Journal 72 Favourites part two

Today was a long long long day at work. Awake just after 5am, at my desk just after 8am, my major meeting cancelling FIVE MINUTES before arrival: Yes. I was Not Happy.
Because I was all geared up, dressed up, and set up. Then I had to come out of it, settle into my office, and do three major things involving numbers and not alot of design all by the 'end of the day'.



On the plus side it was grey all day, the full moon's energy was everywhere, and Wednesday, the most wicked (and by wicked I do NOT mean fun) day of the week is over. The shot above is out my condo window, where the city is currently getting doused with rain. It's been raining, hard, since about 6pm. I love the sound of it, hitting the flat old roof of my condo (I'm on the top floor, the roof deck is on the neighbouring building--nothing separating me from the lovely rain noises. So that made up for alot of the day's troubles).

Reading; see below, my dining room 'library'. The portrait beside my book shelf is of my Dad when he was 21. Smoking a cigarette, I know (that goes under "not favourite"). I remember him telling me not to smoke (I don't). I also remember him telling me the artist who painted this, in BC where he was at the time, was very challenged by the fact my Dad wore a checkered shirt. The artist was his friend, trying his hand at painting. When I was young, growing up in our townhouse, this painting hung in our downstairs rec room near the piano. I loved looking at the patterned shirt (was it foreshadowing of my future ID career that I loved looking at all types of patterns? and all types of buildings?)



Another shot out of the window of my condo. Normally, even from my lowly third floor vantage point ( I live in the converted offices of an old optical company), I can see the CN Tower, and the Spire, a building I designed alot of kitchens for in 2006/2007. But not tonight. Tonight it's all fog, dense, but lit up by the intensity of the full moon, and the high-voltage lights in the back parking lot.
I love looking out the window on clear nights, clear days, cloudy ones too. When the moon is in the western night sky I can often get a stellar view.



Alright. Today tired me out. Tomorrow, after having a serious talk with myself, I really hope to start what I hope will be MANY enjoyable weekday mornings out running BEFORE work.
Ambitious, I know. But one must have goals.
For Favourites, Part three, I will explore favourite holidays (St. Maarten); favourite wines ( Cali chards, preferably US purchased, on sale, at a wonderful place called a wine outlet in NH), and maybe explore some more bookish tendencies.
I'm still on a reading tear, and the Julia Cameron memoir has been fodder for many a creative idea.
I also do want to continue with Secret Diary part two. Lots of sequels lately.
Other favourites off the top of my head;
my new multivitamin (i feel...different. stronger. sharper. weird!)
other books by julia cameron (she is my new louise hay. i still love louise though)
the great tarot reading i had friday night
wearing my new pewter ballet flats to work and having an alternative to heels in today's weather
that my foot is tentatively feeling better after much icing the last 2 days
that mike's head is feeling better (that tops the list, really, but i don't like to drag him into the blog too much :)
the continuing free preview of the horror cable channel DUSK until October 31st. I still can't believe I braved Candyman alone. Did you know that Philip Glass did the music for the movie? And it was directed by someone named Bernard Rose, whom I have never heard of. However, he put in some amazing shots of the Chicago skyline, ariel views of the highways, an old stadium....cool to watch now that I've been to Chicago (once. not that I could pick anything out on a map).... a fun tv channel to watch, when BBC Canada is not showing too much.

G'night....

