you know those dreams that you sometimes have, where you’re trying to run but your legs suddenly weigh a thousand pounds? your feet seem like they’re cemented to the ground? your body feels like it’s maneuvering through an enormous but invisible vat of tar? every muscle strains to move you but you go absolutely nowhere, and you try to scream but you open your mouth and nothing comes out?
sometimes, metaphorically, i feel like that when i’m awake.
some of my closest friends live the farthest away.
even though we don’t see each other every day... or every month or every year or even ever at all... the bonds we’ve formed are undeniably strong and our friendships run deep. for them, i am truly grateful.
we may not be there to dive into the same cake on each others’ birthdays, or to clink glasses across a table as we celebrate a success, or to offer a shoulder to cry on in moments of sadness, but what we lack in the quantity of our in-person time, we more than make up for in quality of our connections.
as clichéd as it may sound, my faraway friends have been there through thick and thin, for joys and sorrows, in laughter and tears, amid scutigerae and mr. poo. i’ve been given massive amounts of support and encouragement and love and silliness and trust, as well as the odd roller-derby poster or box of tic tacs or handmade card or beautiful photograph or creepy video starring gnomes. (seriously.)
these relationships have become integral in my life. my faraway friends and i communicate primarily through the written word, so (as a writer) maybe it’s easier for me to be open and honest with someone who’s thousands of miles away and reading what i have to say. maybe that allows for greater self-revelation and, thus, a better understanding of one another. maybe it’s less scary to reveal my fears or hopes or doubts or dreams or insecurities or joys or problems to a friend who lives outside my day-to-day social circle.
or maybe it’s just wonderfully comforting to know that i always have folks who don’t live nearby but who cheer me on or offer advice or provide counsel or share feelings or simply listen when i need it.
just because.
and that’s pretty awesome.
so, on this day when a couple of those faraway friends are celebrating something great, i’m thinking about these relationships and what they mean to me.
which is fitting as a closing entry for the birthday-week ponderings, i think.
sometimes, my favourite part of a trip happens at the very end, when i walk through my own front door after a time away – be it a short jaunt or a long spell – and exhale a long, slow, weary-but-contented breath.
it’s that moment where the door closes behind me, i put my bag down, the world snaps out of soft focus and the vacation instantly changes tenses.
for some, this moment is sad. and, admittedly, sometimes it is for me, too.
but, more often than not in my case, it’s pleasant. a feeling of comfort. familiarity. of quiet and calm.
i unpack my things, put stuff away, decompress and unwind with a thoughts of what transpired – good, bad, funny or weird – on my travels. and i feel strangely happy.
because, as delightful as it often is to be away on a random misadventure or road trip or journey of self-discovery, sometimes it's just as nice to come home.
hopefully, as you’re reading this, i’m wandering through a U.S. mall and enjoying all the sales that american retailers have to offer. i mean, is there anything more unexpectedly fulfilling than finding some great thing on SALE? (note: yes, this even includes situations where the retailer in question is confused about their own sale.)
and america? it's a place that knows how to have a sale.
in canada, “sale” usually means 10-20% off. in the U.S.? trix and i have frequently bought stuff for 75-90% off. NINETY percent off. THAT’S a sale.
over the years, we’ve learned how to spot them, which signs to look for in which stores, what time of year to go in order to get shoes cheaper than usual or coats for a fraction of their original price or a deal on marshmallow fluff. and many american retailers (at least those along the canadian border) now allow us canucks to participate in rewards programs and store credit cards, or they celebrate our presence with “international visitor” coupons, which usually means an extra 10-15% off already reduced items.
score!
since i’m not actually at a computer this very second, i can’t fill you in on what we’ve found or what kind of awesome bargains we’ve scooped up... but i guarantee you there will be at least a few by the time we get home.
by the time you read this, i’ll be in buffalo for a birthday shopping weekend avec YB. it’s our first mini road trip in about a year, and the road trips we take are always a blast.
years ago, we’d take two weeks each summer and head south somewhere. usually the carolinas. then, as it is now, she’d do the driving and my job was/is navigation (though, to be honest, that task grew less important the more familiar we became with the cities we visited repeatedly) and, as she coined it, "music and morality." she meant keeping up morale via in-car entertainment and conversation, and i corrected her immediately, but we loved it anyway so the title stuck.
we’re great traveling companions, trix and i. we have the same mentality, the same foibles and – save for her persistent need to be first in line for any complimentary continental breakfast (meaning we’re up at 7am, frequently for stale muffins and dry bagels) – the same vacation preferences.
we both love a long day out shopping or sightseeing. target at 9am or 9pm is heaven, and sweltering walks through downtown charleston with an iced beverage are surprisingly pleasant.
we both love coming back to our hotel room with american snack foods and spending the evening unwinding with american cable TV. nightclubs? bars? no thanks. we're quite happy with animal planet or lifetime or oxygen.
we both love things that are FREE. this includes samples, gifts-with-purchase and museum admissions. the more we get is directly proportionate to how happy we are.
we both love efficiency. we don’t toddle. we don’t dilly-dally. we make the most of our time and we can finish a mall or attraction in record time. we know what we want and need and like, and scrap the time-wasters.
we both love eating crap! nothing beats an IHOP or an olive garden or a cheesecake factory when we're away. sure, they're lame chain restaurants, but there's something comforting about making pit stops there when we travel.
and, even though we totally get on each other’s nerves and inevitably have some kind of argument at some point, we never fight and we always have stuff to talk about.
most importantly, we always return from one road trip ready to take another.
doing laundry makes me happy.
extremely happy.
seriously.
