islands

today is december 31st and, by default, this will be my end-of-2009 entry.

in some ways, yesterday’s entry is, perhaps, a better thematic fit for a last-blog-post-of-the-year because it deals specifically with new year’s eve and hope for the year to come.

today’s does not.

nor does today’s entry revolve around reflection or introspection. it isn’t about regrets or mistakes or fears or joys or wishes or dreams. it doesn’t contain anything about lists for the universe or resolutions for the new year or how either might be knocked off course by fate or destiny or dumb luck.

no, my final blog entry for 2009 is about islands.

over the past few days, i’ve spent a lot of time – i mean, a lot of time – reflecting. thinking. analyzing. examining. scrutinizing. hoping. it’s par for the course every december, yet it felt deeper this year. thicker. tougher. longer. more complex. more wistful. more specific. more pensive.

but, throughout, one word kept inexplicably popping into my consciousness: islands.

that every experience i had in 2009, good or bad or in-between, was like a little island in the vast ocean of my life. and that my journey through those expansive waters is, has always been and always will be, me swimming from one island to the next.

anything can be an island. it can be a person, a place, a thing. it can be a job, a home, a vacation, a disaster. it can be a victory, a failure, a challenge, a fear, a decision, a dare, a dream. it can be a friend, a foe, a lover, a stranger, a birth, a death, a sickness, a cure. and, even more delicately, it can be a thought, a wish, a smile, a tear, a feeling, a moment.

there might be dozens of islands in a year, or hundreds in a day, or a handful in a lifetime. each ocean is different.

sometimes, you land on an island and you stay for a while. you rest and relax and lounge amid its stunning scenery. you soak it all in, feeling wonderful and never wanting to leave.

sometimes, you crawl ashore on an island merely as a pit stop en route to that next island on the horizon. your respite is short, and your visit amounts to little more than a heartbeat in time, but the island has served its crucial purpose nonetheless.

sometimes, you find yourself on an island that’s actually sinking as you stand there, and you know you should depart quickly lest it pull you under with it.

sometimes, you unwittingly swim headlong into a magical island you hadn’t expected. it provides you shelter from a storm, or comfort from the cold, or a sanctuary when you need it most. you may discover it by accident, but you mark it and map it so that you can always find your way back, no matter how far the currents may take you in the future.

sometimes, you keep arriving at the same island over and over again, either by accident or on purpose, because there's something left there for you to learn.

sometimes, the island on which you land actually changes while you’re on it. for better or worse, it begins one way and ends another. that may be the island’s doing, or it might be a result of your presence upon it. islands can, on occasion, be mysterious and malleable and unpredictable things, and aren’t always what they seem.

and then sometimes, for your own reasons, you swim right on past countless islands of indeterminate nature. maybe you don’t spot them at first, maybe they don’t hold much appeal from a distance, maybe you’re feeling strong and simply want to keep on swimming instead of stopping. you move on, and the islands remain.

similarly, per the old adage that it’s not the destination that’s important, it’s the journey that matters: you have to keep swimming.

sometimes, you’ll dive into the water with the strength of a thousand steam engines, eager and determined to swim as far as you can, for as long as you can, because you know exactly which islands you seek and precisely how to get to them. or, sometimes, because you’re trying frantically to escape the island from which you're diving.

sometimes, you’ll be treading water between islands for what feels like an eternity... just a tiny speck afloat an infinite sea of the unknown.

sometimes, you’ll find yourself caught in a dangerous riptide or spinning in a whirlpool or tumbling uncontrollably through wildly choppy waters, desperately reaching for anything to keep you from drowning.

sometimes, you’ll be lucky enough to find bright channel markers or a stray life preserver or blissful stretches of still water or a bobbing buoy at which to rest along the way.

sometimes, you’ll swim in water that is cold. or murky. or rough. or dark. or deep. or filled with insidious tangles of seaweed.

sometimes, you’ll swim in water that is warm. and welcoming. and calm. and without obstacle. and magnificently, perfectly, unbelievably crystal clear.

sometimes, your swim will be perilous. sometimes exhausting. sometimes exhilarating. sometimes monotonous. sometimes amazing. sometimes simple. sometimes devastating. sometimes challenging. sometimes surprising. sometimes joyous. sometimes jarring. but always important and always necessary.

because as frightening as your swim might be, and as lost as you may feel, and no matter how long you’ve already been in the water or how certain you are your ocean has completely run out of islands, if you remember to keep swimming, that next island will eventually appear. and who knows what it might hold?

for me, 2009 was filled with islands of all different shapes, sizes, colours, climates and composition. many of them were uncharted, most taught me something about myself, some were more hospitable environments than others, and a precious few were heartbreakingly beautiful to behold.

getting to my islands wasn’t always easy, and leaving some of them proved incredibly difficult, but i am so profoundly grateful for each one.

because no matter what kind of island you visit, or why you swim to it, or what time you get there, or how long you stay or where you think you're headed next... when you do finally wade back into the water -- whether you realize it at the time or not -- a tiny grain of sand from each island in the ocean of your life will silently tuck itself inside your heart, leave with you when you go and cling gently to your soul forever.

happy new year, everyone.

hope floats

on monday, i wrote a bit about this time of year. about reflection and introspection and trying to figure out an end-of-2009 blog entry. [please note: this isn’t that entry.]

monday’s post contained a quote about happiness that, unexpectedly, sparked some debate in the comments section. some loved the concept, some did not and, ultimately, its interpretation is totally subjective. but within that discussion was a comment that my brain keeps revisiting. matt said, with regard to wanting vs. hoping, “hope is a pretty powerful and positive force.”

and i have to agree. it really can be.

new year’s eve is often one of the hardest days/nights of the year for me. it ranks up there with valentine’s day and my birthday in terms of melancholy and loneliness. and, with each passing year, it gets more difficult.

on new year’s eve, and over the preceding days, i look back on the previous 12 months and, though i acknowledge the good things that happened, i see my failings, my mistakes, my missteps and my shortcomings lit up like casino marquees on the vegas strip. i think about where i was the previous december (or february or june) and where i’ve wound up and realize that, despite whatever plans i made or dreams i dreamed or goals i set, somehow my problems have remained the same and i am not where, nor whom, i wanted to be. i always try not to let those feelings take over, but they nonetheless manage to wrap themselves around me with the deliberate, suffocating embrace of a hungry python.

then, because gloom spirals feed on those sorts of emotions, my mind dwells. i start to wonder how many more of these new year’s eves (or valentine’s days or birthdays) are in my future. it’s been this way for so long that i start to fear this is how it will always be... and before i know it my chest has tightened and tears are welling in my eyes and i’m sitting on the couch, alone, amid the echoes of cheers and laughter from neighbouring houses or apartments when the clock strikes midnight.

but one precious thing keeps me from drowning in the murky waters of my own fears and doubts and sadness: hope.

because every december 31st, without fail, i hope.

every year, i hope that, no matter how much i’ve messed things up, no matter how uncertain i am, no matter how panicked i might be and no matter how lost i feel, better things lie ahead.

every year, i hope that my life will change in the ways i need and want it to change.

every year, i hope that i will change in the ways i imagine i can.

every year, i hope for contentment and joy and peace and love, inwardly and outwardly.

every year, i hope for the ability to better roll with life’s punches... just in case that contentment and joy and peace and love prove elusive.

and, every single year, i hope that, in all the best possible ways, my year to come will be different from those that have passed before.

maybe it’s true that too much wanting can cause despair. but i don’t know that the same can be said of too much hoping.

