No Replay Button

I went to a hockey game a few weeks ago. Not a "big" game like the NHL, the Olympics, or the World Championships. This was the BC Junior Hockey League. I had never been to a live hockey game before, but as part of my ongoing effort this year to try new things, I thought: why not?

Although, on second thought, I "may" have been to a Vancouver Canucks game back in the '80s. Maybe. But if I did go, I sat in the nose bleed section where my friends and I watched ant-like players slithering around in a tiny oval chasing a black speck.

The local rink however, only has 13 rows that seat a total of 2500 spectators. I got a seat in the 9th row, behind the penalty box. When I arrived, I was immediately struck by the size of everything. The rink was big. The Zamboni was huge! And there were the sounds and smells of the place—the scent of popcorn and that unmistakable rink smell. This is a completely different experience from watching a game on TV... or from the nosebleed sections of a "big leagues" stadium. This felt up close and personal.

The game I was attending was a playoff game between the Nanaimo Clippers and the Prince George Spruce Kings so the arena was packed with boisterous fans. A few from the Spruce Kings, but the majority were dedicated Clippers fans wearing variations of orange jerseys.

It was a social atmosphere with season tickets holders chatting with others several rows up or down. And as the game started, the atmosphere was electric. Everything was bigger than life. The smack of the puck against a stick on a rink-wide pass was much louder than I expected. I could hear the players calling back and forth. The crowd would boo a penalty call against the Clippers and someone would start a chant "Ref You Suck". A goal by the visiting team was met with a disappointed silence whereas a goal by the Clippers was met with a roar of approval, a huge blast of the arena horn and flashing lights. Not to mention the cow bells and other noise makers that fans had brought with them.

Sometimes I missed the details of a penalty. I might have been following the puck and was often surprised by the whistle. A penalty? For what?? Where was the replay??

But there was no big screen jumbotron. There was no replay. Sometimes the two guys next to me would discuss the penalty and I would get a sense of what had happened but it struck me... this was very much like "real life".

The game couldn't be put on pause. There were no replays. No way to hit "rewind" and watch it again. There was also no play-by-play commentary. There was no explanation of what was happening on the ice. If I missed something... then it was gone. Forever. It took me at least a period, maybe two, to shake the sense there should be a replay button.

A live hockey game, even in the junior leagues, is very different from a televised game. Even though I went on my own, I was absorbed into the crowd atmosphere. I cheered and roared with the rest of the fans when the Clippers scored. It's not the same at home. Even with the biggest TV screen (which we do not have), there is no substitute for the real thing. 

It's the difference between participating and watching. At home, we watch TV. We don't participate in whatever we are watching. At a game, even as a "fan", we are participating. We are "there". We are part of the crowd. We are a fan. We are part of the event. All of our senses are engaged. It's a full body experience. At home... not so much. And I see why people have game parties, or go to a pub to watch the big game. It is a bit like "being there"... it re-creates the fan experience, a little bit. Being surrounded by like-minded folk who are rooting for the same team.

But nothing can replace the "live" experience. And it makes me wonder... where do I do this in my own life? How often do I watch gardening videos instead of going out into my own garden? How often do I read about places instead of visiting them? How often do I watch a home make-over instead of picking up a paint brush? How often do I trade participating for observing? Or creating for consuming?

We come to believe that life can be put on "pause" or we can hit "replay" and watch it over and over again. But that's not how life works. There is no pause or instant replay. There is only this moment... where we can choose to step in and engage with whatever is happening, or we can choose to retreat and just watch, from a distance, through a third-party mediator. Through a lens or a screen.

And perhaps that is the crux... at a live hockey game, I get to decide what I am watching. Whether it's the play, or a funny fan, or the Zamboni going round and round the rink in mesmerizing loops. On a screen... someone else determines the scene, the angle, the speed, the focus.

I'm not saying it's not worth it... to be able to watch the Olympic gold medal hockey game on TV, for free. But if that's all we do... if that's our mode-of-engagement with life, with "events"... something gets lost.

Breaking Free of a Rut

I love routines.

Routines love me right back.