sure, many people consider it a chore, but i don't. in fact, i find it a hugely satisfying, surprisingly relaxing and borderline meditative activity. again, something so seemingly mundane and simple, but something i actually look forward to doing. i suppose this shouldn't really come as a shock, to me or to anyone else, given my passion for cleaning.
but there's something extra-delightful about laundry. aside from the joy of watching a full hamper be sorted and whittled down to nothing, aside from the fun of mixing and matching and titrating different detergents and fabric softeners to my own unique signature blend, aside from the satisfaction of extracting warm, fluffy and spotless clothes or towels or socks or linens from the dryer... there's that distinct, dreamy pleasure of the SMELL.
the fresh-laundry smell.
honestly, it makes me giddy.
especially when i'm standing in front of the laundry-folding table in my parents' basement, as i did earlier today, staring at stacks of neatly folded, fresh, warm laundry, just basking in the completion of the task and buoyed by that smell.
maybe i'm crazy, but i love it.
(note: so does kyle, apparently, since one of his favourite napping spots in an unattended basket of clean clothes.)
every day, i have milk and cookies.
the same kind of milk, and the same kind of cookies, in the exact same quantities, every single day.
i have been doing this for years, daily without fail. the only exceptions being when i’m out of town or sick.
and i know this milk-and-cookie routine may seem pedestrian (or weird), but it’s such a simple thing and it brings me so much comfort and joy.
in short: i love my snack.
the milk is not plain, it’s coffee milk – a 12oz. plastic starbucks cup of cold 1% milk, mixed with nescafé’s iced java coffee syrup (like chocolate syrup, only coffee flavoured) a teaspoon of starbucks vanilla syrup and about a tablespoon of half & half cream. stir and enjoy.
delish.
the cookies are mr. christie’s arrowroot cookies. a plain, wafer-y cookie that goes perfectly with a sweet beverage. and i always have seven. exactly seven. not six, not eight. i don’t know why it’s seven... it’s just always been that way, and seven cookies are the perfect match for the 12oz. of coffee milk. i always manage to finish my last sip of milk at the same time as i take my final bite of cookie.
i don’t when or why i started this habit, but i know i was doing it for years at hell house. it started out as an afternoon snack, usually while watching oprah, and gradually moved earlier and earlier in the day. now it’s breakfast; with ellen most of the year, and with kathie lee and hoda once ellen goes into reruns for the summer. if there’s a day where i don’t have this snack, it’s like i’ve omitted something crucial.
and i don’t know why i love it so much, or why i haven’t gotten sick of it after this time. i mean, if i had the exact same thing for dinner every day, i’d be ready to bail after about day three. but this cookies-and-milk thing has remained.
and i’ll be having it again tomorrow morning.
today is day one of my birthday week, and – in keeping with the glass-is-half-full, be-grateful-for-what-you-have practice i'm trying desperately to cultivate and embrace – i’ve decided to use the next seven entries to give thanks for the little things that make me happy. both to celebrate them, and to remind myself of how wonderful they are.
these will be in no particular order, just random. and they in no way encompass the whole of what/whom i love or care about or enjoy. just seven posts, with seven thoughts, about seven seemingly simple things that bring a smile to my face or a warm fuzzy to my heart. some may be frivolous, others more thoughtful, but doing this a way of giving myself a clear theme for the week... both on the blog and off.
today’s topic: hugs.
is there anything simpler or more effective than a hug? i love hugs. they cost nothing, and sometimes mean everything.
one gesture, infinite interpretations. hugs can say:
hello
i like you
i love you
you mean the world to me
i need you
i’ve missed you
don't go
i’m sorry
are you alright?
don’t cry
it’s okay to cry
don’t worry
i understand you
i may not understand you, but i support you
i forgive you
you matter
thank you
you’re welcome
congratulations!
my condolences
we’ll get through it
hang in there
lean on me
help me
good luck
better luck next time
great job!
you’re awesome
no... you are
welcome home
bon voyage
i’m so glad we’re finished
i'm so glad you're here
i’ll protect you
goodnight
good morning
goodbye
... and countless other things.
no matter what, though, they say, "i care."
remember a while back when i said i’d stumbled upon a new, highly unexpected and highly unlikely source of weekly inspiration?
i’m still watching.
only now, it’s not by accident. over the past several weeks, i’ve slowly found myself looking forward to my sunday night bedtime lecture. and, again, to reiterate: it’s not a religious thing for me. it’s motivational.
each week, it’s as though the message being conveyed is being beamed out to me. the context is always oprah-esuqe: living your best life. and i dig that.
this hasn’t been the greatest week for me, and it’s very easy for me to get sucked into a gloom spiral when things go awry, one after another. so tonight, i really needed to hear exactly what i heard:
that it’s okay to want the extraordinary.
that it's okay not to settle.
that it's okay to dream big.
that it's okay to imagine something great for yourself.
in fact, all those things aren't just okay, they're encouraged.
* i went to the very last sharron's party tonight and, six months later, she's still a goddess. after tonight, no more parties, which is very sad... but surely great sharron matthews things are to come, which is very exciting.
* i am contemplating applying for a freelance position that was just sent to me. yet i find myself hesitating when, a year ago, it's a job i would have leapt at. interesting.
* i am continually amazed at the ability of people to surprise you. and not always in good ways.
* i discovered that, apparently, jeans and a crisp white shirt is a good look for me.
* i am not surprised that critics are crapping all over The Proposal.
* two different people i know had to put down animals they love this week. this is very sad.
