Reading: Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit

In the midst of: Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

Not yet given up on: John Milton, Paradise Lost;

On deck: Don Quijote

Moving: gardening

House:

Garden:

11 May 2002: Shannon Falls and Whytecliff Park

We drove up the Sea-to-Sky highway, which sounds like another Going-to-the-Sun, in theme as well as being named for only one direction of travel despite being two-way, up a fjord to Shannon Falls and an upthrust of hill like a charcoal-burner's chimney, Stawamus Chief. This we failed either to climb or to hike. Shannon Falls looked like Victoria Falls to me who had never seen anything more than Eight Mile River in Haddam before.

Hemlocks big enough for Sam Gribley to live in had died and fallen over, and younger shoots (still monstrously thick) grew from their hollow trunks. Amazing crystal clear water tumbled in a river that houses the world's only (or not very common) tailed frogs. The tails allow for internal insemination, necessary in the fast current. The tadpoles have teeth so they can cling to rocks and eat algae, and they stay tapoles for two to three years, I guess because the cold water discourages growth.

We stopped to watch some scuba divers (in drysuits) but, birding geeks that we be, photographed some perched swallows. RDC had never seen one still before, only zipping about eating insects, and didn't know how pretty they are. I love their round little heads like members of Parliament, and their shimmering plumage.

We were going to spend the rest of the day in Stanley Park after showing me Whytecliff Park in Horseshoe Bay in North Vancouver, but I loved Whytecliff so much that there we stayed, climbing on a miniature Mont St. Michel (stepping boulders kept it from being a complete island at high tide), watching bald eagles, spotting seals, looking for hermit crabs and seastars, gazing up the trunks of ancient trees, taking refuge in their shade, and, for me at least, delighting in daisy-filled lawns. At the end of the day, I tested the water with my elbow in the proper baby-bath-water method and decided I could do that.

So that was our plan for Sunday.

Then RDC took me to his favorite sushi place. We each had his favorite appetizer, sashimi tuna (in Vancouver's pale equivalent) in a marvelous sesame sauce, and some of this and some of that. I experimented: I ate the foot of a giant clam. This I pronounced to be like Shelters of Stone: a lot of time devoted to not much purpose. Also some squid, which I then likened to Plains of Passage: also a lot of time to not much purpose (but slightly more than clamfoot).

I told him about how Kymm had listed us as the kind of relationship she wants and we were otherwise googly-eyed.

We finished the evening with a chocolate soufflé (two, actually: the bartender asked if we would share and I said no) in the hotel bar, and I completely freaked at the bartender's being the spitting image of our own Barbie. This after the hostess last night looking like Sabrina, at least in the smile. This bartender's similarity to Barbie was uncanny.

Sushi and soufflé do not encourage later snogging.