Costa Rica - Day 7 - Monteverde

We had a rough first night, as although the Cayoba Tropical was very beautiful, it is too close to the main road, so we were kept awake by traffic, fighting dogs and another bloody rooster. The next morning Paul made us a really nice Costa Rican breakfast before we took off towards the Manuel Antonio National Park. Our prebooked guide had cancelled on us the night before but Mike knew of a couple well-known guides and gave us their names to search for once we got to the park.  We hopped on the bus and traveled along the main road towards the public beach, and were entertained by all the tourist traps and fancy restaurants along the way. As we rounded the last corner and the ocean came into view, we all "oooh'ed" at the same time.

We accidentally got off the bus a couple stops too early, but it was easy enough for us to make our way down the road to the entrance of Manuel Antonio National Park.  Along the way, we were approached several times by would-be guides, all promising a money-back guarantee if we didn't see any animals.  That sounded like a pretty decent deal, but we were pretty set on locating one of the specific guides that Mike had recommended.  Luckily for us, once at the gate we only had to ask one person and he was able to quickly find a woman off our list, named Astell.

Almost the moment that we walked into the park we saw both a couple spider monkeys and a sloth.  I could see now that the previous guides' money-back guarantee was actually something of a joke.  The monkeys were completely unbothered by the crowd of tourists below them and totally focused on their pursuit of foraging for bugs.  The sloth to the left of the path moved so slowly that the tour guides outside the gate could continue their sales pitches based on him alone. Astell let us get over our monkey-glee for a little while there before leading us further down the path.  She had a really good eye and was easily able to point out several types of spiders, birds, and insects that no one else seemed to catch...or were even looking for. 

She would set up her telescope and fix it on the tiny creature from metres away, and we could see and take photos through the scope. 

She found us interesting plants along the way and explained where they we from and what medicinal purposes they held.  One tree was called 'yellow rain' that can be boiled into a tea to cure diarrhea. The Spanish brought it with them when they arrived for that particular purpose.  Then there was the 'Sleeping plant', named in respect to how its leaves wilt on contact as a defense mechanism. When ground into a paste it can be used as an anesthetic.  There was also a toxic tree that grew along the beach.  Its leaves, sap and nuts will all cause a burn or rash on your skin, and apparently the nut tastes like 10 jalapenos all at once. People without guides were sitting under them on the beach because they are also great shade trees.

While on the tour we saw a bunch of Capuchin monkeys, including one with a baby riding on her back, a few more spider monkeys, and a handful of sloths too. One sloth had a baby riding on her stomach! This was more impressive to me than the baby Capuchin because sloths seem more rare and apparently don't breed as quickly.  It is true what's they say about sloths.  They barely move and do actually grow moss on their fur.  One sloth was directly above us on the beach path and at first his face was obscured by some leaves, but every slowly became visible as he ate them chomp by chomp.

Towards the end of our tour we saw some raccoons scavenging around tourists on the beach to steal their bags. We watched one pull a backpack over a log before the owner came running.  It was really funny and they are much more bold than their Canadian counterparts.

The other couple on the tour with us were French and once Astell realized that most of our group spoke French, she nearly stopped speaking English all together. Only Sandra and I don't speak French and I found myself having to ask the other girls if what Astell was saying was just aimless chatting or relevant to our tour.  I was really annoyed by this, and how Astell took a call every few minutes to set up tours for later in the day.  I know she's got to make a living, but it's not great business practice to forgo your current tour for one that's not even happening yet.  She was good at finding us animals when she was off the phone but imagine ask the other things we might have seen.  Before she left us, we each handed her our payment and when she saw I didn't tip her she about 3 times if I enjoyed myself.  I simply said 'yes, it was nice' because I'm too much of a chicken to have given her honest feedback.

After the tour we stayed to lounge on the private beach.  It was so beautiful, with such warm water and perfectly rock-free sandy beaches.  The waves were a bit stronger than we anticipated and both Christine and I were thrown off our feet at one point. After about an hour we left the beach to follow the Cathedral hiking trail, which took us up the hill to a few look-out points. Personally I would have preferred to stay in the water, but it was a very nice hike.

