Tag Archives: British Columbia

Harmonize this!

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I’m so spitting mad this evening I could cry.

After the elation of signing my mortgage papers and downloading all the strata minutes and materials to read in advance of closing the deal on my real estate purchase, I found out I owe the government almost $4,000 cash for the privilege of getting into the second most expensive real estate market in Canada.

My new home has lots of light. And a hefty tax bill.

My new home has lots of light. And a hefty tax bill.

First a little background: I bought a two-bedroom condo in Regina for under $90,000 years ago. I sold it in April 2006, after I moved here. It was on the market for four months, I was paying rent here plus my mortgage, because the market hadn’t picked up yet in Saskatchewan. I didn’t have anything from that sale to afford a downpayment here, I barely broke even. So I’ve been renting the last five years, always with the dream of owning my own home again. I’ve also been socking a bit of money away in my RRSPs.

Did I mention I’m a single parent?

Now that I’m moving to Vancouver, I can withdraw up to $25,000 for a modest downpayment on a modest condo in Vancouver, under the federal First Time Home Buyer’s Plan. Yay! Deal’s almost done.

But wait! In B.C. There’s something called the B.C. Property Transfer Tax: one per cent of the first $200,000 value of the property, two per cent after that. If you’re a first time home buyer, you’re exempt. I naively thought if I was a first time home buyer to the Canadian government, I’d be one to the B.C. government too. After all, I worked on the interprovincial trade file years ago when I worked for government. We’re supposed to all be Canadians all under the same rules, aren’t we?

But a first time home buyer in the federal sense is not a first time home buyer in the provincial sense.

Because I’ve owned a place before and lived in it, no matter that it was years ago in a much less expensive market, I’m ineligible for a break on the B.C. Property Transfer Tax. I got the unpleasant news today – as I’m ready to close the deal – that the B.C. government wants almost $4,000 cash from me before I can transfer title of my little 600 square foot home that I worked so hard to buy.

Finance Minister Falcon, here’s a rhetorical question for you: I wonder what I would be spending that money on, stimulating the local economy, if I didn’t have to hand it over to the government?

  • New furniture for my new home, from local businesspeople in Vancouver
  • Paying someone to come and pack my belongings instead of me doing it myself, saving myself stress and making work for someone else.
  • I could pay someone to come and paint my new condo rather than doing it myself.
  • I could buy a subscription to the opera, or a theatre company, in my new city so I get to meet new people and take in its culture.
  • I could contribute to the local community centre, or the United Way, or the Vancouver Foundation to make Vancouver a better place to live, because government sure is doing a piss-poor job of that right now.

But no, instead I’m scraping together $4,000 cash to hand over to the government in an inexplicable tax grab. I could understand if the rules were the same as the federal government’s – so as to catch real estate flippers or what-have-you. Even that rationale is sketchy though.

I don’t mind taxes, really I don’t. I just want them to be consistent and fair and transparent. This one came as a surprise and I am left scrambling to fit it into my plans.

Why in the hell would you want to make it even harder for people like me to get into home ownership? My mind is still boggling.

Good lord, moving is stressful enough as it is.

 

 

 

 

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Tips for commuting by float plane

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When you live on an island you have to get off it sometime. Some of us more than others, because of the nature of our jobs. I travel by float plane a lot; 2-4 times per month actually, between Victoria and Vancouver. I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way.

  • They’re loud. Wear the ear plugs. You’ll need them.
  • Better yet, get yourself a pair of good in-ear noise-cancelling headphones. That way you can listen to music or podcasts without cranking the volume to dangerous levels.
  • Fraser River Delta from the air

    Fraser River Delta from the air

    The smell of fuel gets to me, but here’s a trick: single engine, sit near the back; twin engine, sit near the front. Or is that the other way around. Anyway. Works for me. I might just be used to it by now.

