"I saw the world I had walked since my birth and understood how fragile it was, that the reality was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger."
--Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane
I've read alot this summer.
I've worked alot, too.
One thing I haven't done alot of is write. And it's been nagging at me.
All this time at work, all these hours spent. I'm spent. And no Maine holiday this year. That's been hard. Having Mike here in the summer, though, is the good part. He gets to enjoy the warm weather and holidays, long weekends and Toronto patios, how every person in Toronto will sit on a patio even if it is a cool summer day (and there have been many cool summer days this summer, believe me).
There's been some healthy rain storms, I've done a few good runs, I made it to New York for a long weekend and enjoyed a mini vacation, and other than work, commute, eat, sleep, run to boot camp and back, nursing my foot back to health, I've done little else but read. Book after book, hour after hour. Shut up inside while the world whirs on without me.
It's Monday morning, August, the "Sunday of Summer" is gone, I'm another year older, and here I am on this dusty blog thinking 'bout "what to think about", as the Barenaked Ladies song goes.
I've been tagged on FB this weekend to make book lists and read book lists and think about books and boy, I have been, and this year of reading has been a real bumper crop, I have to say. I have had many book hangovers that have left me stupified with wonder and wrung out with tears, I have had books lodge themselves in parts of my soul, and I'm hard-pressed to pick a favourite, but the one by Neil Gaiman that I just finished, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, is right near the top.
Again--mystical fiction, whatever that genre is called. Where the author creates their own alternate reality, but we go along with it, it makes perfect sense, especially as I read in the New York Times about medieval beheadings, and crucifixions in the desert, and war war war in far-off lands, lands that I only see in my imagination, the pictures almost too awful to be real. So the alternate reality is embraced. If the real world can be this brutal and terrifying, then a writer will always be able to re-frame it for me so I can hang a different picture in my head. One where I understand this thin layer of icing, made from powdered sugar, ready to pouf away at any time.
Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell, a most alliterately-pleasing visual name, stands out of the pack, too. Joyful first love. Set against the backdrop of my own youth, the 80s, and a sad family life to go along with it. An amazing read, I promise you.
Along with reading is summer running, a different animal than its cousin, winter running.
In summer, at least for me, I struggle with the heat, the bright sunshine, and the constant need for water. In winter, I tend to glide along, cold-weather-lover that I am. A new running outfit and shoes have helped, but the summer cold I picked up after New York did not. I've been a beginner runner these last weeks--struggling mightily, but out there nonetheless, toiling. Digging at the soil, a gardener bringing a loved flower back to life. I'll get there.
So you have it. It's September, the back-to-school-back-to-brass-tacks time. Except there was no let up on the brass tacks for me this summer. I'm hoping for an autumn holiday sometime in the near future ('as soon as...' the promise I make myself endlessly).
Right now I'm on my second cup of coffee, doing some work from home on this Labour Day Monday, and re-organizing.
I hope your summer treated you well.....
Here are a few other titles I got into this summer;
Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness and Don't Lets Go Down to the Dogs Tonight,
both by Alexandra Fuller. Curious books, the less-known Cocktail Hour one being my preference.
Once A Runner John L. Parker. A strange little book about running.
The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake Aimee Bender. I talked about this one in my last post. Loved it. Such an odd premise for a book.
The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern--more psychological mind-bending fiction. A very visual, sensational book.
The Emperor's Children by Clarie Messud. Another weird read, lots of tangled relationships, a protagonist whom I didn't much like. But the book I liked very much.
I leave you with those. I find it hard to keep track sometimes with all the reading I do but Goodreads helps a bit.
One more small thing--on my birthday last Sunday I missed an international call late in the evening. Is it you, Aunt K, trying to reach me? I had hoped so...I miss you too.
Monday, September 1, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Soul on a Mission
I've had a dreamy day, one where I removed myself from the pressures of everyday life and took time out to "just be".
I don't do it often enough.
I cleaned. I cooked (lunches for the week, dinner, all that good stuff).
I will guiltily admit that I have not, on this beautiful (hot) July day left my loft.
I'm also still wearing pajamas.
I didn't run in the rainy morning air because I actually managed to overdo it this week at bootcamp and my 4 during-the-week runs so my foot was hurting (a fact I was tearfully recounting to my patient acupuncturist yesterday at my appointment).
There.
Now you know everything.
I was reading most of the afternoon, an amazing little book that found me at the library this week.
"The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake", by Aimee Bender, about a girl who can taste emotions in food and how it disrupts, then ultimately influences the course of, her life.
I loved it on many levels even if I didn't completely understand it.
I loved the detailed descriptions of the protagonist, Rose's, family of origin. Her quirky mother, her lawyer-dutiful-provider father, her remote, genius brother.
It belongs to a new genre of books called (I read this at the back of the book, fascinated) psychological fiction. Other books I would put in this genre would be The Time Traveller's Wife and The Age of Miracles, both of which I also loved. Novels where the author creates a situation that is impossible or improbable in reality, but forms part of the situation of the book and we suspend our disbelief and follow along.
I was then communicating with a good friend on the phone and we were discussing being conscious and turning 40 (I'm already there) and I admitted that lately, random mantras have been showing up in my head, like the one that arrived this week, about making the second half of my life more joyful than the first, with continued consciousness, of course, and honesty, and acceptance.
So that was Sunday. Me, on the couch, reading, ignoring the summer sunshine, making spaghetti sauce, absorbing a fictional family that I could relate to on every level, despite living a completely different childhood. The complex father-daughter relationship spoke to me throughout the book and I had a wistful feeling, remembering that there is no phone call I can now make to reach my father, that he exists in another place, somewhere far away, and in my memory, forever.
There was a scene in the book where Rose's father is teaching her to drive and telling her, in his awkward, distant way that so many men must have with their teenage daughters, how much she has to offer the world.
I cried then.
I'm crying now.
It's another 13th day. Three years, one month. A lifetime ago, but just yesterday.
Enjoy Sunday, with all its nuances and its brief removal from the day-in-the-lifeness of life.
Respite, with all the trimmings.
"Don't carry the world upon your shoulders..."
Hey Jude, The Beatles
I don't do it often enough.
I cleaned. I cooked (lunches for the week, dinner, all that good stuff).
I will guiltily admit that I have not, on this beautiful (hot) July day left my loft.
I'm also still wearing pajamas.
I didn't run in the rainy morning air because I actually managed to overdo it this week at bootcamp and my 4 during-the-week runs so my foot was hurting (a fact I was tearfully recounting to my patient acupuncturist yesterday at my appointment).
There.
Now you know everything.
I was reading most of the afternoon, an amazing little book that found me at the library this week.
"The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake", by Aimee Bender, about a girl who can taste emotions in food and how it disrupts, then ultimately influences the course of, her life.
I loved it on many levels even if I didn't completely understand it.
I loved the detailed descriptions of the protagonist, Rose's, family of origin. Her quirky mother, her lawyer-dutiful-provider father, her remote, genius brother.
It belongs to a new genre of books called (I read this at the back of the book, fascinated) psychological fiction. Other books I would put in this genre would be The Time Traveller's Wife and The Age of Miracles, both of which I also loved. Novels where the author creates a situation that is impossible or improbable in reality, but forms part of the situation of the book and we suspend our disbelief and follow along.
I was then communicating with a good friend on the phone and we were discussing being conscious and turning 40 (I'm already there) and I admitted that lately, random mantras have been showing up in my head, like the one that arrived this week, about making the second half of my life more joyful than the first, with continued consciousness, of course, and honesty, and acceptance.
So that was Sunday. Me, on the couch, reading, ignoring the summer sunshine, making spaghetti sauce, absorbing a fictional family that I could relate to on every level, despite living a completely different childhood. The complex father-daughter relationship spoke to me throughout the book and I had a wistful feeling, remembering that there is no phone call I can now make to reach my father, that he exists in another place, somewhere far away, and in my memory, forever.
There was a scene in the book where Rose's father is teaching her to drive and telling her, in his awkward, distant way that so many men must have with their teenage daughters, how much she has to offer the world.
I cried then.
I'm crying now.
It's another 13th day. Three years, one month. A lifetime ago, but just yesterday.
Enjoy Sunday, with all its nuances and its brief removal from the day-in-the-lifeness of life.
Respite, with all the trimmings.
"Don't carry the world upon your shoulders..."
Hey Jude, The Beatles
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Randoms on Father's Day
My dad was a Beatles fanatic.
He was an extremely gifted piano player and had a collection of sheet music (where is that? I have to ask my mom).
He loved James Bond and Dirty Harry movies. And horror movies.
His ultimate indictment of a man was to describe him as a "jerk". Truly. He didn't swear, but jerk was the closest he came to a complete dismissal.
He liked to sleep on a lawn chair in the backyard on weekend afternoons. He actually did that alot the last summer of his life, 2010, every day, after his radiation if there was time.
He liked to grill food on the bbq (classic Dad thing to like, right?) Hot dogs were his favourite.
He walked every day to stay in shape.
It's been an extremely bizarre day for many reasons, one of which is that today I had to learn a lesson about family and how suddenly things can change in life (it's a lesson I've learned before but apparently need constant refreshers on).
I had to learn about the 'best laid plans' (again) today and understand that even perfectly lovely pre-summer June days have surprises in store for us, and people's behaviour will always surprise you.
That there is benevolence all around and even amongst the thieves and charlatans of this world, there is a high ratio of wonderful helpers--doctors, police, ambulance drivers.
That you'll rise to the occasion when called to, you really will.
You think you won't but you will.
I'm home now, I just picked up a coffee, it's another endlessly long June day, filled with daylight, that makes me wonder how we as Canadians endure our long dark winters. For me it's not the cold--it's the dark. Especially when contrasted with this overdose of light we experience and the burst of energy that comes along with it.
So that's Sunday. I promised an update and I did it. I also ran this morning, a slow amble with a couple of hills thrown in there, just to see if I could do it (I could).
I sweated and smiled and felt myself inch toward that recovery a little more with each step.
For now I'm sitting in my light-filled apartment, leafing through photo albums marvelling at how fast time has gone.
A reminder to cherish each moment, even the tough ones.
He was an extremely gifted piano player and had a collection of sheet music (where is that? I have to ask my mom).
He loved James Bond and Dirty Harry movies. And horror movies.
His ultimate indictment of a man was to describe him as a "jerk". Truly. He didn't swear, but jerk was the closest he came to a complete dismissal.
He liked to sleep on a lawn chair in the backyard on weekend afternoons. He actually did that alot the last summer of his life, 2010, every day, after his radiation if there was time.
He liked to grill food on the bbq (classic Dad thing to like, right?) Hot dogs were his favourite.
He walked every day to stay in shape.
