I have two couch surfers arriving today from Seattle, my first to arrive since late September. Actually they are from Texas. Many Americans who visit Seattle have heard many nice things about Vancouver and think it would be worth it to rent a car and come see it for a day. They said they'd be here by 10:30. I had planned a car tour for them along the North Shore and other scenic areas as it is brilliantly sunny and close to freezing outside. But at 10:30 I got the call that they were just leaving Seattle. I don't mind. It gave me extra time to clean my place. Also this morning I learned that the Santa Claus parade will be disrupting traffic around to condo until 1. They should arrive around 1:30. After getting settled in they should have about 2 hrs to see the city before dark.

Besides having an apartment cleaner than I am, I have another reason to celebrate today. It has been 4 months since I last fell. Since I began tracking my falls in January '04 this is the 5th longest stretch without a fall. If I can stay upright another week I'll tie my 3rd best stretch. It would be bizarre for anyone else to celebrate that landmark but for me it's definitely worth a smile.

A power day

Winter is definitely here. The rains of November have given way to an approaching high pressure system that is sucking the cold, clear air from the Interior down over Vancouver. The break from the almost constant rain is a treat but the temperatures and sinking faster than the US dollar. By mid-week the temperatures are expected to be below freezing all day and as low as -7C at night; quite unusual this early in the winter.

The bright weather has everyone in fine spirits. It always gives me a boost of energy. I rose fairly early and rummaged through the garbage bins to find a dry cardboard box to make a parcel for my Christmas gifts to send to my mother and siblings in Toronto. My first choice was perfect but once I had it sealed and labeled it was too heavy for my compromised muscles to carry it two blocks to the post office. Fortunately, Fred had arranged to meet me for breakfast and he carried it for me. That was a huge weight, so to speak, off my mind, but I still had a couple more gifts to shop for, then wrap and then send off in a smaller parcel.

Christmas means nothing to me, or at least not the bogus “Christmas story” we’ve been force fed all our lives. I really don’t care if I never received anything but I do enjoy shopping for gifts others and sending them off. Giving is a sacred act for me, and after I have sent off my gifts I feel contented and nourished.

Then it was time to shop for myself. Jeremy, who I haven’t seen in months, came by in his Vitara and took me to Mountain Equipment Co-op. He shopped for an undercoat for his wife Cathy while I bought myself a long, warm and waterproof winter coat and stretch-on cleats for ice and snow. The way winter has started the odds are that we’ll have some nasty weather.

Jeremy was kind enough to drive me up to Kona afterwards to buy a few stained glass supplies. Mostly I needed solder and zinc U-channel to make frames for larger windows. I picked up a couple choice pieces of glass while I was at it: another $118 bill.

Then he brought me Christmas tree shopping. We headed back to Kitsilano, the fierce light of the afternoon sun glaring off his windshield. High above downtown, looking north from 33rd Ave, the blue mountains were capped with snow. The Lions are almost completely white. I've heard that Whistler has had record snowfalls but here next to the sea the snow line is still at 1000m. But by next week everything could be white. We usually get our biggest snowfalls when warmer air slides in over the dense freezing air as it retreats, especially if the front stalls over the city.

Jeremy wasted no time picking out a 2-metre tall Fraser fir. The regular price would have been $100, but it was on sale for $70. Our condo doesn’t allow real trees but I don’t have the space or inclination to have one anyway, not to mention the money. He strapped it to the roof of his car and drove me home. For a moment he entertained the notion of taking me back to his place so I could see his son Adam, who is a year and a half old now, but I reminded him that there are no railings on his stairs and I can't make it into his house. My limitations are always a bummer, but it’s also a fact of life. Hopefully I’ll get to see them again before they move to Colorado sometime next year.

My visit to Portland

I rode with Danzante in his car from New Westminster to Portland last Wednesday, Nov 25, the day before American Thanksgiving. It was one of those weather days I don't like to remember. Just walking to breakfast at Joe's before I left nearly soaked me through. The rain had stopped when I left the restaurant so I walked up the street to a travel agency to buy insurance, the only thing I had forgotten to do beforehand. It was pouring again when I walked home a few minutes later, and as I waited at a crowded bus stop on my way to New Westminster to meet him.

The rain kept up until White Rock, just before the border, and then it cleared up, making the rest of the drive much easier for him. We made it to Portland and Wallowa's home (the Chicken Ranch) an hour after dark. We were ready to roll up our sleeves and pitch in to help with dinner preparations for the next night, but Wallowa was exhausted and frustrated that his first 25 lb turkey took 11 hours to finish cooking. We decided to get up early to start the preps fresh. That night I slept with Mystic One. We snuggled a bit but did nothing beyond that. It was difficult to sleep as he was jittery and moved a lot. He was anxious about his move to Mexico that was about to happen a day and a half later.