  • Ladies, the pilot with your life in his hands will ask you to put your oversized purse in the back of the plane, especially if you’re sitting near an emergency exit. Be a dear, swallow your bitchiness and don’t give him any sass about it. Your shit will be all right. I promise. I don’t want to have to trip over your shit getting out if the plane ever hits the drink.
  • Get yourself an account, sign up for loyalty points and book your flights online. It’s cheaper and you get points toward free flights.
  • Don’t ever miss your flight, stay over in Vancouver, party, then catch a flight in the morning hung over. Just. Don’t. (Ahem, this one was told to me by a friend. I swear.)
  • During the flight, you can look all you want for whales in the ocean below. I’ve never seen any though. :(
  • Look up instead. You never, ever get tired of the view, especially in summer.

    songhees from sea plane

    The Songhees from the seaplane (Victoria BC)

  • In winter or during peak periods when it’s busy, don’t be late for check in. They will sell your seat to a standby passenger. I’ve seen it happen a couple of times.
  • About flying in winter: sure we don’t get snow, but we do get wind and fog and low clouds. And wind. If you love rollercoasters, you’ll love flying float planes in winter. Did I say wind?
  • Better yet, if you fly a lot in winter and get air sick easily, and you’re made of money or have time, you could always take a helicopter or the ferry.

 

 

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Trip report: Grouse Grind

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After I did the Vancouver Marathon May 1, I got the brilliant idea I could become a badass trail runner. I blame Born to Run. I even had dreams of ultra running.

Accordingly, I vowed to get out to North Vancouver and do the Grouse Grind this summer. I ran Mount Doug and Mount Finlayson. I hiked Gros Morne mountain in Newfoundland. I did not shy away from The Hill (yes there is one) when I was in Regina.

When I put out the call for fellow Grinders on Twitter and Facebook, my friend David (a runner from Central Saanich who runs with the Frontrunners gang) and Eric (from Vancouver) responded. We were on. August 21 was Grind Day.

David

David on Grouse Mountain

6:25 am: I pull up near David’s place and he’s waiting outside, mostly because I’m five minutes late. It’s already warm, heading towards one of the hottest days of the year on the west coast.

6:40 am: We’ve decided to go public transit, so we leave my car at the ferry terminal and walk on. Despite my lack of sleep, we talk – really talk – the entire trip. No, not just the ferry crossing, I mean the ENTIRE trip which involves bus, sky train, sea bus and another bus before we get to Grouse Mountain.

7:30 am: I’m not hungry, but David convinces me I need to eat breakfast. I will thank him for this later.

10:30 am: after the epic public transit adventure (see above) we arrive at Grouse Mountain guest services to check our bags. “You should know the trail is very strenuous. You can’t climb down after you start up, you have to take the tram…” begins the spiel. “We know. We’re marathon runners, we’ll be fine,” we say.

10:45 am: We meet up with Eric at the trailhead and start off. Thinking Grouse is much like Mount Finlayson, which starts out relatively flat and then climbs, with the occasional flattish spot to pick up the pace, I want to run as much of it as I can. So we start out running.

Catching my breath on the Grind

Catching my breath on the Grind

10:46:32 am: We (well – er – it was me actually) stop running and start hiking. I am sucking wind, heaving like a rusty bellows. The Grouse Grind is nearly three kilometres straight up on awkward, uneven shored up trail. You can’t take short steps because of it. Quite frankly – it’s – a grind.

I blame my poor performance on my prairie upbringing and lack of latent athletic ability. David assures me I’m doing just fine as he slows down with me. I tell him to go ahead if he wants. He’s a Boston Qualified marathoner after all. And I’m — not.

“Why would I do that?” he says. “We came all the way over here to do this together. It wouldn’t be any fun if I went ahead of you.”

10:59 am: It occurs to me, after I get my heart rate down, after all this slowing down and sucking wind, that David is a lot like my last climbing partner Pete. Easygoing, just wanting to share the love of the sport and have a great time. Not out to prove anything. It’s all about the camaraderie, the adventure together. The more the merrier.

11:00 am: I realize how much I’m going to miss my friends in Victoria when I move to Vancouver.

11:15 am: the mountain is packed with people. I can’t believe the number of young children on this trail. Did their parents not get the message? (This blog post warns against taking young children.) I didn’t see anyone carrying a child up, but I did pass a lot sitting by the side of the trail. Meh, who am I to judge? I also saw some very spry (yet slow) older people making their way up.