* i should be in bed right now.
i have some truly wonderful, hugely talented friends.
and it's always amazing when i'm lucky enough to see one of them do his or her thing.
the other day, i was lying on my chiropractor’s table at the end of my appointment, and she was getting ready to leave the room.
earlier, we’d chatted about my life, as we always do, and she’d had some encouraging words about progress, change, and moving on. even though i only see her once a month, she knows what goes on with me – both physically and emotionally – and she’s always an excellent source of advice and universe-driven suggestions.
with her hand on the doorknob, she turned around to look at me and say goodbye. then she suddenly blurted out, “OMG, i have to tell you this one thing. i can’t believe i didn’t think of it sooner.”
she said that she’d been having some struggles of her own, and that a friend of hers gave her the most brilliant analogy to help her cope and understand how to keep going.
and the gist of it is:
think of growth in your life as a set of air-lock doors, like the ones they have on submarines or the security kind they have at jewelry stores. you open the first set of doors and step into the middle chamber, and you make progress. but the second set of doors – leading to wherever you want to go or to whatever you want to get – will only open once you firmly close the first set behind you.
not before.
and i thought that was kind of awesome.
i’m consistently amazed and delighted at how willingly strangers will share their stories with you if you just pause long enough to listen.
this morning, i walked from my place to my chiropractor’s office (about 35 min.), and then from there had to head to an office on the U of T campus (another 30 min. or so). the weather’s grey and humid today, in preparation for three days of forecast rain, so it wasn’t ideal for a stroll but was nice nonetheless.
as i made my way along st. george, i was approached by a pair of young men. they looked very much alike, and were clearly brothers, in their early 20s at most, and they were dressed very sharply – crisp, pastel dress shirts and tidy dress pants. they were obviously en route to some kind of fancy-ish event.
and they looked lost.
“excuse me,” pink shirt said, coming towards me. “do you know where convocation hall is?”
i did, and gave them directions. but the campus is big and they still looked kind of confused so, as we all stood at a stoplight waiting to cross the street, i said, “you know, i’m going towards there anyway so i can show you where it is.”
“oh, sweet, thank you!” said pink shirt. his brother, blue shirt, sort of walked behind us.
as we carried on along st. george, i asked if they were heading to a graduation ceremony, and pink shirt said they were. “and we’re late,” he added.
then, without prompting and over the course of maybe four minutes of walking (tops), pink shirt told me that it was their sister who was graduating, what program she’d been in, that she was already inside convocation hall the last time he’d called her to say they were on their way and that she’d told him then not to call again in case the ceremony was underway. i found out that pink shirt had never been to the U of T campus before, “even though my sister’s been here for four years!”
he told me how she’d visited his school many times, but he’d never managed to get downtown to return the favour. he was worried they’d missed the start of the graduation (which they had), and hoped that they wouldn’t cause any disruption by entering the venue late. we chatted briefly about the campus, and the old buildings, and then he said (bless him), “so, are you a student here?”
i said no, that i’d graduated from a different university some 15 years ago, but was flattered that he’d mistake me for a co-ed.
when we finally neared his desired destination, i pointed him through a pathway. “it’s through there, and then just to the right,” i said. “have fun!”
“thank you so much!” pink shirt replied, and he and his brother hurried off down the lane.
it was such a short, random encounter, but kind of made me smile for the rest of the morning.
for as long as i’ve lived in this apartment building, the laundry room has been outfitted with a trio of ancient washing machines, and a matching set of three dryers of varying drying ability. they were functional, but old and dying slow deaths. it didn’t help matters that, twice in the last six months, someone’s broken in, busted them open and made off with a ton of coins.
over time, in doing my laundry with those machines, i learned which washer is best and which dryer only half-dries clothes. i found my way around their quirks and tried my best not to be squidged out by the occasional state of filthiness a prior user would leave them in. seriously, there are few things more off-putting than brown smears of indeterminate origin along the opening of a wash drum, or a collection of hair (human or animal) lining the door of a dryer.
nevermind the fact that, no matter what kind of detergent or fabric softener or dryer sheets i used, my clothes ALWAYS came out of those machines with a kind of stale scent that i think was an amalgam of 30 years’ worth of residue from everyone who’d ever laundered anything in them.
so, in the past six months, i’ve reverted to doing my laundry at my parents’ house... but that requires a ride to and from their place because carrying three hulking bags of clothes or linens on the subway is really not fun. so, my stuff is always clean and fresh, but the process isn’t the most convenient and hinges on other people’s availability to drive me to and fro.
but my parents’ dryer is currently being fixed, and my laundry was piling up, and i’m about to enter a week of wall-to-wall activities where there will be no time to stop and add fabric softener or fluff and fold shirts, so a load was imperative.
ergo: this morning, i decided to do a load of laundry here.
after sorting my colours, collecting my quarters and packing my small tub of detergent, i made my way down to the laundry room. as i approached the door, i listened for the sound of running water or tumbling clothes (as i always do) as a way of gauging whether i’d have to wait for a vacant machine.
i heard nothing. score!
i opened the door to the laundry room and my jaw hit the floor.
there, where those decades-old, decaying machines once stood, were three brand-new, sparkling-clean high-efficiency washers and a matching trio of brand-new, gorgeous, enorrrrrmous dryers.
holy crap.
i literally stood in the doorway for a solid minute, just beholding their magnificence. they were huge and digital and the new cost per dryer load was down to $1.25 from the former $1.75. i pulled open one of the dryer doors and peered inside to bask in its pristine, white walls and marvel at the sheer size of the thing. i mean, you could load a human body in there and still have room for some towels and socks. awesome!
then it came time to figure out how to actually use these new appliances.
affixed to the laundry room’s wall were all sorts of new posters outlining the equipment, and what the different cycles mean, and how much detergent to use, and where to put it, and all kinds of things. but the “problem” with these new HE washers is the fact they require a HE detergent... which is in liquid form and typically low-sudsing.
not surprisingly, as someone who walked in expecting ye olde top-loading machines, i was ill-prepared. i looked down at my little tub of powdered detergent, then back at the big signs telling me this wouldn’t really be my best choice. huh. there was a note on one of the posters, almost like a concession, that said one could use powder, but that it would require putting the clothes in the machine, and then sprinkling the powder on them before starting ‘er up.
this seemed suspect to me. so i reread all of the posters several more times, as if repeated readings might somehow help the information adhere to my brain. i like to think i’m a pretty smart girl, but i swear to you it was like i’d turned into a complete luddite who’d never seen a washing machine before and who’d suddenly lost the ability to read english.