It's been an extremely bizarre day for many reasons, one of which is that today I had to learn a lesson about family and how suddenly things can change in life (it's a lesson I've learned before but apparently need constant refreshers on).
I had to learn about the 'best laid plans' (again) today and understand that even perfectly lovely pre-summer June days have surprises in store for us, and people's behaviour will always surprise you.
That there is benevolence all around and even amongst the thieves and charlatans of this world, there is a high ratio of wonderful helpers--doctors, police, ambulance drivers.
That you'll rise to the occasion when called to, you really will.
You think you won't but you will.
I'm home now, I just picked up a coffee, it's another endlessly long June day, filled with daylight, that makes me wonder how we as Canadians endure our long dark winters. For me it's not the cold--it's the dark. Especially when contrasted with this overdose of light we experience and the burst of energy that comes along with it.
So that's Sunday. I promised an update and I did it. I also ran this morning, a slow amble with a couple of hills thrown in there, just to see if I could do it (I could).
I sweated and smiled and felt myself inch toward that recovery a little more with each step.
For now I'm sitting in my light-filled apartment, leafing through photo albums marvelling at how fast time has gone.
A reminder to cherish each moment, even the tough ones.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Halfway
"The medals don't mean anything and the glory doesn't last. It's all about your happiness."
~ Jackie Joyner-Kersee
Well I did it. I ran a half-marathon.
It was gruelling, it was emotional (reading Ben Bruce's account of his amazing marathon win at the San Diego Rock-n-Roll--he underlined this--running long distances is emotional. You are IN your head, with no way out), it was enlightening (how does anyone run a full marathon? I have a new respect), and it was an accomplishment.
Spirit reigned, my mantras left me, and all in all, as accomplishments go, this one was up there with my college graduation, like "me? I did this?"
Confession: I started this blog post over a week ago, when I was still fresh off the 'high' of it all, and then, of course "real life" interferes, intertwines, dictates.
This blog has been buzzing in my head lately, I've been thinking about my writing (or complete lack thereof) alot.
It goes hand-in-hand with my running, I have to say.
The word I keep thinking about is
recovery.
Writing was (has been, is) here for me at a time in my life when things were hard, life was roller-coasting, and I needed an outlet. So too, running. And now, after the goal being reached, for running, of finishing the half, I find myself needing to recover. And this blog has seen recovery too. It witnessed me witness my father's cancer. It saw me through my grief, not only of his death (three years ago yesterday, more about that in a mintue) but also through losing my aunt. Yesterday also marked three years since I've heard her voice, either, another kind of death, feeling just as permanent.
The last 13-odd days since the half, I've run only in fits and starts. 3 km runs, when I was accustomed to 12. And I can barely get through the 3's. Just like this blog--in 2011 I had one of my most prolific years of writing (and running) and of course that was due to the grief--focussing my thoughts, sharpening my time, razoring my priorities.
Nowadays work owns the joint. The joint being my life. Family takes up the other nothing-percent. My long-distance marriange included in that. Reading, keeping up with friends and getting through a training program during the coldest winter/spring in years dominated the rest.
But still, my neglected writing nags me.
Lately, post-race, as I go for tiny little jogs (one morning this week I was up and out by 6:46am and as I ran a short 2-mile distance in a cloud/sun mix, I completely zoned out I was so tired).
So to replace my long runs, I've been reading about running and all things that surround it, care of Runner's World--my friend H. turned me on to this columnist--Kristin Armstrong, writer of Mile Markers, about all things life-and-running-related. Namely, how running colours your life and helps the hard days get easier and the easy days soar, and also how running (just like writing) likes to kick your ass when you least expect it, likes to keep you guessing, working, practicing--knowing that getting rusty is just one missed run, one unfinished blog-post away.
So here I am.
Back to training. In writing and in running. It takes discipline, something I've poured so much into with my professional life I don't have much left over. It takes practice. Knowing that if you don't run that track or climb that hill or jot in that journal, you will fall off the wagon very quickly. Your fitness will suffer, your prowess will disappear.
So I'm committing. To writing, to running, to using this summer as a time not to slack off, but to re-commit myself to being disciplined, even if it just means that 2 miles at 6:46 am or a blog post after I get home from work detailing what I had for dinner.
For the present moment, here's a snapshot of life today;
Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of my dad's death, the 13th of June, this year Friday the 13th. Last night it was also a full moon, and I spent the evening at a work event that should have been dull but ended up fun. It was a cancer benefit, and during the speeches I dug my fingers into my palm to keep from crying. Tomorrow is Father's day, and I haven't quite decided how I'm spending it yet.
Somehow, alone might be right.
I ran today. I also went into the office and cleaned my work space. No one will believe what my office now looks like come Monday morning (I can scarcely believe it myself).
I grocery-shopped. I'm planning on making a nice dinner for myself. I am sitting at my desk in the bright June evening light having a glass of Canadian wine. I'm wearing summer pajamas.
I'm by myself, having had no time alone, to reflect, on a weekend, in a number of months (I was on vacation for two weeks in May and it does not even seem possible I haven't talked about going to New York City for the second time and how it seemed like a different place from the fog I was in in 2010. Truly unbelievable).
So yes. Life goes on. Life is short. Life is long. Life is good. Life is hard. Life is all those things, it is this paradox of watching it race by and at the same time holding on to the moments, that arrive and drift away in the same breath.
I leave you with this scene from my half-marathon, around the 12 km mark (well before 18 km, where a snapshot in time would find me weeping with exhaustion, twin blisters on the insides of my feet making me want to scream). But at 12 km, there was a young musician, playing a classical instrument (my memory of this instrument is dim--I want to say saxophone? Cello?) and as I approached, iPod cranking out the playlist, I could still hear the strains of his playing--I paused my iPod to hear it.
Beatles, of course.
Hi Dad.
I miss you.
So much.
This blog has been buzzing in my head lately, I've been thinking about my writing (or complete lack thereof) alot.
It goes hand-in-hand with my running, I have to say.
The word I keep thinking about is
recovery.
Writing was (has been, is) here for me at a time in my life when things were hard, life was roller-coasting, and I needed an outlet. So too, running. And now, after the goal being reached, for running, of finishing the half, I find myself needing to recover. And this blog has seen recovery too. It witnessed me witness my father's cancer. It saw me through my grief, not only of his death (three years ago yesterday, more about that in a mintue) but also through losing my aunt. Yesterday also marked three years since I've heard her voice, either, another kind of death, feeling just as permanent.
The last 13-odd days since the half, I've run only in fits and starts. 3 km runs, when I was accustomed to 12. And I can barely get through the 3's. Just like this blog--in 2011 I had one of my most prolific years of writing (and running) and of course that was due to the grief--focussing my thoughts, sharpening my time, razoring my priorities.
Nowadays work owns the joint. The joint being my life. Family takes up the other nothing-percent. My long-distance marriange included in that. Reading, keeping up with friends and getting through a training program during the coldest winter/spring in years dominated the rest.
But still, my neglected writing nags me.
Lately, post-race, as I go for tiny little jogs (one morning this week I was up and out by 6:46am and as I ran a short 2-mile distance in a cloud/sun mix, I completely zoned out I was so tired).
So to replace my long runs, I've been reading about running and all things that surround it, care of Runner's World--my friend H. turned me on to this columnist--Kristin Armstrong, writer of Mile Markers, about all things life-and-running-related. Namely, how running colours your life and helps the hard days get easier and the easy days soar, and also how running (just like writing) likes to kick your ass when you least expect it, likes to keep you guessing, working, practicing--knowing that getting rusty is just one missed run, one unfinished blog-post away.
So here I am.
Back to training. In writing and in running. It takes discipline, something I've poured so much into with my professional life I don't have much left over. It takes practice. Knowing that if you don't run that track or climb that hill or jot in that journal, you will fall off the wagon very quickly. Your fitness will suffer, your prowess will disappear.
So I'm committing. To writing, to running, to using this summer as a time not to slack off, but to re-commit myself to being disciplined, even if it just means that 2 miles at 6:46 am or a blog post after I get home from work detailing what I had for dinner.
For the present moment, here's a snapshot of life today;
Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of my dad's death, the 13th of June, this year Friday the 13th. Last night it was also a full moon, and I spent the evening at a work event that should have been dull but ended up fun. It was a cancer benefit, and during the speeches I dug my fingers into my palm to keep from crying. Tomorrow is Father's day, and I haven't quite decided how I'm spending it yet.
Somehow, alone might be right.
I ran today. I also went into the office and cleaned my work space. No one will believe what my office now looks like come Monday morning (I can scarcely believe it myself).
I grocery-shopped. I'm planning on making a nice dinner for myself. I am sitting at my desk in the bright June evening light having a glass of Canadian wine. I'm wearing summer pajamas.
I'm by myself, having had no time alone, to reflect, on a weekend, in a number of months (I was on vacation for two weeks in May and it does not even seem possible I haven't talked about going to New York City for the second time and how it seemed like a different place from the fog I was in in 2010. Truly unbelievable).
So yes. Life goes on. Life is short. Life is long. Life is good. Life is hard. Life is all those things, it is this paradox of watching it race by and at the same time holding on to the moments, that arrive and drift away in the same breath.
I leave you with this scene from my half-marathon, around the 12 km mark (well before 18 km, where a snapshot in time would find me weeping with exhaustion, twin blisters on the insides of my feet making me want to scream). But at 12 km, there was a young musician, playing a classical instrument (my memory of this instrument is dim--I want to say saxophone? Cello?) and as I approached, iPod cranking out the playlist, I could still hear the strains of his playing--I paused my iPod to hear it.
Beatles, of course.
Hi Dad.
I miss you.
So much.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Happy Mid-New Year
For many reasons, I love the date of June 1st.
I love leaving winter/spring behind.
It's an auspicious date for many reasons, more of which I will talk about in the follow up to
this little post, my first since March (the shame..the shame).
Let me say this;
the above photo was taken on my condo rooftop yesterday, on June 1st, just a few short
hours after I finished my first half-marathon, which was a goal I set for myself back in 2012, before
I learned the true definition of the word "migraine".
Anyway, the half and its lead-up deserves its own post, its own details, and I'll get into that later.
For now, let me say I'm tired, but I'm happy, and this is my favourite photo ever taken of
Mike and I. Because I look just that.
Tired, and happy.
(*taken with a timer setting on Mike's camera).
Sunday, March 23, 2014
It's Been a While
1. It's Sunday morning, I've been lazing for hours, that internal debate raging: do I go into the office and sacrifice Sunday to "the man". Do I go for a long run now...or later? Can I motivate myself to run today, tired, Sunday-angsted me.
