Last night I babysat Ivy with Marc, who Shannon - feeling guilty about the whole "Saturday night" thing - told me to bring along. So, fresh from a swim in the ocean, we showed up at the house, ordered Chinese, and popped in The Yellow Submarine.
If I could take my pick of movies that would have scared the hell out of me as a child, I'd go with this one, what with the creepy, goopy, LSD-inspired animation and haunting Liverpoolian accents, but Ivy loves it.
We also had some impromptu jam sessions, with Ivy on piano, Marc on ukelele, and me on drums. ME ON DRUMS. At one point, Ivy yelled "Stop!", waited a beat, and yelled "Faster!" and it was the realization of a life-long dream for me: to be bossed around in a rock band by somebody much cooler than I am.
Ivy took to Marc. She gave him the "Tool Boss" construction hat to wear, and wanted to play with any toy he picked up. When Scott came home and we left, she said goodnight to both of us like a thoughtful hostess. "Goodbye Claire! Goodbye Marc!". We were suitably impressed.
The beach is fun. Really. I can't believe I'd lived here for so many summers without going to the beach to swim. It's so close and everything, but it somehow seems impossible to get there and get in the water and enjoy yourself until you do. I guess I was always put off by the crowds. On weekends, it's really hard to find parking. But compared to Saturna, the water is like a warm bath. A silty, tan-colored bath. With seaweed and other people.
Tonight is the first White Stripes concert of two. I'm excited. We have decent seats in row 20, but I'm predicting that everyone will rush the stage after one or two songs. On Monday night it won't matter either way if they do, because we'll be in the second row. Lordy, that will be great. I love this band so much that it's ridiculous.
Marc signed a lease on a place at Yew and 34th, just across Arbutus from my house. I haven't seen it yet, but it sounds good. There are multiple rooms and the landlord is a nice British woman, or so she seems.
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2 comments:
I am crazy for the Ivy stories! Simply APPLESFORTHEM!
Where did you go swimming? All the way down at the end by the dog beach or closer to the snack bar? And by swimming, do you mean, splish splish wade wade or actual swimming?
Finally, I think that a person from Liverpool is a Liverpudlian. Hee hee.
I'm glad you like the Ivy stories because I'm incapable of not telling them.
We went to West Spanish Banks, so closer to the snack bar. And I mean SWIMMING swimming, like totally serious swimming underwater and whatever.
Liverpudlian? Really? I even googled "Liverpoolian" to check it and found enough uses to make me feel safe. That just goes to show that the internet is a liar.
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