Me and Eric at the top of Grouse Grind

Me and Eric at the top of Grouse Grind

11:30 am: I wasn’t the only one sucking wind, that’s for sure. It was also a very hot day. Silly me, I had forgotten my running hat at home. I took off my shirt so I could wipe sweat from my eyes, baring my midriff in public for the first time in years. It’s a little more cushy than I remember it from years ago when I ran in the Saskatchewan heat wearing only shorts and jogbra. I feel a little exposed, but soon I don’t care. I’m just concentrating on climbing.

12:05 pm: Success! One minute I’m hauling my very tired legs up that damned hill. Next, I turn a corner and surprise! There is the chalet!

Our total climbing time was 80 minutes. Apparently the average is 90. That’s what our waiter told us when we sat down to order beer and burgers, and enjoy the view from up there.

Eric had to head off to UBC for a conference, but after we finished lunch David and I decided to head right to the summit, another 20 minutes, but much easier hike to the top of the ski area. We watched some hang gliders take off and took the ski lift back down to the chalet. There we picked up the bags we checked at the bottom and changed into clean, dry clothes. Even I was starting not to be able to stand my own stink.

The view from the chalet

The view from the chalet

The tram ride all the way down is one of the highlights of the trip, even though it was packed with people. I’m sure they all appreciated that we had changed clothes.

We caught the bus to Lonsdale Quay, where we detoured for gelato before getting back on the sea bus. What a gorgeous day!

We got to Tsawwassen in time to catch the 7 pm ferry, 12 hours from the time our adventure started. I catnapped for about 10 minutes, then David and I just kept talking (albeit at a slower pace than before).

Back on the island, I dropped David at his place, and by the time I got home at about 9:45 pm I was exhausted, but still stoked from such a perfect day.

Overall impression of the Grouse Grind? It is indeed a grind: but with Guest Services at the bottom, a beer and burger at the top, and a tram ride down, you can’t go wrong. I’ll be back to do it again soon.

Paragliders taking off from Grouse Mountain summit

Paragliders taking off from Grouse Mountain

 

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Vancouver je t’aime

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I’m quite attached to Greater Victoria.

But I’m in love with Vancouver.

I have been since I moved to the west coast over five years ago.

It’s beautiful, it’s vibrant, it’s liveable, it’s diverse, it’s world-class. I count only once since I moved here that I’ve cursed Vancouver traffic. I’m sure more local people do that quite often, but that’s because they don’t have to commute in New York City, Mexico City, Los Angeles or even Seattle. We really do have a gem here.

When I got my job a year and a half ago it was with the full realization that although BCcampus’s head office is in Vancouver, I could continue to live in Victoria. We’ve made the arrangement work, but it’s about time I made the move to the mainland.

C'mon Vancouver, I'm going to give you a BIG HUG!

For one, being a strategic communications professional is ideal when you have ongoing, direct access to the management team. Skype helps, phone calls help, and I’ve been over there frequently for meetings and conferences. However, nothing can replace daily face-to-face contact with the people with whom you work most closely, and I’m missing those interactions. I am highly effective (I’m sure my colleagues would agree), but I could be even more effective based in Vancouver.

Our biggest stakeholders are based in the lower mainland too. Not only that but Greater Vancouver is a central hub for post-secondary institutions whether they’re based in the interior or in northern B.C. It’s more efficient to give service to province-wide stakeholders when you don’t have to get off an Island all the time. Example: the first time I met in real life some people with whom I’d been working for months from University of Victoria, Royal Roads and Vancouver Island University was at a meeting in Vancouver!

An important drawback to being a distributed worker: the isolation. Some people deal with it better than others, but I need people around me. I’m enough of a hermit as is (for instance I’ve spent most of this weekend reading) I don’t need to compound it by shutting myself up in my home. Some other client service managers were having similar issues, so we reconfigured the Victoria office to accommodate more work spaces several months ago. Now I have two official workspaces (in Victoria and Vancouver) rather than three (+one at home).

In reality, I can work from anywhere. I even worked four days from New Brunswick this summer. However, over the day-to-day, the long haul, nothing says “I belong” like having a base of operations with the rest of my team.

