I've moved all the past years blog posts to www.armyofevilrobots.com
AOER is a blog jointly updated by myself and Derek about various projects we are working on. As most of the posts have been about our projects for Maker Faire they belong there. So exanimostly is now back to being my ever-neglected personal blog.

I lost my sense of humor.
I didn’t notice it leaving. I suppose, looking back, I was too busy getting on with serious matters such as gaining maturity and building character and shit like that.
It’s a familiar story, if you neglect the thing you love, it will eventually get bored and sod off.
I only noticed it missing when I realized I hadn’t laughed in several months. I tried to think of something funny and I couldn’t, I looked around me for the absurd but all I saw was the mundane. It felt a bit like having laryngitis, suddenly I was mute.
It’s been three years without a peep, not a whisper.
Although I don’t recall it leaving, I’m certain I know the day. It was the end of May 2008. We’d had a bad winter, lots of rain and storms and I was glad it was over. I had big plans for 2008; it was going to be a good year. I had already taken on too many commitments, loads of work, engagements, and we were moving at the end of the month. I was also involved in a local theatre production, ironically named “The Doctor Will See You Now”.
It was while we were moving some packing boxes around that Derek first found the lump in his neck.
For anyone reading who doesn’t know, Derek is my husband.
We met on January 1st, 2000, the first day of the new millennium.
My friend Michelle introduced us, she had left her scarf at my house the night before. She dropped by the following day with her boyfriend James and Derek, James’ roommate. Not one to bother with tact or timing, Michelle got straight to the point , “Hey, Derek, you’re single and Helen, you’re single…”
“Yeah, that’s great, so how about we just get married then?” I asked Derek .
“Sure.” He replied.
“How’s Tuesday work for you?”
“Great!”
I was wearing grey sweats and a t-shirt, my hair scraped back in a pony tail, no make-up; I’d just been out for a run.
I lived in a tiny basement suite, the walls covered with large black charcoal drawings that I’d done a year earlier during my divorce.
I remember at the time thinking that was the most painful thing I could ever imagine going through. I had worked out all that pain on thick creamy sheets of paper, 5 feet long by 3 feet wide , black drawings made with dark greasy smears of charcoal and oil; pinched, tight and oppressive.
They must have made an impression on Derek because he asked Michelle for my phone number and called 4 days later on Wednesday.
“I missed our wedding.”
I quit smoking that day. He didn’t smoke so I decided that now, I didn’t either.
I knew that Derek was “the one” and I felt I was ready for a relationship again. We spoke on the phone that night, about everything. Politics, religion, physics, technology, art, everything.
We didn’t waste any time, we just got down to being fast friends from the get go. We didn’t bother with baggage, insecurities, judgments or arguments, we just loved each other devotedly, fiercely and forever.
We were best friends.
I’d come through a year of hell; he was my savior. A painful divorce, a troubled year with nowhere to call home and no belongings. I’d been fired from my job and ended the year in hospital with kidney stones.
No money, no job, I wasn’t much of a catch. Derek never saw any of that, he just saw me. He was patient and kind and good. He cared for me and I healed.
Over the years we’ve been through a hell of a lot. We are always each others solid ground and shelter. We’ve encouraged the best from one another. We’ve built our business together. We started it when I was jobless with no prospects and it was my only choice. It’s grown over the years, he was able to quit his job, and now we both work from home.
It’s great, I consider myself very lucky.
In May of 2008, I was happy. We’d overcome a lot of obstacles together. We’d worked so hard, and finally, this year was going to be great.
At the end of May, after a week of tests for Derek, the Doctor told us it was cancer.

