Vancouver's

My "Uncle" Rey and "Auntie" Lettie used to bet in horse races in Vancouver's PNE, Pacific National Exhibition.

Source: tatoeba (10783508)

I liked eating strawberry waffles with whipped cream at Vancouver's Pacific National Exhibition.

Source: tatoeba (10783609)

There are still several centimetres of snow left on the ground, here on Lulu Island, this 4th of February of 2025. At home with the view of the bluish grey sky through my bedroom window, I reviewed my Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish, on my tablet. I perused a printed book about it, yesterday. I would give myself three stars out of five stars total for my Chabacano skills. I can read it quite well. I like that Chabacano has no verbal conjugation, but just has aspect markers, unlike Spanish. I assign the colour beige to Chabacano. I opine that more people should know it. I trudged in the snow going to Tim Hortons, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. In the morning were Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a roast beef Craveable sandwich. (Earl Grey was Captain Picard's favourite.) In the afternoon was an iced coffee with oat milk and cane sugar. Gurpreet the Indian was the vendor. Corpulent Dominic and his daughter Fiel, Filipinos, were sitting near the bay window overlooking the snowy street. I saw in passing Gary the Cantonese in green camouflage Vietnamese military pants, as I exited the washroom and eventually the café itself. For lunch at home, I had spaghetti with Mexican banana chips and a glass mug of hot lime water. Yesterday, Gary and I discussed horseback riding. I tried it, but I could not control the horse well. Gary lived in earlier years near North Vancouver's stables. He preferred motorcycling, as in Vietnam. I said that I was too "klutzy" for such.

Source: tatoeba (13023818)

Derek and I were speaking English, as we are long-time residents on Lulu Island. I told him that the parks in Japan are spiritual, with shrines and such. Meanwhile, here in Canada, the parks are secular, with not much spirituality. The traditional religions in Canada don't adore Nature. Derek reminded me that his family is Baptist, not Roman Catholic. I told him that I go to the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road, even though I'm not Roman Catholic. Years ago, Derek went to Sunday nursery at Vancouver's Grace International church, a Baptist church, as did my younger brother. My parents converted and went to that church. I came along, I told Derek, but I sat in the mostly empty balcony. I didn't tell Derek that my mentor was like Mr. Spock then. There was peer pressure for me to convert. My immediate family were previously at least nominally Roman Catholic, like most Filipinos. The Baptist Filipinos were pressuring me to go to their Christmas parties, Bible studies, and to the Mt. Baker Ski Chalet Retreat, to which I did go. I enjoyed the snow, but most of the Filipino youth tried just staying inside the chalet. I lived in Japan for some time. These several years back on Lulu Island have felt "marshy" or "swampy"—somewhat stagnant, despite that I try to edutain myself constantly. I'm a spiritual Japanized Syncretist, now living with Americanized Baptist relatives. Later in life, my family goes to a Pentecostal church for "much music." I'm more of a Buddhoanimist.

Source: tatoeba (13295168)