Spring is sprung and around this dominion (and others) they will be out there: those single-minded, Relentless People with a Purpose hordes, all chasing the little white ball. Thankfully for them at least, B.C., by virtue of its mostly temperate, God-blessed climate, opens up its greens before everyone else in Canada.
Which reminds me of an old friend of mine from school whose life was metaphorically saved by golf and that silly little white ball.
At 65, after 35 years toiling for the same civil engineering firm, Edward (‘Ted’) confronted mandatory retirement. The gold watch did little to appease him. His life, his love for pernickety detail and the compulsive/obsessive minutia of dealing with pipes and tanks to dispose of sewage around the world was swept away as if by some malevolent, giant tsunami. Making matters worse was his loss of the daily camaraderie of his predominantly male colleagues and the after-work pints. All gone.
To Ted, home represented a comfortable minimum security prison. Three squares a day. No more commuting, total freedom to come and go. No serious interests outside of the psi load factor of pipes, tank capacities, logarithms and project deadlines. No grandchildren, let alone children. Parents long dead, no siblings. A 30-year comfortable relationship with Sonya his partner, marriage having been analyzed by Ted as a commitment to avoid at all costs. A creature of habit with the inflexibility that often comes with it. The fact he had lived with her for nearly half his lifetime had no impact on his latest predicament. An objective observer would say he had it all.
But what the heck was he going to do with himself?
My husband Keith and I moved to Lions Bay nearly two years ago. Our “new” house was tilting into the hill, the roof was leaking, and carpenter ants had had their way with a lot of the structural wood. We had two choices: tear it down or gut it.
At the same time, I was fighting with my third novel—a fun, fast-paced mystery set in Whistler. I was happy with the premise: A young snowboarder, Sacha Westlake is found dead on the Blackcomb Glacier. Local police want to close the case as suicide, but the victim's mother—a U.S. senator—refuses to accept that her daughter killed herself. So Senator Westlake uses her influence to have an undercover agent—Clare Vengel, the heroine of my series—sent in to mix with her daughter's friends and try to determine who among them could have wanted Sacha dead.
Set in the world of the day after tomorrow, this tale of international conspiracy, corruption and catastrophe in the new world of nanotechnology has more twists and turns than the DNA double helix. With its added sprinkling of sex and murder it's the perfect beach read.
When science writer Nick Ruskin reconnects with his long-lost cousin Simon after a family funeral, Simon lets slip just enough information about his work at the World Science Institute in The Hague to pique Nick’s journalistic curiosity.
Environmental mural artist and conservationist Todd Polich has just recently completed one of his largest projects to date with a 150 foot long mural through the downtown eastside neighborhood of Strathcona.
Working with over 80 First Nations children and youth at risk from Kidsafe, the two month long project was the most fulfilling project of his career. “This project brought everything I believe in together, we taught about conservation, and engaged a group of young people who need a feeling of accomplishment and self worth more than anyone. For them to have people honk their horns, stop on the street to say thank you, and one guy even bought them lunch was a real thrill. They could see clearly that what they do makes a difference, and is appreciated.”
Todd began Earth Foundation Conservation Society in 2009 with a vision to connect people to the environment through large scale eco murals. Since then the project has evolved from murals to a full community participation program called the “Art Of Empowerment”.
Lions Bay Arts Council presented its 2nd Arts and Garden Festival on Saturday, May 26th and what a day it was!
We were blessed with magnificent weather as residents and visitors alike toured nine beautiful Lions Bay Gardens throughout the day showcasing the diverse and creative work of local visual and performing artists. This year we introduced music into the gardens and this added a magical element to the already festive atmosphere of the day.
Thank you to our presenting sponsor Odlum Brown STM Wealth Management who also sponsored this same event in 2010, as well as ArtScene 2011, part of National Culture Days on October 1, 2011. We are extremely grateful for their support. Their unwavering commitment to arts and culture in our Village has made these entertaining events possible.