Thursday, the morning of Thanksgiving dinner, we were all up early cleaning the green beans, peeling potatoes, chopping mushrooms and preparing the dressing. After our obligatory three hours of help Danzante and I left to deliver gifts he had brought for several friends. First we visited our mutual friends Ken (Quercus) and his partner David (who is reviewing my novel). I wasn't able to climb their front stairs, which had no railings, so they came out to say hi to me at the car. They stood there 20 minutes in the rain. Next we went to Periwinkle and Otter's place, which I also couldn't get into I surmised, then to his former best friend (which he hadn't seen for 5 years) Michael Buck's home.

Then it as off to another mutual friend's home, Gian (Gina Falloffabridgidda), where
we met his new partner Merlin. They made us sandwiches while they were making preparations for a naked gay men's Thanksgiving dinner! One participant, Dave, showed up shortly after we did, got naked (we were clothed) and came out of the bathroom with a raging hard-on. He was beautiful, and intelligent (once we focused on conversation instead of his cock) and I was fixated on him. Gian got Danzante stoned, too stoned to drive, so I killed time with Dave watching porn in the next room. He was hard as rock again and we started to fool around, me in my clothes and him being naked. It was the hottest, sweetest encounter I had had for months and, though I didn't come, it did wonders for my ego. I couldn't stop talking about him when I left. I gave him my phone and email address but I doubt I'll ever hear from him.

This was followed by a lovely visit with another mutual friend Cedar, which lasted far too long. We were over an hour late for Thanksgiving dinner by the time we returned to Wallowa's. Some of the guests had just finished as we arrived but most were still eating. I walked around for the next 20 minutes looking for a clean set of cutlery and a place to sit. There were 50 guests and so many familiar faces I had met at Breitenbush all happy to see me, but I only wanted to sit down and eat. The guests mingled and chatted for another couple hours before some of them said their goodbyes. It was all a bit overwhelming, but flattering too since so many were sincerely glad to see me again.

Friday the weather was brilliantly sunny. Danzante gave me a tour of the parks and neighbourhoods of Portland. I was very impressed. As much as I love Vancouver, Portland seems more livable, friendlier, more relaxed and has better architecture. We picked up Michael Buck, had lunch and then the three of us headed to look for a butte to get a view of the city. We never found it and ended up far out into the countryside having given up after an hour or so.

That evening several of Wallow's friends dropped by, including an old friend of Danzante's, John, and his Guatemalan bf, and another friend of D's, Jason, and his Spanish flamenco dancer/lover Juan who live in Santa Fe. John seemed to take a shine to me and asked me for my phone and e-mail address before he left.

We wound our way back into the city, dropped Michael off and headed to Otter and Periwinkle's home for yet another Thanksgiving dinner. It was a huge struggle to get into their place but I eventually managed it. This time there were only 8 guests, including Jim (Gymbawb), Periwinkle's mother Lotus and two of Danzante's oldest friends, Vickie and Levita. Levita, although a straight man, was in a dress. I love straight people who act gay in public! I didn't get to meet him though as he had a feinting spell that had everyone in a panic. He came to just as someone was dialing 911. The rest of the evening was uneventful in comparison. Danzante spent the night at the Otterwinkles and Gymbawb, who lives at the Chicken Ranch, drove me back there. I was proud that I got into so many difficult places in the past two days without a single fall.

Saturday the Faes of Portland meet for coffee downtown on the east side. Sssnake, an old friend who also lives at the Chicken Ranch, drove me there. Again there were a couple dozen familiar faces, including Dave from Gian's naked party. He made no special effort to spend time with me, though he was friendly. He was a bit shocked that I was using a cane (which I prefer to do in unfamiliar terrain). Danzante showed up after spending a couple hours catching up with Michael Buck. A group of 6 of us went for dinner at a great little restaurant called "Old Wives' Tales". Danzante and I did another abbreviated tour of a couple other trendy neighbourhoods and checked out a galley before returning to the Chicken Ranch. Danzante went for a Chinese food dinner with Sssnake. I wasn't hungry so I spent the evening chatting with Gymbawb and getting to know him better.