because, even though wanting things i do not have may prevent me from being fully awash in happiness on new year’s eve, it’s the hope for those things that actually keeps me afloat.

trip

i spent a few days staying at YB’s house over christmas. one afternoon, while we worked on a pasta project in the kitchen, we observed a family of obese squirrels working and playing in her backyard.

for the uninitiated: in toronto, in winter, the squirrels get fat. happens all over the city, to squirrels of every size, shape and colour. they pack on the pounds to survive the cold weather and sparse dining the season brings, and they all look especially cute when they get chunky and doughy like that.

but these squirrels were HUGE.

there were at least four of them, all magnificently rotund and furry and adorable, like squishy, oafy beanbags with meaty little legs and each with a more-than-substantial insulating layer of fat. there were two grey ones and two (possibly three) black ones, and they were rooting around through the dead leaves and stray patches of snow.

they occasionally made their way along the “squirrel highway” (the power and phone lines running between all the homes in the neighbourhood), or up and down the towering trees, carrying enormous mouthfuls of debris with which to line their nests. there had been very strong winds the night before, and trix posited that at least a few of the squirrels’ nests must have lost some of their structural integrity as a result.

two squirrels – one black, one grey – kept chasing each other around the yard and, at one point, broke into a full-on wrestling match. i’d never seen anything like it before: perfectly interlocked squirrels, like a fuzzy yin-and-yang symbol, literally rolling around on the grass. they’d break, then chase, then start again. it was fantastic entertainment.

but when they separated for the final time, i noticed something odd.

the grey squirrel only had three functioning legs.

its right front leg wasn’t really a leg at all. it was kind of a floppy, runty nubbin.

from a distance, you’d never know anything was wrong. this plucky little (fat notwithstanding) squirrel was running and climbing and wrestling right alongside the rest of them, no problem. his buddies didn’t seem to notice or care, and he was certainly getting by just fine. yet, upon closer examination and when he stopped scurrying long enough for me to really see him, i spotted the lack of a limb instantly.

when i pointed out his missing paw to YB, she awwww-ed... and then we both kept watching him scoot around. when he scrambled up a tree, he’d repeatedly pause to catch his breath... his little chest heaving... and then carry on upwards despite his impairment. we couldn’t tell from our distance whether it was a birth defect or the result of injury, but it didn’t matter because he raced around just like his fully four-legged friends. we watched him for about 10 minutes, and then he disappeared towards a neighbour’s house.

i decided he needed a name, since squirrels this unique and interesting don’t spring up every day, and certainly not right in one’s own backyard. i suggested “trip” – short for “triple” and a small nod to his (admittedly irrelevant) condition. trix loved it, and thus he was christened. in absentia, but still.

we kept an eye out for him for the remainder of the day, but he didn’t return. “i hope nothing happens to him,” YB said with sincere concern in her voice.

“i’m sure he’s fine,” i said. “he’s trip!”

and, sure enough, this afternoon, trix had an update: trip had been spotted in the yard again, right as rain and being groomed by one of his fellow squirrels before zipping off through the snow.

this time of year

christmas can be a challenging season and, as december 31st inches near, it's also a period of great reflection and introspection for me. one year ends and another gets ready to begin.

more often than not, i find myself scrutinizing what was and what was not over the previous 12 months of my life. more specifically, scrutinizing myself. what i was and what i was not. frequently, i am my own harshest critic.

this december, it's not just the end of a year, but the end of a decade. so i find myself not only looking back at 2009, but reflecting on the past ten years.

in some ways, i have made great strides. in other ways, i have spun on a hamster wheel. and in a few ways, i have actually stumbled backward.

earlier today, i began thinking about what i would write for my annual year-end blog post. in 2007, i wrote about learning from the past. and in 2008, i wrote about looking ahead with optimism.

i'm not yet sure what this year's theme will be, but perhaps the key will be focusing on a message i saw posted on a bulletin board a few months ago... a message that drifted back through my thoughts this afternoon:

"happiness is really, really wanting what you already have."

reason #54 my father should not socialize

he is renowned for the tactless non-sequitur.

yesterday, my mother went out for lunch with one of her oldest friends, AB. they've known each other since they were teenagers, but are lucky if they manage to see each other once a year nowadays because AB lives way, way out of town. she'd long been partnered with a man of whom none of us were overly fond, so that cut visits down. he'd later developed alzheimer's in the final years of his life, rendering AB housebound in the middle of nowhere. he died two years ago and, from what AB's said, his last days were extremely difficult for them both.

after lunch, mom and AB decided to return to my parents' house for coffee and cake and chatting. they sat down in the front room and, within a few minutes, dad lumbered in to join them. i followed in shortly thereafter to referee, if needed.

as mom and AB tried to enjoy pleasant conversation, dad kept interjecting. often changing the subject even though the subject didn't need changing.

then, during one such interruption, out of nowhere he said, very flatly and matter-of-factly to AB, "so, i meant to ask you, when he (the late partner) died... where did you put him?"

my mom and i exchanged looks of, "WHAT DID HE JUST ASK???"

"he was cremated, right?" dad continued. "so, where did you put him?"

and, after AB answered, trying to keep it light but clearly not wanting to talk about the ashes of the man she'd loved for more than 20 years or reflect upon his death, dad launched into his own story of how, if he were to be cremated after he dies, he'd like his ashes sprinkled in the parking lot of a canadian tire store.

then, he joked that if it was left up to my mom and me, we'd probably just toss him in with the recycling.

"yup. that's what the compost bin is for," i said.

fin.

familiarity breeds contentment

this year, trix and i decided to go to christmas mass on christmas eve. there's a church near her house, and a light snowfall had begun in the mid-afternoon, so we opted to walk, and look at the christmas lights and decorations in the neighbourhood, in order to give the evening as much of an infusion of holiday spirit as possible.

the church is one that, on occasion, i'd visited growing up. usually as part of a joint school activity or retreat. but i hadn't been to that parish in at least 20 years, probably more, and had forgotten everything about it.

walking up to the church in the evening light, with a dusting of snow on the ground, we joined the clusters of people heading inside. lots and lots of families, young and old, and everyone seemed to know each other. unlike many churches i've visited or attended, there was a tangible sense of community in the air -- the priests greeted parishioners by name, hugs and holiday wishes were exchanged from pew to pew and, as trix and i took our seats, i felt this wave of warmth wash over me. and not just from the heaters lining the walls.

it's hard to explain, but there's something about the ritual of mass, and the people who participate in it, that i find profoundly comforting. growing up, and through my mid-20s, i went to mass every single sunday, so there's a familiarity and a depth of knowledge that i possess about the experience that i don't have with too many other things.

so, settling in and letting the pre-mass din unwind the knotted parts of me was especially nice. i watched the elderly ushers, each dressed smartly in his best suit, with his white hair combed back and bright red christmas tie proudly on display, assuredly fielding questions and directing folks where they needed to go. the parish had just recently re-opened after months of renovations, so there were plenty of joyfully wide eyes, and oohs and aahs -- and technical glitches with the sound and lighting systems -- bouncing around.

the older woman handing out hymnals by the doors smiled and wished everyone a merry christmas as they took their books and went in search of the perfect spot to sit. little children, clutching their mothers' hands and pulling with all their might, jockeyed for seats right in the front row, in front of the impressive nativity scene. and, here and there, the pews were dotted with seniors sitting alone, which kind of broke my heart a little, and i wondered about their stories.

the ceremony of mass itself is one i know by heart and, though i sing quite happily in the privacy of my own home, joining in the singing at church -- and doing so at full volume -- is a treat reserved for this time of year for me. carols or hymns, doesn't matter: if it's a christmas song, i'm happy to sing it. and, given the volume of the congregation, the same could be said of most people in attendance.

once the mass had ended and everyone was heading out with smiles and good cheer, shaking hands and hugging once more and excitedly trading stories about how their families would be celebrating this year as they checked the skies to see if it was still snowing, i felt a little misty.

say what you will about the catholic church and mass and what have you, but sometimes, if the energy is right, it can be really beautiful. and, sometimes, revisiting the traditions of the past can bring tidings (however fleeting) of great contentment to the present.

hang a shining star upon the highest bough...

it's the end of christmas day, and i'm the only one awake here.

well, just me... and kyle.

