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I woke up this morning to a wooly gray sky and a humid, heavy breeze tumbling through my bedroom window.

For once, the dubious weather has saved itself for a Tuesday (rather than a Sunday), and the sunshine lasted through our entire three-day weekend. That’s impressive, for Vancouver. It’s not that we don’t get sunshine, mind you, but we don’t always get it on the days when anyone has time or opportunity to use it.

You get used to it, after a while… laughing at the weather forecast because the timing is so absurd.

I’ve been feeling a bit cloudy myself lately, but it really seems as though I shouldn’t be. Why am I through a low pressure system at the wrong time. Shouldn’t I be more shiny? More thankful? More positive?

But I’m so Vancouver right now: reliably unreliable. The only constant is that I feel things at the exact time I’d really rather not.

Whenever I look back at the last couple years of my life and classify them as ‘difficult’, I rush to remind myself of all the good things that have happened in that time. The move I’ve made to a better home. A job that is stretching me. The friendships that have developed in odd and perfect ways. The discoveries I’ve made about my health that enable me to move in a direction, rather than wonder, wonder, wonder.

It has been difficult, though. I can’t pretend otherwise. The things I have to be thankful for are huge doses of comfort along the way, but they don’t always buffer the experiences that have etched lines into my face and scars onto my body.

I’ve been scared. I’ve been lonely. I’ve been disappointed. I’ve been angry. At myself, at other people, at intangible entities like ‘life’ and ‘love’ and ‘happiness’.

I’ve wanted things to miraculously change or evolve or work out in some direction that appears sunny and good and easy… but every time I think I’m going to get a break?

Overcast.

I do feel good a lot of the time, mind you.

I sing and dance like the random freak I always was. I can see the humour in everything from a weird boomerang ladybug I was trying to knock off my arm yesterday to pretty much everything Catherine and I do together. I wake up in the morning ready to run, and go to bed at night most of the time with a head full of thoughts that are not negative at all (mostly just random.)

I just have some questions and empty spaces that I am learning to live with.

I have some regrets that I am trying not to use like a brick wall against my head.

I have some unrequited desires I am managing as best I can.

I have some lists from which I have yet to scratch a single item.

I have some serious bumps in the road that I’m not going to be able to steer around.

I’ve screwed up a few things I can’t fix.

But.

As cloudy as it is now, or as cloudy as it might be in the future, the sun always shows up again eventually.

I have faith in more things than not.

And like a true Vancouverite, I’ve learned that the weather can’t change how you live your life, anyway.

It’s just a good excuse to buy boots.

I’m a little heatstroked… heatstruck… overheated… uh, toasty right now.

It may have something to do with the fact that I spent four hours at Nat Bailey Stadium today watching the Vancouver Canadians WIN!

(Unlike the last time I went.)

Honestly, there are few sports I don’t like to watch live… hockey, football, soccer, and yes, the boys of summer, too. Especially the Mariners at Safeco, but you take what you can get on a Sunday afternoon.

($6 tickets with our Entertainment book! HA!)

We had a sweet time. Like we always do. That’s because Catherine is fun. And I get to be fun by osmosis!

Now, the funniest thing about watching the Canadians play (because I don’t really follow single A ball) has something to do with this young man:

We used to see him on this show (yeah, yeah… we all have guilty pleasures!) His mom is one of the most successful realtors in Coto De Caza, CA and his dad is an executive (and former player) for the Oakland A’s. We recognized his name the first time we went.

Funny how the Canadians are the farm team for the A’s. Hmm…

Anyway, Shane Keogh ain’t much of a hitter — .165. But he’s a good fielder, a great base-stealer, and well, kind of a looker. And we saw him on TV before we saw him in the dugout, which is just weird.

But.

I’m tired, y’all.

And working on loving my summer.

So I better rest up.

When I was a kid, you were the second most thrilling time of year. Wintertime always came out on top, of course, because… SNOW!