Back at the bed and breakfast, we cleaned up as fast as we were able to and found our way back to a highly-recommended restaurant to watch the sun set over diner.  Unfortunately there wasn't a spectacular sunset that evening but the food was very good. We had something called a shrimp tower that was made of fried plantain crisps alternating with a shrimp and avocado salad. Might sound odd but it was delicious.  Since we all were uncertain about what to order, we each got a different dish and passed our plate to the left after a minute.  It was a really silly and fun way to try the whole menu. We perhaps also drank a lot...can't remember  ;)

I tried to grab some money out from the bank on the way home but was thwarted, even thought both Christine and Caroline we able to take out cash, and all three of us use the same bank.  I was annoyed and embarrassed because I had to borrow more money, but at least the bed and breakfast had free calls to Canada.  I would have to sort it out with my bank later.

In the evening, which comes a lot earlier than in Canada, I spoke to Drew for a bit online, then joined the girls at the Jacuzzi. It was a bit shocking at first as you except it to be hot, but its just as cold as the pool, only with bubbles. We sat around and chatted for a while before I decided I waned to venture into the forest above us at the end of Mike and Paul's property. Mike had told me earlier that day that they had a lot of tree frogs up there, of which I was yet to seeing the wild.  As I unlocked the gate to climb the stairs into the woods, I had a moment of clarity and decided I should take a dog with me for protection, just in case.  I called for Shadow, who was the sprier of the two larger dogs, but both her and Rica came bounding towards me and pushed through the gate, up the stairs and into the woods before I even knew what was happening.  I managed to get the gate closed before Ginger, the Jack Russell, joined them.  She wasn't too happy about that. I ran to the top of the stairs and was taken aback to see that the forest had absolutely no trails, no fences, and no light whatsoever.  In a panic, I called for the dogs to come back, but they were gone. I was  so terrified that I lost Mike and Paul's beloved dogs, and that they'd get attacked by a poison snake, or run through the woods onto a road and got hit by a truck.

By this point Christine had gotten out of the tub to help me find them. She stayed at the top of the stairs calling them while I ran back to my room to get some jeans and proper shoes on. I had to go after them and couldn't hike in the dark woods wearing a bathing suit and flip flops.  I was praying that they'd have already found their way back by the time I got back outside, but no such luck.  Christine was still calling for them and Caroline was shaking their kibble bowls to try to lure them home.  Back in the woods I tried to make my way through the trees calling their names, but just couldn't...the ground was uneven and there really was no path to follow. It was like walking into a wall. I turned around and tried another direction, calling out the dogs names, when Shadow ran to me out of the darkness! I grabbed her collar and escorted her back down into the backyard, where Rica had already appeared. She must have just climbed down the garden wall or something because the other girls didn't see her come back either.

After that excitement, and with me getting a good ribbing from the girls, we all went to bed.

My Homeless People Stories

I've lived in Toronto for the better part of a decade now (cripes I'm getting old!) and as most city-dwellers will admit, dealing with homeless people is pretty much a part of your daily activity.  Startling at first, you feel terrible for them and always hand over your "spare" change, but the unfortunate truth is that you do tend to start ignoring the requests for help.  There really are too many Shaky Lady's and Sticker Lady's out there, or the type of homeless who are only homeless on nice days during rush hour.  Every Torontonian has at least a couple stories of shocking encounters with the homeless.  Here are mine:

• Back when I was a fresh first year university student still living at home and commuting to Ryerson, I was asked outside of a Tim Horton's for spare change.  As I was (and still am) in the habit of using primarily electronic money, I didn't actually have any cash on me.  He did not take kindly to this, as demonstrated by his screaming "BITCH!" at me and scrambling to his feet.  I ran. 

• At another Ryerson street corner, a bunch of students were waiting for the light to change, and a homeless lady pushed her way into the middle of the crow, pulled up her long skirt, popped a squat and proceeded to urinate right there.  The whole crowd dispersed instantly, pushing each other onto the road to avoid the stream.

• While working near Queen and John I went for a coffee break at Second Cup across the street.  Being that I had a Second Cup card, I didn't bring my purse.  When an old homeless man asked me for money for food, I said I didn't have any money but I would get him a coffee.  "A coffee and a sandwich" he corrected me.  Fine.  Can't really tell him not to be greedy, can I?  So we walked across the street and when he realized where I was leading him, he starting screaming "No! Not there! NOOOO!" and ran like a bat out of hell, leaving me bewildered and red faced in a crowd of strangers with accusatory eyes. 