Frequent travel gets wearying after a while, and it is a time-sucker: both mine and the organization’s. (And I don’t even do it that much really; I know people who travel world-wide hundreds of days per year. Ack!) Although we keep travel down to a manageable, cost-effective level, it takes time to get over there and back. I’ve missed some valuable face-time with colleagues AND friends and family, not to mention the Wednesday night runs with the training clinic. Too much productive work time is spent making travel arrangements, filling out expense forms and waiting for ferries and flights.

But it all comes down to this: Victoria is paradise, but Vancouver is alive. Let’s face it, the final reason for relocating is: I have a better chance of improving my romantic prospects there.

I’m excited to finally be making plans to move there within the next few months. Stay tuned for details on my farewell bash.

 

Photo of me at the 28k mark of the 2011 BMO Vancouver Marathon,
by Christopher Mackay.

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Context is everything, but I’m sharing my slides anyway

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I had the pleasure last week to attend the spring ETUG workshop (http://etug.ca/) in Nelson BC. ETUG is sponsored by BCcampus, my employer, and once again reminded me why I love my job. The passion and enthusiasm of educators and technologists in the post-secondary system is inspiring and infectious.

The morning of the last day was a hands-on session, and I chose “Developing your Elevator Pecha! Are you Open4Learning?” during which Elena Underhill and Kyle Hunter from BCIT presented the “Elevator Pecha:” a mash-up of Pecha Kucha and the Elevator Pitch which consists of 10 slides, 10 seconds each.

Jo and Samantha (both from Royal Roads University) and I collaborated on an Elevator Pecha. In 25 minutes, this is what we came up with:

Elevator pecha tori jo samantha

View more presentations from ToriKlassen.

In this instance, I added in some words that I used when I gave the presentation, because I thought the photos without the narrative might be inscrutable without context.

This is the real nub: what’s the point of putting slideshows online so people can view them in isolation? Presentations are not about the slides, they are about the presenter.

Alan Levine, the keynote presenter at this ETUG conference, made this point clear by way of example. He spoke without notes, and showed his collected stories in the form of short videos. He also does his keynote justice by presenting all the videos on his blog.

I met Alan three weeks ago at the Online Community Enthusiasts day in Vancouver. There, we got into a discussion about bringing playfulness to events. As it turns out he had written a post last November arguing that people who make presentations really need to learn some improv skills rather than Powerpoint skills.

Hear hear! I had popped in on Alan’s blog before, now I am a subscriber.

I am a half decent public speaker, but my background is in radio broadcasting. I have a fear of speaking off the top of my head, and I have a terrible head for memorization. I need that piece of paper (or more recently my Evernote notes on my iPhone) as a crutch. It’s a shortcoming I’m acutely aware of in my spoken word poetry, but I’ve been lackadaisical about improving on it.

However, my Elevator Pecha went extremely well because it was so focused and concise. I sense a crack in the dam in terms of my performance skills! Elena took video of everyone delivering their Elevator Pechas that day. If she posts them online I’ll share the video, and you can judge for yourself, and see the presentation in context, the way it was meant to be delivered.

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Cookies Across the Nation

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By Tori Klassen, with contributions from Chris Mackay.

As far as we can tell, although we can’t be absolutely certain now, this was the Tweet that started it off, on October 3, 2010:

“@ToriKlassen True! @Unmarketing ‘When you’re new to Twitter it’s pretty lonely.’—Until you start getting into the conversations.”

Tori was at the Social Media Camp in Victoria, British Columbia where Scott Stratten (@Unmarketing) was a keynote speaker. The post (plus a couple of others) was retweeted by CBC tech journalist Theresa Lalonde (@TheresaLaLonde) who was also at the conference.

One of Theresa’s Twitter followers was Chris Mackay (@cbmackay), sitting in his office working in Sackville, New Brunswick that day.

He noticed Tori’s clever way with words. Then her smile, as represented in her Twitter avatar. Nah, who are we kidding, it was the other way around: he noticed her smile first! He started following her on Twitter. Tori noticed Chris started following her, and followed him back.

Chris’s Twitter bio consisted of only two words: “Skeptical Primate” (he has since doubled its word-count to “Skeptical primate is skeptical”). From this, and from reading his blog, Tori knew Chris was of like mind when it came to religious views: we’re both atheists. Also, she thought he might be handsome, despite the fact that his avatar expression looked a little serious. Those intense blue eyes drew her in. She kinda hoped he was single, even if he did live in Sackville.