2. I had a very large coffee, some yogurt, and a piece of buttered bread, standing in my kitchen, and I made lunch for today in case I DO go to the office but then I thought...what to do next? I looked around my (messy, truly) loft and thought about tidying. Sighed. Sat down. Signed in here.
3. I haven't been blogging or even checking in on my blog, or other blogs. I've been reading here and there, as always. I finished The Emperor's Children by Claire Messud, and I've started on Moonlight Sonata in the Mayo Clinic, a kind of illness memoir interspersed with randoms about medicine. I'm not sure how I feel about this book yet. It's by Nora Gallagher if you want to check it out, and for the record, she seems like a bit of a self-obsessed person. I kind of don't like her. Which is affecting my perception of the book.
4. I have 5 issues of the New Yorker on my kitchen counter, unopened, just sitting there. So ashamed. On an upnote, that means I've picked up my mail in the last three weeks.
5. I re-read Madness by Marya Hornbacher. What a read, about her battle with bi-polarism and its toll on her life.
6. I am continuing to train, half-assedly, for this half-marathon on June 1st. Admittedly, I've been good about my kms and recording them. Yesterday was a wind-blown run, very windy, my least favourite condition, uphill, all that. I ran by the track and noticed, finally, that I could actually see it, the snow had melted enough. Glimpses of earth, yellowed grass, smells of earth (and of people's dogs' poo, gross, pick up after your damn dog). After the windy part was over I noticed it wasn't biting cold and the sun felt warmer. I've honestly forgotten that feeling.
7. On another up note, I went grocery shopping with my mom yesterday so I don't have to do that today. I can meal-prep to my heart's content, and get my whole week of eating planned out.
8. Am I having more coffee? Because that's what I'm leaning towards right now.
9. Canada Blooms/Home Show ends today. I went on Wednesday with a co-worker. The Home Show was disappointing, but Canada Blooms was amazing. All those flowers, all those trees, outdoor spaces inside. Orchids, my favourite plant (a relative of the vanilla bean, did you know? Fun fact).
Apparently at the end of the show they give away flowers. That would be today.
10. Laundry. Cooking. Banking. Washing the floors. Doing my taxes. Those are also all things that need to get done today.
Happy Sunday. I won't say "Spring" just yet because, well, really, it doesn't feel like it, I mean, it's minus 8 degrees celsius, and last week on my Sunday run, I couldn't feel my toes for a while, something that rarely happens to me. It was awful.
Happy Sunday anyway. :)
2. I had a very large coffee, some yogurt, and a piece of buttered bread, standing in my kitchen, and I made lunch for today in case I DO go to the office but then I thought...what to do next? I looked around my (messy, truly) loft and thought about tidying. Sighed. Sat down. Signed in here.
3. I haven't been blogging or even checking in on my blog, or other blogs. I've been reading here and there, as always. I finished The Emperor's Children by Claire Messud, and I've started on Moonlight Sonata in the Mayo Clinic, a kind of illness memoir interspersed with randoms about medicine. I'm not sure how I feel about this book yet. It's by Nora Gallagher if you want to check it out, and for the record, she seems like a bit of a self-obsessed person. I kind of don't like her. Which is affecting my perception of the book.
4. I have 5 issues of the New Yorker on my kitchen counter, unopened, just sitting there. So ashamed. On an upnote, that means I've picked up my mail in the last three weeks.
5. I re-read Madness by Marya Hornbacher. What a read, about her battle with bi-polarism and its toll on her life.
6. I am continuing to train, half-assedly, for this half-marathon on June 1st. Admittedly, I've been good about my kms and recording them. Yesterday was a wind-blown run, very windy, my least favourite condition, uphill, all that. I ran by the track and noticed, finally, that I could actually see it, the snow had melted enough. Glimpses of earth, yellowed grass, smells of earth (and of people's dogs' poo, gross, pick up after your damn dog). After the windy part was over I noticed it wasn't biting cold and the sun felt warmer. I've honestly forgotten that feeling.
7. On another up note, I went grocery shopping with my mom yesterday so I don't have to do that today. I can meal-prep to my heart's content, and get my whole week of eating planned out.
8. Am I having more coffee? Because that's what I'm leaning towards right now.
9. Canada Blooms/Home Show ends today. I went on Wednesday with a co-worker. The Home Show was disappointing, but Canada Blooms was amazing. All those flowers, all those trees, outdoor spaces inside. Orchids, my favourite plant (a relative of the vanilla bean, did you know? Fun fact).
Apparently at the end of the show they give away flowers. That would be today.
10. Laundry. Cooking. Banking. Washing the floors. Doing my taxes. Those are also all things that need to get done today.
Happy Sunday. I won't say "Spring" just yet because, well, really, it doesn't feel like it, I mean, it's minus 8 degrees celsius, and last week on my Sunday run, I couldn't feel my toes for a while, something that rarely happens to me. It was awful.
Happy Sunday anyway. :)
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Short 'n Sweet
1. It's Tuesday. And it's still winter. I know you already know, but it's here, it's dark, I'm living it, and I had that feeling driving to work this morning like it's NEVER GOING TO END.
2. Tooth pain. Tooth problems. Horrible. Awful. Hot. Cold. The dentist. Ouch.
3. Kitchens. And business stuff. The business stuff is kind of killing my creativity and I kind of need that to design kitchens. I need alot of it, really.
4. Olympics. I'm not watching them, ok? It's my own personal boycott, I'm not going to talk about it (maybe on Facebook and Twitter) and I'm not going to judge the athletes for competing because they've trained and trained and it's not their fault that Russia got chosen. But still. Still. Canada. I'm disappointed.
5. Work. More work. Oh my God. I can't believe I have not gone south yet this year.
6. I'm drinking wine. It's Tuesday, it's supposed to snow tomorrow, and I have brought about 10 files home to possibly work from home tomorrow. I am not repeating last Monday's drive to work again--ie, me, driving up the Bayview extension, and then..sliding right back down again (watch out cars behind me..)
7. Creativity. I have been looking at decorating magazines. I mean..I got nothin' right now.
8. Winter running. Last weekend: Stomach flu. This weekend: Tooth pain and husband visiting. Two weeks off. Let the self-loathing begin. To defend myself I'm still kickboxing every Wednesday, after giving myself the "you paid for it, YOU'RE GOING" self-pep-talk.
9. Reading. The New Yorker. Loving it. I'm three weeks behind and trying to catch up fast. Next on the list; Clare Messud. Two of her books, The Emperor's Children and The Woman Upstairs. I'm excited about finding a new writer.
10. I'm white pale right now. And I don't like it. I also have a new hair dryer, which I will be testing out tomorrow morning. I don't know Groupon's return policies, but they're getting it back if I don't like it, (like the flatiron I bought--terrible.)
Happy Mid-week....
2. Tooth pain. Tooth problems. Horrible. Awful. Hot. Cold. The dentist. Ouch.
3. Kitchens. And business stuff. The business stuff is kind of killing my creativity and I kind of need that to design kitchens. I need alot of it, really.
4. Olympics. I'm not watching them, ok? It's my own personal boycott, I'm not going to talk about it (maybe on Facebook and Twitter) and I'm not going to judge the athletes for competing because they've trained and trained and it's not their fault that Russia got chosen. But still. Still. Canada. I'm disappointed.
5. Work. More work. Oh my God. I can't believe I have not gone south yet this year.
6. I'm drinking wine. It's Tuesday, it's supposed to snow tomorrow, and I have brought about 10 files home to possibly work from home tomorrow. I am not repeating last Monday's drive to work again--ie, me, driving up the Bayview extension, and then..sliding right back down again (watch out cars behind me..)
7. Creativity. I have been looking at decorating magazines. I mean..I got nothin' right now.
8. Winter running. Last weekend: Stomach flu. This weekend: Tooth pain and husband visiting. Two weeks off. Let the self-loathing begin. To defend myself I'm still kickboxing every Wednesday, after giving myself the "you paid for it, YOU'RE GOING" self-pep-talk.
9. Reading. The New Yorker. Loving it. I'm three weeks behind and trying to catch up fast. Next on the list; Clare Messud. Two of her books, The Emperor's Children and The Woman Upstairs. I'm excited about finding a new writer.
10. I'm white pale right now. And I don't like it. I also have a new hair dryer, which I will be testing out tomorrow morning. I don't know Groupon's return policies, but they're getting it back if I don't like it, (like the flatiron I bought--terrible.)
Happy Mid-week....
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
The Toronto Sky in Winter
I snapped these with my iPhone outside the window of my loft, the frigid day giving the clouds a look of being suspended in time, as well as the buildings being on fire.
As previous posts have alluded to, it's
been a long cold lonely winter.
(I had to. And to be fair, the sun
DID come out today, offering no
real warmth, just a cruel bright
glare bouncing
off the white expanse of
concrete bleached by
salt, my car a colour
I don't recognize.)
I'm normally a very "winter"
person, loving the cold weather
running and all that but this
has been....
a long month.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Ramblings on a Winter Sunday
It's the last week of January, and even for this cold-weather-creature, it's been a long winter so far.
What can I tell you about my week/weekend in this never-ending deep freeze?
1. It was the Interior Design Show this week. Let me say this; that designer party they have on Thursday night REALLY needs to move to a Friday. (Or I need to schedule the next day off). It was a late night, followed by a day of meetings and blown concentration and just...well, I'm forty. Those late nights need to be followed by late mornings.
2. The next night, the Friday, was another event, a more artsy one, still with free food and drink. It was in the distillery district, not far from my condo and normally I would walk there, but in the minus 30 or whatever (I've stopped listening to the weather, it just doesn't mean anything to me anymore) and the gale-force winds, I drove there. Yes. I drove under 3 kms, a city-dweller, a winter runner.
3. Fast forward to Saturday and a virus/stomach thing that came out of nowhere and saw me asleep for twenty-odd hours, with a fever, and chills and no avail from the cold. I could not get warm.
The only upside, besides all the much-needed sleep, was, between naps, reading a great new book,
"Swimming Studies" by Leanne Shapton. (I have a previous book of hers--she is quirky, an illustrator, writer, Canadian to boot {Toronto!} and my exact age). Her book is about her former life as a competitive swimmer and all that entailed. Fascinating to me, someone who prefers dry land, but I could relate to her athletic quest. Really enjoyable book, very visceral, she is amazing with olfactory memories and descriptions and although it's choppy at times, the book reads like a well-edited diary, the diarist almost just observing her life as it happens, from a distance. Loved it.