Mountain Trail Maintenance Hums to the beat of pickaxe precision and a chiseling cellists harmony. Trudi’s Trail concerto.
Work ants, carve stairs into fallen logs. Springtime stewards’ cleanup after winter's wild tree party. Trudi’s Trail revelry.
Hacking out braille bark haiku. Machete wielding landlords slash out villainous vines and unearth poetic gardens from leaf-littered syntax soil. Trudi’s Trail poetry.
Environmental guardians enthusiastically cultivate our trails with trusting teamwork. Paving the way for our greater elevation. Trudi’s Trail dedication.
Your prospects, customers, employees and suppliers are expecting great things from you online. How do plan to deliver?
This realistic and informative book is possibly the only practical guide in the market place dedicated and designed to help you create and execute a profitable and measurable online business strategy.
Enjoy these questions which play on the english language. A little smarty pants fun and a twist on word wise Webster diction. Clever...
1. Is it good if a vacuum really sucks? 2. Why is the third hand on the watch called the second hand? 3. If a word is misspelled in the dictionary, how would we ever know? 4. If Webster wrote the first dictionary, where did he find the words? 5. Why do we say something is out of whack? What is a whack? 6. Why does "slow down" and "slow up" mean the same thing? 7. Why does "fat chance" and "slim chance" mean the same thing? 8. Why do "tug" boats push their barges? 9. Why do we sing "Take me out to the ball game" when we are already there? 10. Why are they called "stands" when they are made for sitting? 11. Why is it called "after dark" when it really is "after light"? 12. Doesn't "expecting the unexpected" make the unexpected expected? 13. Why are a "wise man" and a "wise guy" opposites? 14. Why do "overlook" and "oversee" mean opposite things? 15. Why is "phonics" not spelled the way it sounds? 16. If work is so terrific, why do they have to pay you to do it? 17. If all the world is a stage, where is the audience sitting? 18. If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular? 19. If you are cross-eyed and have dyslexia, can you read all right? 20. Why is bra singular and panties plural? 21. Why do you press harder on the buttons of a remote control when you know the batteries are dead? 22. Why do we put suits in garment bags and garments in a suitcase? 23. How come abbreviated is such a long word? 24. Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle? 25. Why do they call it a TV set when you only have one?
Diving Howe Sound Reefs and Islands is an underwater dive guide book for Howe Sound reefs and islands. The book covers over 40 scuba dive sites in the Sound with both custom high-resolution colour maps and 3D maps. Each dive is described in detail with the exact GPS location give for the dive entry point.
The book starts with a basic refresher of safety tips for boat diving. The review section is not intended to be a complete safety manual on diving nor replace the formal scuba training manuals. Instead it focuses on weak areas that novice divers, learning to boat dive, might be overlooking and suggests ways to practice improving their techniques -- some of the information coming from the author’s years with the Underwater Council of BC.
Glissading, scampering face of Fickle sand dunes; crumbling sculpture of Wind and slashing scimitar of time.
Monument’s rasping grind.
Molecules of grit; Hourglass foundations Tugged by Ishmael’s call.
Footsteps awash in graves of Spindrift quagmire.
Rivulets of tinder rivers Rustling like scribblings in Medieval monasteries.
World of dunes; keening; fading.
Scalloped edges knapped Bone -smooth by flinty Wind tongues.
Aching poignancies of pine; Moss-green smudge on A sepia pallet.
World of khaki greets Silver slash of sea beyond Drifting ridges.
Sun, turgid with flickering flames, Broils its bulk on shimmering Stove-top sea: Drowns elegantly.
Master mariner embracing Spumy eternity.
Glutton sand feasts its face With blossom pink in Rustling abandon.
Afterglow lingers, sucking Blood orange glaze of sunset, Till Only colour Black.
Only sound; rustling rivulets of Restless dunes.
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Trail Blazing -Thur 9am-Logging Rd at Sunset, firstname.lastname@example.org