YB went home earlier this evening, because she and one of her good friends are heading out at 7am tomorrow to hit the boxing-day sales. (they do it every year, and i applaud their fortitude. i have no interest in that level of craziness, so i'll just wait for the post-mortem upon their return.)

my parents have gone to bed.

the house is silent, save for the sound of the wind and rain outside.

the christmas lights are still twinkling, in the front window and on the tree.

and, though i had a number of blog topics float through my head today, i figure maybe it's okay to take christmas off.

so, i'm going to give mr. poo his nighttime kibbles and bid him goodnight, then grab the newest issue of Prevention, and read until i'm sleepy.

bernard's first christmas

a retail tale retold

i had some time to kill this afternoon, en route to meeting young beatrix for an after-work journey back to her house for the night. i was wandering through the toronto underground, and found myself in one of the many big financial buildings with a shopping concourse at its base. they'd just opened a bath & body works there, and it (unlike every other store or mall in the city at the moment) was empty, so i thought i'd go in to burn off a little more of a gift card trix gave me last christmas. i opted to try one of their sampler-size bottles of lotion, in a scent i'd never used. it was $5. i knew i still had about $7 left on the gift card, so i went up to the register to pay.

what follows is, almost verbatim, the exchange i had with the very obviously new and clueless cashier:

VICKIE
(handing bottle to cashier)
hi.

CASHIER
is this it?

VICKIE
yep. sorry.

[the cashier scans the UPC code.]

CASHIER
that'll be $5.65.

VICKIE
(handing the cashier the gift card)
i think there's still about $7 left on it.

[the cashier pauses, clearly uncertain how to proceed with this gift-card transaction.
she decides to scan the card.
then she waits and stares at her register's LCD screen.]

CASHIER
okay, so that's $5.65.

VICKIE
is that how much is left on the card?

CASHIER
yes.
(then she checks again)
no, that's how much you owe me.

[the register begins spewing out my receipt, which the cashier then checks.]

VICKIE
i owe you $5.65?

CASHIER
no, sorry, you don't owe me anything.

[the cashier hands me the bottle of lotion and the receipt... but keeps the card.]

VICKIE
so, there was exactly $5.65 left on the card???

CASHIER
yes.

[i check the receipt and notice that, next to the words "remaining balance," it says: $1.97.]

VICKIE
um, no, actually.
(showing the receipt to the cashier)
there's still $1.97 left on the card.

CASHIER
oh.

[she hands back the gift card.]

VICKIE
thanks.

CASHIER
(to the next customer)
i can help the next person in line...

VICKIE
(to herself)
you bet.

fin.

universal studios

anyone who knows me, and anyone who’s read this blog before, knows how i feel about the universe and “putting it out there.” that you ask and, though it may not be exactly what you expect, the universe gives you what you need. i’ve written about it multiple times in various contexts – from always remembering to look for signs to making sure you’re specific with your requests because the universe loves a good loophole – and i’ve got a new thought. new to me, anyway.

as i mentioned in the last entry, i had a bit of an epiphany about the universe and how it works. what i twigged to may be common sense to many, but it hadn’t really dawned on me before i was standing in the shower yesterday, thinking about my annual year-end letter to the universe for 2010 and what i might write. more specifically, whether i would write one at all.

because, i thought, last year’s list didn’t really pan out so much. in rereading it, i saw that most of things i asked of the universe - and there was a lot, covering everything from finances to health to family to creativity and all points in between - didn’t actually materialize. even my admittedly conservative professional plans flopped in just about every way. (looking at the already-modest annual salary for which i’d hoped, and knowing now what i actually earned in the past year, i had to laugh. literally. not even close!) but i did notice that the things that did come to pass were driven by me. that they happened because i took advantage of a sliver of opportunity or pursued a random sign or took a chance. and that some of the ones that didn’t might, in fact, have benefited from a little more effort or focus on my part.

i thought on it, rolled it over in my brain, and it suddenly occurred to me that, most of the time, the universe will set the stage for you to get what you want or need... but you have to be alert and aware enough to find your way there, then determined enough to do the work required.

say, for example, you ask the universe for more patience. or courage. or understanding. or a better sense of humour. or whatever personal quality you feel you’re lacking. getting it isn’t like being injected with a B12 shot – it’s not like you’ll be sitting over your bowl of breakfast cereal one morning, watching Regis & Kelly and doing a crossword, when you’ll suddenly feel a surge of patience or courage or understanding or humour hit you like a bolt of lightning.

no, rather, the universe will hear your plea, then begin purposely placing you in situations where you’ll be able to demonstrate patience or courage or understanding or humour all on your own.

you’ll find yourself standing in a long line at the bank, or challenged to face your fears, or presented with someone you don’t like asking you for help, or left to choose between laughing or crying when your toddler fills the toilet with pennies for the third time in a week... and then it’ll be up to you to use what’s always been inside of you to meet the situation. to tap into your (existing but dormant) patience or courage or understanding or humour to cope or conquer or comfort or chuckle. the universe will give you opportunities to prove yourself to yourself. it will serve as a catalyst for discovery and open the door that allows you to be what you want to be or find what you seek... provided, of course, you’re willing to walk on through that door under your own steam. the universe, though omnipotent, won’t carry you over the threshold. (it will, however, nudge from time to time.)

and the same applies to just about anything. want a new job? maybe that horrible new manager you can't stand will be the reason you quit, and quitting will be what leads you to find a great new position you otherwise would have missed. hoping for a better apartment? you might find one because road work means you have to drive through a new neighbourhood on your way home, where you'll spot a "for rent" sign in the window of a gorgeous old house in an ideal location. desperate to feel like you can make a difference in the world? if you stop to pick up that injured bird you spot near the sidewalk, and then go six blocks out of your way to carry it to a vet, i guarantee you'll feel that and more. the universe does listen, and can make the possibilities and permutations endless. your job is to pay attention... and then do something.

it was a moment of (perhaps overdue) revelation when that lightbulb went off in my head yesterday, and i felt like i’d just figured out another small piece of the puzzle of my life. i reexamined my 2009 list for the universe and began spotting places where i actually felt i let the universe down – that it had met me halfway on occasion, and i’d turned around and gone home.

maybe a list for 2010 isn’t such a bad idea, after all.

i can send out all sorts of things to universe, and ask for whatever i need or want, but i just have to remember that the universe won’t be dropping any of it in my lap in a gift bag, no matter how detailed the stage directions in the script that i write for it to follow.

the universe will call, “action!”, then it’s up to me to act.

ten more things on another tuesday

1. previously, i touched on the subject of christmas cards. here’s one more thought: unless you’re a corporation issuing thousands of cards to all your employees, sending one out with a pre-stamped or pre-printed greeting/signature (i.e., the christmas-card equivalent of a form letter) is, in my opinion, hugely impersonal and pointless. friends should not send these to other friends because, honestly, even if you’re not going to write individual messages to each recipient, how long does it really take to sign your name? two seconds? is that really so much to ask of a holiday gesture meant, one assumes, to spread joy?