• Returning to work from lunch one afternoon, I happened upon an old homeless man who asked me for money to buy a drink.  I told him that whereas I didn't have any money, I would be happy to go get him a drink from upstairs.  He waited for me outside while I grabbed him a few cans of pop.  He was so encouraged by my thoughtfulness, that after receiving the drinks he thought he'd press his luck and ask me to make love to him.  Just remembering that hopeful offer makes me want to vomit a little.

Good Girls Do Not Pee on the Floor

Having had a recent visit to the ER, I was reminded of this one hospital visit back when I was 6  years old.

**************

I had had a couple bladder infections that the doctors were concerned about.  My mother had a kidney operation when she was about that age, so they were investigating whether there was some genetic weirdness going on with me.  An ultra sound detected that one of my kidney's was a bit larger than the other, which lead to a series of embarrassing tests. 

On this particular hospital visit, they wanted to insert a tube to fill up my bladder with some crazy fluid they could monitor on a screen.  Doctor's don't feel like kids need to be 'in the know' on such matters, so I was only told what was expected of me for each stage.  For this stage they only told me that it would be uncomfortable.  I would later agree with them that yes it was.  But it was also painful and embarrassing.  They must have forgotten to tell me that part.  Being a good little girl, I just dealt with it and did as I was told.  My mom was there, so I trusted I was in good hands.

Once that part was done, they gave me my next instructions:  The tube would be removed and they were going to monitor the screen while I peed out all the fluid.  I was full and uncomfortable and that sounded like a fine plan.

But wait.  They wanted to WATCH me pee?  All these people!?   Even worse, I was expected to just stand there and pee on a towel on the floor!!!

No.  No way.  Voyeuristic urination was my line.  Good little girls do not pee on towels on the floor.  I wasn't having any of that.

It became a battle of will.  They just stood there and waited thinking that at some point I couldn't take it anymore and had to do what they wanted. 

So we stood there.

And stood there.


Until they got bored and offered a compromise.  I could pee into a bucket.

Nope.

Nope, didn't like that either.  So we waited some more.


Another compromise:  I could sit on a wheelchair-toilet.  But they were still going to watch.

Nope.

We waited some more because they just weren't understanding my position.  Just call me a martyr for the good little girl tribe.  I was not budging, whether or not it was going to kill me.


Finally, when they were concerned that my bladder might rupture they admitted defeat and let me enjoy the privacy of a washroom. 


Later as we were preparing to leave the hospital in triumph/failure/embarrassment, one of the offending nurses found me and said she knew I had a rough day, and offered me the treat from her Burger King lunch.  It was an ALF Melmac Rock record*.  I was so thrilled to have this piece of cardboard that it made the whole experience worth while.

*Please note:  A record, not a CD.  It was 1988

Epilogue:  There turned out to be nothing wrong with my kidneys.  One is simply just bigger than the other. 

Assholes.

The Aptly Named "Uh Oh"

When I was fourteen, the day camp where I worked as a junior leader was contacted by YTV.  They needed contestants for a new game show called "Uh Oh".  Excited by the memories of toy mountains from "Kid Street", my friends and I eagerly auditioned.  If the casting directors were looking for outgoing kids who were willing to make fools of themselves on television, they found the right place.

Jackie and I were both selected as contestants.  We were not allowed to be partners because I was taller than her, and we didn't look good standing together on TV.  We were disappointed, but you know, whatever. We were just thrilled at the opportunity to be the centre of attention and win some cool stuff.

The filming day finally arrived, and YTV sent a bus down to the camp to pick us up.  All our friends were allowed to come sit in the audience and cheer us on.  I was put on the blue team and Jackie on the green team.  We bid each other good luck and stared cooly into each other's eyes, knowing that for the next hour or so, we were enemies.  Children's game shows have a way of doing this to you, I suppose.  Exposing the competitive, conceited, conniving, greedy little monsters teenager's are.

As the audience was arranged, the contestants were herded into the green room where we were instructed on the rules of the game.  I don't remember most of them, but assume they were unoriginal:  Spin the wheel, answer a question, play a game, incorrect answers might get you slimed by "The Punisher".  This was Canadian programing, after all, so no creative boundaries were broken. I secretly hoped my partner would get an answer wrong so I would be slimed, as part of the overall game show experience, but otherwise I was cool, calm, collected and ready to win! 