Journal 73 Secret Diary part one

I've been o'ding on Brit tv lately. Not on purpose, purely by chance, and truly--I'm not a tv watcher by nature. I picked up my wayward cable again last year when Mike was coming to stay as it was Canadian winter, he needed American football, and he loves the Food Network. I can take or leave TV. But, truth be told, it has had, lately, a good effect on me. As in: tranquilizing. As in, my not so much up in my head. Me, unwinding, and reading in front of it, as I always do, and letting my thoughts take flight, like they do when I read.
So, it's been all good.
Caught another wonderful UK Law and Order tonight, all sorts of complicated.
Then, while flipping, lying on the couch and icing my foot (don't ask. too many kilometers on the weekend, way too much ambition to work off 2 dinners, and far too challenging of a pace set), anyway, icing away, watching DUSK (last night I made it through Candyman ALONE, and I have to say--I didn't just focus on the horror of it all--I looked at the gorgeously-shot, ariel views of Chicago, the backdrop of the southside against the glittering architecture of the beckoning city--that is the realy horror if you ask me. The true parts).
Anyway, flipping about, RICE-ing, and I stumbled on IFC "Secret Diary of a Call Girl". This is the Brit's answer to Carrie Bradshaw. Instead of writing a column about sex, though, she gets paid to have it. See? The Brits like to, sometimes (alot) show the Americans how it's done (good on them). And while British men are not my thing in real life, on film and in speech they are delish. But whatever. I digress.
Once again, as with Law and Order UK vs Law and Order Gorefest Inc, Secret Diary is more about feelings than Sex and the City was. I am not kidding.
Tonight's eppy hinged on the word "kinky", ie, something with kinks and twists. And, as the heroine Belle so succinctly put it, finding that one who loves yours unconditionally. I liked the sound of that. This little in-the-head dialogue, clearly taken from Carrie's endless narrative, was, however, voiced-over the images of her fellow prossy-best-friend falling head over heels (reciprocated) in love with a whacky client, and pasted us against the passionate "one of" (Brit slang for a one-night-stand, how do they think this stuff up?) with a man Belle is interested in, who dumps her seconds after their 'shag'.
Christ. Ouch.
It brought me back to my own twenties, not in 'fond memory' express lane either. It brought me back to all those one-ofs, those men who thought that by f*cking you, they could control you, and how wrong they really were. I thought about how selective I was in the men I brought into my little Bathurst world at the time. About how exciting it could be when I did let someone in. And how crushing I felt when they disappointed me (or when, worst of all, over and over--I disappointed myself).
I'm just musing. I watched the images on Secret Diary, I remembered the excitement of those times, those days, more importantly, those nights, and how I was not sad to see them go.
I reflect that this is what it took to get me here, with Mike. I met him over ten years ago. Yet I wasn't ready to accept and love myself until about two years ago, just before I 'met' him again, for the second time.
Where-we're-supposed to be.
It's just that kind of post.
Me musing, practising, looking.

Journal 71 Quiet Day

Last year at this time, on this day (Thanksgiving weekend once again) I wrote a poem for my parents' fortieth wedding anniversay, which happened to fall on 10/10/10, auspiciously enough.
http://carolyninthecity-citygirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/happy-anniversary.html

I had gone to the wedding of a dear friend the day before, and had very much enjoyed watching him and his new bride celebrate this on a beautiful fall day, and was very happy for both of them. A wrenching moment, though, came for me as I watched the bride have her dance with her father, to the music, "My Girl"; the same song my sister danced to with our father at her wedding. And I broke into tears, my friend N. putting her arms around me.
I pulled myself together, but the reason for my tears was not just the unbidden memory of my sister's wedding and that particular dance; somewhere, inside myself, I knew, bone-deep, that I was going to miss having that opportunity, miss creating that memory, those photos, and it tore at me.
"It" (these crazy thoughts) was something I didn't talk about to anyone, much less my mom or sister, and really, to none of my friends.
When my father's prognosis of 'cancer-free' came on October 13th, a few short days later, it did absolutely nothing to take these crazy thoughts away. I had snapped at a coworker during a dull meeting when she accused me of looking at my watch one too many times. My boss, who had lost his own mother to cancer a scant eighteen months earlier, followed me as I left the boardroom and said how sorry he was--he hadn't known I was waiting for 'that' kind of news. He asked me to phone him later after I had heard.
I did call him, after my mother called as I was driving home from work, her voice joyous. I tried to match her enthusiasm but inside I was again, feeling torn. My boss had reacted joyously too--"This is the BEST possible news!" Me, flatly: "I'm just not feeling it". He was puzzled, but as I do so often, I didn't elaborate.

I didn't "feel" optimistic. I chided myself that this was the by-product of months of stress; my own personal life had been dizzyingly chaotic, and now I had a new, wonderful boyfriend. Maybe all the good fortune was scaring me. It's tough to adjust to the bad in life, but sometimes, it's tough to accept the good, too. We look for that cloud in every silver lining (I do, anyway.)