Which is in New Brunswick – completely on the other side of the continent – on the east coast.

“Logistics can be complicated. Wanting to be together isn’t. We’ll sort it all out. Whatever that means.” Chris wrote in an email later on. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

We just started to – you know – converse. Twitter-style. Chris is funny and smart. Tori is funny and smart. Chris posts pictures of his cute animals. Tori likes cute animals. Tori read articles that Chris retweeted. Vice versa. Chris said he liked to run. Tori added him to her Running list, and her Running Daily Twitter publication. Chris thought this was hilarious because he had never run outside before, nor has he run a race while Tori had run a marathon the previous year after several half marathons.

One day in late October or early November, Chris posted that he was helping his parents move. Two weeks later, he was still posting that he was helping his parents move, oh and by the way one of his dogs got into a skunk and he was cleaning up after her.

“OMFG are you STILL helping your folks with moving? This is epic!” Tori tweeted. “You are a man who needs a cookie!” she said in a later post.

“No cookies around here,” replied Chris. “You’re just going to have to send me some.”

So she did. She baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, packed them in a little box and sent them to Chris’s office in Sackville, along with a Christmas card and her personal business card. She Tweeted about it a couple of times, with the hashtag #cookiesacrossthenation.

Her card said something like “Wow – look at me, sending cookies to someone I barely know clear across the continent!”

Chris was so impressed he baked some shortbread and sent it – not to Victoria, but to Regina, Saskatchewan, where Tori is from and where she was spending Christmas with friends and family. In fact, the package was waiting for her when she arrived, much to the puzzlement of the friends with whom she was staying.

“Oh, it’s this kind of Twitter flirtation thing going on with this guy in New Brunswick,” she explained. “What could come of it, right? I mean, really. But I’ve made a friend at least.”

By then however we were sending more Twitter direct messages to each other than public @replies. Our first messages when we got to know each other better were along the lines of: “Damn, why do you have to live so far away?”

By the time Tori got back to Victoria after Christmas, she had convinced Chris a Skype video call was in order. By Tori’s reckoning, she wanted to know if there was any chemistry between the two of them “face-to-face” before the online flirtation went any further. In her professional life, she had already hired two people via Skype, and both had turned out to be good decisions. Why wouldn’t it work the same with a romantic interest?

So we arranged a New Year’s Eve Skype date. Because of the four-hour time difference between coasts (thank goodness Chris is a night-owl!) we arranged for a short, 20-minute Skype call to say hi, toast in the new year, and get to know each other, then we were both going to watch the same movie, and compare notes later, either by more DMs or a further Skype call, if all went well.

What was the movie? Oh – something forgettable really —

We never watched it. We were on Skype for four hours.

That’s how the weekly Skype calls started. The shortest weekend date has been a bit over three hours, the longest over six. We also manage to Skype each other once or twice during the week – it’s so nice to see each other’s face. We talk and text every day, several times a day.

On Jan 6, Chris bought his plane ticket to visit the West Coast Feb 16-22nd. Tori drove all her friends crazy with a daily countdown to his arrival on Twitter and Facebook.

We were both pretty confident meeting in real life would be icing on the cake and not a letdown, but there was still a nagging little “what-if” in our minds as Feb 16 approached.

The remaining niggling “what-if” dissipated once we finally got our arms around each other at the Victoria International Airport, 11 pm or so Feb 16. We hugged for the longest time. Then, just as he said he would, Chris took Tori’s face gently in his hands and kissed her.

We met through social media, and we are more connected to each other than many people who live together are. We don’t want to live so far away from each other for long, but we haven’t made any big decisions yet. It’s only miles that are between us right now.

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Running for the Truly Terrified

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Many of you tell me I inspire you and you want to run (for the first time, or to get started again), but you are Truly Terrified. You don’t think you can keep up with me. You think you’ll embarrass yourself if you take me up on my offer to get you started with running. You think you’ll get left behind gasping for air while I run ahead.

I am here to tell you that’s not the case. I am here to tell you I was once in your shoes. I’ve been there, I know how it is.

