way stop on a lonely deserted road, I felt I was waking up the cows in the fields.

My next boy remained nameless. We never bonded. It was my shortest relationship, and not noteworthy, exept to say that he was a magnet for scrapes, bangs and dings.

Toto, was made in Kansas, so it only seemed appropriate, I named him after one of my favorite characters. Toto sits tall and proud, a Mazda Tribute, again a stick model, and after ten years, I still enjoy driving him. No, he doesn't have the luster of the earlier boys or the same cache, but he's practical, has a four doors, something I hadn't experienced before, is stable and has never let me down.

Now I've learned, to be prepared for, "just in case" scenarios. When my babe died unexpectedly, and his terminal rust on the undercarriage didn't allow me to get a new motor, I hadn't given any thought as to what car would replace him, so went with the first thing someone recommended. Hence the lack of bonding. I now have taken the time to plan, for, "just in case". He will have to have a stick, so I am limited, to high end or cool lower end vehicles. Alas, I hope that day doesn't come too soon, but, I do have my eye on a cute little Fiat 500 cabriolet.

No, I would not call myself a car person, but, for all the time we seem to spend in our vehicles, I sure want to enjoy what I'm in.

K-K-K-K-K-Kathmandu...

Not sure what it is, but I've been thinking about these happy smiling faces I came to know, when I was in Kathmandu two years ago, doing volunteer work at the Swayanbhunath Temple, aka The Sacred Monkey Temple.

I just can't email them to see how they are doing. Snail mail is so ineffective there, it's just not worth doing. But I'm curious as to how they are doing, and what they have been up to in the past couple of  years.

It's difficult to divorce yourself from something that has had an affect on you. As someone recently pointed out to me, it's not the length of time you spent with them, it's the quality of time and profound affect they had on me. At the time, I knew my young monks, and all the people I encountered in Nepal were being imprinted on me, but just didn't realize how strongly, until some time has passed. I miss Nepal, oh, not the squatty toilets or smoke filled streets, but I miss the people, and the generosity of spirit that came so naturally to them,  that I encountered daily.

Every time I hear Bob Seger's Kathmandu, I long for another place, truly.

Pining for Tucson

It's February, and that means it is time for the huge Gem and Mineral show in Tucson. It is a massive show with over forty venues and thousands of dealers from around the world. You name it, from glorious diamonds to colourful agates by the bucket load,  it will all be for sale.

I really liked Tucson when I was there two years ago for the show, and after the snowfall we had yesterday, have an inkling to be there now. I'm reading all sorts of postings from friends that are at the show, shopping, taking courses, mingling and having fun. Like minded individuals sharing their love for designing, creating and enthusiasm for jewellery.

Oh to be in the desert. There is something restorative about it, at least for me — it is very calming.

 I mean, where else can you see Doc Holliday strolling down the street, but in Tombstone?