“so, wait... where do i put the detergent?”
“how many pieces of clothing can i put in?”
“when it says `loosely,’ what does that even MEAN????”
“is there some way to add fabric softener without having everything spill out?”
“maybe i’ll just get a washboard and a basin and do all my laundry in my bathtub from now on...”
after (no joke) 15 minutes, i finally felt secure enough to open one of the washer doors and begin laying in my clothes. i did it carefully and deliberately, and felt a bit like this might be the last time i was ever going to see any of it alive and intact. like, maybe everything would be destroyed by this foreign machine, or wouldn’t actually be clean at the end of it all, or that the washer itself would just spit my clothes out the second i left the room.
as instructed, and with more than a little hesitation, i poured some detergent on top, but remained skeptical that any of this was actually going to work.
i closed the door, dropped in my coins, selected the “supercycle” (which adds 10 minutes to the wash process, and throws in a bonus rinse cycle for an extra quarter), and hit the “colours” button to start it.
it started.
per the digital readout, the entire wash cycle would be 40 minutes, so i came back up to my apartment and waited. while i waited, i decided to do some googling on HE washers and using powdered detergent, and was kind of alarmed by what i found.
“beware of overflow.”
pardon?!
seems if your detergent of choice is NOT low-sudsing, or you add too much of one that IS low-sudsing, the washer can overflow. with suds.
uh oh.
i started to panic. had i added too much? is powdered TIDE considered a high-suds soap?! did i just inadvertently destroy the brand new washer with my inexperience and ineptitude???? amid visions of a laundry room filled knee-high with bubbles, and mentally formulating a believable excuse for my mistake, i quickly headed back downstairs.
thankfully, everything was fine. the wash cycle still had five minutes left (per the readout), so i sat down and waited.
and waited.
and waited.
i checked the readout after what felt like five minutes, and it read: 4 minutes.
huh?
as i sat there for another 15 (!) minutes, i learned that, though they are highly efficient when it comes to the usage of water and electricity, and are wonderful for the environment and a miracle of modern science and a godsend for the environment and everything else good and holy, HE washing machines apparently cannot tell time.
after the HOUR-LONG wash cycle finally came to an end, i opened the door and began to remove my clothes. or, rather, i began to attempt to remove my clothes because, in all the topsy-turvy tumbling inherent in a HE wash cycle, every item of clothing i’d put in had completely wound itself in and around every other item of clothing in there. it was like clark griswold’s tangled ball of christmas lights, only damp and made of cotton.
on the upside, and per all the HE literature outlining its remarkable spin capabilities, the clothes – though fully knotted – did emerge remarkably dry, so that was nice.
piece by piece, i detangled.
then i opened the dryer door and began tossing items into its spotless, hairless, cavernous stomach. by the time i was done, the dryer looked maybe ¼ full. i could have easily fit another full load of laundry in there, and made note of that fact for future use.
much to my relief, the new dryers function the same way the old ones did, so there was no learning curve this time. i dropped in my money, selected my temperature and trotted off. when i returned 50 minutes later, everything was perfectly, completely dry and wrinkle-free... a refreshing change from the dryers-gone-by, which would frequently cough out your laundry while it was still damp or, if you tried setting a hotter temperature as a way of ensuring dryness, freshly shrunken two sizes.
very very long story short: i did laundry today, and did it in new machines.
i haven’t yet figured them out completely, and still suspect the HE washer only wet my clothes and tumbled them around for an hour instead of actually cleaning them, but i’m more than delighted that the filthy relics are gone and that, as someone who LURVES doing laundry, my experience just became infinitely more interesting.
the day arrives and raps on my windows far too early, bright and determined and eager for me to rise.
i turn my head, still heavy from a dream, and heave open my eyelids to check the clock: 5:45am. no.
fumbling, i grab the satiny sleep mask from the nightstand and wrestle its delicate straps into place around my head before melting back into the bed.
the pillow’s warm. flip it to the cold side. much better.
exhale. settle.
a crisp north breeze drifting in from the open window tickles my cheeks and toes, but that’s okay because i’m cozy under the covers.
the sleep monster snuggles in.
we wander back into imagination and fear.
soundly, i sleep almost three more hours before my internal clock radio launches into some ‘80s pop and i finally feel morning.
the keens and tevas i wanted to pick up in the states are currently unavailable.
sometimes, i really like cheese.
sometimes, i really like tea.
walking in the midday sun is a big no-no for me.
wavy hair is more work than straight hair.
the queen streetcar going westbound from the beaches is about as reliable as the avenue road bus.
brunch with friends is lovely.
it's possible for me to get on the wrong subway, going in the wrong direction, if i'm lost in a daydream.
long, emotional, funny, introspective, serious, intellectual, silly conversations are amazing.
north winds are heavenly.
blog entries should always be complete BEFORE engaging in long, emotional, funny, introspective, serious, intellectual, silly conversations... especially when they happen late in the evening.
blog entries don't all have to be winners. sometimes, they just have to exist.
a small note about tonight's dinner out: our kindly server, upon hearing that we would have loved to order the tiramisu had it not been so expensive, went away to bring us our bill... and came back with a giant chocolate-hazelnut biscotto.
for free.
he said, "i know it's not the tiramisu, but it's the best i could do."
it was such a wonderfully sweet gesture that i almost got up to hug him. i love it when people are unexpectedly thoughtful and, even more, i think little things like that make such a huge difference in the world.