Our very first task was to come tearing onto the stage, slapping high-fives with the audience as we ran up to the podium.  Easy enough, though wickedly lame.  I was really embarrassed to be high-fiving the audience, and also worried that they would be too cool to high-five me back. Worst still, I had to go first. 

What they neglected to tell us was that the lights would be off when we came running onto the sound stage, with only coloured strobe lights to guide our way through the twisting ally of arm-flailing kids.  Without much choice in the matter, I was shoved into the dark flashy auditorium.  Thank God the kids high-fived me back, because that would have been the worst type of embarrassment - or so I thought.  Then I ran into the camera man, knocking him over, causing him to drop the camera on his own head. 

They obviously stopped taping and had to bring up the lights while they checked his face and camera to make sure that neither were broken.  Not the type of "look at me" attention I was aiming for. 

Luckily for his face, everything was fine and we resumed the show.  To Cole's Note this for you, I didn't get slimed but my partner did as a result of me not knowing how dentures were attached when they were first invented.  We ended up winning, and went home with an electric keyboard, which I later sold via the Penny Saver for $100.

I would give that $100 to see the blooper reel one day.






AND now, thanks to Jack MacDougall, here are some clips from the show!

Stories...that I will probably regret sharing

Something happened this past weekend which drew up a couple memories for me.  Although distasteful, I find that people take great joy in hearing them.

In descending order of grossness...

It wasn't me, I swear!  I am a LADY!

This past weekend, I saw a small something on my carpet.  I wasn't sure what it was because my eyes are not terrific and I'm too lazy to bend over to get a proper look at it.  So I picked it up with my toes, as I'm apt to do, and brought it upwards to see what it was.  The object didn't make it as far as my hands however before I was able to detect what it was from its consistency.  My dear and loving feline had left a small chunk of poo for me.  And now it was between my toes.  Awesome.

Calm down, I poop in my bed too.

Years ago I had a pet iguana named Louie.  Why my parents allowed me to have an iguana, I'll never know, as they grow to nearly 2 meters tip to tail.  Louie lived in an aquarium in my room, but I often left the top of her cage open so she could stroll around as she pleased.  This was never an issue as she always returned to her heat rock and food before too long.  One evening after returning from working a late shift at the movie theatre, I got ready and climbed into bed without turning on the light.  My feet felt cold at the bottom of the bed, but I disregarded that simply assuming they'd warm up shortly.  After a little while I started questioning whether my feet were actually cold or perhaps wet instead.  It took me a while to rouse the energy to get out of bed to flip on the light to verify, but once I did, I discovered that Louie had suffered an impressive bout of diarrhea on the end of my bed, which I had been lying in for a good 15 minutes.


Lastly, and worst of all...

I'm so sweet, I poop chocolate chips

During university I had a pet guinea pig named Venus.  During the summer when I moved home we kept her cage in the kitchen where she could enjoy the most attention as well as close proximity to the vegetable bin.  One afternoon, Sarah and I were enjoying our lunch (read: PC Decadent Chocolate Chunk Cookies) and as we passed by Venus' cage my cookie crumbed a bit and fell on the floor.  Being a good Otten I don't allow cookies to go to waste so I picked up the remnants and ate them anyway.  Another step forward I see a rogue chocolate chip on the floor.  So I ate it.  And then immediately realized that it wasn't a chocolate chip at all.  It was a guinea pig poo.

Running Away from School - AKA - In the Trees Talking to Birds

If only I were this cute...

I was fortunate enough not to have to grow up with having a terrible last name.  Or at very least, was fortunate enough not to grow up around terribly clever children.  I embraced "Rotten" myself fairly early on and so even if the other kids had though of calling me that, it wasn't an issue for me.  Other than that I was only ever called Otter, but otters are wicked clever and freaking adorable so that's hardly an insult.

Back in grade 5, we had a substitute teacher for French class.  Childhood rules clearly state that no work is to be done while under the supervision of a substitute teacher.  As such, Jeremy was testing out how I responded to being called an otter.  In kind, I tested out how he enjoyed being called Frosty the Snowman.  After a short period of consideration,  he let me know that he'd rather be cool than swim well.  The two of us were at a standstill.  Lesrick decided to try jumping in, but neglected to realize that with a name like Lesrick, he was a bit vulnerable to being called "Lessy-rick".  And by sitting across the desk from him, my shin was vulnerable to a good swift kick.

