Note to the regular readers: I’ve gone back through the Vancouver Diary and posted some links to pictures! Finally got my scanner up and running tonight, sorry it took so long!

Day 4 — Saturday, July 3rd (Cathi Day)

Today starts with the two-hour gym ritual before I meet up with Bwain for a trip to a store. My blister tells me it’s time to find a comfortable pair of shoes, one that will allow me to stomp about the city without ruining my perfect pedicure.

I notice as we set out that Bwain has a bit of a limp. This worries me. I ask if he’s okay. Shrugging it off and explaining that it’s an occasional malady, he helps me pick out tacky Canadian souvenirs in the hotel’s gift shop before we set forth toward Robson Street. I check every so often (and probably to his chagrin) about his atypical gait. Methinks I have walked this boy too hard around Vancouver.

My shopaholism takes us to Aveda for facial products (where I take a picture with some artful whales) and then to Sears. Sears carries reliable shoes and socks; in the heart of Vancouver their location is seven stories tall. I’m impressed. But the moment we walk through the door I discover that this is not your average Sears, or at least an average Sears as measured by U.S. standards. In Vancouver, make note, it is a fashionable department store much like Macy’s or Nordstrom’s.

“I don’t believe this,” I coo at Bwain at some point in our shopping expedition. “They are carrying designer wear!”

Bwain waits patiently (I insist he do this sitting down) as I peruse the various nifty sandals and such. Finally finding a pair to my liking that didn’t cost too much in American currency, we amble across the street to a lovely little Indian restaurant for some curry. The food is stellar; I excuse myself after our meal and secretly pay for lunch, for I am done fighting with Bwain over who is picking up the tab. It’s my vacation. And I am diva.

Bwain’s limp is getting noticeably worse as he indulges me in a side trip to London Drugs so I can fetch a new bottle of Febreze. This stuff is the greatest invention since cling wrap. I do not travel anywhere without it! Along the way I find a trendy little boutique called “Below The Belt,” where I try on the best-looking asymmetrical top in the joint and discover, to my horror, that this particular style makes my left boob look like a B-cup while my right boob looks like a D-cup.

“Am I wearing this correctly?” I ask the pubescent sales clerk.
“Yep, that’s how it’s supposed to look,” she nods.
“Y’all like looking a little lopsided in the chest in these here parts?”
She stares at me blankly.

I’ll talk more about Vancouver’s fashion sense later…

I find a blouse that I like equally well, but its $350 (Canadian) price tag is not to my liking. Oh well. I can always shop back home. Where we know how to dress.

This being a Saturday at the start of high tourist season, Robson Street is crowded. As we return to the hotel I find myself irritated by the throngs to the point where Xanax just is not the answer. I’ve nearly been pushed into on-coming traffic and almost hit by a bus, so I ask Bwain if it’s okay for us to take a side street. Alas, while the side street is the more pleasant stroll, Bwain missteps on a curb and severely sores up his ankle.

Sigh.

Five blocks later we are in the hotel. We make a quick pit-stop at my room to retrieve a Ziplock bag and move on to Bwain’s where I grab some ice and plop his poor body onto the sofa. Doctor Babs props Bwain’s swollen foot on a pillow and slaps the bag of ice over it. Though Bwain makes light of the affliction, I am not happy. I feel like I have done the poor guy in.

Alright so Bwain is now in pain, laid out on his sofa nursing his swollen ankle. I am nursing a low-grade fever with its accompanying chills (not to mention my aforementioned unpopped ear, which is now causing me discomfort). And Cathi Bell, my dear friend for many years, who now lives in Revelstoke, is running around Vancouver gathering hockey supplies and such for her son, Morgan, aspiring superjock. Plans call for us to meet up for dinner. After much back and forth we settle on eating at the hotel, since she isn’t up for my suggestions and I am in the mood for steak.

Much to my surprise, just as I’m settled into some time on the computer, there is a knock on my door. Since I was online no one could ring up so the front desk gave Cathi a key to the elevator and sent her to my floor.

Bear in mind that Cathi and I have not seen each other since shortly after Cydney’s birth. It’s been roughly seven years. As I open the door and find her there, I am reminded that good friends are unphased by the passage of time. We slip easily into a conversation that started decades ago and has continued, in spite of my horrible attempts at keeping in touch, right up to this moment. She is a joy to see.

Moxie’s is the hotel’s restaurant (the Shark Club is entirely too noisy). Apparently Moxie’s is a chain of restaurants similar to Hawaii’s Zippy’s. Not exactly fine dining but not exactly fast food. Bwain and I have been there each night having either a dessert or a nightcap and I’ve loved everything they’ve served, so a steak dinner isn’t entirely out of the question. We settle on sirloins with seafood and hollandaise and a couple of appetizers. I have a margaretto (Bwain, I adore you for turning me on to this drink!) and Cathi has a Cosmopolitan. Or something. We’re not exactly sure what it is.

The dinner is very, very good. It’s not exceptional but it doesn’t suck, either. We talk and talk, catching up on the people we know and the things they are doing; we discuss Tony Canlis and his current project — writing children’s stories. We talk about my company, her life, Morgan’s hockey, my life…catching up on every little detail. The conversation is rapid-fire and lasts for two solid hours. With dinner done we return to my room, sip some rum and chat some more.

Alas, the time goes by too quickly. It is late, my fever is rising, and Cathi has a long drive back to North Vancouver. With a hug and a promise to get together tomorrow, we say our goodnights. I insist Cathi call me when she gets to her sister’s house. I hop online but find myself dizzy so I do very little work before heading to a long, hot bath. There’s a barbeque being planned for tomorrow, July 4th. I want to knock whatever this fever is suggesting so I can gorge on some serious All-American food.

Now you may not find this so much a “Cathi Day” as it is anything else, but Cathi is so very close to my heart that any day with her in it, rare as this is, brightens my soul. There’s something about Cathi’s energy that is energizing and exhausting all at once. Cathi is educated, cultured, classy. Babs, as you know, is frivolous, indulgent, ebulliant. We give each other balance in our viewpoints, our problem-solving, our philosophies. In a way I give her flight while she keeps me grounded. I wish I could be there for her more than I am — emotionally, psychologically, financially. She is like a sister to me and I’ll bet she doesn’t even know it. I’m going to have to tell her.

Oh, drats, she may read this here first!