4. After my wasted Saturday and upon waking Sunday with a determination to make something of my day (despite that fact that, after waking at 7:15 am and having some tuna on toast to clear the fog in my head of over 24 hours of nothing in my system but liquids and saltines, then going back to sleep until noon) I finished the Shapton book. I then moved on to coffee, the rest of my early-morning sandwich, and laundry. I made a grocery list, got outside, got that done. No running. My head's been acting up all day, just a routine headache, but one I didn't want to have worsen with exercise. I normally would have felt more guilty about a no-running weekend, something that has not happened in over six months, but my new mid-week kickboxing helped me through this pseudo-guilt.
5. Work. So busy. And the week's are so busy too, with all the outside-work things. I brought work home and had every intention of working on it today but time ran away. Making dinner, making lunches, making the bed, cleaning the bathroom, washing my rat's nest hair after a day of being sideways, all took precedence. I'm sure my clients will so care about all this. What can I do? Dedicate myself throughout the week, that's all I can think of.
6. Tea, an Alexander McCall Smith novel, and the Grammys on in the background (I don't really know any of the 'new' music. And most of the time I don't really want to...).
7. There is snow on the ground.
Again.
8. Another short weekend comes to a close. (A topic for another post, why do I only get sick on weekends?)
Happy (winter) Sunday..
What can I tell you about my week/weekend in this never-ending deep freeze?
1. It was the Interior Design Show this week. Let me say this; that designer party they have on Thursday night REALLY needs to move to a Friday. (Or I need to schedule the next day off). It was a late night, followed by a day of meetings and blown concentration and just...well, I'm forty. Those late nights need to be followed by late mornings.
2. The next night, the Friday, was another event, a more artsy one, still with free food and drink. It was in the distillery district, not far from my condo and normally I would walk there, but in the minus 30 or whatever (I've stopped listening to the weather, it just doesn't mean anything to me anymore) and the gale-force winds, I drove there. Yes. I drove under 3 kms, a city-dweller, a winter runner.
3. Fast forward to Saturday and a virus/stomach thing that came out of nowhere and saw me asleep for twenty-odd hours, with a fever, and chills and no avail from the cold. I could not get warm.
The only upside, besides all the much-needed sleep, was, between naps, reading a great new book,
"Swimming Studies" by Leanne Shapton. (I have a previous book of hers--she is quirky, an illustrator, writer, Canadian to boot {Toronto!} and my exact age). Her book is about her former life as a competitive swimmer and all that entailed. Fascinating to me, someone who prefers dry land, but I could relate to her athletic quest. Really enjoyable book, very visceral, she is amazing with olfactory memories and descriptions and although it's choppy at times, the book reads like a well-edited diary, the diarist almost just observing her life as it happens, from a distance. Loved it.
4. After my wasted Saturday and upon waking Sunday with a determination to make something of my day (despite that fact that, after waking at 7:15 am and having some tuna on toast to clear the fog in my head of over 24 hours of nothing in my system but liquids and saltines, then going back to sleep until noon) I finished the Shapton book. I then moved on to coffee, the rest of my early-morning sandwich, and laundry. I made a grocery list, got outside, got that done. No running. My head's been acting up all day, just a routine headache, but one I didn't want to have worsen with exercise. I normally would have felt more guilty about a no-running weekend, something that has not happened in over six months, but my new mid-week kickboxing helped me through this pseudo-guilt.
5. Work. So busy. And the week's are so busy too, with all the outside-work things. I brought work home and had every intention of working on it today but time ran away. Making dinner, making lunches, making the bed, cleaning the bathroom, washing my rat's nest hair after a day of being sideways, all took precedence. I'm sure my clients will so care about all this. What can I do? Dedicate myself throughout the week, that's all I can think of.
6. Tea, an Alexander McCall Smith novel, and the Grammys on in the background (I don't really know any of the 'new' music. And most of the time I don't really want to...).
7. There is snow on the ground.
Again.
8. Another short weekend comes to a close. (A topic for another post, why do I only get sick on weekends?)
Happy (winter) Sunday..
Monday, January 6, 2014
In 2014 I want to....
lie in bed and listen to the rain more
wear earplugs less
write in free-form more
less structure (everywhere)
more lists
meditate more
run new routes
take more chances
pay attention in church
look for signs
pray more
be grateful
buy suspended coffees
donate blood, shoes, time
look in the mirror less
read meaningful books
define meaningful
cherish the gray days too
set boundaries at work
write poems and read more poetry
keep up with the New Yorker
be supportive to friends
lend a hand
nurture my dreams.
wear earplugs less
write in free-form more
less structure (everywhere)
more lists
meditate more
run new routes
take more chances
pay attention in church
look for signs
pray more
be grateful
buy suspended coffees
donate blood, shoes, time
look in the mirror less
read meaningful books
define meaningful
cherish the gray days too
set boundaries at work
write poems and read more poetry
keep up with the New Yorker
be supportive to friends
lend a hand
nurture my dreams.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
Couldn't resist the little teaser title, those old spaghetti-westerns that my dad used to watch on
Great Movies on City TV on Saturday afternoons.
It's the yearly round up, everyone's doing it, why can't I?
It's past noon here on this last day of 2013, and I'm still in pajamas. My boss gave me the half-day off, I cancelled on the client I was supposed to meet, and I'm drinking coffee and Mike is here, puttering about in the background. Pink Floyd is playing in the background.
List format is all I can manage today. As I said, Mike is here and we've had a couple of later nights.
The Good
Well, we know what number one is here.
1. Work. The departure of not one, but two key people at my office. How did I feel that April day?
Well, it was like my birthday, Christmas, and wedding day all tied into one with a beautiful bow.
After the Ugly portion of work (November, 2012 to the day before this day in April), the Good part was even sweeter.
2. Vacations. Namely Key West, where I want my ashes sprinkled when I die. Yes, it was that good. Weather perfection in the middle of dreary January, Mike, the long drive to get there, Florida in general, the birds, the foliage, the water, the colours, the 4am closing time. I can't wait to get back.
3. Summer vacation in Maine is pretty damn good too, and when I think about the years and years of no-vacation-taking I look back and want to cry for my poor, strapped, twenty-something-self, and early-thirty-something-self. Vacations, like sport, are the toy department of life (I read that on twitter, that's another Good thing--great quotes, more about that in a minute). Weather in Maine in August was a big improvement over the July, which was rainy and grey. August meant vacation with my sister and her kids, my husband working away, and our friend L. joining us from New York City. A full house, lots of laughs, wine, nail-painting and the grand finale; watching Miley Cyrus remind us how damn old we really are at the VMA's. Oh, and I turned forty. And I love it.
4. Forty. A new decade, a new viewpoint, the previous thirty-nine years research for this one (another great quote). I feel stronger, I feel older (in a good way). And I feel grateful.
5. Running. Mastering it once again. Having it re-master me. Falling back in love with it, slowly, one (sometimes painful) step at a time. It's been a rainy year and it was an early winter so that's been great for this cold-weather runner. Cross-training of roller-blading in the summer was great, as was spinning in the winter.
6. Reading. Ebooks. Wow. Just burning through books faster than I thought I could. I read way more this year than I have in the previous three or four years, the only downside being that once I return the ebook to the library it's easy to forget how many titles I've read. I vow to start tracking that this year. I really want to count how many I read in a year. But read some great books this year.
7. Mike. Of course. He's really the top of the list, but I'm just randomly writing, so forgive me.
After the holiday rush is all over I still get one nice last little day--our anniversary, this year, our second, and it's a nice thing to look forward first thing in the new year.
I could go on and on about my family and friends (my niece and her progress at art lessons, my nephews wonderful prayers before meals, first communions), but I'll just say this, I'm not going to make any Bad or Ugly listings.
Were there tough times this year? Yes, like every year. Mike not being here all fall has been very hard. The back-and-forth short visits to Maine are fun, but also very hard. One day I'm in rural New England happily watching football then the next I'm back in the cold hard reality of my city life and my long-distance marriage.
And work, while good, has been almost all-consuming.
This blog has been sorely neglected, and I've very much missed writing. But after long weeks of work I'm simply too tired.
The weekends go by with frightening speed, running, the market, church, and spending time with family takes up most of the two little days.
So Happy New Year, 2014 is hurtling toward us, this revolving door planet somehow keeps on spinning, and we right along with it.
Enjoy the ride.
Great Movies on City TV on Saturday afternoons.
It's the yearly round up, everyone's doing it, why can't I?
It's past noon here on this last day of 2013, and I'm still in pajamas. My boss gave me the half-day off, I cancelled on the client I was supposed to meet, and I'm drinking coffee and Mike is here, puttering about in the background. Pink Floyd is playing in the background.
List format is all I can manage today. As I said, Mike is here and we've had a couple of later nights.
The Good
Well, we know what number one is here.
1. Work. The departure of not one, but two key people at my office. How did I feel that April day?
Well, it was like my birthday, Christmas, and wedding day all tied into one with a beautiful bow.
After the Ugly portion of work (November, 2012 to the day before this day in April), the Good part was even sweeter.
2. Vacations. Namely Key West, where I want my ashes sprinkled when I die. Yes, it was that good. Weather perfection in the middle of dreary January, Mike, the long drive to get there, Florida in general, the birds, the foliage, the water, the colours, the 4am closing time. I can't wait to get back.
3. Summer vacation in Maine is pretty damn good too, and when I think about the years and years of no-vacation-taking I look back and want to cry for my poor, strapped, twenty-something-self, and early-thirty-something-self. Vacations, like sport, are the toy department of life (I read that on twitter, that's another Good thing--great quotes, more about that in a minute). Weather in Maine in August was a big improvement over the July, which was rainy and grey. August meant vacation with my sister and her kids, my husband working away, and our friend L. joining us from New York City. A full house, lots of laughs, wine, nail-painting and the grand finale; watching Miley Cyrus remind us how damn old we really are at the VMA's. Oh, and I turned forty. And I love it.
4. Forty. A new decade, a new viewpoint, the previous thirty-nine years research for this one (another great quote). I feel stronger, I feel older (in a good way). And I feel grateful.
5. Running. Mastering it once again. Having it re-master me. Falling back in love with it, slowly, one (sometimes painful) step at a time. It's been a rainy year and it was an early winter so that's been great for this cold-weather runner. Cross-training of roller-blading in the summer was great, as was spinning in the winter.
6. Reading. Ebooks. Wow. Just burning through books faster than I thought I could. I read way more this year than I have in the previous three or four years, the only downside being that once I return the ebook to the library it's easy to forget how many titles I've read. I vow to start tracking that this year. I really want to count how many I read in a year. But read some great books this year.
7. Mike. Of course. He's really the top of the list, but I'm just randomly writing, so forgive me.
After the holiday rush is all over I still get one nice last little day--our anniversary, this year, our second, and it's a nice thing to look forward first thing in the new year.
I could go on and on about my family and friends (my niece and her progress at art lessons, my nephews wonderful prayers before meals, first communions), but I'll just say this, I'm not going to make any Bad or Ugly listings.