I love not having to think about what I'm doing next. There's a comfort and a security in doing the same thing day after day. Get up, get dressed, brush teeth, comb hair, pack bag, head off to the coffee shop, work on stuff, head home, have breakfast. It's a simple routine, but I don't have to waste brain power overthinking things. And that makes it easier. No effort. No dithering. Just follow the routine.

And yet... as the years go by... things get... well... boring. We go to the same restaurants. We order the same things (beef dip, please!). We see the same people. Hike the same routes on the same trails. Every day starts to look like the last, and the days blur together and... well... it's boring.

There are days I can almost run the whole thing on autopilot. Same parking spot. Same order. Same table, if it's free. I know what I'm going to say before I even open my mouth. I know what the barista is going to ask. There’s something efficient about it… and something just a little bit numbing. But the idea of doing something different just feels like too much.

I read something the other month that got me thinking. Why is it that when we are young, time seems to crawl by? It takes forever to go from 5 years old to 10 years old. Yet, when we are in our 50s and beyond, five years can pass in the blink of an eye. Not to mention a whole week, or day, or afternoon. "Where does the time go?" we say, perplexed by it all. Has time sped up? Have we slowed down?

And yet... when we go on a two-night getaway to Vancouver, or Cumberland, or Victoria, we come back amazed at how those two days expanded and felt like a week. We were only gone two nights, and yet it felt longer.

And there is the rub... "it felt like"... time is subjective. When every day looks like the one before it—and the one after—time feels like it’s passing quickly. There’s nothing to differentiate the days. But when we go away, even for a day or two, we have new experiences. We stay somewhere different, eat somewhere new, hike new trails, visit new shops. All of those “new” experiences slow time down and make it feel like it’s passing more slowly.

So while the same old, same old is good for conserving brain energy... it also makes time speed up. And new, novel experiences slow it down.

All this leads to... 2026. I had a milestone birthday a few months ago—one that made me stop and think. Do I want to keep doing the same old, same old? Or do I want to try something different?

I had read a book a few years ago called 50 After 50: Reframing the Next Chapter of Your Life. The author, realizing at the age of 50 that she was on the downward slope of life, committed to doing 50 new things—significant, at least to her. That book stuck with me, and I started to think... what would I put on a list like that?

And so when this last birthday came around... I decided to bite the bullet and do 60 new things in 2026. Whatever that might look like for me. Step out of my comfort zone. Go to different places. Hike different trails. Visit new restaurants.

Because while I love routine... I also find it ties me down.

It stifles me.

But I can change that... one small step at a time.

The Calm after the Storm

For the last year or so, I’ve been lamenting that I had “lost my mojo.”

I had no energy for many things. I worried that I had lost my edge—lost my drive to write or finish projects.

But looking back now, it’s obvious why.

Last year, 2025, was a shit year.

My 91-year-old mother ended up in the hospital and then moved into a palliative bed at the care home in January. My sister and I had to clear out her apartment and deal with all of her things. Mom died at the end of March, and then there was the estate. And grief. A lot of grief.

Then my aunt died in June. And in July I discovered that the biological father I had been tracking down for the last three years had actually died five years earlier.

Autumn brought more personal and relational stress and… well. It was a shit year.

But now the storm seems to be over, mostly.

I can poke my head up again and things are calmer. I have breathing space, finally. And I can start assessing the damage.

When you're just keeping your nose above water, a lot of things fall by the wayside. Tasks get pushed aside and postponed until things calm down. In the grand scheme of things, they simply weren’t important.

I didn’t have the time, nor the energy, to deal with many things.

But now… finally… I feel like I’m coming back online.

I’m no longer in survival mode, no longer just trying to get through each day. I can start planning again. I’m picking up tasks and projects that sat on the shelf for months. I have energy again. I’m interested in things again.

I’m building buffers in other areas—like social media posts for our Airbnb and blog posts for some of the other blogs I manage.

I am, for lack of a better phrase, getting my shit together.

But looking back now, it’s obvious.When you're in survival mode, of course the mojo disappears. All of that energy goes somewhere else—to grief, to paperwork, to estate work, to simply getting through the day.

It’s a nice feeling to realize that I’m once again firing on all cylinders.