YB will be arriving for a sleepover in about an hour. she’s actually the one who suggested it, which was a pleasant surprise... especially given the fact that she has a great big house all her own now, and i would have thought visits to the hotel victoria would dwindle as she continues to settle in to her new place.
but there’s something to said for me having an apartment in a swanky neighbourhood, where an avid gardener like trix can enjoy a walk along the sidewalks, marveling at the manicured lawns, meticulously cared for trees and shrubs, and sprawling beds of every flower imaginable.
dinner out at one of our favourite restaurants is our only plan for the evening. YB is paying, which is much appreciated and, my mom theorizes, still part of her repayment to me for all the work i did on her aforementioned, once-laden-with-hideous-carpet-and-wallpaper home.
then we’ll head out for a stroll through the posh local streets. i may bring my camera if the skies clear, because summertime dusk makes for great photo-taking light.
then we’ll hang out here, watching saturday-night movies, eating junk food and planning our shopping lists for our trip to buffalo in a couple of weeks. and, hopefully, no insects large or small will fly out at us. although, having an ally in the fight might tip the bug-battle scales in my favour...
it’s late afternoon, and the sun is creeping slowly around the westernmost side of my building... crawling towards its bedroom and gently casting its fading light against my windows.
i know this light.
it peeks around corners and wraps itself into my apartment, reaching inside with its probing rays... dancing thin, sharp and delicate at first, then meandering broader and heavier, but softer, with each passing minute.
i remember this light from my time at hell house, where its arrival at the end of each day was like a welcome, reassuring hug from the universe. over the course of an evening, the interior of my home was gradually saturated in a palette of rich golds and deep ambers that smoothed over rough edges and jagged emotion. it was so beautiful that i wished everyone could see its heart-stopping radiance. the light was a momentary wonder amid the chaos that thundered outside my door, and it felt like it was just for me, as though mother nature herself was bestowing some rare and secret treasure.
now, in my current apartment, with its wide-open space and enormous windows and overall calm, my walls once again come to life as that same light from the setting sun cascades inwards.
my white curtains, spotted with its bright streaks and hazy shadows, sway as the june breeze blows through, dropping the light into every corner. my plants all crane their necks towards the light, drinking in its nourishment and breathing it deeply. and, in the middle of the room, my oafish sofa acts like a hulking, cozy anchor, the interior sun around which the space revolves.
as the light merges with big red’s inherent, fiery glow, the entire space, just as before, turns a breathtaking golden colour. as the sun continues to descend into the horizon, its rays transition from white to yellow to orange to pink to purple to gone.
bathed in this light, i feel myself wholly at rest. at ease. i exhale. i close my eyes.
this light is comfort and peace.
this light is warm.
this light is tender.
this light is quiet.
this light is soothing.
this light is beautiful.
this light is familiar.
this light is home.
this light is me.
the other day, i was over at my parents’ house, and kyle was lying in my lap, being all adorable and lovey-dovey in a half-awake kind of way. my mom looked over at him and said, “you know, we’ve had him six years and he’s still so entertaining. everything he does is cute.”
she went on to say that she and my dad used to watch me like that when i was a baby. “we’d just stare at you for hours and say `look! she’s smiling!’ or `i wonder what she’s dreaming about.’”
then she added, “and now we look at the kyle the same way... only he never grows up.”
i don’t know why, but something in what she said seemed so beautifully poignant, and i instantly felt a big lump form in my throat.
okay, even if i didn’t have anything to write about today, i was planning on just posting nonsense so that the creepy, hideous photo of the bug would no longer be the first thing beheld by visitors to this blog. because, honestly, no one needs that. i apologize for leaving its ugliness up top for more than 24 hours.
so, instead, how about a funky pair of rocket dog sneakers? me likey!
i saw this particular pair (and its pinkish style-mate) on sale in downtown toronto for $70 and scoffed. as a seasoned cross-border shopper, i knew those same sassy sneaks would be little more than half the price were i to look for them in buffalo... which i will, when young beatrix and i head down there at the end of the month.
(mini road trip! yay!)
so, this afternoon, i spent a good two hours browsing shoes online in preparation for our sojourn. it wasn’t just rocket dogs, though, because i also perused the selection of keens (i LURVE them for their stellar wearability and comfort) and tevas (i tried on a pair here -- in the only half-size-too-small size they had -- and instantly developed a shoe crush), which are consistently cheaper in the states.
for the record, and in case anyone cares, i’m particularly fond of the keen jasper in port royal/rust, the keen ventura canvas in black, and the teva sunkosi 2 in arctic.
see, all this walking i’m doing lately makes me crave a spiffy new pair of shoes to do it in, as well as an aprés-walk pair for things like going to screenings or grabbing some ice cream. the rocket dogs, which are more for casual wear than 21km urban hikes, would satisfy my fashion needs, and any of the keens or tevas would fulfill any functional requirements i have.
all this to say: shoes are on my horizon! i predict the buffalo shopping trip will yield footwear for me, if nothing else.
well, that and maybe a dunkin donut.
there is a bug in my home.
bugs and i do NOT get along.
in fact, bugs generally turn me into a frenzied, squealing, wimpy girl.
ergo: i have a problem.
to backtrack...
on saturday night around 9:30pm, as i sat on my couch watching The Holiday, out of the corner of my eye i noticed something moving on my window screen. it was large enough that i could see its creeping, crawling silhouette from about eight feet away, and distinct enough in shape and size that i recognized it as one of those flying beetle/cricket-like insects that taunt me every june and july. those look like the charming fellow pictured to the right.
oh, f-word.