Sunday was good weather again. Wallowa did Danzante's hair and Sssnake took everyone out for breakfast and a wonderful eatery before we left. We weren't on the road until almost half past noon, but we didn't stop, except for gas, so it was still light until we were half an hour from the border. It was a bit too long without food for me and I was a bit irritable when I couldn't find my transit tickets at the Skytrain station in New Westminster where Danzante dropped me off. I can spend five great days with someone but if I get grumpy at the end of it that is what he remembers. He was pissed at me for my few seconds of selfishness, but I think he'll get over it.

Part of my anxiety was the Skytrain ride itself, as it is often packed on a weekend night heading downtown. It was last Sunday, as there was a game on or something. Soon I was squeezed in like a sardine, and I fretted over how difficult it would be to get up and get off the train when I needed to. The train emptied though, two stops before mine. I was afraid I'd have to wait 20 minutes in the rain for my bus but it was only spitting and the bus came within 10 minutes. By now you know I hate public transit, especially when it is crowded and when I have stand waiting for extended periods with a pack on my back. I prepared myself a sandwich as soon as I got home and I was fine again.

November blahs

News item this morning: 17 cm (6.8") of rain has fallen on Vancouver this month. The average is 17.9 cm, but we should exceed it with a 3-day wall of unbroken rain arriving early tomorrow morning and still 5 more days beyond that with expected intermittent rain. The record, incredibly, is 35 cm (14") set 3 years ago.

I should be excited about my impending trip to Oregon for American Thanksgiving, but I still have the blahs. The lack of light is the worst of it. I get out whenever I can, but I usually slump right back into my fug as soon as I get home.

This morning I went to the weekly Faerie Coffee gathering at Cafe a Go-Go, which happens every Sunday a block from my place. It is usually a small group of us who chat for an hour or two. This morning there were only five of us: Aunty Tinkerbell, Rainbow Strongheart, Butterfly Menace, Holly and myself. It wasn't raining, which was a treat, but the skies are darkening again as I write this.

Though it wasn't much of a group this week, I should have my fill of Faeries by this time next week. I work the first two days of the week and then I head down to the Chicken Ranch in Portland with Danzante Caldera Wednesday morning, windshield wipers slapping time all the way.

No further news about the Thanksgiving gathering except that our friend and host Wallowa seems set on a Frank Lloyd Wright-type design for the window he wants me to make for him. More about that when I return.

I realize that the Faerie names I refer to must sound strange to my non-Faerie friends. It's second nature to me now to refer to my friends by their Faerie names. As strange and amusing as they are, they are respected and taken seriously by those who have them and we really do use them.

Faerie names are chosen by their owners, even if they are suggested by someone else. Some, like myself, bring a nickname used in their regular life, or "Muggle" life as some Faeries call it (in reference to Harry Potter), while others spend years with the Faes using only their birth name.

Some name themselves after something from nature they prefer, as Faerie philosophy embraces a reverence for Nature. Examples are flowers or trees, such as Tulip, Cedar, Holly, Manzanita, Chaparral or Tangerine. Others use minerals, such as Onyx or Garnet. Others use combinations, such as Jasmine Amethyst, or add embellishments, such as Juniper Fabulous Forest or Pansy Wyldefyre. Some use animals or spirit names, or refer to spiritual processes or incarnations, such as Full Moon Dancer or Danzante Caldera (dancer in the volcano).

My favourite names are often ones that Canadians choose. Perhaps because we are such a serious nation, the names we choose are often playful or clever, such Ariel Kombat, Butterfly Menace, Morgain Lessloss, Darlene the Ambassador's Wife, Thirsty McBunny, Crystal Shanda-Lear or Celeste E.L.Fyre.

I chose my own name, Luke Warmwater, when I wanted an unlisted telephone number but didn't want to pay extra on top of saving Telus the printing costs. They were fine with listing me under a false name as long as I paid the bill under my legal name. I stuck with it when I became a Faerie because it reminded me not to take myself too seriously. When I was younger I was either too timid or angry (too cold or too hot) to manage life with élan. The name still fits as my goal now is to be comfortable and even-keeled, both for myself and for others, a place of safety and serenity, rather like Goldilocks' proverbial porridge.

I'm sure I'll have more Faerie stories to share when I get home a week from today.

new patterns

It has been almost six months since I have finished a piece of stained glass artwork. Yesterday I finished Raspberry Showboat's 158-piece Celtic ankh but I forgot to take a picture of it before he picked it up today. It would have been pointless anyway. This weekend has been so overcast and dark that setting something on the window sill would not be enough to illuminate it. I'll post a photo later when Raspberry sends me one.

I have decided to go down to Portland to celebrate Thanksgiving with some Faerie friends, my first American Thanksgiving ever. It will be exotic. My host will be my friend Wallowa, the owner and landlord of a north Portland Faerie commune known to local Faes as the "Chicken Ranch". I am not sure why. The tenants are not that young.