Were there tough times this year? Yes, like every year. Mike not being here all fall has been very hard. The back-and-forth short visits to Maine are fun, but also very hard. One day I'm in rural New England happily watching football then the next I'm back in the cold hard reality of my city life and my long-distance marriage.
And work, while good, has been almost all-consuming.
This blog has been sorely neglected, and I've very much missed writing. But after long weeks of work I'm simply too tired.
The weekends go by with frightening speed, running, the market, church, and spending time with family takes up most of the two little days.
So Happy New Year, 2014 is hurtling toward us, this revolving door planet somehow keeps on spinning, and we right along with it.
Enjoy the ride.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Book List
It's harder to do the book list this year as I've been e-reading library books and they leave in a puff of smoke once I'm done reading them.
Meaning...I do a good job of falling headfirst into them while I have them, but they leave behind no physical trace. They are vapour.
I'm trying to remember some of my most memorable this year, and some of them have been mentioned in this blog, but here goes.... (random order).
PS: I've been working on this post for two weeks. It's hard on the iPad. Also, I keep thinking of more books...
1. "Where'd You Go, Bernadette?" Maria Semple. Easily one of my favourites this year. Done in email/letter format, a format I normally don't care for (it has to be masterful--this one is). I can't tell you too much without giving it away, but it started as a New Yorker piece and wove on from there.
2. "Rules of Civility" Amor Towles. Just read this. It's unforgettable. New York in the thirties. The female protagonist is brilliant. One thing from the book has stayed with me since I read it. She quotes her father on his theory of life. "When you get up in the morning, do you want that cup of coffee?" That's it. I find, pretty much every morning, I want that coffee. I think it's an amazing way to look at life.
3. "Gone, Girl" Gillian Flynn. A tale. Woven. Threaded. Webbed.
4. "Horns" Joe Hill. Stephen King's son. Need I say more?
5. "The Twelve Tribes of Hattie" by Ayana Mathis (one of New York Times Notable book of the year). Oprah's bookclub. Intriguing.
6. "The Dinner" Herman Koch (also a NY Times notable). Didn't live up to the hype for me, but I got through it.
7. "We Need to Talk About Kevin" Lionel Shriver. Closely related in topic to The Dinner but a superior book in my opinion.
8. "Tiny Beautiful Things" Cheryl Strayed. The collected advice columns of the Rumpus' "Dear Sugar"
9. "I Love You But I'm Leaving You Anyway" Tracy McMillan. Could not put this one down. Part memoir the one line that stayed with me as she described herself as a child "I was Pippi Longstocking without the monkey."
10.. "A House in the Sky" Amanda Lindhout. Memoir of captivity at the hands of Somali terrorists. Tough to read.
11. "Save Yourself" Kelly Braffet. Stephen King's daughter-in-law. A serious talent.
12. "The White Album" Joan Didion. Collected essays. Cultural review. Sparsely styled, one of the hallmarks of Didion. Loved it.
13. "Seven American Deaths and Disasters" Kenneth Goldsmith. Amazing read, especially the chapter on the shooting of John Lennon.
14. "The Long Good-bye" Meghan O'Rourke. Memoir. A parent's death from cancer. Tough for me to read, but very memorable writing.
15. "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning" Allan Stillitoe. Working class England, spare style here, too, and incredible dialogue.
16. "Born to Run" Christopher McDougall. About ultra-running. Amazing.
I'll stop here and I will create a follow-up soon--just thinking of more titles.
Enjoy! Every book on this list is eminently read-able and will stay with you.
Meaning...I do a good job of falling headfirst into them while I have them, but they leave behind no physical trace. They are vapour.
I'm trying to remember some of my most memorable this year, and some of them have been mentioned in this blog, but here goes.... (random order).
PS: I've been working on this post for two weeks. It's hard on the iPad. Also, I keep thinking of more books...
1. "Where'd You Go, Bernadette?" Maria Semple. Easily one of my favourites this year. Done in email/letter format, a format I normally don't care for (it has to be masterful--this one is). I can't tell you too much without giving it away, but it started as a New Yorker piece and wove on from there.
2. "Rules of Civility" Amor Towles. Just read this. It's unforgettable. New York in the thirties. The female protagonist is brilliant. One thing from the book has stayed with me since I read it. She quotes her father on his theory of life. "When you get up in the morning, do you want that cup of coffee?" That's it. I find, pretty much every morning, I want that coffee. I think it's an amazing way to look at life.
3. "Gone, Girl" Gillian Flynn. A tale. Woven. Threaded. Webbed.
4. "Horns" Joe Hill. Stephen King's son. Need I say more?
5. "The Twelve Tribes of Hattie" by Ayana Mathis (one of New York Times Notable book of the year). Oprah's bookclub. Intriguing.
6. "The Dinner" Herman Koch (also a NY Times notable). Didn't live up to the hype for me, but I got through it.
7. "We Need to Talk About Kevin" Lionel Shriver. Closely related in topic to The Dinner but a superior book in my opinion.
8. "Tiny Beautiful Things" Cheryl Strayed. The collected advice columns of the Rumpus' "Dear Sugar"
9. "I Love You But I'm Leaving You Anyway" Tracy McMillan. Could not put this one down. Part memoir the one line that stayed with me as she described herself as a child "I was Pippi Longstocking without the monkey."
10.. "A House in the Sky" Amanda Lindhout. Memoir of captivity at the hands of Somali terrorists. Tough to read.
11. "Save Yourself" Kelly Braffet. Stephen King's daughter-in-law. A serious talent.
12. "The White Album" Joan Didion. Collected essays. Cultural review. Sparsely styled, one of the hallmarks of Didion. Loved it.
13. "Seven American Deaths and Disasters" Kenneth Goldsmith. Amazing read, especially the chapter on the shooting of John Lennon.
14. "The Long Good-bye" Meghan O'Rourke. Memoir. A parent's death from cancer. Tough for me to read, but very memorable writing.
15. "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning" Allan Stillitoe. Working class England, spare style here, too, and incredible dialogue.
16. "Born to Run" Christopher McDougall. About ultra-running. Amazing.
I'll stop here and I will create a follow-up soon--just thinking of more titles.
Enjoy! Every book on this list is eminently read-able and will stay with you.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
JFR
Ok I love this.
A new list, sent to me by my friend and fellow runner, H.
The list, the 'JFR' favours the mantra approach (that's what I do when I do hills. A mantra.
"With intention" is my favourite, with a bit of "You got this" thrown in there.)
I haven't had my December running be this committed and this good in years,
and I know that part of it is because Mike is not here this winter (family illness in Maine) and I've been running as therapy as I am prone to do, to beat down the loneliness and keep that hermit in me at bay.
Also, where would I be without the Fitness Challenge, posed to me by my friend G. all the way from NC? Getting up on those freezing weekend mornings (because, let's face it, this has been a hellishly cold end of the autumn) I feel like I don't want to let anyone down so I really do talk myself out of bed early, and get on out there, freezing cold or not.
So don't wait til the new year. Do it now.
And don't forget:
JFR.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Divine Timing
It's been a while.
What can I tell you?
The usual. (the "uss" as they say now, shortening every word down to the barest syllable. I don't know how it's supposed to be spelled).
What do I do when I'm not here on this blog? Same thing the rest of you do.
Work.
Commute.
Grocery shop.
Attempt to keep my apartment clean, a process that continually frustrates me with its need to repeat, repeat, repeat, endlessly.
Make meals. Eat them standing up, a terrible habit (I read a post on Apartment Therapy, a decor/design website I love, one of the few, about eating and preparing meals alone, for one. They talked about sitting at the table, kitchen or dining, with a place setting. I had the guilty, furtive thought of my breakfast bar, the cutting board where I rest my iPad so nothing spills on it, the TV on, trying to catch up on the New Yorker, while my dining table is the landing place for a week's worth of mail, and my purse, coat, gloves and scarf. And I shudder at the profession I "chose".)
I write emails.
I make plans with friends, the garden of them getting lots of attention lately--Mike is not here, as he normally would be in November, as he has been the last three Novembers.
I talk to Mike on the phone. He is at his parents home, so the conversations are short, truncated. I hang up realizing there is something I've forgotten to tell him, but it's too hard to call back and start the whole process over.
I miss Mike, the undercurrent never leaves me.
I run, plan runs, want to wake up early for runs during the week (this has YET to happen). I plan for weeknight runs (this has yet to happen. But I'm telling you: It's gonna. I'm doing some crazy holiday fitness challenge that my friend GB put me up to and I intend to do it justice. God help me.)
I come back from weekend runs, I drink tomato juice with tabasco, I eat spinach and kale (standing up, my shoes still on) and I get cold fast.
I try to see how far into the winter I can make it without turning the heat on. (I'm winning, Toronto Hydro Electric. I'm WINNING.)
I do laundry, on weekends, twice, all the running clothes needing constant washing.
So, you see, I languish in routine. But I'm a Virgo, so it's comforting to me, not boring.
And then, once in a while, something happens.
Something happened yesterday.
I was running, my usual 5 or 6 mile "Bloor Viaduct" route is what I call it. I decided to time one mile on the track at Riverdale Park and as I was coasting down the hill I noticed a misty fog rolling in, just at the park level, not making it any higher. A nearby building was being demolished and it added to the ghostly, dream-like feel as I entered the park. Two runners on the track, both labouring along, and I paced them as I started lap one.
Lap two. All good.
Lap three. Okay, this is fine. It's bland, and I've never once successfully run up the grassy side wall of the park, but that was a challenge for another day.
Lap four. I had not looked at my running watch, I was saving the look for the end of the last lap so I could see where my mile was.
Laps done, a mile down. My watch shows 10 minutes. (I'm rounding). I am in a state of disbelief.
I have not run a ten-minute mile in over eighteen months. Since my head rebelled and my body followed along.
Until September of this year, since May of last year, I had yet to run my full distances without stopping at some point and walking. In September, something finally clicked and I could just
keep going.
I know, it sounds simple and easy and yea, what's the big deal?
It's big, trust me. It's the one thing in my life that I absolutely depend on to see me through.
And I've finally turned the corner.
"Just give in...open up your heart and your mind to me...
just know when
that glass is empty that the world is gonna bend...."
So Happy I Could Die, Lady Gaga
What can I tell you?
The usual. (the "uss" as they say now, shortening every word down to the barest syllable. I don't know how it's supposed to be spelled).
What do I do when I'm not here on this blog? Same thing the rest of you do.
Work.
Commute.
Grocery shop.
Attempt to keep my apartment clean, a process that continually frustrates me with its need to repeat, repeat, repeat, endlessly.