2. i’m always surprised when my subconscious gives me what i need through my dreams when i’m sleeping. when i went to bed last night, i really needed a hug and a laugh, so my brain sent me ericanddan (and threw in eric’s brother) in a dream where we not only hugged and laughed, but made huge shortbread cookies with giant chunks of toblerone chocolate inside. if i concentrate, i can almost taste the dough i sampled in my imagination. it was a lovely reverie filled with warmth and, i’m sure, symbolism.

3. yesterday, i saw an NBC promo that was totally directed right at me. it was for Mercy, a show i love (despite its many flaws), and it was set to this song, which i lurrrrrrrve and have lurved for a long while. the commercial was a match made in marketing-to-vickie heaven.

4. yesterday, i also had an interesting epiphany about the universe. i'll write about it tomorrow.

5. young beatrix and i may go to buffalo on new year’s day, weather-permitting.

6. chips, salsa and ice cream are a fine lunch, i think.

7. though, i seem to have lost five or six pounds in the past several weeks, which isn’t good. so perhaps i need to rethink my meal plans.

8. on the theme of snacking: my craving for a milk-chocolate-covered marshmallow santa from laura secord remains, but many of the stores have actually... say it ain’t so!... sold out. though, even if they’ve disappeared, the valentine’s day milk-chocolate-covered marshmallow hearts should be on their shelves by the second week of january, if not sooner.

9. i’d planned to take a walk earlier tonight. it’s cold but dry out, and the sidewalks don’t have any snow, so i thought it might be nice to bundle up, stroll around my neighbourhood and see the lights on the rich people’s homes. but i didn’t. maybe tomorrow.

10. i’m feeling melancholy.

it may be an ear worm, but i like it...

if i had a box of wishes

i would wish for many things.

i would wish that i knew what i was doing more often than i feel completely lost.

i would wish that my victories outnumbered my mistakes.

i would wish that i could conquer loneliness and thwart melancholy upon arrival.

i would wish that my courage might shout down my doubt.

i would wish that i had a thicker skin, a stronger resolve and a higher tear threshold.

i would wish that my life came with an instruction manual, preferably detailed and illustrated, with an extensive section full of troubleshooting tips and an automatic lifetime upgrade covering all subsequent editions.

i would wish that i was able to understand myself better.

i would wish that my understanding would come with a sense of peace.

if i had a box of wishes.

i would wish for many things.

oh, who am i kidding?

i would probably just wish for love.

and then gently put the box away.

reality cheque

so, this week i received my final pay cheque for 2009. it was for invoices i submitted in august and september -- that's how long it's been since i've had paid work, and that's how long it took for me to be paid for that work.

today, i decided to tally my earnings for the year to see exactly how little i'd made.

and it was astonishingly low.

like, abysmal.

as in: well below the poverty-line line.

i knew i'd pulled in a woefully low amount, but i was shocked when i did the final math.

sometime last month, i half-jokingly posted here that i felt it might be time to consider a new career path for 2010, since freelance writing just wasn't cutting the mustard at ALL anymore.

well, it's no longer a joke.

and god bless savings.

the great cake metaphor

baking a cake seems like a simple enough thing.

billions of people all over the world, young and old, in all kinds of places, with all kinds of equipment and all sorts of ingredients do it all the time under any number of conditions with great success. cakes of all shapes and sizes and colours and flavours abound, regardless of the culture or climate or country.

there are endless books and articles and resources available to take you through the process step-by-step, traditions that are passed down through generations, videos to watch and how-to instructions to follow and classes to take, millions of tips and suggestions from countless experts promising to tell you exactly what you need to know in order to bake a perfect cake of your own.

but sometimes, despite the ubiquity of cake baking over the centuries and the infinite amount of cakes churned out every day, baking one isn’t necessarily easy. it can be a delicate process, where all manner of variables are at play that can influence the outcome.

there are the ingredients themselves. sometimes, you have everything you need and you can follow the recipe exactly, down to the tiniest micro-ounce of flour or single chocolate chip. it’s straightforward and clear and everything is poured into the pan exactly as it should be. sometimes, though, you don’t quite have all the components in place, so you improvise and hope for the best, because maybe pecans will be just as good as walnuts, and maybe the cake will be fine if you leave out that extra half-teaspoon of almond extract.

there’s also the equipment. is your mixer strong enough? if not, should you use a hand-held? just a giant spatula? can you eyeball measurements if you’ve misplaced your measuring spoons? will an 8” square pan be just as good as a 9”x11”? and what about your oven? is it hot enough? did you remember to preheat properly? is the timer set so that you don’t leave your cake in too long, or take it out too soon? so much to consider before you slide that cake in and wait for it to bake.

then you have to deal with environmental factors that are out of your control but that will nonetheless affect your cake. where are you? because humidity and temperature and altitude can influence how your cake will turn out. is the air too dry, or the water too hard, or the location of your oven 7000 feet above sea level? you might have to adjust your recipe accordingly to suit your environment, and add a little more of this or a little less of that or wait a little longer for the baking to finish.

and, most importantly, there’s you, the baker. what do you bring to the table? are you skilled? are you a novice? do you have any clue what you’re doing? are you enthusiastic? do you love baking? how many cakes have you baked before and how did they taste? do you follow recipes or wing it, and does it matter? are you patient enough to wait for the edges to get to be just the right shade of golden brown, and are you gentle when you take the soufflé out to put it on the counter? above all else, do you care about that cake you’re making?

so many variables.

so much that can go wrong.

so much that can seem daunting or scary or way too difficult.

so much to make you think, “it’ll be easier to do nothing and have pie instead.”

but...

such tremendous amounts of potential for great things if you just dive in anyway.

sure, you might have the wrong ingredients or an oven that won’t go above 350º, and you might not be able to follow a recipe to save your life, and you might be baking your thousandth cake or your first, but you’ll never know whether you can do it, or what kind of cake you'll get, if you never make the attempt.

maybe it won’t be graceful, and maybe your cake will be lopsided, and maybe you’ll make mistakes, and maybe you’ll have overdone the raspberry filling, but waiting for everything to be perfect might mean you wait forever, and that cake will always remain just a dream. remember: plenty of beginners turn out unexpectedly fabulous creations, and a slew of expert bakers still wind up with one confectionary disaster after another. there’s no way to tell how a cake will turn out unless you try. and you should try.

because when you try, you learn. and when you learn, you grow. and when you grow, your world opens up a little more... and so do you.

and even if you’ve already burned your way through a dozen misfires before, or you fear you’re never going to be able to bake a thing, who knows what wonderful creation will emerge if you simply believe in yourself, wrap your apron around your waist, mix your ingredients together, pour them into your dented bundt pan, slip it all into your oven and hope for the best.

it could be amazing.

clip show: redux

in most episodic TV series, there comes a point where the producers run out of ideas, or the writers need a break, so they throw together a clip show... usually some sort of flashback episode featuring best-of snippets. sometimes they’re great, and sometimes they’re super-disappointing.

i’ve had at least one “clip show” blog entry before, and i’m feeling the need for another. these are some of the entries that i feel are most me, or most expressive, or most meaningful, and the ones that serve as emotional snapshots:

* when i was a 10

* the cottage

* light

* the courage crown

* a summer-evening stroll

* borrowing from mick jagger

* adventures in drainage

* the rain

* beauty

* one play

ten things on a tuesday

1. tonight, i went to a screening of the new meryl streep movie. it was meh. but what made my experience that much less pleasant was the smelly and, evidently, itchy man who sat next to me. i don’t think he stopped moving for more than 30 seconds at a stretch – constantly scratching his arm, or adjusting his collar, or switching his leg placement – and, each time he did, i was hit with a small cloud of “i haven’t washed my hair in about six months.” ew.

