Teflon Flakes and other Survival Tales

In the early 90s we sold our climbing shop and the three of us—Max, Dustin and I—moved to the Chilliwack Valley. The plan was to build a home and office on the banks of the river to sell paragliders and teach the art of flying. And, with all the earthly pleasures of hiking, climbing and skiing in close proximity it was the ideal location. Plans, however, are not always well laid and like the little piggies that built their houses out of sticks and straw, we opted for living under nylon while the  months of August and September rolled by in a halcyon daze.

Fall was upon us by now. The sun continued to shine, but mornings were chillier and our tenting experience just that much damper. Regardless, we fell into a rhythm. Dustin caught the morning school bus, and Max and I would head off to hike, paraglide or scope out new areas. Late afternoon, we rinsed our sweat off in the river and learned hard core survival skills, like how one should never use Teflon pans on an open fire and how the White Spot is always open when Teflon flakes gets tiresomely carcinogenic. Okay, we learned that lesson pretty early on, and truly, Kraft dinner and Campbell’s soup tantalizes the taste buds for only so long.

We waited until the clouds rolled in and the winds started to moan before we decided to build. Couldn’t paraglide then, right? Hiking was okay but not as much fun, and it was too early to ski. I already had one black eye from rafting, so I wasn’t too keen on that idea. Building was a default action. And perhaps the practice of sleeping three to a two-man tent was wearing thin, although I don’t think Dustin had any complaints. Living off the land made him a bit of a novelty at school. One day we hiked Elk early in the morning, and then the four of us (including Teddy bear) flew off on Max’s tandem. He made it to school for the first bell.

The house did eventually get built... but not before a few wolves (of our own making) threatened to blow it all down. But like I've said many a time... you'll have to read the book!

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If you like my writing, check out my other blog, The Interdependent Life.

Starsky and Hutch

One of my first jobs, outside babysitting the neighbour's kids, was volunteering at the local hospital. I took it seriously, joyously even, heading out every Saturday to deliver flowers to the women in the Willow Maternity ward. It was a great little gig if you discounted the uniform―anemic egg yolk smocks with white pants―and lack of pay. The ward was a happy place and somewhat exotic, too, as the decades old building in which I worked had elevators with accordion doors and an actual big-haired, gum-chewing, rhinestone spectacled operator. I worked there for a summer or two but it wasn’t until I joined forces with my new found high school friend, Trish, that my true, unbeknownst skills would be fully realized. Together we requested a job change and ended up in the bowels of Vancouver General Hospital, inner midst the tunnels that traversed  the institution and into the heart of the beast―the Emergency Room. It was here that the seeds of my most hidden desires came to light and my street-savvy finesse could be put to use. 

An excerpt from Notes from the Bottom of the Box: The Search for Identity by a Modern-Day Renaissance Woman. 

It was during this time that both Trish and I became infatuated with the studly cop duo of Starsky and Hutch―[s]he’s Starsky; I’m Hutch. In persona, we could navigate the hospital tunnels with daring courage, nonchalantly deliver dinner trays to ER psych patients (solely based on ignorance, this was our most feared duty) and disregard the sometimes less-than-tolerant smirks of the staff. But more than just a tool to relieve the boredom that the actual job entailed, Hutch took me to places deep inside, places that I so badly wanted to go but felt I never could, being a girl. As Hutch, I could have adventures, earn respect and be physically daring. I would work against the odds, rescue people and most of all, straddle the line between good and bad—be a rule breaker. Hutch was the anima to my meek, mild and goody two-shoes self. His favourite job was clearing the women’s bathroom of bad guys.

And how did Starsky and Hutch make restrooms safe for the hospital staff? You'll have to read the book to find out...

Stay tuned for more weekly excerpts from Notes from the Bottom of the Box. If you like this blog, please like me on my Modern-Day Renaissance Woman Facepage.  Thanks for the support!
If you like my writing, check out my other blog, The Interdependent Life.