“please let it be on the outside of the screen, please let it be on the outside of the screen,” i repeated quietly as i got up to investigate. i went and got a shoe, my bottle of soapy water (used to spray bugs, because it suffocates them) and my Moskito Finito® (which, as we all know, has proven fairly useless against this particular genus of intruder in the past).
there’s no overhead lighting in my living or dining room, so all i had to illuminate the scene were my lamps. i crept to the window, eyes locked on the still-moving (however slowly) creature.
thankfully, the window itself was closed, so the insect in question was trapped between the screen and the glass... but, much to my horror, it was on the inside part of the screen. which meant i couldn’t just open the window, flick the screen and have the offending visitor fly off into the night. no, had i done that, the bug would most surely have flown into my apartment and promptly disappeared behind a shelf or into some dark corner where it would lie in wait for me to let down my guard enough so that it could come flying out at me and scare the bejesus out of me when i least expect it because that’s just how evil those things are. (imagine that last sentence being read in one panic-stricken exhalation of breath.)
as i stood there wondering what the hell to do and how i might destroy the bug without risking attack, i watched it crawl along the screen and then... disappear. i have no idea where it went, and the area was so dark that i couldn’t see if it had slipped out of a crack or burrowed into a nook or what. but i fiured as long as the window remained closed, the bug would, at the very least, remain contained.
then i hoped that the temperatures would drop overnight so that it would freeze to death and DIE.
or that the insect might somehow find an exit from the window and meander back out the way it came in. goodbye and good riddance.
i pulled the blinds down and tried to forget that my window well had suddenly become a terrarium. but i could feel its teeny tiny eyes watching me all night through the slats.
on sunday morning, in the bright light of day, i re-gathered my arsenal of weapons, re-approached the window area, pulled up the blind, peered in and saw... nothing. no bug. just window.
i wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or alarmed.
i chose alarmed.
where did it GO????
i checked the window-well area to see if there might be some opening big enough for the bug to squeeze through... but there were none. could i have imagined that it was on the inside of the screen when it was really outside?
seriously... where did it GO?????
just to be safe, i kept that window closed all day on sunday, and watched the screen area like a hawk on sunday night. but the bug did not reappear.
“maybe it really did find a way out and fly off,” i thought, relaxing a little.
cut to last night, as i walked into my apartment around 9:30pm, turned on the lights and saw the familiar silhouette on the SAME screen in the exact SAME spot.
IT WAS BACK.
or, more alarmingly, MAYBE IT NEVER LEFT.
sweet holy hell.
determined not to continue living in fear, i once again got the shoe, the spray and the MF® and prepared to end this nightmare. i opened the window a crack, aimed the spray bottle at the bug (which was now attempting to crawl away to safety) and pulled the trigger. in a split-second, the bug FELL.
into the window well.
into the pitch-black darkness of the window well.
where i LOST SIGHT OF IT.
(*sob*)
like a crazy person, i maniacally sprayed that soapy water all through the window well, hoping that perhaps the initial blast knocked the bug loose and the subsequent soaking would drown it. then i quickly closed the window and waited.
nothing happened.
no insect crawled up, covered in suds and pissed off.
did i get it?
did it work?
would there be a spotlessly clean, decidedly DEAD bug in the window well when i awoke today?
no.
there wouldn’t be one.
because this morning, i repeated the whole schtick again and, AGAIN, the window was EMPTY. no corpse, no angry bug, NOTHING.
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?!?!
i may have to move.
because clearly this insect is not giving up the fight and i can’t keep my windows closed all summer...
ABC has remade NBC's classic 1980s miniseries V and V: The Final Battle as a new series for next season. as someone who LURVED the originals, and holds them dear in her heart, i find this news blasphemous. discuss:
* a sunday out shopping and wandering with young beatrix
* a big bar of mcblooms soap
* cute dogs
* country air on a breezy late-spring afternoon
* empty checkouts
* purple flowers next to deep-pink flowers next to orange flowers... in the sunshine
* sales!
* cleansing breaths
* a cheddar-herb great canadian bagel with veggie-light cream cheese at the precise moment of intense hunger
* vanilla coffee syrup
* a nap on the couch when the sleep monster drops by early
* kyle purring
* socks for $1.00
* familiarity
* a hug from mom
* spacing out on the subway
* long phonecalls with good friends
* quiet
and
* cake... always cake
this morning, i woke up with a sore back. my lower back, to be precise... as though i'd done some heavy lifting or excessive bending yesterday and somehow pulled or strained something. it was stiff and achy. but i didn't do a damn thing yesterday -- i'd stayed in my pyjamas all day and was almost entirely inactive. WTF?
this was not a great way to start a day on which i'd planned for another epic walk with my friend, j-dub.
i did some light stretching and moving in a bid to loosen things up. it didn't really work.