I couldn’t breathe.
I was drowning.
Derek was so incredibly brave. We stayed cheerful and optimistic for everyone. We had to keep our hopes high and not get down. It was crushing; a crushing weight. Indescribable. Incomparable. Surreal. There where times, at home alone, that I would pass out from the stress of it. Like I was suffocating. It’s impossible even now, 3 years later, to finally write this without crying.
I hate that fucking year.
Two thousand and fucking eight.
Derek spent that summer and fall in chemotherapy. He stopped working and I worked double time to make up the difference. Because we worked for ourselves we had no benefits, no paid time off or insurance. I took care of him.
We spent a lot of time that summer at the lake, with our dog Emma, eating ice cream, visiting friends.
It was during this year of forced happy moments, fake smiles, showing courage I didn’t feel, all the while watching my beloved best friend, strong and brave slowly tire and weaken, that I stopped laughing.
I stopped writing, I stopped painting, drawing, reading, watching sad movies, watching any movies, playing my cello, dancing, hoping, everything. Everything but work. Work doesn’t require happiness.
I’m not easily defeated; I’m generally an optimistic person. When a door closes on me, I don’t just see an open window, I install the fucking thing and an over height garage door while I’ve got the tools out. I don’t let things get me down.
Derek and I have been through some tough times. We had a lot of setbacks.
In 2005 we went on vacation to Nelson BC. It’s one of our favorite spots, epic mountain biking, canoeing, great restaurants. At the time we had no insurance. We were young and careless. Also, the nature of our business, our office being at home, meant the fees for us would be exorbitant and wouldn’t cover any of the categories we needed covering. We thought, worst case scenario, if someone breaks in, they’ll grab a computer, maybe a printer, and run. We wouldn’t lose enough to warrant paying the high fees every year.
We got a call in our hotel room the moment we arrived. Our home had been broken into and cleaned out. Everything was gone. Our entire business, all our equipment, furniture, clothing, everything.
They even emptied out the fridge.
Things we’d had since childhood. Things we’d kept and cherished, things we’d made.
Derek and I sat in our hotel room, devastated, but not for long. We were down for about 2 hours, then we said to each other, this is a shitty situation so we can make it shittier by being depressed or we can choose to move on from this moment and not be down and just get over it. We can recover and make things better than before. That’s what we did.
We went back home and within the month we bought our first place, a condo! It was a tough winter, we had to slowly replace all our belongings. Office equipment came first so we could start working again which meant other, less necessary things had to wait, like winter clothes and jackets. I remember walking our dog Emma that winter, wearing only a sweater in the freezing cold.
A month after we bought our place, our building had a repair assessment. It was a whopping bill that we didn’t expect. It seems small now but at the time on top of everything else, it was a lot to handle.
Still we didn’t let things get us down. We’ve had many trials like this, many financial troubles, unforeseen incidents that we’ve had to get through. Large unexpected bills, twenty or thirty thousand each time.
We just worked harder and harder, we never got discouraged.
2008 we were debt free, we had no troubles, we had savings. We had just got married.
2008 was the straw that broke the camels back. Only it wasn’t a straw. It was a fucking anvil, strapped to a rocket, fired at the hapless camel, from orbit with a yellow sticky note on the side that said “fuck you!”.
If only it could have been me. I would give anything to have it been me. I swear to God I would take his place if I could.
The chemo drugs Derek was on were called ABVD, the B stands for Bleomycin. It can cause lung damage and in extremely rare cases cause a fatal lung reaction. Lance Armstrong actually turned down ABVD for a less effective treatment because he was concerned about lung damage.
The chemo treatment Derek took was successful in beating the cancer.
A week after Derek’s last treatment, we had a couple of friends over to celebrate his cure. During the evening Derek came to me to tell me that his temperature was 101 degrees. He said it was nothing to worry about and he would just monitor it. I on the other hand told everyone to get the fuck out now. Within ten minutes I had Derek at the hospital emergency. His temperature was 104 and his oxygen level was very low.