On their actual anniversay day, last October 10th, we gathered at my parents, gave cards, had champagne, which my father weakly sipped; he was still at that point, after all the treatments during the summer, of being unable to eat. We didn't have a family thanksgiving dinner, but we did reflect on anniversaries and thanksgivings past.
As he would later that year, on Christmas Day, my father had a strange, far-away look in his eyes, one that worried me. His expression as I read it said "This is the last ________ (fill in the holiday/occasion) I will be here for".
This terrified me.
Again, I talked to no one about my fears.


October 10th, now, 2011.

I've spent the day quietly, after a nice Saturday and Sunday celebration with my mom, sister, and the kids. First, Saturday thanksgiving dinner at my loft, with everyone trying not to focus on the fact that we had set the table for five, not six. Sunday we had dinner at my mom's, the kids celebrating with their father and his family. We ate leftovers, talked about my Dad, had champange, just the three of us, and yes, there were some tears.
I came back from my mom's house last night and did none of the cleaning up I planned. Instead, I sat on the couch staring vacantly at the TV, watching Dark Knight. I finally fell asleep, early, and thrashed the sadness out this morning with a 10-mile run with my sister. By the time I arrived back home I could barely limp up the 12 flights of steps to my rooftop deck, where I spent the next two hours, reflecting, reading, drinking water and Gatorade, and allowing the sunshine to feed me some of its eternal optimism.
I'm still reading Julia Cameron's memoir about finding her way in the world as a creative person, the writing of all her books, against the backdrop of often intense bouts of mental illness and personal challenges.
I adopted her simple prayer today as I sat on the roof, alone, "Please guide me".
She always asks that while out walking, communing with nature, and I asked that today.
No, it's really not a time of intense personal challenge--grief notwithstanding--but for me, it is a time of immense personal change, and maybe some of the personal growth and development I've been so committed to over the past two years is finally beginning to show signs of taking root.
I am almost finished reading Cameron's book, but throughout reading it, I've flipped back to the beginning, where she lists her bibliography of her own published works, just to see if what she was working on at that time in her memoir really did come to fruition (most of her works have). It was while flipping back that I realized I had missed the acknowledgment--it was at the start of the book, unlike most others I have seen, that tend to be tucked at the back.
She acknowledges her gratitude to those who have shaped her life and 'these pages.'
Then she opens with a simple poem from her own works, called Why we Write, and these were the lines that stood out for me:

We write because
The light we have to see by
Is always shifting

So very true. The light has shifted so much recently. On this coming October 13th, now, in 2011, I wait for no news. It will be the four-month marker point since his death in June.

So, I will continue to ask, "Please guide me".

Journal 70 Favourites part one

I know that I've done alot of listing lately. It's helped me clear my head. My thoughts have been so random and unstructured that I've had trouble maintaining a narrative lately.
Reasons? The end of summer, maybe, and all the clarity I get from hours on the rooftop on the weekend, alone with my thoughts, letting them unfurl, the hot weather and sunshine making me grateful to be alive. I know everyone loves autumn, fall, what have you, and I have NO argument
against its undeniable beauty and the crispness of the weather. As a person who is forever over-heated, believe me, I adore the temperatures in fall. But the winter looms, the darkness comes so quickly, and I lie in bed in the morning and face the day and sometimes it's just a bit much.
Anyway.
In an effort to remain positive, I tried to compile the things I like in a simple list, with reasons behind them all.

Category: Movies/TV
TV
The Real Housewives of New York
I can't help it. I love all things New York, but these women take the cake. Their constant efforts to remain young and hip remind me that growing older takes grace and stamina, and acceptance. Not plastic surgery, fake friendships, and lies. I watch these women as they dance with youth, live in a state of perpetual denial, and drink away their problems. Who says that reality tv doesn't have lessons for us?

Law and Order UK
Watched 2 back to back eppys last night. Wow. Less emphasis on the crime, more on the people, very British, very play-wrighty and very un-American. For instance, last nights' second eppy was about a young man accused of killing his pregnant fiancee. He had been convicted as child of being an accessory to a murder, so of course he was already guilty in the minds of the police and the lawyers prior to even being charged. But it wasn't that simple. He had a crazy therapist who had murdered his fiancee and framed him, because she was in love with him. And she had no qualms about letting him go to jail, because she could still treat him. In the end, all this unravelled for her, and the young man was free to go. Except that he was found hanging in his cell in the prison where he had been awaiting trial. His young lawyer, who idolized Ben Daniels' character in the eppy, was disillusioned. And Ben Daniels' character didn't just miscalculate a case--his actions indirectly led to someone's sad death, and a fellow professional who looked up to him, who was just starting out, was left feeling bereft. The American show, which I do love, could have never achieved this kind of under-played pathos.