I’m picking up the pieces of life and looking at the state of my to-do list. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but I’m chipping away at things. Moving projects forward a little at a time. Getting quotes to replace a window where the seal has gone. Picking up small projects around the house. Looking ahead to the garden season.

I like this feeling.

But at the same time… I don’t entirely trust it.

After the last ten years—a decade with more upheaval than I would have preferred—I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. What’s the next thing that will hit out of the blue? What else could go wrong?

I’m a bit twitchy.

I don’t fully trust the calm.

And maybe that’s just how life works.

Storms come. Then there are stretches of calm. We rarely know when the storms will arrive, or how long they will last.

All we can really do is weather them when they come…

…and appreciate the calm when it finally returns.

Dreaming of an Anti-Library

I have a dream. A vision, if you will.
There have been times in my life when that dream came close to being manifested… and then it slipped from my grasp.

The dream? Ah yes. A very simple one, really.

I dream of a room lined with bookshelves, filled with all manner of books. I dream of a comfy chair, a conveniently placed lamp, and a side table for my tea and my reading glasses (getting older). My dream looks kind of like this picture but… bigger.

At one point in my life, I almost had it.

I had four tall, dark-brown particleboard bookshelves. I had the comfy chair. I was nearly there—sort of. And then the minimalism bug bit me.

Over the years, I let go of a LOT of books. Mostly paperback novels, but also textbooks, non-fiction, cookbooks, all of it. This was largely because, from my 20s through my 50s, I moved. A lot. Sometimes across town, sometimes to a new city, sometimes to a new province.

Books are heavy.
Heavy boxes cost money.

So every time I moved, I decluttered. I let things go.

Books also take up space—valuable real estate. Yes, I would have loved to keep every single book I ever owned, but that would require at least two library rooms. And that’s just not financially viable.

Somewhere along the way, I also discovered the joy of the local public library. You can borrow books, read them, and then give them back. A small miracle, really. And then, of course, there is the mixed joy of the e-reader. So many books at my fingertips… but it’s never quite the same. Scrolling through a list of black-and-white book covers isn’t the same as running your finger along a shelf, looking for something to read.

All of this leads to the idea that recently rocked my bibliophile world: the anti-library.

What the heck is an anti-library?

Simply this: rather than a personal library being a collection of books you have read, an anti-library is mostly made up of books you have not read. Instead of being a monument to how smart or well-read you are, it becomes a reminder of how much knowledge lies beyond our grasp.

Umberto Eco popularized the idea. His private library contained around 30,000 books—most of which he had not read. He suggested that we think of books less as trophies and more as medicine. When you’re not feeling well, you go to the shelves and choose a book that might help. In that case, more options are better than fewer.

Which, frankly, doesn’t take much to convince a bibliophile.

At this point in my life, I’m limited to one bookshelf. Many of the books are research volumes for my espionage-related blog. The rest are a mishmash: wild plant books, hiking guides, and old favourites I refuse to let go of. Some of those favourites now live on my e-reader, but a few aren’t available in that format, so they stay.

There’s also a small to-read stack, crammed in front of other books. It’s very much in the minority. When I go on vacation in a few weeks, I’ll pack those into my suitcase, read them, and then leave them at the resort.

But if I want a true anti-library—or even an anti-library bookshelf—I’m going to need either a bigger shelf or fewer already-read books. Because the truth is, I rarely re-read most of what’s on there.

It may be time to reconsider the purpose of my bookshelf.

I’m forever taking photos of interesting books I come across in bookshops—on the ferry, at the airport—with the intention of getting them from the library. But there’s usually a 55-person waitlist, and that just takes the wind out of my sails. Sometimes I look for them online, through used-book sites, and sometimes I don’t.

Perhaps it’s time to embrace the anti-library.
Or at least… the anti-bookshelf.

A Tim Hortons Detour (and a Broken Habit Loop)

 Sooo... if you're a regular reader of this blog, you know that I've been trying to ditch my Starbucks addiction. Well, my addiction to Starbucks hot chocolate.

Sooo… if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know that I’ve been trying to ditch my Starbucks addiction. Well, my addiction to Starbucks hot chocolate.

But Starbucks is my happy place, where I can sit, sip a drink in the early morning, and get some work done without distractions. It’s just that the hot chocolate is having an impact on my waistline.