I was too proud to show weakness and cry, despite feeling like my bone had cracked.  Luckily for me and the poor substitute teacher, the lunch bell rang then and we were able to leave for lunch.

Both feelings and shin bruised, I opted to walk home and play sick for the rest of the day.  Unfortunately, as my mom wasn't expecting me home for lunch, my house was locked and I couldn't get in.  No matter, I went next door to camp out at Aunt Barb's until mom returned.  Wincing in pain from my shin, Aunt Barb believed I was sick, called the school to report my absence, and I spent a relaxing afternoon lying on her couch watching The Flintstones and Out of This World.

An hour or so later, my mom is at the door and looking very serious.  She had arrived home to find teachers looking in our windows and in our backyard.  My homeroom teacher had noticed that I was missing after lunch, causing a school wide lock-down (or what was then known as all grade 5's hang out in the gym with minimal supervision) while the teachers combed through the parks and creeks between my school and my house.

Holy crap was I in trouble.

My mom sent the teachers back their classes and I was due to meet with the principal the next morning.  My fake-sick day turned quickly into a real sick day thinking about the heap of trouble I was in for.

The next day my mom drove me to school and we went to meet with the principal.  She gave me a reaming about how they nearly called the police thinking that I'd been abducted.  They sent teachers combing through the creek just in case I had drowned.  Everyone was worried sick about where I was, and my teacher had been in tears.  At this point, so was I, so my mom calmly turned the discussion around.

Did they check the auto-absentee phone line?  No, they didn't, otherwise they'd have known where I was.

Did they call my emergency contact?  No, they didn't, otherwise Aunt Barb would have told them I was there.

Should they have called the police without checking those two basic first steps?  No.

I had never been so grateful.  I was able to walk out of the principal's office with my head held high and most importantly without detention. 

Back in class, I was a bit of a star.  Everyone was really pleased about the free gym time and wanted to know where I had gone.  My story wasn't that exciting (I didn't tell them that I left because of being kicked in the shin) but apparently the rumours flying around the school were.  The best one, and consequently the only one I remember, was that I had climbed a tree and was talking to some birds. 

The icing on the cake is that while I was missing, Lesrick and Jeremy were bragging that I had run away because they called me Otter.  Both of them got detension, while I did not.

Vomit Stories

Bargain Herold's
Remember "Bargain Harolds"?  I like to think I had somewhat of a role in it's eventual demise.  When I was somewhere in-and-around 10, my mom took Trevor, Sarah and my cousin Amy with her to the Rat Plaza, with Bargain Harolds at the entrance.  As soon as we entered the mall, my stomach turned and I paused to puke while my family carried on ahead of me without notice.  When I was done, I realized that I had ralphed from one end of the Bargain Harolds threshold to the other, completely carpeting their entrance way with my undigested lunch.  I ran to catch up with my mom to tell her what I had done, but didn't make it further than 20 feet before I hurled again.  When I was done my floor pizza, I realized that now I had effectively sealed all the unfortunate Bargain Harolds customer's inside the store with my vomit force field.  I definitely needed my mom to sort this mess out for me, so I caught up and told her I barfed.  Except in my family we weren't allowed to say barf (or puke, or hurl, or yak.  Not sure about vomit force field, though as I just made that one up now) so I had to say 'throw up'.  She stopped in her tracks.  I thought I was in trouble for sure.

Mom - "Where?" 
Me - "Bargain Harolds door"
Mom -"Which one?" 
Me - "Both of them"

Whereas I would have been tempted to run away and pretend that it wasn't my kid that just made a guttural (pun!) statement on the quality of products and services at the store, my mom did the honourable thing and marched back to Bargain Harolds, jumping over the chuck and informed the Manager what had happened.

Manager - "Where?" 
Mom - "Your door"
Manager -"Which one?" 
Mom - "Both of them"

As we all left, my mom and myself quite embarrassed, Trevor, Amy and Sarah all dying of laughter, the unhappy Manager threw some cardboard down on top of my refurbished lunch.

Later, while exiting the Rat Plaza, we noticed that the cardboard had been removed and stacked up next to the mall's candy machine.  That nearly caused us all to puke again.