I have heard that Wallowa extends an open invitation to a large number of friends every year and that this year he will have a sit down feast for 35(!!) guests. Some stay over and of course beds need to be shared. He tells me that one Fae, Mystic One, has asked to be paired up with me. I have a mixed reaction to that. It has been a long time since I have known of anyone who wanted to sleep with me, so I am flattered. I have met Mystic One before and chatted with him twice at Breitenbush, but he has never attracted me sexually. His former Fae name of choice was "Fister", which has the same effect as putting lemon juice on my tight little Canadian ass. Hopefully he respects boundaries.

Wallowa has spent a couple years building an extension onto his sizable house, most of it underground. It is a tasteful expansion but it is not quite complete. When I first visited it three months ago there was a large hole in the wall between the kitchen and the new extension where a window will go when the framing is completed. It's a big space, around 39" wide by 37" tall. He wants a stained glass window installed there, something that lets in light but obscures at the same time to give a little privacy between the units. I have been working on patterns.
He says he wants something simple. He suggested a couple shoots of bamboo to our mutual Fae friend Gerry, who I taught the art of stained glass to 2+ years ago, but Wallowa is a colourful character and needs colour in the kitchen, something that stands out. I have suggested a colourful rooster, like the one in the picture but without the two hens in the foreground. I might leave in the white hen. After all, what would be more appropriate for the Chicken Ranch than chickens? He has also suggested a stylized, geometric Frank Lloyd Wright-type pattern which I am also researching, but my hunch is that he will need something more organic to match his luxurious patio garden off the kitchen. I hope to have both patterns ready to take to him before Thanksgiving.

Testing, testing.....

In August my brother referred me to a woman named Moneca, who uses a diagnostic machine calibrated to eastern medical uses, in the hopes that I would get more insight into what is causing my muscular dystrophy. I made an appointment in mid-September, which didn't work out, and then my first official diagnostic treatment happened six days ago.

The first time I went to her office in a yoga centre on Burrard St. The visit was fraught with bad timing and circumstances. First, the yoga centre, supposedly a healing centre, is on the second floor with no ramp or elevator access for disabled persons. The railings were too far apart on the broad staircase leading up to reception so I struggled to hoist myself up a step at a time hugging one of the railings. I was shaky and exhausted by the time I reached the top. Inside, the toilets in the washrooms were in stalls on raised platforms with nothing to hold onto to pull myself up. Some of the yoga rooms were also on a split level with no railings to assist with the stairs. The atmosphere was upper-class yuppie elegance, all white and beige with low light and low upholstered furniture without arms or backs that I could not use, and soft, meditative music playing. In spite of the elegance and that Walmart friendliness of the staff who greeted me, I couldn't get over how much disregard they showed for disabled people. I tried to describe how difficult it was to use their facilities, but their cognitive synapses seemed unable to register the information.

Moneca arrived as I was recovering from my climb. She apologized, though she had little choice since I was fuming by this time. She led me down one of the nondescript hallways to the small room she rents. There she discovered that she forgotten the cables she needed to connect her hocus pocus machine to her laptop. She left me sitting on a stool for half an hour while she ran to Office Depot and then to Best Buy looking for replacement cables.

When she returned she found she had also forgotten her batteries and all her running was to no avail. She was stressed out to the point of crying and couldn't put herself in an intuitive space, which is so necessary for this kind of treatment. I was not in a good space either. I had just learned the night before that my second lover Matt had dropped dead of a heart attack at the finish line of a triathlon the weekend before and I was overwhelmed with sadness. She asked me to talk about about my loss while she gave me a free foot massage, but she turned everything I shared around to talk about herself. I surmised that she was too stressed to focus on me.

Moneca does home visits for the same price, which I didn't know at the time she booked me at the yoga centre. I wasn't impressed that she hadn't suggest that when I booked given my mobility issues. The H1N1 flu, the film festival and bed bug infestation delayed her home visit for six weeks. We finally set up a mutually acceptable date for a week ago.

She arrived with her all-encompassing bio-feedback machine and energy "zapper". I don't know its real name, but it's more than a diagnostic machine. It does something with electro-magnetic frequencies to alter bodily responses. She calls it "zapping"; probably not the correct technical term. She strapped bands around my ankles and wrists, and a large band around my head (that left indentations in my forehead for 2 hours after she left), and cables to connect all the components to her laptop. For two hours she assessed my bodily composition, chakkras and emotional patterns and then "zapped" me to make corrections.