"maybe it'll be fine once i leave my apartment and walk to the subway," i thought.
i thought wrong.
by the time i got to j-dub's place, my sore back was still sore, and was getting slightly more sore. it felt a bit like each step was tightening some internal cinch. i really didn't want to bail on one of our marvelous walks and i truly believed i'd be right as rain shortly, so off we went, with j-dub checking on my condition repeatedly along the way.
but, oh, what a labourious undertaking this was. my back wasn't having any of it. we did wind up walking for about three hours, but it felt more like 20. for both of us. by the time we sat down in a tiny park to rest and have cookies, we were both exhausted. and when we eventually sat down on the subway to head home (note: normally, we WALK home, that's how tired we were today) we were too pooped to chat. even j's dog flopped down on the floor of the subway, totally spent.
yet our total walking distance was maybe 12km at best. a far cry from last sunday's 21km trek.
maybe it was the sun. maybe we needed better snacks. maybe my sore back somehow magically (evil magic, that is) screwed with our plans and tied unseen weights to each of our ankles.
dunno.
but i'll tell you, as soon as i got home and sat down, i actually heard my lower back let out a long groan. i'm heading into a very hot shower now, and have already dosed up with some NSAIDs in the hopes of staving off a locked back when i awake tomorrow.
i picked up my smoked-turkey sub and barq’s root beer, and wandered the food court looking for just the right place to sit down. i was feeling contemplative and melancholy, and didn’t want to be surrounded by noise, so i chose a table in a section that was relatively empty.
i unwrapped my sandwich and began eating, trying not to dwell on my own thoughts but to get out of my head for a bit. my eyes wandered the area, landing on clusters of office workers on their lunch hour, and students on a break having snacks. i tuned into the news playing one of the nearby flatscreen TVs for a bit... without sound, of course.
then i noticed them.
a father and son, seated at a table nearby. they were asian, and the father looked to be in his late-50s or early 60s. the son was a teenager, probably about 15 or so, with shaggy hair and dressed like a typical teenager. no visible signs that there was anything unusual or different about him. but then i noticed that the boy wasn’t actually moving. at all. he was just sitting there, completely still, looking off into the distance.
his father was tending to their lunches, organizing trays, folding their jackets and putting them aside, and carefully placing a large cloth napkin across his immobile son’s lap. then he opened his son’s bottle of water, dropped in a straw and moved it across the table so that the straw was almost at the boy’s lips.
but the son remained still. just gazing into space and occasionally moving his eyes very slowly, as though sedated, from one subject to another.
the father reached across the table and gently pushed the straw into his son’s mouth, and the boy began drinking the water. and drinking and drinking and drinking... and then i saw that, while he’d obviously consumed some of the water in the bottle, he was eventually just miming drinking because the water level wasn’t going down.
after a few moments the father removed the straw and slid the bottle aside. he opened the clamshell-container of take-out sitting before his son, arranged the chopsticks and then went about eating his own meal. i kept watching because i wanted to see whether the son would actually be able to manipulate chopsticks, or even move to try to eat his lunch.
he did not.
i could see the father watching his son as he ate his own meal, waiting for the boy to begin. but paternal instinct soon took over and, gently... sweetly... lovingly... the father reached over, took a chopstick-full of food from his son’s container and fed it to him. the boy, still looking elsewhere, opened his mouth and took the food. he chewed slowly and deliberately, and rested his hands on the table.
it eventually dawned on me that the son likely had a brain injury of some sort, because he wasn’t moving even though he clearly could physically move. he wasn’t paralyzed – he’d walked to the table and sat down – but something in his brain was preventing him from doing what he needed to do.
i watched for a short while, struck by the profound beauty of such a simple gesture: a father feeding his son. i wondered how often they’d repeated this process before, and what it must be like for each of them. i felt a heaviness in my heart. or perhaps a swelling. or maybe both. but i felt strangely fortunate to have witnessed their meal together.
then the boy looked over at me, and his eyes met mine. so much revealed within them. i held his gaze for a few beats, and smiled... then felt tears rising. i looked away, quickly finished my sub and headed off before i started crying.
sometimes, we have to accept the truth, even if illusion feels better.
sometimes, we have to do what we need to do, even if we don't think we can do it.
sometimes, we have to listen, even if we don't like what we hear.
sometimes, we have to believe everything will be fine in the end, even if it seems like the world is falling apart around us.
sometimes, we have to know it's all for the best, even if we feel our worst.
sometimes, we just have to.
* i’m seeing Land of the Lost later. my expectations are low.
* the sleep monster swept through my apartment again yesterday, so i slept a good eight hours last night.
* the weather has been perfect lately. sunny. breezy. consistently around 18ºC/65ºF. every day that it isn’t 25+ºC is a great day, as far as i’m concerned.
* i have amazing friends who love me a lot. i forget that sometimes.
* B&BW semi-annual sale has begun. i have about $30 on a gift card (from christmas) that i need to burn off. i sense a store visit in my future. (too bad they have yet to open any of their downtown locations!) in related news, i continue to enjoy the Optimism scent.
* yesterday, i felt very weepy and sad. but i got some tough-love advice that was extremely thoughtful, helpful and understanding, which was much appreciated.
* i put a hold on Writing Down the Bones at the library, and am awaiting its arrival. it’s supposed to be quite the book, and was recommended at my meditation group last week. i look forward to reading it.
* right now, i have a massive craving for a krispy kreme raspberry-filled donut. seriously.
* the wall above my bed has been bare since i moved in here more than two years ago. it’s time for something to go there. i think i’m going to buy a giant canvas (perhaps a 3’x4’) and git to painting. it’s been too long since i worked on a canvas that size.
* at the moment, my budget for entertainment is zero.
* i do not understand elle fanning.
* even though i know it probably has enough caffeine to keep me awake for the next three months, i’m kind of interested in trying the new cherry dr. pepper when YB and i head to the states (not available in canada at the moment). because any kind of cherry cola is a good thing.
* my batteries need charging. literally and figuratively.