Doorway Vomit
Here's another quick one that still makes me laugh.  When I was really young, let's say 5, I woke up suddenly in the night and couldn't make it to the bathroom in time to throw up.  My mom had super sonic hearing and always knew when one of us was awake at night.  She came out of her room to see what was wrong.

Me - "I threw up"
Mom - "Where?"
Me - (pointing at her feet) "There."

Luckily for both of us she was wearing her slippers.

My first pair of dangly earrings

One of the paramount moments in becoming a "big girl" was getting my ears pierced before going to kindergarten. Second to that was getting my first pair of dangly earrings.

As somewhat of an ostentatious child, I liked to draw attention to myself (middle child syndrome) so in attempts to highlight the specialty of my dangly earrings, I cleverly hid one each day in the climbers. This was clever on two fronts: 1) that I got attention and 2) that I got a little more time in the climbers which was the Holy Grail of Miss Maynard's class.

The guardian of the climbers was none other than Kermit the Frog. When Kermit was climbing, no one else was. Strange really that I was able to make amends with him so many years after this most hurtful betrayal. As it were, I used to hide an earring daily on the climbers after Kermit had taken his post. After a few minutes on the rug with the class, I'd "discover" my missing earring and get permission to go find it.

This one fateful day, however, my earring was not where I had left it. My fictitious search had borne an actual panicked hunt for my beloved dangly earring. Kermit laughed at me the whole time. Try as I did, I never found that earring, but I did learn a good lesson on lying and showing off.

I suppose I have Kermit to thank for that.

Stupid frog.

A letter to my parents...GOLD

Here is a letter to my parents when I was 17.  The forward and all italics are from Sarah:

And I have something that I've been saving but thought it went well with your second last post and would share it. Dad dug this gem up over the summer. The junk in the brackets will be my mocking.

Why Julie deserves to be treated as a 17 year old

Responsible

• held down stead jobs since 15
• Maintains honours with straight A's
  never had a grade lower than a B
• babysat on regular basis on a Thursday night during school until 1 o'clock am and still managed to go to school on Friday (I imagine that if you didn't, you wouldn't have been allowed to keep that babysitting job)
• When given a time at night to come home at, always is home then or earlier
• Editor of yearbook
• represented all of grade 10 at Hoby Leadership workshop    (You had a lot of difficulty spelling Leadership there and couldn't be bothered to white it out or re-write the letter to fix the mistake... Not going to lie: it undermined you, Julie. I lost a bit of confidence in you there.)

Mature

• most valued yearbook contributor
• Bronze award for academics and extra caricular activities    (Well, Ms. Yearbook Editor, I hope you paid more attention to the spelling in the yearbook than you did with this letter. Also, the inconsistency of capitalization at the beginning of these bullet points...)
• makes own money and pays for everything except medical needs etc. (Which, lucky for them, the government picks up; so you were a freebie for our parents!)
• doesn't smoke,    (Commas do not ever end bullet points. I'd like to inspect the yearbook you edited next time I'm over, please.)
• doesn't drink    (... doesn't tell the truth...)
• doesn't do drugs
• hasn't had allowance since 15
• handles work, school and soccer at once

expectations (Seriously? Underlined title without a capital?)

I want to be able to spend time with my friends. All of my friends work and therefore the only time we are able to get together is at night. The majority of my friends don't have curfew's (Not the correct pluralization.) and those who do are at midnight. During the school year their curfew's are at 10pm. 4 of my friends have their G2's & I plan on getting mine by the end of the summer so transportation is no longer an issue (Oh, boom! I beat you at something; I got mine when I was sixteen!). All I ask for is permission to go out (And, apparently, to take the car after the end of the summer). I argue because your decisions aren't justified as there are no reasonable reasons for them (HATE that sentence.). When I have no obligations for the next day & I am not asking to be out all night, there's no good reason why I should have to stay in. I am basically the ideal daughter (LOVE that.), grades, job, sports, nice, I even have a boyfriend in case you worry I'm out picking up strangers or something (I'm very fond of the last two reasons). With teenagers, you have to give and take (Says the expert who has raised so many teenagers of her own). I give all I am able to give, there is nothing I can give or improve myself on (Your humility, I think, could stand some work.). When you have bad kids, you give them more slack & privliges (Close.), so why benefit the bad & punish the good? I want a midnight curfew, one o'clock on special occasions. I give no more screening in return (Your generosity, also, could probably be improved upon.).