So, I had this idea that I could walk to McDonald’s (or drive). It’s only a 30-minute walk and… it might be a good substitute.

Yeah. No.

My first visit to McDonald’s was an epic fail.

I decided to drive because some of the reviews said that their hours were a bit erratic. They are open 24 hours for drive-thru but are supposed to open at 5 a.m. for walk-ins. I showed up at a very respectable 5:40 a.m. to find the doors locked. I could have gone through the drive-thru, but I didn’t have the patience. So I got back in the car and drove to another Starbucks… not my regular one. Sigh.

So… if McDonald’s isn’t reliable, then I don’t want to walk all the way there and find them closed. They are not an option, at least not for early morning visits. Back to the drawing board.

Option 1 – Local Aquatic Centre

It’s about a 20–25 minute walk and has a café area with seating in the lobby. Not sure if they have Wi-Fi or electrical outlets either, but it’s an option. Except… reviewers say the café area is frequented by clumps of swearing teenagers. It does open at 6 am, but the little café itself doesn’t open until 9. I guess I could always bring my own tea.

Option 2 – University

Also a 30-minute walk. I used to go there before Covid, when their library building was open 24 hours a day. The library itself only opened at 8 a.m., but the Commons area was open much earlier. Covid threw all of that out the window. I just checked, and now the Commons is locked until 8 a.m. Only students and employees with a key card can access it before then. So that’s not going to work.

Option 3 – Local Coffee Shop

There’s a Serious Coffee about a five-minute walk from us, but it only opens at 8 a.m. I actually tried it for a few visits, but their tea selection is weak. They do have Wi-Fi and electrical outlets, but it just wasn’t my vibe.

Option 4 – Work from Home

This is another option. Just transition away from the idea of getting work done from a coffee shop and work from home instead. I did this during Covid, but I missed my coffee shop time. It’s a place where I can really focus and not be distracted by all the undone items at home. Just me, the laptop, and some focused time to write or work or whatever. So… not sure I want to give that up. I just need to figure out a different schedule or venue that works for me.

Option 5 – Tim Hortons

I’m not exactly sure why I didn’t consider this option sooner. I think there was a point several years ago when I realized Timmies was owned by an American company and… our household was boycotting it. Maybe. Not sure.

Anyhow… get this… I tried Timmies.

It’s across the street from the failed McDonald’s, so within a 30–35 minute walk of home, and an even quicker drive. I went in and ordered a small chai tea with a splash of milk… $1.98 (a full $0.70 cheaper than Starbucks!). I found a seat with an electrical outlet nearby, connected to the Wi-Fi, and it was… not bad.

It’s not the same as Starbucks, which has more of a dark, moody coffee-shop vibe. Timmies is more cafeteria-like, quite sterile and bright. But it had everything I needed. Plus… it opened at 5 a.m. Be still my beating heart! Finally, a coffee shop that was on my schedule.

That was on July 19, 2025.

For 100 days, I faithfully went to Timmies, breaking the Starbucks + hot chocolate loop. And no, I was never tempted by Timmies’ hot chocolate. The only downside… I came home smelling like hashbrowns and scrambled eggs. Not a pleasant smell. 

After 100 days, I tried a Starbucks visit… and I was able to order a tea without immediately reciting, “I’ll have a grande hot chocolate, no whip.”

I had broken the loop.

Slowly, I migrated back to Starbucks. It’s the hashbrown smell at Timmies. It’s just… icky. And yes, Starbucks hits my pocketbook with an extra $0.70, but I’ll take that if it means going home smelling like roasted coffee instead of greasy hashbrowns.

The Trouble with Tiny Soap Bars

As an Airbnb host, we debate, long and hard, about how to offer guests toiletries—things like shampoo, conditioner, and soap.

For the first year, we went through our stash of hotel toiletries, the ones we had snaffoodled during various trips. Little bottles of shampoo and conditioner… sometimes body wash. Sometimes matching, sometimes not. We also had little individually wrapped bars of soap, also from hotels. Then a friend of ours, who also runs an Airbnb, gave us a big stash of small soap bars she had bought from a hotel supply place. That works!

Except… it doesn’t.