* to that end, i woke up to a lovely email from my friend yvl this morning, wherein she described a box of cards from which one randomly draws a single card in order to get a message of inspiration or guidance or counsel or what have you. the point being that, somehow, the card you pull is the one you’re meant to read at that given moment. that the universe sends you a message through what’s written on the card. so, she thought about me, and asked what i should focus on, and then pulled this:
For a wonderful day, spend a few minutes in awe! When you let go of trying to make things happen and just "wonder", you allow the energy of all things to move and flow in perfect timing. Before you know it, you will need not wonder - you know!
Perhaps you have been "pushing the river" or have felt bewildered. Now is the time to stop and admire the wonderful view from where ever you are, and then you will be able to move on.
* because the above is so perfectly timed and appropriate for my circumstance, today, i’m going to try to spend a few minutes in awe.
i suck at taking my own advice.
without fail, i can dole out seemingly sane and simple solutions to other people (whose problems, in some cases, are identical to mine), only to have those same solutions all evaporate when i turn around and try to overcome my own obstacles or deal with my own issues. it’s like i completely forget every morsel of logic or sensitivity i’ve dispensed.
and i recognize it happening more frequently lately. i find myself speaking words that might as well be directed at myself. advice that i’d be wise to take. counsel i’d be smart to heed. suggestions i should seriously consider. concepts i could adopt. answers to questions i keep asking.
yet, for whatever reason, i seem unable to help myself – as easily or as readily or as completely – in the same way i might someone else.
i started to explore this notion a little while ago when i wrote about signs from the universe and, more specifically, my inability (or unwillingness) to observe those which do not seem to support what i want. perhaps it’s the same with advice and answers: i know which steps to take, and what needs to happen, in order to solve a problem... but i dig in my heels because i want result A when it’s clear that less-desirable result B is what’s staring me in the face.
the newest concept that i desperately need to embrace is the idea of leaving oneself 3% open to alternatives whenever pursuing a goal. be it a job, a house, a partner, whatever – if there’s something or someone you reallyreallyreally want and believe is absolutely perfect for you, that’s great. go for it. throw yourself headlong into the pursuit process and devote your focus to that goal.
but... as wonderful as that specific goal might seem, as much as you might believe it’s beyond-ideal in every conceivable way, try to leave 3% of yourself open to the possibility of something else. just 3%. a tiny sliver of space into which an unexpected idea or realization or revelation or altogether unlikely but amazing discovery might peek its head. the key intention being that you (or i) remember not to be wholly consumed by this one singular thing or person to the point that everything else is eclipsed.
please know, i say that knowing full well that i am a miserable failure where the above practice is concerned. it’s the opposite of having a short attention span, i think – where my attention is so hugely tuned in to a singular purpose that everything else falls by the wayside. that i am so focused on the one thing that’s not going well (and how to “fix” it) that i completely discount all the things that are going well (and ignore the fact that some things will be perpetually unfixable). that i inevitably shut myself off from possibility for the sake of, often, futility. and that’s no good.
but i’m working on it. i’m trying to learn to force that 3% crack open and, in the process, to remember that sometimes i don’t need to look anywhere but in a mirror to find the person who knows how to solve all my problems.
perhaps you’ve heard of the “sleep monster.”
it’s that slow, seductive thing that creeps up on you ever-so-quietly and makes you drowsy when you really want to stay awake. like when you’re up well past your usual bedtime because you’re watching some kind of live event, and you desperately want to see the end, but you feel your eyes getting insanely heavy to the point that you can barely keep them open. or when you’re reading a book and you feel yourself sinking lower and lower into the cushions of your couch as eye fatigue takes control and the warm lure of a nap finally becomes too much to resist.
the sleep monster is the thing that drapes sleep around you like a velour cape.
sometimes, its visits are unwanted and unwelcome, like when you’re studying for an exam or trying to finish your taxes before the midnight deadline or working the overnight shift at the hospital or driving along the highway on hour four of a seven-hour trek. at those times, the sleep monster is kept at bay by any means necessary. which usually means caffeine.
other times, you cannot wait for the sleep monster’s arrival... but it doesn’t come. for some reason, the sleep monster has decided not to pay you a visit and, no matter what you do to try to entice it, nothing shows up. the sleep monster is nowhere to be found and, instead, you lie awake at 3am, staring at your clock and wishing the sleep monster would take you in its arms and sing you a lullabye.
i mention the sleep monster tonight because, last night, i felt its impending arrival and was looking forward to meandering to bed at an early hour for a deep, long, restful slumber. i’d gone for that 21km walk during the day, and therefore felt physically and emotionally spent. i was more than ready to throw open my door, usher the sleep monster in, perhaps sit with it for a spell and then hit the hay. the sleep monster would gently take me to neverneverland and then leave me to my dreams. or so i hoped.
unfortunately for me, the sleep monster did arrive... and then LEFT. i missed my window of opportunity. the sleep monster began stroking me with its soft, comforting tendrils, and i could feel the drowsiness wrapping around me like a fuzzy blanket, but i ignored it. i distracted myself with some activity or some TV show, and shook off the sleep monster’s loving embrace. i thought i could delay our rendezvous and all would be fine.
i was incorrect.
because the sleep monster high-tailed it outta here, and didn’t come back. despite an epic walk and a body craving rest, i went to bed and stayed awake for HOURS. it was not a good night and i wished ever so hard that the sleep monster might return.
but it did not.
so, tonight, i am more than ready. and, in typing about the sleep monster for the past little while, i have successfully managed to call it back. right now, my eyes are getting squinty and the lids are beginning to feel weighed down. my toes are warm and i can hear my bed beckoning. the sleep monster is here, and i’m not letting it leave this time...