It's a good effort, but I'd give your very first mark below a B for this. Do you remember if they went for it?

Hope you like this at least half as much as I did!

Love,

Sarah

Neighbourhood kids

Growing up in Brampton was really fun. We had a lot of kids in our street and here are some random recollections of them:

Lindsay and Gregory lived two doors down. Gregory was my age but I was later told that I preferred talking to his mom over him. I used to go ring their door bell and when she answered, I'd say "guess what!" and launch into an epic tale of what I must have considered of monumental importance. Being that I was about 5 at the time, I'm sure it revolved around my cabbage patches or the bugs that I found.

When the they's moved out, Jennifer and Billy moved in. Jennifer was too old to be my friend but she was nice. Billy was a bit tough and intimidating to me. Once when we were all out front, I found a worm the size of a gardner snake and thought he'd be impressed if I showed it to him. Unfortunately for both me and that worm, he reacted by throwing it on the road. I wanted to go get it and put it back under the rock where I found it, but I was too embarrassed by his reaction, so I didn't. Eventually a car came and ran it over. I still feel terrible about that.
Once I saw Jennifer kissing her boyfriend while sitting on the ping pong table. Might seem a silly thing to remember but he was Chinese and it was the first time the concept of interracial dating occurred to me. I think his name was Ozzy and he drove a motorcycle.


I was never particularly close with our neighbour's who lived three doors down. Cristina was a couple years older and Stephanie a couple years younger. I do recall Cristina throwing my cabbage patch doll Angela into the garage. She got a white scratch on her face and I never forgave her for that needless act of violence. I'm sure Angela didn't deserve it.
An embarrassing memory I have of Stephanie is once while we were playing in her room I was so distracted by the clutter that I started cleaning her room for her. When my mom came to collect me for dinner, their mother commented that Steph's room has never been so clean. I said "all you have to do now is vacuum it and you're good to go". Did I EVER get an earful on the walk home on manners!! Mom was sooo embarrassed.
Michael was Sarah's friend since they were the same age. When they were a bit older he would come over to dinner, I think mostly as entertainment. Probably one of the funniest kids I know. He's recently filmed an indie zombie movie with some friends. I can't wait to see it.

Shanna and Cassie lived directly next door. Shanna was a year or two younger than me and Cassie was Sarah's age. Shanna and I used to play swimming lessons on our front lawns, which involved one if us jumping off the porch and running around in crazy circles with the other one following as if we were on a water slide. The game lasted until the eventual fall down, which meant we splashed in the pool. Then we'd switch. I'm laughing out loud as I type this, it's so ridiculous.
My favourite game with them was throwing the ball over the fence. It was exciting not knowing where the ball would launch from.
Once I turned 19 I have Shanna my old ID. Two years later when she was 19 she returned the ID in a thank you card left in our mailbox.

Adam and Ashley lived a few doors down as well. Closer to Sarah's age, I never really played with them, but once Ashley was mad at Sarah and reacted by taking off all her clothes and riding her tricycle home naked. My mom ran after her and dressed her on the sidewalk.
Their uncle Tom lived with them and was a cowboy. At least that's what he told us. We believed him because he had a hat, wore the boots and had a cactus in his room. Thinking about this now, it is incredibly inappropriate that I was ever in his bedroom. My assumption now is that he wasn't entirely of sound mind.

Laurie's family lived down the street; specifically 15 houses away. I was their Kimmy Gibbler and was always over. I often went there in bare feet and thought they were really prissy when they made me put on socks before coming inside. Now I know that my feet must have been filthy and their carpets were quite light. Their house always smelt like "clean"...mine smelt like cigars and crayons.
My family never went out for dinner. McDonald's was a very special treat for us, and very rare at that. The first time I went to Pizza Hut and Swiss Chalet was with Laurie's family. I thought they were rich because they went out for dinner and Laurie and Sarah went to camp all summer. Years later Laurie told me that she thought we were rich because we had so many toys.
Once when I was over for dinner, Laurie's sister Sarah was angry at us for something (probably Nintendo related) and said at the table "you know, Dad says you don't have to have Julie over all the time". Awkward silence. It confused me because I never stayed without being invited. My dad referred to Laurie as his fourth kid so she was at my place as much as I was at hers.

This is a long post. 6 hour bus rides can do that to you (PS: I'm in Peru!)