2. per yesterday’s entry about christmas cards, as of this writing i have received two – one from my godparents, and one from one of the editors for whom i work. you know, back when i actually had paid work this year.

3. my friend b-dub went to argentina recently, and he brought back two boxes of argentinian cookies. they’re like wagon wheels but, instead of marshmallow, they have dulcé de leche in the middle. one kind is coated in a white meringue, the other is coated in chocolate. you would think these would be right up my alley, but i didn’t care for the chocolate one. (the other was quite good, but contained too much sugar for even me and had to be tempered with a full glass of water for just the one cookie.)

4. yesterday, i saw another girl out in public wearing tights (this time, GOLD) as pants. no.

5. i heard this song for the first time yesterday, and thought it was incredibly pretty. by the time it was done, i was sitting at my computer with tears running down my cheeks. through it, i also learned what an upward major seventh is.

6. i love watching children as they wait in line to see santa at this time of year. it’s so incredibly sweet and touching. in most cases, their little eyes are so wide and you can tell just how exciting the whole thing is for them. they’re meeting santa!

7. at the same time, i do also get a kick out of the ones who want none of it, and kick and scream and, as a friend of mine put it, “give santa the beats” when they get near his lap. so funny.

8. i am hoping to be in bed by 12:15am and, with any luck, asleep before 2am. my internal clock has gone a little haywire, and the sleep monster has no idea when it’s supposed to show up.

9. i have such a craving for a milk-chocolate covered marshmallow santa from laura secord right now. i bought a bag as a treat last weekend, to reward myself for the reading, but they were gone pretty quickly. now i want more. but they are pricy and, thus, will have to wait until dec. 26th when they’ll be on clearance.

10. i’m feeling sentimental.

because my back is sore and i'm really, really tired...

... and because i posted a whole bunch of epic blog entries in a row over the last week (scroll down to catch up if you haven't stopped by in a while), i'm totally cheating tonight and simply leaving a thought on which you can ruminate... perhaps even comment...

is there any singular task that better defines your circle of friends, and who might no longer be in it, than the annual writing of christmas cards?

"serendipatiousness"

i almost forgot that i actually have to maintain my post-a-day plan, and that i hadn't actually posted anything today.

so, since i'm sitting here watching Serendipity for what might be the 20th (?) time, i felt the following would be a fitting non-reading-related entry. you've read enough over the past week, so maybe it's time to just sit there and listen for a bit.

the movie, which deals with love and fate and destiny, has a number of really lovely songs on its soundtrack and, no matter when or where i hear them, they always make me think of the film.

i think this one is my favourite because it's so dreamy and rhythmic.

and this is a veryveryclose second, because, really, how can you not love annie lennox?

enjoy.

the reading, part IV: thank you, and goodnight...

all week, i’ve been trying to find the best way to untangle my thoughts and feelings about the reading so that i might lay them out nicely and neatly and coherently here. you’ve followed along, read about all the stuff that happened, heard about the cold chili and the good cookies, so it only makes sense that i’d eventually get around to allowing you a glimpse at what was happening in my heart and in my head. but it’s not as easy to do that as one might think.

as i said almost a week ago when i first wrote about the reading, there was (and still is) a part of me that feels it’s private... that, while it was most certainly a public occasion and plenty of people bore witness to it all, maybe my innermost thoughts should remain... inside. that trying to articulate them and mould them into a blog entry will only wind up trivializing them or not doing them justice, anyway, so why bother? there’s a fine line between sentimental and maudlin, and an even finer one between introspection and self-indulgence, and the last thing i want to do is write anything that smacks of pretentious navel-gazing, especially with regard to this. nonetheless, and while keeping some things for myself, i’m going to try to straddle those lines. i apologize in advance if what follows maybe isn’t what you hoped to read, it’s definitely not as polished or linear as i’d like it to be, but it’s what i wanted to write, tangents and all...

as the evening wound to a close, and folks trickled out and headed home, and the festivities ended, and the room emptied... my heart started to fill up. to swell. to grow warm with a profound appreciation for what had just taken place, the way it unfolded and the people who helped it make it happen.

i’ve spent the past several days trying to figure out a way to properly express what i was feeling, but the best i can come up with is that, as my friends and i did dishes and cleaned up and packed leftovers into ziploc bags, every part of the night suddenly seemed to have been exactly right. that everything that happened was meant to happen exactly as it happened. that each component of the evening had fit into just the right spot, in just the right way, and that everything wound up being just as it should have been. i couldn’t have predicted it, and certainly couldn’t have orchestrated it... but it was just right, as though one of the universe’s mysterious plans for me had very subtly and unconsciously been carried out.

it wasn’t until i got home and my emotions came spilling out like a jar of multicoloured cupcake sprinkles on a shiny tile floor that i began to examine that just-right feeling, and to reach for some understanding of why the night had meant so much to me. sure, it was about the screenplay, and having my words read out loud, and finding out what works and doesn’t work and what needs to be fixed in my script, and all the practical aspects that go along with that process. it was also very much about me overcoming fears and anxieties, yes, and pushing myself to do something that scared me in many ways. all great things, i know.

but perhaps one of the most significant, if also the quietest, products of this entire undertaking was the fact that, when i wasn’t even looking, i changed.

it sounds completely lame, i know, and you’re forgiven if you just groaned a little... but it’s true and i really don’t know how else to say it. it wasn’t some gigantic metamorphosis accompanied by fireworks and marching bands, just a slight shift internally. a little “click.” emotionally. psychologically. a gingerly taken, but no less life-altering, step forward.

by the time the door closed on the last guest, i was feeling like i’d grown up a little more. like i had, as the night progressed, become more confident. more assured. certainly more relaxed. that somehow, over the course of planning this reading and executing it, parts of me that had been dormant had awakened, looked around and said, “oh! this is where we’re supposed to be!”

it was the sense that i went from being someone who says she’s a screenwriter, to actually being one. that the abstract idea of vickie (on a number of levels) had suddenly been made real. and that, buoyed by the support and love and participation of people who believe in me, i started to truly believe in myself. i am an excellent cheerleader when it comes to others, but i am woefully poor at it when it comes to looking in the mirror and going, “yep! you can do it!”. so, having all these people saying, “hey, this is good... you’re good at this... let’s do something with it!” was like one much-needed kick in the pants after another.

which is why, upon further reflection, i realized that an equally important part of all this change was not just the “how” of the changes themselves, but the why: my friends.

the people who helped put the reading together, most of whom i’ve barely known for a year, have become like my extended family. in them, i’ve found my tribe, and – much like the night itself – i feel like i fit in, quirks and all, just right. my relationships with them have helped me grow, inspired me creatively and so informed my life in so many ways that i sometimes stand back and think, “wow. who’d have ever thought this is where i’d be right now, or that this is what i’d be doing, or that it would be happening with these people?” while they haven’t driven my growth or forced it in any way, they’ve certainly facilitated it. encouraged it. supported it. applauded it. and i am so immensely thankful.

speaking of...