But summertime meant no school! And homemade popsicles! And staying up later! And bike rides to the Red Rooster! And a month in Vancouver with Poppa and Nonna and everyone else on this side of the Rockies!

I could be barefoot more often than not.

I could wear shorts more often than not.

I could be outside more often than not.

I remember my favourite outfit of all time: a pink seersucker one-piece ensemble with straps that tied at my shoulders. I felt so glamourous and sophisticated in that little pantsuit, even as the seersucker was scratching the life out of my fresh Crescent Beach sunburn.

Beauty is pain. I knew it even then.

But.

Summertime was the apple tree in bloom in the backyard on Waverley.

Summertime was the blue plastic pool on Tutshi, sending tiny ants out to sea on the BatBoat.

Summertime was barrel rolls down the toboggan hill with Shelley, grass stains on our knees and elbows.

Summertime was white sandals on Sunday mornings.

Summertime was Baskin Robbins on 49th, eating Golden Delicious Sherbet out of a small, polka-dot cup.

Summertime was pre-bedtime walks on Cannon Beach, whispering secrets to Margie.

Summertime was a week at camp, avoiding giant spiders and crashing windsurfers into old, faded docks.

Then summertime was camp for three months… for 15 years.

Did I really do it that long?

Whole staff-fulls of friendships.

Hundreds of pairs of flip flops.

Thousands of hours spent on boats circumnavigating the island, and on ferries to and fro.

So many cans of Coke consumed trying to stay awake that I fear my tan was really an overdose of “caramel colour.”

More crushes than I can recall, some of which only existed in memory until they existed again on my Facebook (huzzah!)

And most importantly, thousands and thousands of kids that I loved, and laughed with, and listened to, and saved from certain peril with Dean in a Whaler because they — like me, years before — could not tack to save their lives.

Now summertime is work of a different sort, at a job indoors where I do not have to convince 9 year-old boys that sunscreen won’t melt their skin off.

Now summertime is a warm apartment at the end of the day, offset by the most gorgeous sunsets on our deck.

Now summertime is friends visiting from far away.

Now summertime is our crazy Aussie bellowing from the deck upstairs, or Karen’s tan rocking harder than ours, or Presley in sundresses.

Now summertime is no one questioning my Havaiana habit.

Now summertime is dining on patios, whenever possible.

And now summertime is actually September, when we head off for our vacation on a real, live airplane.

But most of all?

It’s perfect. And freckly. And shining. And crisp and sweet and fresh like watermelon. And not over yet.

I love you, Summer.

Thanks for coming out.

Love,

Meg

‘Fiddlin’ Fred’ at Carribean Days, Lonsdale Quay.

Right here!

Tonight is the first night of the HSBC Celebration of Light in Vancouver!

For those of you from out of town (courtesy of the site):

“The world’s leading fireworks manufacturers consider the HSBC Celebration of Light international fireworks competition to be the most prestigious event of its kind in the world and an exciting arena where they can unveil the latest pyro-musical techniques and the most innovative fireworks materials.”

Three countries. Three big shows.

Tonight is Spain… Ole!

We’re planning to watch the magic from the comfort of our balcony.

A couple of years ago, I went down to English Bay to watch the madness unfold close-up. We went four or five hours early to secure a prime spot at the beach, and as time ticked away, we were slowly but surely surrounded by what seemed like half of Vancouver.

It’s fun, but a little crazy. A little drunk. A little mad.

And OH, THE GARBAGE. THE SHEER VOLUME OF GARBAGE.

It should be an interesting “morning after” the first night of the celebration this year, seeing as the city sanitation workers are on strike. Oops.

Oh, well.

I doubt it’s the first time in my city people have gone to sleep thinking they’d had “fireworks”… and then woke up feeling kinda trashy.

IT’S SUNNY.

WOOOOO!

I love it.

I love how blue the water looks and how green the leaves look and how much the pinks and purples and oranges of the manicured city gardens pop in the light.