Til Debt Do us Part
First of all, I love the host/money-queen-supreme of this show. At first I could not figure out her background. Her accent, to me, had a tinge of the Irish, and her manner--strong, informed, and 'on it', did too. But a friend of mine shared on FB that Gail is Jamaican! She is amazing. She takes couples to task about their shoddy finances, their treatment of each other, and their staggering consumer debt. I also admit to a fascination with this kind of dirty laundry. It's like looking at other people's homes. What DO they do in there? I punish myself routinely for buying anything on a credit card. At one point during my early adulthood, I went almost ten years without a proper vacation. If I didn't have the money for it, I didn't have it. And it blows me away that these are COUPLES, often both with very healthy incomes, and that each bill is SPLIT in half for them. I have paid all my bills, the whole bill, on my own, for the entire time I've lived by myself, all in all about twelve years. It's eye-opening to see the attitudes in our society about consumer debt, and how much money we collectively waste on STUFF.

MOVIES

I preface this by saying I have alot of trouble sitting still for a movie. Chick flicks are not in my repetoire, and neither are romantic comedies, or tragedies with all their fake, phony emotions.

I gravitate toward movies revolving around work, action that requires intelligence, character-building, and with Mike, horror. I can't watch them alone, but with him I can sit through them. Odd.

Devil Wears Prada

Clothes, clothes, hairstyles, more clothes, make up, a job from hell (no comment), and the type of boss that ends up being the person you learn the most from. I remember my early-career years so well. When a comment could move your neurotic 20-something self to tears. Where a client had the power to ruin your day.
Ah the 20's. So long ago. Thanks be to Christ.

Wall Street
The greedy, unbridled 80s. What a decade to have started a career.

Traffic
Plot-driven, riveting. People need their kids to watch this today. It never gets old.

Mermaids
I wrote a whole blog on this a little while back. I never get tired of it.

Heathers
Female frenemies(!)at their finest. I also love Winona Ryder. And all the colour-coded clothing.

Amelie
French, gorgeously shot, quirky, out-there, and just plain original. My favourite type of movie. Tugging at my heartstrings while taking in beautiful scenery, colours, and characters. No North American could have made that film. NO ONE. We're too self-obsessed half the time to bother with the world around us.

I'll move on to something more important: BOOKS.

http://carolyninthecity-citygirl.blogspot.com/2009/07/summer-reading-schedule.html

I can't do the entire list justice here, so I give you my summer reading schedule from July 2009. These are books that I turn to when I really don't know what to read, and I own all of them, and re-read them from my library. (Yes, I have a library. It's in my dining room. It's part of my ever-evolving experiment to decorate with books, and I've colour coded them and and also grouped them by theme. Fascinating stuff, I know. I'll have to get a pic up here).

Websites
I did my top ten websites a couple of months ago.

http://carolyninthecity-citygirl.blogspot.com/2011/07/journal-38-list-making-as-alternative.html

And no matter what I do to this post, it doesn't want to cooperate in terms of list-spacing. I've given up. But my favourite websites are on there.
Houzz.com is a new one I've discovered, fyi. And on all the plethora of 'amateur' design blogs out there, I can spot when they've stolen their photos from this site.
I look at this site ALOT.