Little plastic bottles of shampoo and conditioner end up in the garbage. And the bars of soap? Guests would unwrap them, use them once or twice, and then check out. And we were left with a small bar of soap that still had plenty of use in it—but we weren’t going to offer it to the next guest (ick), nor were we going to use it ourselves.

What to do? Well, when you’re cleaning a suite and facing a deadline, you take the easy way out. They ended up in the trash as well. Ouch.

We’ve faced the dilemma from the other side, too, when we’ve stayed at Airbnbs and hotels. At one Airbnb, there was a lovely bar of Oil of Olay soap in a box on the soap dish. I had brought my own soap, so I used that. But on the last day, my niece opened up the bar of soap. Now what?

Well, I did what any considerate guest would do—I took the bar of used soap with me. It was a full-size bar, and I just couldn’t face the idea of it ending up in the trash. So now it rides around with me in the soap container in my bathroom bag when I go on trips.

All of this got me wondering. It’s one thing with an Airbnb, where the host deals with a bar of soap and little bottles every few days, but what happens at hotels? Who are dealing with dozens (hundreds?) of rooms, day after day after day? What happens to all those little half-used bars of soap and containers of shampoo and conditioner? Do they end up in the trash?

Maybe. Or maybe not.

I came across a soap recycling organization. It’s called Clean the World, and many hotel chains partner with it. Little soap bars and plastic toiletry bottles get collected and sent to a processing centre. The soap is sorted, ground into pellets or noodles, sterilized, sent to a lab for testing, and pressed into new soap bars. These bars are hygienic and safe to use and are distributed to developing countries or homeless shelters.

The plastic toiletry bottles are recycled into flakes that are then used to manufacture new products. Not quite as glamorous as the recycled soap bars, but… every little bit helps.

As an Airbnb host, we don’t have those economies of scale. Hotels go through millions of bars of soap every day. So what can we do?

We switched from little toiletry bottles to regular shampoo and conditioner dispensers. They last for months and, when they eventually wear out, can go into our municipal recycling program. As for soap, we switched to liquid hand soap for the kitchen and bathroom sinks. In the shower, guests can use a large pump dispenser of body wash. There’s still a soap dish in the shower if they want to bring their own bar.

It’s not perfect, but it feels like a better balance.

Further Reading

Clean the World's website page

YouTube video outlining the soap recycling process

What's with the Price of Bananas?

There. I’ve asked the question that probably everyone is wondering, but few are actually asking: what the heck is going on with the price of bananas???

If you don’t know, let me lay it out.

I do the grocery shopping in our family, and for years — before Covid — bananas were a stable $0.65 per pound. Without fail. Full stop. Apples, by comparison, were generally around $1.00 per pound. (Prices are from Superstore, may vary in other grocers)

We grow apples in British Columbia. We’re next door to Washington State, which is a major apple producer. We have apples coming out of our ears. Bananas? Not so much. They don’t grow in Canada. They don’t grow in the USA either. The bananas we get have to come from Mexico or Costa Rica or somewhere warm and moist and tropical.

So why is it that after Covid, apples have doubled in price? A five-pound bag now costs $9–10. Inflation? Increased transportation costs trickling down? Who knows. But they’ve doubled.

Bananas? Yeah. No. They’re $0.68 per pound. Essentially the same price as pre-Covid.

Why???

They come from way farther away. They’re fickle to transport — can’t be too cold, can’t be too hot, and don’t bruise them.

What the heck is going on?

I was in England for two weeks in November, and bananas at the local Sainsbury’s were £0.27 each. That’s about fifty cents per banana, or roughly a dollar per pound. Not outrageous, but still more expensive than here.

Turns out there’s a reason — or rather, a few overlapping ones — for this odd price freeze.

There’s currently a banana supply glut, and even though fertilizer and shipping costs have soared, producers have very little leverage with large grocery chains to demand price increases. For retailers, bananas are classic loss-leaders: keep them cheap to get people in the door and hope they buy other things. They’re also wildly popular in Canada, produced year-round, and moved through an extremely efficient logistics system.

It still seems wonky to me.

And rumour has it the price may finally start creeping up, because producers are now operating on razor-thin margins.

Time will tell.