I love that I am wearing a new white t-shirt (a good white t-shirt being the finest item of clothing any tanned individual can own.)

And not only that, I love that my friend (who I have not seen in ages) picked me up from my bus stop today and we got to drive in the sunshine and chat and catch up and YAY!

Everything is better in the sun.

So, to celebrate, my ten favourite Vancouver sunny day sights…

1. Kids shrieking like escaped monkeys at water parks while their harried parents sit off to the side, bogarting the juice boxes they packed for their offspring, and hoping the mini fountains and showers and spray pipes stay entertaining for another two hours.

2. The Patio People ™ sneaking out of work at 3 pm to enjoy festive beverages pretty much anywhere a restaurant manages to squeeze a table onto the sidewalk outside.

3. Businesswomen picking at takeout California rolls (if you can’t be in Cali, the next best thing?), stripped of their suit jackets, tailored pants yanked up to the knees, trying to catch some rays on office building steps.

4. Tanned commuter arms hanging out of open windows, drumming radio beats with wedding rings on dusty car doors.

5. Bored baristas schlepping trays full of tiny sample Frappuccinos to the same three smokers sitting in front of every Starbucks on on the planet, who sit drinking their Tall Darks and reading left-behind sections of the Province.

6. Old women doing their daily constitutionals on not-shady-for-long park paths, natty in crisp white suits and comfort sandals, epic hair unwilted in the heat.

7. Italian men in wine-coloured shirts sipping Pellegrino Limonata outside of espresso shops on Commercial, comparing the temperature to a day only they remember in 1967.

8. Clumps of teenagers awkwardly planning their next destination on downtown street corners, clutching Slurpees and sporting sunburns earned in suburban swimming pools.

9. Granville Market fruit sellers swiveling in 360 degree circles, weighing Okanagan cherries, counting ears of Chilliwack corn, waving flies off of Fraser Valley raspberries, and handing back change in dimes (”It’s all I’ve got!”)

10. The Art Gallery Step menagerie, from bewildered tourists with $2,000 cameras to can collectors catching an afternoon siesta.

I love my city this time of year.

Having a rain warning in Vancouver is like having a donut warning at Tim Horton’s.

We’ve had rain for a few days now.

It’s not too cold outside — mostly muggy, temperature normalish — but I think the whole scene makes it seem as though the weather were a bit more chilly than it is.

Even after a week of sunshine, it only takes a day to become re-accustomed to those ominous charcoal tufts of steel wool floating overhead, broken up by tiny bits of blue whenever one of the clouds forgets the “overcast” mandate laid out by Environment Canada.

This is Vancouver.

We rain.

Even in July, when everyone else on the West Coast (and the East Coast, for that matter. And the parts in between, dammit!) is wandering about in a bronzed, be-shorted bliss, we know that even the brightest day can end up feeling more like November.

I mean, I’m not asking you to feel sorry for us.

We’re awfully pretty as a result — our grass stays green, and our streets don’t feel like dustbowls — and the precipitation is good for keeping our forests safe from the fires that often ravage dry areas in the summertime.

But BLECH to raincoats in warm weather.

And BLECH to the kind of humidity that makes me feel like condensation is forming on the insides of my lungs.

And BLECH to sudden cloudbursts that make you wish you hadn’t worn a white tank top.

And BLECH to making plans to do anything outside and having those same plans change within a half hour because monsoon season sets in over lunch.

Someone emailed me once to ask if I talked about the rain in Vancouver to scare off tourists so I could have this beautiful city to myself.

And oh, ho ho… we Vancouverites joke about our reverse PR strategies all the time.

But no… everyone is welcome to come here!

Just don’t look surprised when you see that they sell raincoats at the airport, and all your shoes start making squooshy noises when you walk, and dust settles on your sunglasses where you left them on the table a week ago.

(Is it working?)

my city lit up
metal and glass cut blue sky
yay roadwork delays