Here we go

The weekend went well: dinner with Coco and Po at the Whip on Saturday night; breakfast with Po at Granville Island Sunday morning; watching Jay at his Supermoto race on Sunday.  He won the pavement open race and placed 1st overall in the Intermediate 450 for the season.  It was a great day for some races and it was - as always - really fun to watch Jay and his fellow riders rip it up on the track.
I got a couple of good pictures that I should upload, but things are a little frenetic currently: tomorrow we will be staying at my place for the week as our niece and her daughter (how old are we??) are staying here, and then I'm heading to Whistler for the Grandfondo which Michael is participating in again.  I moved my phone line and cancelled my internet when I moved in with Michael in January of this year so when we hang out at my place this week it's going to be really quiet, interspersed with lots of meaningful conversation and longing gazes.
Oh thank Christ I do think there is a chess set there.
Moving is such a pain in the ass, but I'm glad we've given ourselves a couple of months to do it.
I'm glad for a lot of things, really.  I think we've come a very long way since last fall and I think we love each other an enormous amount and want to be with one another and will work hard to make it work.
Hey, it only took more than a decade, but better late than never.
In other news, since I've not been living in my condo, pigeons have decided to roost there and to shit copiously all over my balcony and - even more blatantly - one of my deck chairs.
I must say I am a lover of animals: Felix, bless his retarded little heart, compels me to pat him and frolic with him and refrain from kicking him in the ribs at 7am on a Sunday morning when he, in all his obesity, decides he needs more food; I volunteered for the SPCA for a few months; I pat every dog that will have me.
When I lived on Dunbar I remember my dad shooting a pigeon with a pellet gun.  I was aghast (and four years old) and I ran outside to where it fell and I picked its still warm and limp body up in my little hands and ran with it to my father thinking he could somehow fix it.  My parents screamed at me to put the lifeless body down as pigeons are filthy birds (when I was four I thought they were very pretty) and it took me a long time to understand why my father would have done something so terrible.
I swear to you now: if I had had a gun when those two flying rats were on my deck this afternoon?  We'd have had squab for dinner tonight.