Halloween is not on December 31st!

Jordi remarked that my complexion looked a bit tan. I’d just spent three days under the pouring rain on the mainland. I think my skin is starting to change hue from carrot juice overconsumption. The big bottles of the Bolthouse juices have been on sale. Each bottle contains the juice of 39 3/4 carrots, as determined by the Carrot Council of Canada (CCC). I may have gone through five bottles last week: 198 3/4 carrots.

Yes, I believe a carrot and a quarter shy of 100 carrots are enough to carrotify one’s complexion. While in Vancouver, I also got my hair done. It looks much less ratty and lighter now, thus complimenting my new beta-carotene glow. I could take a shot of colloidal silver to colour-correct myself.

The rest of BC decided to turn less orange. The provincial election was on the 19th, and we still don’t know who our dear leader is. I am disappointed, disgusted, and surprised. I am also concerned and weirded out. I am slightly comforted to know I live among mostly folks who voted orange. Still, I live among the 7,843 who voted for the Conservative candidate. 7,843 is a much larger number than 198 3/4. It’s outrageous.

99 is another impressive number. It is the age my opa turned last Saturday. My uncle and his wife treated Opa and me to dinner on Thursday. My only accomplishment was making the long journey from Victoria that day. For the first time this year, I took a BC Transit bus. I have a strong aversion to using the island’s public buses. The bus riders in Vancouver are seedier, and the buses are usually a lot more crowded. Translink never has me questioning whether a bus can get me where I need to be and on time. I also like the blue and yellow colour scheme over BC Transit’s blue and red.

During dinner, I learned that I was almost a Californian. After the war, Oma and Opa had friends who immigrated from the Netherlands to California. Rotterdam, where they lived, had been bombed to hell, and there was a shortage of housing. The wait to immigrate to the US was much longer, so Opa and Oma settled in Canada. They imagined it’d be temporary, but they found that they really liked Vancouver.

Opa recently had his nephew from the Netherlands visit him. I didn’t ask, but I imagine the nephew is at least in his 60s. The nephew bestowed his uncle—my opa—with souvenirs from Rotterdam. He promptly re-gifted two of the three gifts to me: a hand towel with what I imagine is a pun about Rotterdam in Dutch and a magnet that says, wait for it…”Rotterdam.”

My uncle got the third re-gifted gift: a stack of stroopwafels. I managed to eat a bowl of sunomono salad and three pieces of tuna sashimi. The salad was more challenging to eat than the fish. The sensation of the rice vermicelli slipping through my edentulous space was not my favourite. It was the most difficult meal I’ve masticated since my accident in June. I am far from ready for Stroopwafels.

On day two, after getting my hair done, I checked out some new eyeglass frames at my favourite eyewear store. The frames I liked the most were only an 8/10: not good enough to bring my vision to 20/20. I’d gone out of my way for nothing, and my next destination was Zoée’s place. An hour-long wet journey to get from one place in Vancouver to another. The second bus to their place was delayed 20 minutes. Between standing in the rain with a gaggle of transit users and walking, I chose to do the latter.

“I beat the bus!” I proclaimed upon arrival.

“There it goes,” responded Zoée as the bus flew by behind me.

Zoée offered slippers. I had packed slippers. They also offered pyjama bottoms. I’d accidentally packed two. They warmed me up with a bowl of homemade chili, something I had not packed. Best of all, Zoée offered stimulating conversation in ASL, which I hadn’t experienced since last month’s visit with Gator.

And the adorable, tiny-muzzled Greta was there.

Evidently, I needed the reminder that Halloween did not coincide with New Year’s Eve. I blame my accident.

Heavy rain clouds rolled in on Election Day, aka Opa’s Birthday, aka the day I was to head back to the island. Fortunately, unlike the previous day’s journey from the eyewear store to Zoée’s, all five modes of transportation (bus, train, bus, ferry, car) linked up beautifully. I was required to release the bees before entering the ferry causeway.

My newly done hair was still dry when Jordi greeted me at the Swartz Bay terminal. And that’s when I learned I’d overdone it with the carrot juice.