The machine seemed to sense that I was both diabetic and had some issues with muscular dystrophy, but it focused on vitamin deficiencies and my emotional state (low-grade depression, low sex drive and my heart chakkra wasn't very open at the time). I didn't get any leads as to what was causing the muscular dystrophy. The machine threw out vague terms for problems I was facing, such as "trauma" and "poison". When I asked for further clarification she just shrugged and said "They're just words on a page." At another point she told me that I come from a very good genetic stock. The machine read my stock to be a "1" while hers was a "19". She wasn't to tell me much about what that meant either. She confessed she was only able to use 10% of the machine's capacity as she was still learning about it. She had paid $23,000 and was obviously trying to recoup some of it be doing these half-ass assessments. I paid her the $100 fee (which she told me later really should have been $150) and she left.

Two days later she sent me a report that was almost a verbatim repeat of the "words on a page" that the machine coughed up without any interpretation. They were largely useless to me. She also gave me 5 points to work on before her next visit: 1) Check wheat consumption (my sister's treatment for a gluten allergy seems to have worn off after the H1N1), 2) Eat less salt, more raw foods, 3) Learn about hormones dopomine, seratonin and oxytocin (to what end she did not explain), 4) Pick up a book by Mantek Chia called "Microcosmic Orbit" to learn the tantric practice of circulating lust energy through the body, and 5) Understand that what I eat affects me. That last point assumes I know nothing after struggling with food allergies, digestive and diabetic issues and their treatments over the past 20 years. One can always learn more, but where exactly should I focus? This report was supposed to be worth $150? Not!

Today I also went to see a famous Vancouver naturopath and acupuncturist, Larry Chan, who I was referred to by Thomas Moore, the "intuitive healer" my sister recommended. Thomas had said my dystrophy has been caused by excessive uric acid in my body over the last 20 years. My GP says that makes no sense since he tests my kidney function and for uric acid every year, but Thomas told me Larry Chan "walks on water" as far as he was concerned. While I didn't put a lot of stock in Thomas's diagnosis I did more more insights into my dystrophy. I waited four months for this appointment. Hopefully something will come out of it.

Although Larry Chan's manner instilled in me more confidence in his professionalism than Moneca's did, the initial hour-long appointment was $250 and he has requested I have two tests done, one that costs $80, a second that costs $158 and a follow-up appointment that costs $90. Total cost before I get any feedback or treatment = $578. There goes Christmas!!

a wet November

It is very much a typical late autumn on the West Coast, also known as the Wet Coast at this time of year. It has rained every day over the past week and it is forecast to rain every day in the coming week.

Here in my warm, dry condo, overlooking an unbroken wall of taller office buildings across Hornby St, the grey day looks much worse than it is because my building, formerly an office building itself, has tinted windows that make the sky look darker than it is.

So I took a stroll outside into the West End (also known as the Wet End this time of year) to have breakfast, do a little shopping and post a book to a friend in Colorado. The rain didn't let up. Sometimes it was just spitting and then it was heavy again. I don't do umbrellas, as I find it harder to walk with them. I always leave them behind or forget to bring them with me anyway. I have waterproofed my cap and wear my Gortex jacket instead.

I have to push myself not to give into my low-grade depression I often struggle with at this time of year. Getting outside helps, but not enough. I rested a bit after coming back, then pushed myself outside the door again, this time to go to Kitsilano to buy two "Settlers of Catan" games for my nieces and nephews for Christmas (they can share). I went to Drexoll Games, a store where board game nerds gather to play complicated games. Even the proprietor was caught up in a game so I waited for him. A cute, post-twink customer noticed I had chosen the wrong set and saved me from making a return trip. He was immersed in looking through a box of special $1 playing cards on the counter, part of a type of wizard game that he had been playing since puberty. Some of the cards, he told me, go for $20-$30 each. Yes, Scarlett, we either have too much spending money on this continent or we don't know how to use it properly.

On the way home the sky started to break in the west and took on the look of a Dutch masters painting. Half an hour later the setting sun, broke through under the clouds still over the city, trapped by the mountains, lighting their underbellies and painting the buildings in a brilliant honey gold. For a few minutes it was stunning.

It's 5:30 and completely dark now. It has been for half an hour. I am leaving in an hour to visit Rich and Luis at their new place in Burnaby, bringing my Settlers of Catan game and a batch of fresh baked pumpkin cookies for us to munch on. I dread going to places in the dark that I am unaccustomed to, but they'll be picking me up at Edmonds Stn so at least I won't need to look for house numbers.