Stores
Reebok. (obvious reasons. Best shoes--Runtones. Best lightweight running jackets. Tops. Gloves. Shorts. You name it. Yes. I love Lulu lemon too. BUT COME ON. It's insane in there. See my next entry).
Costco. I am telling you--workout wear/pajama/outdoor coat/ heaven. Also, biscotti, vitamins, hair products, coffee, guacamole, hummous, contact lens solution, socks, dishwasher detergent. Anything, everything. Under one cost-effective roof. So amazing.
Bath and Body Works. Great perfume, lip gloss, hair products again, lotions, candles, all in scents that give fruit-haters like me a new lease on life. Except they discontinued the Summer Vanillas. Not happy. Victoria Secret has a great line of lotions and perfumes, too.
MAC. There are 2 Mac counters I love. 1. In the Bay on Richmond Street, where a red-haired make up artist effortlessly picked out my best shades without batting an eye (Mulch, Ember). 2. Maine Mall Macy's where a lovely man named Michael picked out Lady Grey eyeshadow pallette and Courdroy. All winners.
Old Navy/Gap. They tie for "basics". White t-shirts, black dress pants, workout pants, pajamas again, black skirts, bikinis, summer dresses, underwear. I am a complete bargain hunter when it comes to clothing. The less I spend on an item, the prouder I am. So I go to Gap outlets.
Zellers. See Costco and Old Navy/Gap.

Walmart is hard for me to shop at. The closest one to me is a behemoth of a store with record-setting line ups. And they have all those boycotts. So Walmart is not on here. When I visit the States, my go-to is Target. Hair colour, make-up, creams, more running gear, tank tops, all of it. Super cheap and lots of sales. Last time I went when I was in Maine, Mike was tired so he decided to have a snooze in the car while I shopped. I told him I'd be back in ten minutes.
When I returned, forty minutes later, $ 200 dollars had been well -spent, and Mike had had a nice nap.

Happy.

Ok, Part two of this mindless posting will be forthcoming.
I think I'm going to explore holidays, wine, and running routes in my next post.
Stay tuned.
Also, I love hearing about people's favourite ANYTHING. Remember those email quizzes back in the day your friends and you would send to each other to 'get to know each other better' and all fill in, competing as to who had the funniest responses? The tagline would be something like "Fill this in to get to know your friends better!" and one of the questions would always inadvertently begin with "What is so and so's middle name?" and I would realize I didn't know ANY of my friends' middle names. And then they'd fill it in for me, and I'd forget a few days later when the next quiz arrived.....

My middle name is Ann, just in case.

Journal 69 The Little Things

More gratitude. Since I've been ESPECIALLY annoyed with life/people/everything this week.

List format. No order.

5. My 'new' hair colour, Ebony Brown. Yes, I do it at home. Yes, it's from a box. No, I don't think it damages my hair. No, I don't care that everybody knows it. I have (had) dark brown hair. It is now, at the roots: colourless (that's the term they taught me at Aveda).

But sorry Aveda. It takes too long to get it done at your training school. I start to squirm and lose it as the music plays too loud, my magazine runs out, and the lighting turns me 100.

4. The sunshine this week. Yes, I know I like the overcast days too, but the sun has been nice.

3. Eating chicken every night this week, in various formats. A challenge to myself. Lots of fun.

One night I curried it, ate it in naan wraps with my sister; last night, rosemary, wild mushrooms, tomato, and chicken broth over penne; night before, roasted, with cream sauce, mushrooms again, leftover linguine. So much for not eating pasta. (I had a green vegetable every time, I will say that in my defence).

2. Voting. I know. Seems like a drag--get home from work, walk to polling station, get in line, deal with person with ruler to find your name, fill in ballot, wait in line to hand it in.

But. There are so many countries on our planet where this is not even ON the menu. And for some of them, if it is, it's rigged, you risk your life to go, and heaven forbid they let WOMEN do it.

1. Long weekend ahead. Thanksgiving. All about food. All about family. It's our first family Thanksgiving without my Dad, but I know we will all have fun memories around the table when we take turns saying grace, and letting the kids say it. Also, we'll be all together, the five of us, and some people won't get that for their holiday.

I'm thankful.

Journal 68 Irritated

I know. A pretty familiar state for me, sometimes. I have worked, life-long, to control my irritation at pretty much the whole human race sometimes.

I'm not that 'cheerful' type, and I detest people who are constantly smiling, especially when I'm in a bad mood and I secretly think, "what the f(ck is SO uplifting?' but I digress.
It's Monday, so I already have an axe to grind (I couldn't resist putting that in there) and my voice, to me, has been faint lately, so I'm reverting to my beloved list format.
Things that are irritating me today: (in no particular order, context, or importance. I'll asterix the ones that are REALLY bothering me though).