What followed was a month of hell. The first week I got the run around from everyone. No one seemed to know what was causing his illness. No one would give me a straight answer. His oncologist was on vacation. Everyone told me he was going to be just fine and there was nothing to worry about. All the while I’m watching him slowly die in front of my eyes and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. We felt so alone, so helpless and desperate.
It’s hard for me to relive that month. I get sick to my stomach thinking about it. But I think maybe it’s best to get it out.
His condition slowly deteriorated over 2 weeks until he ended up in ICU, his oxygen rate rapidly dropping.
They raced him in an ambulance from one hospital ICU to the brand new cancer center in Abbotsford. Down the freeway with the sirens screaming while I followedt behind with my friend Caroline.
That’s when I knew what they weren’t telling me. He had only hours to live.
They raced him into ICU and prepped a room for immediate intubation.
An x-ray showed his lungs were 95% blocked.
As doctors hurried around us, we just stared silently into each others eyes and held hands. I memorized every fleck of colour in his blue eyes, every wrinkle, every freckle, how his hand felt in mine, his warmth, I drank it in like I was dying of thirst. I didn’t want to forget a thing. I knew that this may be the last time his beautiful eyes looked into mine.
At one point they asked me to step outside. A nurse handed me his wedding ring which they had to remove. Like he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. A doctor came and told us the news. It was bad. Derek’s parents were there, as were mine. The doctor allowed me back into Derek’s room one more time before he went into a coma. It was to say final goodbyes.
I told Derek he would wake up in 24 hours.
I told him I loved him and not to worry, I would see him tomorrow.
He went on life support shortly after with a machine breathing for him.
That night I imagined being in the valley of the shadow of death.
The amazing thing that happened at this time, was all the loving support we got from friends and family. During this ordeal, we felt so alone but we were surrounded with loving people. More and more people came forward with supportive, kind words and prayers. In fact, that day, there were literally thousands of people praying for Derek in several countries around the world. It doesn’t matter what your beliefs are, I’m not a typically religious person, but when you are in a place like that, it makes all the difference in the world. It makes the difference between saying “goodbye” and saying “I’ll see you tomorrow”.
24 hours later, my cell phone rang.
Derek was fighting against the machines. He was fighting to wake up. The doctors decided to try to bring him out of the coma and get him breathing on his own again. It took another 12 hours to accomplish it. 36 hours after the whole thing started, I was once again looking into a pair of beautiful blue eyes and desperately thankful that I got the chance to once more.
His recovery was truly amazing. The reaction Derek had to the drugs is an extremely rare one and most people don’t survive it. The way he recovered, so quickly, without any relapses is almost unheard of.
Two weeks later they let me take him home. He wasn’t quite ready, his lungs were still 65% blocked but they knew he would do better at home.
He was weak as a kitten, I practically had to carry him up the stairs. He’d lost so much weight, his frame was skeletal. Within one month at home he had gained back all the weight he had lost and his lungs were fully cleared. Within 2 months we were skiing Hemlock!
That was 2008. We’ve had two good years since then. I’m hoping that this one will be better still.
The Bleomycin drug that caused this reaction that nearly took Derek's life, has resulted in him having an allergy to oxygen. Air, with a small amount of oxygen is fine. But oxygen from a tank, like in scuba diving, or like they give you in hospital, can cause another reaction like the one that nearly killed him. The scarring in Derek’s lungs has healed but the sensitivity is something we need to be aware of, and make others aware of for the rest of our lives.
He carries a medic alert card in his wallet. I worry and lose sleep every time he travels, or drives anywhere without me. It’s almost certain that he will be fine and never have that reaction again. People who survive this reaction for 2 years or more, almost never have it again.
It’s the ‘almost’ that I have to live with. The ‘almost’ that has caused many grey hairs and sleepless nights. But we all live with a thousand ‘almosts’ every day of our lives. We almost get hit by cars, we almost fall down the stairs. Most of these ‘almosts’ we live with day to day, blissfully unaware of. It’s the ones we are aware of that we somehow have to learn to forget. Life is far too precious to waste worrying about almosts.
Maybe one day when I forget, I’ll remember how to laugh.