getting back to the task at hand, and my very final thoughts on the reading, last but in no way least i’d like to conclude this four-part story with my deepest thanks to a whole bunch of people:

to my mom and young beatrix, for helping out with all the food preparation and transport.

to p-lo and j-lo for their unwavering generosity of spirit, the use of their lovely home and their big, fat hearts.

to my kind and talented cast of actors – rae ellen, monica, jonathan, laurel, andy, pete, evan, m-dub and cindy – for their time, energy and effort, and for creating a hologram of what, until now, has only existed in my imagination.

to my friend b-dub, who not only took on one of the lead roles, but who provided much-needed support, enthusiasm and encouragement leading up to the reading... and who, on more than one occasion, talked me off the proverbial ledge with a very frank, “quit screaming. you’re fine.”

most of all, though, i owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my friend c-jay. i could not have done this reading without her, nor would i have wanted to. she was actually the impetus for the screenplay overhaul, and the very first person to suggest it be read aloud (which she actually did a year ago almost to the day today). she gave me deadlines that spurred my work, cheered me on as i went, and assembled the cast of actors from her rolodex of fancy friends. she took care of me on monday night, then sat on a rigid dining-room chair in front of a microphone for more than two hours and brought the lead character to life in a beautiful way. i cannot thank her enough for everything she’s done and, without an ounce of exaggeration, i am a better person for knowing her.

since monday, a bunch of people have asked me what my next steps will be, or what i plan on doing with the screenplay now that the reading's done, and i haven't completely figured it out yet. but, whatever it is, i now feel that i'm capable of doing it, and that i won't be alone when i do. onwards...

the reading, part III: exhaling...

as the last scene neared, and i knew the reading was ending, i started to feel my heartbeat quicken a little. partly because the reading itself was drawing to a close, partly because i feared i would have to say something at its conclusion, and partly because a surge of “hey! we did it!” began to rise within me. it was a mixture of relief, satisfaction, joy... and even a little sadness. this event had been the only thing on my mind for weeks and now it was almost over. i started to fidget in my seat a bit and the last few sentences seemed to stretch over several minutes (even though it was maybe 10 seconds). i was so much inside my own head that i completely forgot to actually look around to gauge people’s reactions as everything finished.

after our narrator said the words “the end,” we listeners applauded the actors, and the actors turned... and applauded me. i have no idea if my face flushed, but it sure felt like i went about 13 shades of red, and i honestly can’t remember what anyone looked like in those few moments (were they smiling? yawning? pointing at a piece of red pepper stuck between my front teeth?)... it was just as much a surreal blur as the start of the night. that might also be because i had a sudden nervous flash of “okay, just say thank you and wrap it up and DO NOT CRY...”, so I very quickly offered my sincere thanks and deflected attention to the food.

then, as everyone got up, a flock of “holy crap, this just happened...” butterflies fluttered around in my stomach one last time. and, even though i'd not been holding my breath at all (or, at least, i wasn't conscious of doing it if i had been), i felt like a long, languid exhalation came sighing out of me. metaphorically.

the final portion of the evening was just random chatting and goodbyes and snacking, as folks gathered their things, discussed the script and unwound. i had some really great feedback, from listener and actor alike, and was really touched at how thoughtful some of the analysis and commentary was. i’m not sure why i was surprised, but i guess i figured people might regard the whole night the same way they would, say, an insurance seminar – sitting and listening politely, but not really paying attention to what was being said.

but no. people did listen. and absorb. and feel. and, when it was done, some of them even wanted to share with me what they thought... which is always exciting and potentially scary. no one was scowling or frowning or sighing in a way that implied they’d just survived the most tedious night of their lives, though, so i wasn’t worried that i was about to be emotionally junk-punched by someone telling me how much they hated it. (not that i thought anyone would. i know people have manners and, as i said, everybody there was nice.) people asked me about characters and inspiration, talked about imagery and tone and relationships, picked out their favourite scenes and, much to my immense delight, got it.

when the reading began, and even beforehand in the days and weeks leading up to monday night, i felt very vulnerable. exposed. i was sharing my work, but also sharing my heart. there’s a lot of me in this particular screenplay and its characters and, to some extent, having a slew of people read it all at once, out loud, all together in a room, in front of me, felt a bit like laying the most delicate part of myself out on a platter for mass consumption. as i said before, i worried that i would be judged along with my words, and that there might be knowing nods or sideways glances or eyerolls at the story and, by default, at me. so discovering that people understood it, and liked it, and might even have been touched by it was a very special feeling.

speaking of feelings, i have many about the night.

sorting through them and trying to get them into some sort of cohesive form for the purposes of this blog has been challenging. but that’s part of the reason i’ve stretched the story of the reading over multiple chapters – to buy myself a little time, and to make sure that the most important part of the whole thing gets the attention it deserves. because, for me, something this significant holds more meaning than what a laundry list (no matter how lengthy) of what happened can convey. i’ve tried to sprinkle my emotions throughout the account of what went down, but there’s more i want to say. a wrap-up, as it were.

so, i’m not quite done yet. i’m still processing. i have a slew of thanks to give, and a bunch of closing thoughts left to share, and those will be next.

to be continued...

the reading, part II: breathing...

i have to say, the first few minutes of the actual reading portion of the reading were somewhat surreal and a bit of a blur. it was such a huge moment that i found myself swallowed by it a little... but that’s okay, because it was a good kind of swallowing.

i’ve worked on this screenplay, on and off (with many years of “off”), since 2002. the last time i did work on it in any kind of intensive way was 2006, after which i lost momentum, put it on a shelf and left it there until this past september. nonetheless, throughout that time and the script’s umpteen incarnations, the words i’d written had existed solely in a vacuum – on paper (or on my laptop screen), yes, but the story itself was basically played out in my head with no tangible form or weight, and the characters, no matter how colourful, were two-dimensional. they changed shape and voice over and over again from revision to revision, but even when i was certain i’d nailed them in my mind there was no way to know whether what i’d imagined would ever translate in the real world.

then, suddenly, this monday, it’s like a light was turned on and everything came alive before my eyes. ten actors and a narrator were gathered in a semi-circle, scripts in hand, lifting my story off the page and planting it firmly in reality.

as the first words floated out and bounced around the room, i did have something of an out-of-body moment where i realized, “wow. this is actually happening.” it was a combination of delight, anticipation, fear and wonder. i’m having a table read. omg. here were all these people, most of whom didn’t know me, coming together on a brisk december night... for me. for what i’d written. just because. i certainly didn’t have the money to pay anybody, and none of the folks there owed me any favours or anything, so i felt myself a little overcome with gratitude for their generosity.

then, before i let myself get too caught up in my own head, i redirected my attention towards the task at hand.

the reading was fascinating. as i listened to the story progress, and watched the actors acting, i found myself getting excited each time i knew a new character was being introduced to the proceedings – what would the actor sound like? what would his or her choices be when it came to line readings? what would they add of themselves to the fictional people i’d created?

turns out the answer to that last question was: life.

the characters had personality. spunk. depth. sadness. humour. they breathed for the first time. and, even though this was simply a table read and not about performance, some really fantastic magic emerged thanks to the talented cast. conversations infused with emotion. a pause here, an inflection there, a whisper at just the right moment in just the right way. the screenplay wasn’t just being read flatly, it was being acted. and acted well! in addition to witnessing the birth of the characters (two of whom, i decided, likely won't make it into the next draft), it was interesting for me to see which scenes and which exchanges just seemed to fly right off the paper and light up like fireworks... and which ones dragged a little, felt dull and lacked punch. which ones needed cutting and which ones could have used a little more exploration. no matter what, though, i never got the sense that anyone was just phoning it in. one actor was even struck with some kind of alien head cold halfway through, but she stuck it out right to the end anyway. trooper!