Make meals. Eat them standing up, a terrible habit (I read a post on Apartment Therapy, a decor/design website I love, one of the few, about eating and preparing meals alone, for one. They talked about sitting at the table, kitchen or dining, with a place setting. I had the guilty, furtive thought of my breakfast bar, the cutting board where I rest my iPad so nothing spills on it, the TV on, trying to catch up on the New Yorker, while my dining table is the landing place for a week's worth of mail, and my purse, coat, gloves and scarf. And I shudder at the profession I "chose".)
I write emails.
I make plans with friends, the garden of them getting lots of attention lately--Mike is not here, as he normally would be in November, as he has been the last three Novembers.
I talk to Mike on the phone. He is at his parents home, so the conversations are short, truncated. I hang up realizing there is something I've forgotten to tell him, but it's too hard to call back and start the whole process over.
I miss Mike, the undercurrent never leaves me.
I run, plan runs, want to wake up early for runs during the week (this has YET to happen). I plan for weeknight runs (this has yet to happen. But I'm telling you: It's gonna. I'm doing some crazy holiday fitness challenge that my friend GB put me up to and I intend to do it justice. God help me.)
I come back from weekend runs, I drink tomato juice with tabasco, I eat spinach and kale (standing up, my shoes still on) and I get cold fast.
I try to see how far into the winter I can make it without turning the heat on. (I'm winning, Toronto Hydro Electric. I'm WINNING.)
I do laundry, on weekends, twice, all the running clothes needing constant washing.
So, you see, I languish in routine. But I'm a Virgo, so it's comforting to me, not boring.
And then, once in a while, something happens.
Something happened yesterday.
I was running, my usual 5 or 6 mile "Bloor Viaduct" route is what I call it. I decided to time one mile on the track at Riverdale Park and as I was coasting down the hill I noticed a misty fog rolling in, just at the park level, not making it any higher. A nearby building was being demolished and it added to the ghostly, dream-like feel as I entered the park. Two runners on the track, both labouring along, and I paced them as I started lap one.
Lap two. All good.
Lap three. Okay, this is fine. It's bland, and I've never once successfully run up the grassy side wall of the park, but that was a challenge for another day.
Lap four. I had not looked at my running watch, I was saving the look for the end of the last lap so I could see where my mile was.
Laps done, a mile down. My watch shows 10 minutes. (I'm rounding). I am in a state of disbelief.
I have not run a ten-minute mile in over eighteen months. Since my head rebelled and my body followed along.
Until September of this year, since May of last year, I had yet to run my full distances without stopping at some point and walking. In September, something finally clicked and I could just
keep going.
I know, it sounds simple and easy and yea, what's the big deal?
It's big, trust me. It's the one thing in my life that I absolutely depend on to see me through.
And I've finally turned the corner.
"Just give in...open up your heart and your mind to me...
just know when
that glass is empty that the world is gonna bend...."
So Happy I Could Die, Lady Gaga
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Celebration
I have a deck of 'angel cards' a gift from my friend K., who is an extraordinarily kind and gifted person, and very spiritual. I go to these cards when life is troubling, or something is bothering me.
Lately, one client at work has been a thorn in my side, negating all the other wonderful work changes that are happening.
That's the background on the theme of 'celebration'. It's the angel card I pulled this morning, while lying in bed, past 10, still in pajamas (I do love Saturday), idly reading and catching up with friends.
With all the stress in life lately, celebration seems to be the last thing on my mind. Gratitude often eludes me as I allow negative thoughts to pervade. Light seems to be in short supply, both figuratively and literally (the days are getting shorter--this is the hardest part of the fall/winter thing for me. Bring me the cold. Bring me the long solitary runs out in it, in a new running jacket I just picked up. But leave me the light, I'm begging you.)
Celebration.
Life, love, light, gratitude, empathy, kindness, calm feelings.
I pledge to try to do better when faced with challenges.
Oh, and there's coffee. There's always that. Headed towards a cup now.
Happy Saturday. Make a new recipe, drink too much coffee or wine, run in the rain, your shoes wet, your hair sopping, your heart singing. Waste time on the internet, buy groceries, make a nice dinner.
Have a great one.
"It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two".....Vienna, Billy Joel
Sunday, September 22, 2013
It's Fall....Shhhh
I woke up early this morning (before seven, keep in mind it's Sunday and it was dark as midnight at this point). Waking up from a complicated melatonin-induced-mini-movie, it took me a minute to figure out where I was, to acclimatize to my own warm bed, sheets, blankets, the slatted blind letting in only slivers of what would become early-morning light.
Looking out, assessing the state of the day to come, I noticed the waning full moon still bright in the west sky, this moon that seems to have caused so much trouble this week, so much conflict and stress, our bodies primitive in obedience to the moon, its magnetic pull, the tides, our blood--it all seems connected and deeply mysterious.
I want to go back to list format, because that just feels right lately.
1. I'm only going to touch on the workweek here briefly, because it's eaten up so much room in my tired brain this week. I've concluded on two simple truths in studying my rich clients for over fifteen years now, and it's a truth that has been shouted out across the ages: Money does not buy happiness. And another one, in the words of an infamous rapper: Mo' money, mo' problems. I think that pretty much sums it up. Parts being delivered late, or wrong, a chain of command breaking down, getting things done on the fly, squinting irritably at my work-computer clock and it's 4pm and holy-f*ck how did the day go by so fast and did we get that guy out there to do that sink cut-out and...well you get the picture. Adrenaline junkies alert: forget skydiving, become an interior designer. Your resting heart-rate can be 90 beats per minute, too!
2. It's Fall. Officially. Today. I know that no one, especially Canadians, wants to hear this. But waking up cold this morning, putting a hoodie on over my pajamas, heating the milk for a hot cup of very milky coffee, then warming my hands on the cup..it all felt so right. As do my fall runs. They have been epic. Some challenges, yes--a random knee pain while I ran uphill last Saturday, the pain disappearing on the downhill. A migraine unfolding after what had been a beautiful, if cloudy seven miles last Sunday, and yesterday's four-miler along the Beach, in the pouring, sopping rain, the only people out were a few other insane runners and people walking their dogs. The joy of the dogs kept me going in very wet running shoes and a heel-blister where my wet sock had ended up halfway off my foot. I didn't feel the nagging pain of this irritating blister, so great was my exalt at my rain-run.
And, depsite the headache, it still feels like running is back--like it's finally come home to me again. I go out and fling all my problems into the air above me, like a cartoon thought bubble. And some of them hang there the whole run, but the air seems to dissipate them--it robs them of some of their strength, I think. I get home and do a floor routine and even that feels good. I keep my fingers crossed.
3. More about Fall. Dresses with sandals make room for dresses with boots and cardigans and belts. I love this. And my toes still sport licorice polish for those sandal days. The weather has been very up-and-down this past week (this past summer). Summer's trying to get the last word in.
4. I put my sister's kids to bed last night, with the same bedtime story, and it had to do with Saturday nights growing up in our townhouse when we would eat spaghetti and my dad would dust off the piano and we would sit around it and he'd play the Beatles and sing. My niece does not know who the Beatles are. I have alot of work to do.
5. Conflict. It's arisen, unbidden this week, and has wormed it's way into every crevice. Work. Emails. Tone. My mom. My husband. Everyone jockeying with their pain, their 'see me, hear me'.
Sometimes I turn the focus solely on myself, on my own stress and frustrations. I don't mean to.
6. Full moons. This one has caused so much upheaval. See points above.
7. I'm in Maine next weekend. I've booked my plane ticket and my train ticket. The thought of Maine and of Mike is keeping me going, will get me through this next week. It has to.
8. I think that's about it. Happy Sunday. I might be doing work today, but before that there will be a run, there will be my Sunday playlist, there will be a smidge more coffee.
Looking out, assessing the state of the day to come, I noticed the waning full moon still bright in the west sky, this moon that seems to have caused so much trouble this week, so much conflict and stress, our bodies primitive in obedience to the moon, its magnetic pull, the tides, our blood--it all seems connected and deeply mysterious.
I want to go back to list format, because that just feels right lately.
1. I'm only going to touch on the workweek here briefly, because it's eaten up so much room in my tired brain this week. I've concluded on two simple truths in studying my rich clients for over fifteen years now, and it's a truth that has been shouted out across the ages: Money does not buy happiness. And another one, in the words of an infamous rapper: Mo' money, mo' problems. I think that pretty much sums it up. Parts being delivered late, or wrong, a chain of command breaking down, getting things done on the fly, squinting irritably at my work-computer clock and it's 4pm and holy-f*ck how did the day go by so fast and did we get that guy out there to do that sink cut-out and...well you get the picture. Adrenaline junkies alert: forget skydiving, become an interior designer. Your resting heart-rate can be 90 beats per minute, too!
2. It's Fall. Officially. Today. I know that no one, especially Canadians, wants to hear this. But waking up cold this morning, putting a hoodie on over my pajamas, heating the milk for a hot cup of very milky coffee, then warming my hands on the cup..it all felt so right. As do my fall runs. They have been epic. Some challenges, yes--a random knee pain while I ran uphill last Saturday, the pain disappearing on the downhill. A migraine unfolding after what had been a beautiful, if cloudy seven miles last Sunday, and yesterday's four-miler along the Beach, in the pouring, sopping rain, the only people out were a few other insane runners and people walking their dogs. The joy of the dogs kept me going in very wet running shoes and a heel-blister where my wet sock had ended up halfway off my foot. I didn't feel the nagging pain of this irritating blister, so great was my exalt at my rain-run.
And, depsite the headache, it still feels like running is back--like it's finally come home to me again. I go out and fling all my problems into the air above me, like a cartoon thought bubble. And some of them hang there the whole run, but the air seems to dissipate them--it robs them of some of their strength, I think. I get home and do a floor routine and even that feels good. I keep my fingers crossed.
3. More about Fall. Dresses with sandals make room for dresses with boots and cardigans and belts. I love this. And my toes still sport licorice polish for those sandal days. The weather has been very up-and-down this past week (this past summer). Summer's trying to get the last word in.
4. I put my sister's kids to bed last night, with the same bedtime story, and it had to do with Saturday nights growing up in our townhouse when we would eat spaghetti and my dad would dust off the piano and we would sit around it and he'd play the Beatles and sing. My niece does not know who the Beatles are. I have alot of work to do.
5. Conflict. It's arisen, unbidden this week, and has wormed it's way into every crevice. Work. Emails. Tone. My mom. My husband. Everyone jockeying with their pain, their 'see me, hear me'.
Sometimes I turn the focus solely on myself, on my own stress and frustrations. I don't mean to.
6. Full moons. This one has caused so much upheaval. See points above.
7. I'm in Maine next weekend. I've booked my plane ticket and my train ticket. The thought of Maine and of Mike is keeping me going, will get me through this next week. It has to.