Derek and I are going on vacation soon with my sister Cate and her two children. My Bogglingly Brilliant, Gobsmackingly Gorgeous and Terribly Talented Niece and Nephew, Amy and Henry.
We are all renting a house together in the beautiful B.C. Southern Gulf Islands.
Can not wait.
The house is on the water and includes a bit of beach, a tiny island and a couple of boats with which we can travel to said island.
With a little research I have discovered that our little island, sadly, remains to this day unnamed.
I have taken it upon myself to name the island and to create a welcome plaque of sorts, which we shall install as a nice family activity with the children.
The unusual shape of our little island causes all sorts of creative names to spring to mind. However, being a responsible aunt and uncle we have chosen something perfectly innocent.
I have designed the Plaque in Google Sketchup and we will be milling it out of Brass this weekend on our CNC, to install, hopefully permanently, on the island.
I will take photographs and post then upon our return.
They will be the picture of innocence.
Think of the children.
(Incase you are curious, yes that is an accurate topographical map of the island)

Just because the blog is neglected, doesn't mean I haven't been busy.
I've uploaded some pics of my first Munny Mod in my project gallery.
His name is Goibhniu (or Goibhn for short, pronounced Goiven) and he is half Goblin and half Tree Nymph.
He's face is made with Magic Sculpt tee-em and acrylic paint and his legs are carved from blocks of HDU and painted and he pretty much kicks ass.
Don't deny it. He'll kick your ass.

Check out the Project Gallery link to the left to see what we've been working on lately.

Thought I was gone for good that time didn't you? Ye of little faith.
It's a year later and I still have nothing to say.
Seriously though, it's been an incredibly eventful year and I will blog about it in all it's gory detail in the coming weeks but as you can see, I've been busy with an overhaul of the whole site.
My old site (click to see a screencap) has sadly been retired after 6 long years of service. This one is a much improved, lead free site!
Derek started the conversion to Drupal for me as a surprise after watching me procrastinate for a year. Now armed with renewed motivation, fueled by shame and guilt, I have completed the job. Ta da!
More coming soon!

Hi all.
I apologize for the lack of posts in this blog lately but I have been covering for William Gibson on his blog while he was away on vacation.
You may not have known that I was a ghost writer for Bill but there it is.
The man needs a vacation once in a while.
You may not be aware of it but I also wrote "Idoru" and a good chunk of "All Tomorrows Parties" as well.
Guy goes on a lot of vacations.
Fine don't believe me. The truth is I've been in a bit of a creative slump lately.
Creative slumps are unbearable for only one reason.
I don't mind the part where I am not able to paint or draw, I don't mind having difficulty with my job (graphic design), but I hate not being able to write.
Today is a good day. It's Saturday, sunny, I'm going for a bike ride and I finally posted a story in my blog. (Dated June 16th - Read below)

Derek and I recently returned from a road trip to California down the Oregon Coast.
(photos coming soon)
I wrote one blog entry during the vacation on our first morning in our Cabin in California.
I know, two weeks of vacation and only one blog entry, it's the height of laziness.
As it happens, that was the goal of our vacation.
To summit the Dizzying Heights of Laziness and hang about there for a bit drinking beer.
Now that we are back into the valleys of real life again,I can actually post it:
If life has taught me one thing it is this; beginning one's day fortified by a decent cup of Joe, one can face any challenge. This particular morning Derek chose to prove my theory with a cup of french pressed, dark roast Guatemalen. We arrived at our cabin at Shasta lake yesterday early evening letting Emma off leash to explore around the cabin and sniff out all the critters.
The little bitch neglected to inform us of the rattlesnake lying in wait beneath our front porch to the immediate left of the door. I noticed it this morning as Derek walked toward it.
I cried out the alarm "SNAKE!" as his exposed and vulnerable, Chako clad footsie came with in 2 feet of the cold blooded creatures slit eyes and deadly bite thus saving my poor husbands life
(no need to thank, all in a days work)
With the speed of a Russian Spetsnaz (aided by the Dark Roast Guat) he grabbed his shovel and cut off the vile things head.
Yuppie to redneck in 3.5 seconds.

Please excuse my brief outburst of despair in the previous post. I am feeling a little pent up frustration regarding certain issues (surgery and what not). You know how you always say, "One day I will look back on this and laugh." Well as soon as that day comes, I will blog about it in all it's gory details. Good news is, things are looking up and that day should be coming pretty soon. Until then, the occasional colourful outburst may be unavoidable. Again, my most humble apologies.

I feel as though I might explode. Anyone feels the same please feel free to pop over for a cup of tea. e-mail.
UPDATE: I received a reply! An e-mail from one 'helen platt':
'I also feel as though I might explode. Perhaps we are the only two in the universe.'
There is someone out there...