1. It's been loud in the office lately. Loud enough that I've been tempted to wear my ipod. But I can't do that, it would set a bad example. So I close my door over, breathe deeply and give myself a Louise Hay "you can do it" pep talk. *

2. The weather. Grey. Blah. Bleck. Not warm. Not cool. Like the spring, in reverse. Low cloud ceiling, reminding me of Scotland (shiver).

3. A cell phone in the office that has a 'shimmering' note to the 'you have a message' ping, that goes off EVERY day around 5pm, indicating that someone is halfway out the door. Whatever. *

4. Feeling bad for my sister and a few rounds of bad luck she's endured lately. She doesn't have it easy. She is raising two little ones on her own after a hard divorce, and really going through alot with grief over my dad's death. So, when a guy blows her off or is insensitive, or when a friend doesn't cherish her by giving her some face time, it really really irritates me. It's always that way with siblings I think. ***

5. Traffic. The mini van who completely made me lose my cool this morning. When you are the lead car at an advanced green at a HUGE intersection, do not sit there when the arrow comes on. I will honk at you, politely, to let you know that you need to go. Do not take this an as invitation to become as passive-aggressive as possible and drive under the speed limit, with exaggerated care, for the next 5 kms. I will get, for lack of a better word, extremely p*ssed off. **

Part two



6. It's now Tuesday. Tuesday at 530 am. And I'm awake, and I have been since 4-something am. I don't know the exact time since I keep my clock radio set 30 to 40 minutes ahead to 'fool' myself. I'm drinking coffee out of a glass cup because coffee tastes better out of glass. And also, because, like it or not (not), I'm now up for the day.

Journal 67 Fall

I know..the word "autumn" is one of 'those' words for me--not pretentious, but we're leading into Canadian winter. Fall seems the appropriate terminology.
Fall means a kind of buckling down. We (I) start eating more. We get ready for all these family holidays (sometimes they feel mine-field-ish), Thanksgiving, leading into winter and Christmas.
I tend to hole up, cleaning more than I should, cooking more chicken, snacking on carbs, and enjoying (?) cooler runs.
I ran another 17 k yesterday (11 ish miles). It hurt. Alot. At one point, on mile 10, I had to stop and use some construction railing to stretch out. I felt alot better after that.
The whole run was a success, based on the fact that I never fell back on walking, and I got, no kidding every single city green light on my city run. That NEVER happens.
But my pace was slow, slower than when I ran in high summer. I couldn't figure it out--I enjoyed myself more, I lost myself more, but I ran at a shameful, jogging pace. Not sure what happened.
And hear this--no runner's high. Nothing. I will admit I lost myself enough to lose focus on what was playing on my ipod, but that is no substitute for flying out of your shoes, metaphorically, and soaring over every problem in your life.

I hobbled the rest of Saturday. I needed extra dinner, and an extra shower.
In the morning, this morning, I needed even more water, and I took a tylenol one to stand upright, I'm ashamed to admit.
I looked outside. It was a cold, grey, iron day. And then the rain began to fall.
I wanted to do a cute little 5k today, a little afternoon salute to all the feet pounding the pavement in this morning's Run for the Cure, but I couldn't manage that. Too much pain, too much risk. I settled for opening an August edition of Running for Women and reading about training advice, and then my sister and I ate a dinner of curry-chicken wraps, hummus, and chips. The dizziness went away. More water.
So.
I think about Saturday's long run, and what it took for my head to get there (your legs must be strong, but your head must be stronger), and I felt pride in my psychological commitment to this painful 'sport' I have chosen, has chosen me, and then I read the beginner training program in the magazine and realized that despite bad times (literally and figuratively) I am no longer a beginner. According to Running for Women, in spite of my lack of formal races, lack of awards/accolades, I'm really an intermediate. Weird. When did this happen?

I continue to trawl along the city streets, I continue to aim for morning runs during the week--it is a true dream of mine, to do my weekday running at the crack of dawn, and start my day off in the most disciplined way possible, but also in the most dreamy.
Because running is a dream sometimes. Reading about it makes me remember the high, the beat of my pulse, and I forget all about the pain, the drudgery that sometimes invades, and those days with leg cramps, stomachaches, shortness of breath...all of it.
Like anything we love. It saturates us with frustration only to grant us pure freedom.