Fashion on the Line

As we begin another week of the longest teachers’ strike in BC history, there is no news. Sadly this is not a case where no news is good news. There’s no end in sight.

After a summer travelling across the country, taking part in ice bucket challenges, sampling dill pickle vodka and posting inflammatory tweets about greedy teachers, our premier finally called a press conference to add her two cents.

Unfortunately she made several false claims.

I’m still trying to figure her out.

Either she deliberately lied to sway public opinion against teachers or she’s so uninformed that she genuinely believes teachers are asking for “unlimited massages and extra days off.”

Yikes! The premier’s either incompetent or dishonest. I can’t decide which quality’s more dangerous in a leader.

On a more personal note, I’m facing the dreaded picketing striker fashion dilemma.

My summer shoes of choice, a comfortable pair of soft suede ballet flats, while perfect for a day of shopping, are not up the rigours of walking a section of pavement for three hours straight. My other choice, running shoes, offer more support but…ugh!

Have you ever tried to co-ordinate runners with a summer dress? It’s not a good look!


The basement remains a desolate shell.

All the stuff that was down there was put in storage somewhere. I haven’t asked for details because I don’t really care. The only thing I miss is my exercise bike.

I’m an avid exercise cyclist. I ride it every day without fail–sometimes twice a day.

My sailor is an avid regular cyclist.

Before he realized how uncoordinated and timid I am, he tried to share this healthy habit with me. He bought me a pretty teal mountain bike with a spiffy matching helmet. Our first and only ride was cut short because I spooked when a car overtook me. I walked my bike home in shame while he rode off into the sunshine alone.

A few years later we lived on a remote Army base in England. My sailor went away for a course and our Saturn broke down. (Yes, we were that family in Victoria who bought a Saturn.)

Trapped on the base with no other transportation, I dug out the bike and helmet and rode to the village for supplies. I felt strong, brave and free until my front wheel got tangled in some thick British vines and my bike and I parted ways. I went over the handlebars into a prickly bush. The bike skidded onto the road, narrowly missing an oncoming vehicle.

I haven’t been on a bike with wheels since, but I love the stationary variety. It’s so safe and stable and I’m unlikely to be hit by a car on it, which I feel is a bonus.

I can’t wait to get my exercise bike back. I feel sluggish and lazy without it.

Since it’s too miserable to do anything outside, I had to dream up something I could do inside without any equipment: slipper jogging!

I run laps around the house for half an hour before dinner–162 (yes I counted.)

I can’t wear my running shoes indoors because they’re gross and dirty from being worn, you know, outside, so I wear my fuzzy slippers. Although they give me traction (important on slippery hard wood floors), I doubt they’re engineered for proper running support. My calves and knees are aching, but I will not be deterred. Like the high school gym teacher of whom you were secretly frightened used to say: No pain. No gain!

Apparently I’m making huge gains.