Earliest Memories

Here are a few of my earliest memories, in no particular order or relation. That's what you're going to get from this blog...a spattering of nonsense that probably doesn't interest anyone but me. And potentially anyone I happen to write about. I'll try to keep the bitchy-teen-angst infused comments to a minimum this time.

We had just moved from Georgetown into our new Brampton house, which would have made me three. Our basement was unfinished, dark, and potentially full of monsters. Trevor, 6 at the time, was scared to go down there and as an act of defiance and bravery, I decided to upshow him and go down there, alone, in the dark. It was terrifying and I was pretty sure I was going to die, but well worth it in the end. This was probably the turning point in our relationship.

Again, basement story:

The neighbourhood kids were all in our basement, and as dumb kids do, we were running the circular path around the stairs for no particular reason. As I ran by, I accidentally knocked down a 2x4 into the path, but as the race was on, I didn't want to stop and pick it back up. In fact, I probably prided myself on a successful obstacle for the next runner to overcome. The next runner was unfortunately my toddler little sister, who stepped on the board and got a nail through her little shoe, into her little foot. I feel TERRIBLE!!!!!

That last story I held onto in shame until just last year, when I finally felt it was time to tell Sarah what I had done. She obviously didn't remember, as she was really young, but upon confirmation with our dad, he said that it didn't happen. Perhaps she just fell and there was no nail, or maybe there was a nail and she narrowly missed it...or maybe I dreamed the whole thing up. Don't know, but it's still a memory. So onto the blog it goes.

The day I got Blackie:

Mom had told me that I could get a kitten as soon as the fences were put up in our backyard. I was sitting in the kitchen looking out the patio doors, emphatically telling her that the fences were there, but I still didn't have a kitten. I was really angry about it and sulking my five-year-old face off.
Aunt Marg and likely Nanny opened our front door, as they came over every Wednesday for lunch. I was too sulky to go say hi, so I just sat slumped in the kitchen against the back wall. When I looked over, Aunt Marg was carrying a little black kitten and handed him to me. I vividly remember that moment, and how happy she looked to be able to give him to me. I felt nearly sick with guilt for being so angry at my mom.

Why is it that my earliest memories are charged by guilt?

Proof that I'm a thoughtless and unfeeling person:

When Grampa Les died, he and Nanny lived in Connecticut. Mom and Dad only took baby Sarah to the funeral with them and left Trevor and I with Aunt Caroline and Uncle Lambert for the weekend. I was probably about 4 if Sarah was a baby. It was the first time they'd been away from me, and it was over my birthday. I remember being very excited to spend a sleep over weekend with A Caroline and U Lambert, because they had a pinball machine in the basement and the little mushroom houses for their smurf figurines. Before Mom and Dad left us there, they gave me a birthday present to open. It was a girl-transformer, which transformed from a cat into a lipstick. It thrilled the shit out of me. Grampa Les, who?

Random, the day I became a "Big Girl":

One afternoon before I was old enough to go to school, I asked Mom to take me to the park. I decided to test her to see if she'd let me into the stroller and was really surprised when she let me. Feeling pretty pleased with my lazy ingenuity, I took the stroller ride congratulating myself the whole way. Until we passed my brother's friend Lindsay. She was 3 years older than me, and someone who I considered a "Big Girl". I was humiliated at being caught hitching a stroller ride, and never rode in one again.

Random, possibly the origin of my bathroom insecurities

More on the subject of Lindsay, she was an only child, had two cats, and super long hair. Though I wasn't aware of this word at the time, to me she seemed very bohemian. Once when all the kids were playing hide and seek, I thought she was going to go hide in the bathroom, so I followed her in there. She wasn't in there to hide, and didn't seem to mind taking a poo in front of me. Also very bohemian. She explained that when you got to go, you got to go, and once her mom didn't poo for a very long time and the doctor needed to sit his hand up her bum and take the poo out. I really wish I didn't know that story. When I went to high school and Lindsay was there, that story was all I could think about every time I ran into her, with her cropped green hair. Confirmed: Bohemian.

Short and Sweet...wallpaper:

My first room in the Brampton house had strawberry shortcake wallpaper. I was quite convinced that it was scratch and sniff, and used to sniff the different characters all the time. In fact, I remember giving it a lick, just to confirm whether it was also tasty wallpaper; it was just regular wallpaper flavour.