as the evening went on, i kept checking the faces of the people in the room, looking for signs of disinterest or displeasure, but i’m relieved to say i found very little. everyone clicked along, the story took shape, i noticed plenty of spots where i really should have trimmed the stage directions, and we all just kind of sank into the process. i did realize that, more often than not, i was paying attention to the actors and not the script in my lap, so i barely took any notes at all. (it should come as no surprise that i’m thus very relieved the reading was being recorded so that i can listen to it again later.)

at the halfway mark, we took a break so folks could grab a snack or a glass of water or pee. a bunch of people checked in with me to see how i was doing, how i thought the reading was going and to ask after the recipe for one type of cookies i’d brought. and then the actors promptly regrouped, started up again and read through to the end.

shortly after the second half of the reading began, and with a renewed sense of calm and ease, i paused for a few moments to inhale deeply and take stock of the whole thing. the room. the people. the emotions. everything. to just breathe it in and savour it and feel glad that it was happening. again, i knew i should have been focused elsewhere and on doing my job, but i also didn’t want to let the night slip past without taking a few breaths to absorb everything around me and within me.

after all, fully experiencing life's moments, big and small and life-changing, is one of the screenplay's recurring themes, so it felt like the perfect thing to do.

to be continued...

the reading, part I: preamble and set-up...

about four months ago, i posted a blog entry about change.

about how changes, especially in life, can come about very slowly, or suddenly spring up to smack you in the face out of the blue. but that, regardless of which type of changes you encounter, if you can manage to squash your fear or doubt and open yourself up to them... wonderful things can happen.

one such wonderful thing happened for me on monday night.

as anyone who read the blog entries leading up to monday knows, i was a little stressed. i was wading along the shores of a fear swamp and slowly sinking into its murky waters. as the day got closer, i started to worry that what i had written was awful, that the actors reading my words would be rolling their eyes at my work, that the listeners in attendance would be bored silly, that my friends who were participating would wonder what they ever saw in me and that, by night’s end, i would realize that perhaps i should just quietly put away my laptop and pursue a career in botany or plumbing or any other field that doesn’t involve putting stories on paper. it became something of an emotional snowball – the more i worried, the more anxious i got, which made me worry more, and that fed the anxiety, and so on.

by the time monday morning rolled around, i was kind of emotionally twisted into a knot. was i about to make a gigantic fool of myself?, i wondered. and, as i was sitting on big red, trying to give myself a mental pep talk and to calm my rapid heartbeat but failing miserably on both counts, my mom called to wish me good luck.

you know how sometimes, when you’re feeling very delicate and emotional and vulnerable, the simple act of someone being kind or comforting towards you can make you start to cry?

yeah, i got off the phone with my mom and a few tears spilled out.

but, thankfully, when i was done, it was then completely out of my system. i felt better, like the pent-up emotions had finally been released, however ungracefully, and the internal pressure had been relieved. so, by the time i arrived at my friend p-lo’s home to begin the set-up in the late afternoon, i felt my nerves dissipating.

the house was blissfully silent and calm, the large room we would be using had already been cleared and the furniture moved and the microphones set up. i stepped inside and the energy felt... right – mellow, relaxed, creative. j-lo (mr. p-lo) was on full tech-support duty, and was rigging mics and checking levels and optimizing his recording options, while i put carrots and peppers on platters, spooned dips into bowls and tried to figure out the perfect placement for the three types of cookies mom and i had baked. j-lo and i worked quietly, we weren’t rushed and at no time did i feel the slightest bit panicked that i wasn’t ready.

in fact, i’d initially thought i’d arrived way too early, but it proved to be a fortunate “error” because, by the time we had everything ready and had completely re-arranged the original arrangement, the first few people began to arrive.

and, surprisingly, i still felt okay.

one by one, actors began showing up. most of them were people i was meeting for the first time that night, having only had the briefest of email exchanges with them in advance. but whatever concerns i might have had about us not getting along, or them not liking me, or me not liking them were vanquished the second i met each one. everyone was friendly and, more importantly, really nice. though two of my four listeners couldn’t make it, my remaining two arrived and fell right into place. people were eating, and drinking, and chatting, and mingling, and socializing... and i didn’t have to do anything. everything was unfolding easily and organically and, though i’d stressed about how i was going to control what felt like an enormous beast of an event, i very quickly realized that i didn’t need to try to steer something that was running perfectly all on its own.

then it was time to begin. the actors assembled on chairs and on the big sofa, grabbed their scripts, introduced themselves and the characters they’d be reading... and off they went.

to be continued...

later that same day...

yes, i know. you're still waiting to hear about the reading. and i am going to write about it. i swear i am.

despite wanting to sit down and pour everything out in a long blog entry, i instead spent much of today debriefing various folks who weren't there, and running errands and such.

and then i took a much-needed nap late in the afternoon.

so, the entry is still on deck. i want to do it justice, and i haven't yet figured out what i want to say. everything is still marinating in my brain. thoughts are still percolating. i'm still exhaling.

but i'm also still smiling. because the warm embers of last night's magic are still glowing inside me.

i will drop this one morsel in your laps, though. it's a lesson i learned before the reading even began: if you're going to use a crock pot to reheat and then serve a giant vat of chili that's been in the fridge overnight... don't. use the stove. because there's nothing quite like the bottoming out one's stomach does when a guest scoops out a big ladle's worth of chili that hasn't spent quite enough time being crocked, pours it into a bowl, takes a hearty spoonful and then turns to you to say, "um... did you know this is cold?"

good times.

the afterglow

in short: the reading was wonderful.

i have a lot to distill, and i want to give all the swirling emotions (all good) a chance to settle a little, so i'll write more tomorrow.

but, for now, i just feel extraordinarily lucky and hugely hugely grateful.

the day of

i'm pretty sure my stomach has actually managed to turn itself completely inside out.

T minus six hours and counting...

the night before

tomorrow is a big day.

i haven’t written anything about it here until now for a number of reasons. for starters, i didn’t want to jinx anything by speaking too soon. you know, like mentioning some exciting news only to have to retract it down the line because whatever it was had fallen through, or been cancelled, or just failed miserably.

i also didn’t really know what to say about it – i mean, i have a lot to say, but i didn’t know which part of it to write about or when. i felt i might wind up pouring out epic entry after epic entry if i began trying to sort through my thoughts via this blog, and i didn’t necessarily want that on display for the world to read. it’s been something of a tornado of emotions for me so, depending on the day, i might have written something exuberant or depressing or delighted or utterly panicked, and i didn’t want to inadvertently appear to pin any singular feeling to it one way or another. more importantly, i wanted to make sure that if i did write about it, i would do so eloquently and elegantly and poetically... which, in turn, just added unnecessary pressure to an already pressurized situation.

and, even though this blog itself is (purportedly) about my writing, this writing-related news felt, in some strange way, too personal to broadcast. too delicate. too precious. too mine. but, completely ineloquently and inelegantly and without much poetry, here’s the skinny:

tomorrow, i’m having my first-ever table read of a screenplay i’ve written.

eleven actors – like, actual actors who act, not just random friends and acquaintances who know how to read words off a page – will sit down at a large table and read my script aloud.

all of it.

all 102 pages.

all 31 speaking parts.

every last word from “fade in” through “the end.”