8. I think that's about it. Happy Sunday. I might be doing work today, but before that there will be a run, there will be my Sunday playlist, there will be a smidge more coffee.
Friday, September 13, 2013
A House in the Sky
I finished reading this amazing book earlier this week. I've thought about the post I would write about the book for a few days. I needed to digest the book, so to speak, and distance myself from the intense experience of reading it.
I remember reading a Maclean's article sometime in 2009 recounting Lindhout's kidnapping and captivity and feeling helpless, as a fellow Canadian. That there seemed, according to the article, little that the Canadian government could do or would do to help the situation. It described nothing of the efforts of her parents, police, and friends, which I learned about watching the Dateline special on her story, when I had just begun reading the book. Still, beyond that Maclean's article, and my own aghast opinion of why anyone, much less an attractive white woman would willingly head to a country as steeped in turmoil as Somalia, I knew very little.
The book gives you the whole story. Not just the fifteen months spent in a windowless room (as one Calgary Herald review described, this was a 'winnowing' and what a fitting word that is, a true separation of who Lindhout was and who she would become, during her captivity.) The whole story is not only these fifteen months, it is not only the inhuman treatment she received. It is also her broken childhood, her collection of second-hand National Geographic magazines, her own personal vision board of what she would do as an adult. Travel the world. Hurtle into the unknown. And, really, in the truest sense, meet a fate that few could have endured or survived, let alone, in the aftermath,
thrive.
I wrestled with my mind while reading. There were many parts of the book that were almost impossible to read, feeling like one was right there, bearing witness to unspeakable suffering of another human being, one whose voice rings clear as a curious, gentle soul, whose focus was on getting out alive, using what little physical means she had. Instead she mines her psychological resources, using her imaginative mind to create the house in the sky; the eye in the mind inventing a haven, a place to escape to, where food was plentiful and peace could be reached.
Without reading the book and knowing the story, it would be easy to have one of those reactions of "Oh well, how stupid was it to travel into a known war-zone, a govenment-less country, what could she have expected was going to happen?"
But really, despite all the proof we are given of our species cruelty to one another, we do tend to believe in the magic of people, their good, their generosity, the spirit that we're all in this together, none of us is getting out alive, and we might as well make the best of it as a group on this revolving-door planet.
I wouldn't have lasted one week.
This to me was more than just another read.
This was testimony.
To the power of fate and how our lives are given a direction that comes far from beyond--far from our own ideas of how we shape our paths and our futures.
To our troubled times, these holy wars, religion misshapen into something so un-Godly it seems unfathomable.
Mostly, though, I thought about the aftermath and the scars and how many people would have emerged from a trauma like this; shells, really. Their humanity stripped. Maybe blame and anger shaping the rest of their days.
It would have been easy to turn this book into a grim warning sign, a handbook of pessimism.
But this is a book of hope, of understanding, of encompassing compassion.
Like my favourite poem "Try to Praise the Mutilated World" this is exactly what this book does--praise it,
exalt it,
forgive it.
I can't think of a better ending than that.
Try To Praise The Mutilated World
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
Adam Zagajewski
Monday, September 2, 2013
Friends, Family, Forty
It feels like a short time ago, not a full decade, that thirty loomed and me and my ten-or-so closest girlfriends crowded a table at the restaurant then known as 'Lobby' which was the place to be in 2003, and ushered in my third decade. We were dressed in either black, white, or pink, and we ate things like thick, small steaks that night, and we had alot of champagne, and sometime after 10 pm, when Lobby would turn into a nightclub, we stuck around for that, too. There were pictures (this was just about the time digital was coming in) and there were cellphones, and there are a few of those friends who have either moved on, be it due to lives drifting apart, actually moving, or who have gone on to live a bit of a different life where different needs crowd in and friends are more like accessories, not people. But the memories remain.
I blur by other birthdays in my thirties, some with a boyfriend, most with a gaggle of girls, intent on taking me out and getting me fed and watered (re; drunk) so that the next passing year could be counted on to be even more fabulous than the last.
I remember the family side of birthdays. The bbq'ed steaks and ice-cream cakes (a tradition for my August birthday) in my parents backyard in Ajax. The generous gifts, the dog begging for cake and steak. Later, my sister's kids so excited to blow out my candles, open my presents, taking photos as a family, enjoying what was usually a fantastically sunny day in the last official week of Summer, this fleeting season. Though, as I age, all seasons seem fleeting, but winter takes its time somehow.
I remember thirty-five, my colourful blue and sand beach dress, thirty-six, little Italy. Thirty-seven, the birthday party I threw myself at my condo, putting thirty-six, a vastly challenging year, to bed. I had invited my parents to come but even by then my dad wasn't up for it. But at least I heard his voice on the phone, my last birthday with that joy.
Thirty-eight I welcomed quietly, with Mike, my engagement ring winking the promise of our upcoming wedding that brightened my thirty-eighth year so blindingly. Thirty-nine was spent in Maine, travelling. My mother-in-law made brownies. I stared down the last year of my thirties. It had its own lessons to teach me, as every year does. This years were hard.
Fast-forward to forty.
I started thinking about forty a few months ago. I'd put on some weight and was having trouble shaking it off, much more trouble than I normally used to. But something else was different too--I'd stopped the obsessive mirror-gazing and just really didn't care as much as I used to. Grooming was and still is a cornerstone of my life--my hair is tinted just so to hide the white (not grey, white). I manicure my own nails, pedicure too. I don't leave the shower without moisturzing my skin. My face is washed twice a day. I wear classic, beloved pieces of jewellery. I wear skirts with respectable hemlines, I own slips, my heels for work are kitten. But I had a midsection I never used to have.
Spinning. Yoga. Running (ever so slowly). Caloring cutting. Yea, it helped, but I had some accepting to do. One is that I love food, good food, and I can't (won't) give it up. Two, it's called middle-age, and if starving yourself is not on your list of things to do as a valuable, non-self-hating member of this society, then you have to leave that body of your youth behind. It's not that bad. I'm happier now than I was when I was thirty. Alot more happy. Back then, despite the smiles pasted on my face in every photo, secretly I worried. Where was I going in life, did I have control, could I gain control, could I KEEP control?
Now, I know, there is no controlling life. There is only going along with the current for the most part, steering yourself away from an upcoming waterfall if you can, and if not, taking a deep breath and going over it gracefully. Praying for the water to part and the wreckage to clear for a path to the nearest handy shore.
So forty, as a birthday, was spent with Mike, and my sister and her kids, with our friend L., and with some of Mike's family and friends too, which made things very special for me. There was that ice-cream cake, and the kids blowing out the "FOUR-OH" candle on top. There was the watch my husband bought me, on my wrist, in all the photos, blinking out.
So I leave my thirties behind. Yes, as friends before me had said, they were great years. They were also hard years, with real adult challenges, ones that I'll sadly face again, hopefully not for a very long time. So I don't fear forty, I really do embrace it. When I look at the photos from my birthday dinner, wearing an orange-floral dress, my half-bangs over my right eye, my hair long and straight, the way I like it, I see a very happy face peering out. Not wondering what to do, how to do it, or when. Just..living life. Each day, every day, no matter what challenges present themselves.
I blur by other birthdays in my thirties, some with a boyfriend, most with a gaggle of girls, intent on taking me out and getting me fed and watered (re; drunk) so that the next passing year could be counted on to be even more fabulous than the last.
I remember the family side of birthdays. The bbq'ed steaks and ice-cream cakes (a tradition for my August birthday) in my parents backyard in Ajax. The generous gifts, the dog begging for cake and steak. Later, my sister's kids so excited to blow out my candles, open my presents, taking photos as a family, enjoying what was usually a fantastically sunny day in the last official week of Summer, this fleeting season. Though, as I age, all seasons seem fleeting, but winter takes its time somehow.
I remember thirty-five, my colourful blue and sand beach dress, thirty-six, little Italy. Thirty-seven, the birthday party I threw myself at my condo, putting thirty-six, a vastly challenging year, to bed. I had invited my parents to come but even by then my dad wasn't up for it. But at least I heard his voice on the phone, my last birthday with that joy.
Thirty-eight I welcomed quietly, with Mike, my engagement ring winking the promise of our upcoming wedding that brightened my thirty-eighth year so blindingly. Thirty-nine was spent in Maine, travelling. My mother-in-law made brownies. I stared down the last year of my thirties. It had its own lessons to teach me, as every year does. This years were hard.
Fast-forward to forty.
I started thinking about forty a few months ago. I'd put on some weight and was having trouble shaking it off, much more trouble than I normally used to. But something else was different too--I'd stopped the obsessive mirror-gazing and just really didn't care as much as I used to. Grooming was and still is a cornerstone of my life--my hair is tinted just so to hide the white (not grey, white). I manicure my own nails, pedicure too. I don't leave the shower without moisturzing my skin. My face is washed twice a day. I wear classic, beloved pieces of jewellery. I wear skirts with respectable hemlines, I own slips, my heels for work are kitten. But I had a midsection I never used to have.
Spinning. Yoga. Running (ever so slowly). Caloring cutting. Yea, it helped, but I had some accepting to do. One is that I love food, good food, and I can't (won't) give it up. Two, it's called middle-age, and if starving yourself is not on your list of things to do as a valuable, non-self-hating member of this society, then you have to leave that body of your youth behind. It's not that bad. I'm happier now than I was when I was thirty. Alot more happy. Back then, despite the smiles pasted on my face in every photo, secretly I worried. Where was I going in life, did I have control, could I gain control, could I KEEP control?
Now, I know, there is no controlling life. There is only going along with the current for the most part, steering yourself away from an upcoming waterfall if you can, and if not, taking a deep breath and going over it gracefully. Praying for the water to part and the wreckage to clear for a path to the nearest handy shore.
So forty, as a birthday, was spent with Mike, and my sister and her kids, with our friend L., and with some of Mike's family and friends too, which made things very special for me. There was that ice-cream cake, and the kids blowing out the "FOUR-OH" candle on top. There was the watch my husband bought me, on my wrist, in all the photos, blinking out.
So I leave my thirties behind. Yes, as friends before me had said, they were great years. They were also hard years, with real adult challenges, ones that I'll sadly face again, hopefully not for a very long time. So I don't fear forty, I really do embrace it. When I look at the photos from my birthday dinner, wearing an orange-floral dress, my half-bangs over my right eye, my hair long and straight, the way I like it, I see a very happy face peering out. Not wondering what to do, how to do it, or when. Just..living life. Each day, every day, no matter what challenges present themselves.
Catching Up
This was the title of the email I sent my blog-friend J today.