Compared to most other runners, I am slow as molasses. In all my races I don’t rank in the top 50 per cent of my age group, but I still do it, because I love it. If I can do this, anyone can. I want to help you get started running again.

I’ve convinced my friend Scott Garman to come out to Beacon Hill Park by the petting zoo, Monday night, May 31, 2010, 6:30 sharp, to start running. Slowly. Baby steps. Anyone is welcome to join in.

Here’s the deal: there’s an 800-metre loop that passes by the Children’s Farm petting zoo (map below). If I’m running fast it takes me about 4 minutes to get around it, but if I’m slow it can be 5 minutes or more – and believe me on Mondays I am slow – it’s a recovery run for me, and I will have just done a full-body weight workout. I don’t want to be running any longer than a total 20 minutes.

If you can do one lap, good for you! If you can do half a lap, good for you! If you can run 2 minutes, then walk 3 minutes, then walk 2 minutes — well good for you! I will be there to clap and cheer all along the way.

The point is – you just show up. Because half the battle for anything you do in life is just showing up.


View Run routes in a larger map

Couple of things though before you stop by:

  • Please don’t come if you have a health condition that prevents you from doing physical exercise safely. See your doc first and get the go-ahead.
  • I’m not a certified personal trainer, I’m not a health care professional, I’m just a passionate volunteer and I want to demystify this whole running thing.
  • I can’t tell you how to eat, run, lose weight, or find enlightenment. I just know what has worked for me, and that a thousand mile journey begins with a single step.
  • Therefore I command you to go at your own pace and don’t try and keep up if you’re not feeling it. Huffing and puffing is one thing, but wheezing and gasping are another. Take it slow, that’s the whole point of this exercise.
  • Likewise, muscle fatigue is one thing, but sudden acute pain in muscles or joints is another. We’re here to honour our bodies, not hurt them. If it hurts, stop.
  • I’ll be trying to do this every Monday night, and everyone is welcome, but it really helps to strengthen the muscles and support the joints before attempting any real running. If our little runs inspire you to keep it up and run longer, I recommend getting into a good personal trainer or boot camp to avoid injury.

So please comment below and let me know if you’re coming, or just – show up in your sturdy runners and some sweat pants.

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Beginning the ascent

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Mystic BeachSeveral times in the past three weeks my mouse has hovered over the “submit” button for another fall marathon.

Each time, a little voice in my head says: “Wait until after your Half Marathon in May. Don’t you want to start climbing again? Remember – you don’t want to climb and train for a marathon at the same time…”

Climbing, hiking, trail running – getting out of the city and off the beaten path. It’s what I long to do, but it means a different level of commitment than training for a road race.

It’s a lifestyle change, is what it is.

Road races are – well – urban, and therefore populated. One of the things I really like about the Vancouver Marathon/Half Marathon is the sheer number of participants and spectators. There is always someone cheering you on, always someone to pass going up to Prospect Point (even for a slow runner like me), always someone holding a sign that says “Run like a Kenyan!” There are entertainment stations with music and dance, and usually the Hash House Harriers with a beer table somewhere along the way.

Climbing/hiking/trail running is more isolated. Wild. A little bit risky. A little – on the edge. It brings you into closer contact with your climbing partner(s). It’s more intimate. There’s no crowd cheering you to the finish line, announcing your name. At best there’s a notation in a guidebook, or a scribble in a summit register, and some scrapes and bruises for bragging rights.

This hit home to me as I scrambled around gearing up this morning for a little 5k hike from China Beach to Mystic Beach and back this afternoon. I located my little Adventure first aid kit, an extra layer, emergency rain gear, fuel, water, map (not that I needed one).

As I rummaged through my gear stowed in my locker downstairs, I heard my physiotherapist’s voice in my head saying: “Your toe joint is healing well, you should be able to start climbing again this spring.”

I want that thrill of going into the back country again. I want to be at a campsite, climbing gear spread out, consulting the guidebook, deciding with my partner what to take (one rope or two? Full rack or save weight and leave a few pieces?). I want to share a beer at the end of the day with friends who have literally held my life in their hands at the end the rope.

It’s time again to begin the ascent.

Photo: Mystic Beach, April 5, 2010, taken by Tori Klassen with iPhone using the Best Camera app.

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