What.

In preparation for the backpacking trip starting next week, I'm listening to some Argentinean radio online. I was hoping to practice my Spanish, but instead I am confronted with a show called Los Clasicos playing the B-52s' Good Stuff. I have, however, learned from Dad's comment on a ten-minute weather report that it seems to be typical of Spanish-speaking countries to spin out any verbal interaction into a long conversation. To which I say, dandy, I've got time!

Sisyphus

It is my belief that few tasks in the universe are more crushing in their Sisyphean futility than the shovelling of the top layer of loose snow from its underlying layer of compacted snow, under skies threatening more snow, in January, in Canada. To sum up: pah.

The past few weeks have been, on average, much more pleasant than that incident. A bunch of friends went out for my birthday this Saturday and had a pretty good time and made some pretty stupid faces for my camera. Said photos will not be posted here, as some of my friends likely wish to have jobs or be married someday. However, they will live in my hard drive, or "infamy".

Most of my time is devoted to squaring away the administrative and logistical details of both my travels and my life. A few solid days in the library with my language tapes has improved my Spanish - it is admittedly woeful, but consider that a few weeks ago I knew no Spanish that was not from a Taco Bell commercial, the beginning of that Offspring song, or La Madrastra ("Contestame! Contestame!").

It isn't all quiet library time around here, though. Both of my parents are jetting around trying to help out my grandmothers. Dad's out of town seeing to his Mum in Northern Ireland. In a few weeks, Mom will be going to see her mother in Arizona. Grannie is starting to have memory problems, and Grandma is laid up at my aunt's place with valley fever, or coccidioidomycosis, a respiratory infection caused by a fungus that lives in the desert. While my aunt and uncle go on a long-planned (and super-cool-sounding) trip to Antarctica at the end of the month, Mom will go hang out with Grandma as she recovers. My grandmothers are both incredible ladies; they are both well into their eighties (Mom's mom turns the big 9-0 in March) and both live on their own. Last year, Grandma bowled a far better score than I could ever hope to, and Grannie continues to garden with enthusiasm. They both have a wealth of stories and love, and it is sad to see them getting a little older and more frail every year. But time marches on regardless, just as certainly as there will be more snow on our driveway next week. We all do the best we can.