and that’s kind of a huge deal for me.

in fact, it’s basically been the only thing on my mind for the past few weeks. every waking hour, and plenty of the unconscious ones, as well. it has, at times, felt like the most amazing thing ever... and, at other times, like the most terrifying undertaking i could imagine. often, both at the same time. why? because it’s quite literally a life-changing moment that’s about to take place.

it’s a big step, this reading. in the grand scheme of the universe (or even my career) it may be minor, but in the snapshot of my life thus far, it’s major. it’s me going from the hypothetical to the actual for the first time ever. it’s me crossing a threshold into unexplored territory. it's me putting myself out there in a big, bold, brand new way. i realize it’s just a table read and only one component of a greater process that could take years, but it remains a significant – and previously untaken – step for me.

because it’s something that’s been so long imagined suddenly becoming reality.

tomorrow.

so, tonight, i’m nervous. i haven’t slept or eaten properly in days, and i know that’s only made the jitters – and the self-doubt and the anxiety and all that super-unhelpful stuff – worse. a thousand worries (both personal and professional) have flitted in and out of my brain since the planning for this reading began, and a thousand more fears (ditto) followed suit after that. to the point of distraction some days. over the past week or so, i’ve struggled to understand why, exactly, it’s been a bit of a rough go. i'm able to pinpoint a number of reasons, from fear of failure to fear of success and everything in between, but i think i may have accidentally stumbled upon a revelatory one yesterday.

i was talking with a friend on the phone, and she asked how i was feeling about tomorrow. without really thinking about it, and in the midst of a ramble, i said i was really anxious because more than anything else, for the first time, “it’s all about me.” meaning: i’m not used to being the center of attention, let alone in this way, but that’s what’s going to happen tomorrow night. the whole event is a reflection of me – my writing, my food, my friends, my future. all of it. and what if people don't like it? don't like the script? don't like the food? don't like each other? don't like me anymore once it's all done?

as such, i feel a bit like i’m getting ready to walk completely naked into a room full of people, who will then sit and judge me for about three hours. intellectually i know it’s not true. but, emotionally, it feels true. and that’s a bit of a scary proposition... but one i’m trying very hard to kick to the curb.

on a more positive note, though my stomach is knotted up quite nicely, i am looking forward to seeing how everything plays out, literally and figuratively. thankfully, i have some truly wonderful friends who have pitched in to help put it together, and i’ve been promised that the room will be a warm, friendly and “nice” one. i won’t know half the people there (which is also rather daunting), but i’m hoping for the best. all appendages are crossed.

if given the option, i would always much rather stand off to the side in the shadows than to be right smack dab in the spotlight. but, tomorrow night, that bright canon of light is going to be pointed squarely at yours truly.

and, you know, maybe it’s time, whether i feel ready or not. heck, one of the lines in the script is "leap, and i promise you the net will appear!"

so, tomorrow is a big day. because tomorrow, i'll be leaping...

(note: tomorrow is also lou's birthday. :-D)

an open letter to the sleep monster

dear sleep monster,

where the frick are you?

i haven't seen you in a whole week! this is unacceptable.

please don't pretend like you dropped in unannounced when i wasn't paying attention -- a piddly couple of hours of sleep here and there, peppered with some nightmares and night sweats, don't cut it, i'm afraid.

i really need you to swing by, like, immediately. tonight would be great. tomorrow night would be even better.

because life is a bit of a drag, literally, when you and i are apart for too long.

so... see you later?

please?

hugs,
vickie

p.s. btw, if you wouldn't mind heading over to eric when we're done, that'd be swell. kthanxbai.

the adventures begin...

come, sit by me II

did you want to sit here for a bit? i’d like it if you did. even if it's only for a little while. there’s plenty of room and i could really use the company. here, let me move over. we don’t have to talk or anything. we can just sit.

sometimes, it’s hard to sit on big red all by myself. his already generous lap becomes even more expansive, and i feel very small. the cushions and the crocheted blanket and the coffee table try to fill the space as best they can to make me feel better, but they’re not always enough. when it’s quiet, the sounds of my thoughts can bounce off the walls like basketballs pounding through an empty gymnasium, so maybe having you fill this vacant spot just beside me might muffle their reverberations. we could try it and see.

sometimes, i don’t like sitting alone. especially when i’m nervous. or anxious. or frightened. or feeling lost. at those times, on this oafy sofa, in this room that starts to seem cavernous, sadness can stretch out with ease alongside its best friends, doubt and worry. and there’s no one else around to tell fear, “sorry, pal. this seat is taken. now scram!”

sometimes, i don’t like sitting alone. especially when i look around at the world and feel that, somehow, i'm the only one who’s by herself. that everyone else seems to have someone to talk to. someone who’ll listen. someone to hold their hand. someone who’ll sit with them on their comfy couch, share their crocheted blanket and simply be there.

even though i’ve learned how to sit alone, and how to be on my own, and how to keep the tears at bay when they start to rise, and how to tell myself the things i need to hear (even if i don’t always believe them), i sometimes still wish someone else was sitting here with me, speaking those comforting words. or putting an arm around my shoulder. or making me laugh so i don't cry. or just being present to help me through if i need a hand. because i think that would be nice.

come, sit by me. and tell me everything will be okay.

come, sit by me

you can sit wherever you like, but big red is the most comfy. he's a gentle giant, that couch. clunky and unwieldy, sure, but still a sweet spot to relax. i can move those oafy pillows, but they do make for added coziness, i find. so welcoming and protective, like four enormous marshmallows just waiting for you to drop into their embrace. try them. they’re softer than they look, so you can nestle into them quite nicely. lean back and let yourself deflate into them until it feels just right. tuck one of those pillows under your arm, or hold it close to your chest. they may look goofy and awkward, but they can be very comforting, too.

if you’re feeling chilled, you can use the crocheted blanket. i know it looks a little rough around the edges, but that’s just because it’s given out a lot of love over many years. it’ll drape over you for an afternoon nap, or tuck under your chin to keep you company for a late-night movie, or just wait nearby to warm you when you’re feeling under the weather. it may seem like it’s unraveling a bit here and there, but i think those flaws give it charm. they say, “i may not be perfect, but i get the job done.” the blanket isn’t fancy or expensive, but it’s handmade and original and you won’t find another one like anywhere.

did you want to put your feet up? you can go ahead, that’s what the coffee table is there for. its sturdy legs and cool surface can hold just about any weight you might need to rest on it, and it’s not going to budge or buckle. it’s there to support you. and don’t worry about your socks, they’re fine.

would it be okay if i turned on the christmas lights? they’re so cheerful and pretty, and their dreamy glow makes the whole room feel special in some way i can’t really explain except to show you. i know it might be silly to keep them on instead of a lamp or two, but there’s something quietly magical about the light they cast. it feels safe, and gentle, and filled with hope. soothing and calm. like no problem can be quite as severe, no sadness can be quite as dark, and no pain can be quite as sharp when lit by this cascade of tiny, multicoloured luminescent bulbs. here, watch.

see? so lovely.

do you mind if i sit next to you? there’s enough space if we both make a little room. you can have the pillows and the blanket and the coffee table all to yourself, i promise. we can just unwind on big red, and listen to the street outside, and look at the twinkly lights together for a while.

come, sit by me. and tell me about your day.

meet bernard...

remember the little LEGO spaceman i found on the subway on nov. 1st?
one arrived at my door yesterday (thank you, lou!) and he's my new mascot.
i have named him bernard.
and adventures await us, i'm sure.