And yes, as I talk to my friend L, I DO need to catch up. With this blog, with life, with my life when I'm not at work, that life I've kind of been ignoring all year. Not in a bad way. Just in a focussed way.
So, it's been over three months since Boss 1 and her henchwoman departed. There is a completely different atmosphere in my office, one of teamwork, cooperation (for the most part) and non-toxicity.
There are some exceptions of course, the ones still loyal to the end, the ones with no direction. But I'm confident karma will find its way to them, continue to weave its tangled web.
I do nothing. I observe. I witness. I work.
After talking with L tonight I thought I'd return to the list format that seems to serve writers block so well.
1. I am back from two weeks in Maine, and the weather was perfect every single day. Every. Single. Day. It cemented something for me, as I stared down forty as a child-free: as much as I love my niece and nephew, parenting is definitely not for me. (I always knew this, but as I said, this cemented things.) That said, it was great to spend time with my sis and with the kids, and watch them have lots of fun, be outside, eat fun foods (pizza anyone?), shop for cheap products, visit with our dear friend L., and celebrate my birthday far from home, in my other home. My tan is to die for.
2. I didn't think about work the entire time. And guess what? This time, post-boss, people helped.
Still, the last few days back at work have been super-stressful and I've caught myself this weekend, sleeping the stress away, until I've wasted the better part of the the day. I don't obsess over it.
3. I forgot to take the garbage out before I left. This resulted in an infestation (even the word infestation makes my skin crawl) of those pesky little fruit flies, that when they multiply, do not seem so little, and are incredibly gross and annoying (I HATE insects, and I don't even eat, and therefore never buy, fruit.) Guess what fruit flies hate? Basil. I had several small basil plants in my basket at the grocery store on Wednesday after work, but ditched them in favour of a 'giant' plant, which, I'm happy to share, has done the trick (that and three days of dedicated cleaning, the kind I really never do.) The kitchen sink and bathroom sink cabinets are clean and bleached, and the rest of my kitchen has probably not been this clean since I moved in. Cabinets have been emptied and wiped out, and old spices have been tossed. I am keeping bleach in a spray bottle on 'stand-by' and I've been spraying the garbage, that is, when I'm not busy taking the garbage out, like someone with OCD, almost every day. In line at the grocery store, buying ony a giant plant and two smaller ones, a man in front of me asked me if I was buying a farm (buying the farm..I hope not.) Armour down from 2 weeks in a small town, I cheerfully explained my mission, my voice and manner belying the trauma of the previous two nights and my swatting, and missing, and pouring bleach into a spray bottle and spritzing the bugs, also Windex, Tilex, and anything I had handy. Let's just say I've gone through alot of cleaning products, paper towels, and garbage bags these last few days. Let's also just say this apartment is beyond clean. I don't even know what else to do. I've actually scrubbed floors on my hands and knees over the weekend. Cleaning has been my cardio. There is no way I can muster up the courage to run in humidity like this. It's unmanageable for me.
4. It's Labour Day weekend. It doesn't seem possible. The year has sped by at an almost unfathomable pace, just whipped by, especially this summer. I haven't minded. Summer is when Mike is most busy, when we have the least amount of time together, when loneliness can make me the saddest. But luckily, a mixture of rainy weather, a quick July visit, and the August one, made me feel less disconnected. His season at the restaurant is winding down once again and I'm happy for him. It's alot of stress.
5. Blogging. I've been notably absent, and blogger's weird change (that I can't quite figure out) to uploading photos has been a real negative for me. Is there a blogger ap? I'm thinking no. I haven't noticed one yet. Which makes me wonder--is there another venue I can transfer it all too? Tumblr? I can't quite figure it out. I haven't had a lot of time for it, so I've just let it lag, like everything else I haven't had time for.
6. Reading. I'm still reading weird crime/somewhat horror novels. My latest 'discovery' after finding an article in the New York Times about Stephen King (Mainerd) and his family, is that his wife, son, and daughter-in-law are also all writers. Published authors. I looked up their work immediately and read his daughter-in-law, Kelly Braffet's, new novel, "Save Yourself". Interesting view of high-school through the lens of bullies, that's all I'm going to say. I've also read two of his son's books (pen name Joe Hill) which could truly have been written by King himself, and feel like they are. The brash, outlandish plots, the sprinkling of pop-culture references, the unbridled violence, against a backdrop of righteous vigilante-ism. Whatever, they're page-turners just the same.
My next read? I'm currently awaiting the release of "A House in the Sky" by Amanda Lindhout, co-written with a journalist (who hails from Portland, Maine). Lindhout, that notoriously naive self-proclaimed wanna-be journalist who thought that selling stories from inside the lawless borders of Somalia was as good an idea as any. The book, her memoir of more than a year in captivity by Muslim ...freedom fighters, the ransom they demanded, the Canadian government's quiet blind-eye, and the subsequent release orchestrated by merceneries. It's release date is September tenth and it promises to be a tough read, and I haven't had a tough read in a while. Also, I respect the fact that she had someone write this with her, that maybe she couldn't distance herself enough from her own experiences to frame them in the larger context of a book.
7. Family and friends and Forty. Just writing those words made me realize that this needs it's own post. I'm hoping I can figure out the picture/blog thing.
And yes, as I talk to my friend L, I DO need to catch up. With this blog, with life, with my life when I'm not at work, that life I've kind of been ignoring all year. Not in a bad way. Just in a focussed way.
So, it's been over three months since Boss 1 and her henchwoman departed. There is a completely different atmosphere in my office, one of teamwork, cooperation (for the most part) and non-toxicity.
There are some exceptions of course, the ones still loyal to the end, the ones with no direction. But I'm confident karma will find its way to them, continue to weave its tangled web.
I do nothing. I observe. I witness. I work.
After talking with L tonight I thought I'd return to the list format that seems to serve writers block so well.
1. I am back from two weeks in Maine, and the weather was perfect every single day. Every. Single. Day. It cemented something for me, as I stared down forty as a child-free: as much as I love my niece and nephew, parenting is definitely not for me. (I always knew this, but as I said, this cemented things.) That said, it was great to spend time with my sis and with the kids, and watch them have lots of fun, be outside, eat fun foods (pizza anyone?), shop for cheap products, visit with our dear friend L., and celebrate my birthday far from home, in my other home. My tan is to die for.
2. I didn't think about work the entire time. And guess what? This time, post-boss, people helped.
Still, the last few days back at work have been super-stressful and I've caught myself this weekend, sleeping the stress away, until I've wasted the better part of the the day. I don't obsess over it.
3. I forgot to take the garbage out before I left. This resulted in an infestation (even the word infestation makes my skin crawl) of those pesky little fruit flies, that when they multiply, do not seem so little, and are incredibly gross and annoying (I HATE insects, and I don't even eat, and therefore never buy, fruit.) Guess what fruit flies hate? Basil. I had several small basil plants in my basket at the grocery store on Wednesday after work, but ditched them in favour of a 'giant' plant, which, I'm happy to share, has done the trick (that and three days of dedicated cleaning, the kind I really never do.) The kitchen sink and bathroom sink cabinets are clean and bleached, and the rest of my kitchen has probably not been this clean since I moved in. Cabinets have been emptied and wiped out, and old spices have been tossed. I am keeping bleach in a spray bottle on 'stand-by' and I've been spraying the garbage, that is, when I'm not busy taking the garbage out, like someone with OCD, almost every day. In line at the grocery store, buying ony a giant plant and two smaller ones, a man in front of me asked me if I was buying a farm (buying the farm..I hope not.) Armour down from 2 weeks in a small town, I cheerfully explained my mission, my voice and manner belying the trauma of the previous two nights and my swatting, and missing, and pouring bleach into a spray bottle and spritzing the bugs, also Windex, Tilex, and anything I had handy. Let's just say I've gone through alot of cleaning products, paper towels, and garbage bags these last few days. Let's also just say this apartment is beyond clean. I don't even know what else to do. I've actually scrubbed floors on my hands and knees over the weekend. Cleaning has been my cardio. There is no way I can muster up the courage to run in humidity like this. It's unmanageable for me.
4. It's Labour Day weekend. It doesn't seem possible. The year has sped by at an almost unfathomable pace, just whipped by, especially this summer. I haven't minded. Summer is when Mike is most busy, when we have the least amount of time together, when loneliness can make me the saddest. But luckily, a mixture of rainy weather, a quick July visit, and the August one, made me feel less disconnected. His season at the restaurant is winding down once again and I'm happy for him. It's alot of stress.
5. Blogging. I've been notably absent, and blogger's weird change (that I can't quite figure out) to uploading photos has been a real negative for me. Is there a blogger ap? I'm thinking no. I haven't noticed one yet. Which makes me wonder--is there another venue I can transfer it all too? Tumblr? I can't quite figure it out. I haven't had a lot of time for it, so I've just let it lag, like everything else I haven't had time for.
6. Reading. I'm still reading weird crime/somewhat horror novels. My latest 'discovery' after finding an article in the New York Times about Stephen King (Mainerd) and his family, is that his wife, son, and daughter-in-law are also all writers. Published authors. I looked up their work immediately and read his daughter-in-law, Kelly Braffet's, new novel, "Save Yourself". Interesting view of high-school through the lens of bullies, that's all I'm going to say. I've also read two of his son's books (pen name Joe Hill) which could truly have been written by King himself, and feel like they are. The brash, outlandish plots, the sprinkling of pop-culture references, the unbridled violence, against a backdrop of righteous vigilante-ism. Whatever, they're page-turners just the same.
My next read? I'm currently awaiting the release of "A House in the Sky" by Amanda Lindhout, co-written with a journalist (who hails from Portland, Maine). Lindhout, that notoriously naive self-proclaimed wanna-be journalist who thought that selling stories from inside the lawless borders of Somalia was as good an idea as any. The book, her memoir of more than a year in captivity by Muslim ...freedom fighters, the ransom they demanded, the Canadian government's quiet blind-eye, and the subsequent release orchestrated by merceneries. It's release date is September tenth and it promises to be a tough read, and I haven't had a tough read in a while. Also, I respect the fact that she had someone write this with her, that maybe she couldn't distance herself enough from her own experiences to frame them in the larger context of a book.
7. Family and friends and Forty. Just writing those words made me realize that this needs it's own post. I'm hoping I can figure out the picture/blog thing.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
First weekend home
Grainy, shadowy, but St. James Cathedral has never looked better.
Before sundown, a weird mix of sun and fog, peeking out from behind a skyscraper.
More of St. James, beneath night-clouds, which always fascinate me. Hint; TO has been clouded over all weekend long, excepr for a few short minutes on Sunday.
The Spire, a condo in my neighbourhood, night-clouds swirling about...
Alright, I'm trying to upload Maine shots, but the computer is not really cooperating.
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