served over vanilla bean ice cream

saving (grace) saturday

today started off much in the same way that yesterday did, tone-wise, and i worried i'd be in for another dud.

i hadn't slept well last night -- i went to bed too late after dueling with a rogue moth in my bedroom, then woke up just after 4am with stomach cramps and sort of tossed and turned after that. when i got up just after 8am, i was dopey and tired... which is probably why i accidentally took a double dose of my thyroid medication.

that, in turn, led to frantic googling to find out whether this would be problematic and, after finding advice like "seek medical attention immediately!" on every site i checked, me calling toronto poison control to see if i was on my way to serious complications.

a very nice lady on the other end of the line took down all my info (age, weight, dosage, etc.) put me on hold for a few seconds and then reassured me that i'd be just fine. had my initial dosage been higher, i could have been in trouble, but at most all i'd experience would be jitteriness and mild hyperthyroid symptoms (which, much later in the day, did manifest).

thankfully, today was saved by young beatrix's sleepover!

she arrived just after 1:30pm and we had a really great day (my occasionally troublesome side effects of overmedication notwithstanding)... but i'll have to write about it tomorrow because she's about to make bananas foster and then we're going to watch Zombieland on the fancy TV.

friday: FAIL

have you ever had one of those days where one thing after another goes awry, and you feel like you might burst into tears if the universe gives you the horns one more time? a day that makes everyone and everything annoying or frustrating or infuriating and you just kind of want to sit at the bottom of a pool like cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?

that was my friday.

i had two very simple, seemingly achievable items on my agenda for the day: 1. to go to my apartment and plaster the ulcer that’s been eroding the wall above my bathtub for three years, and 2. get some ice cream from ed’s, a local parlour where they make all sorts of wonderful flavours on the premises using fresh ingredients and imagination.

simple enough goals, and yet i accomplished neither.

i didn’t sleep last night – i had one nightmare after another and woke up repeatedly – so i was very tired this morning. i got up and was sore all over. my legs and arms were achy, my lower back hurt and i could feel the faint throbbing of a headache. body: FAIL.

i decided to forgo my morning walk along the lake because i figured i could get an earlier (and more energetic) start on the plastering that way. i turned on my powerbook to check my email and, six minutes later, it died. very abruptly and unexpectedly, the battery apparently lost all ability to hold a charge, which means i can no longer use my laptop unless it’s plugged into an outlet. i looked up the price of a replacement battery: about $150. battery: FAIL.

i took care of some pool tasks and then headed out. it’s about an hour commute from my housesitting gig to my apartment, and i made good time, walking through my door in just over 50 minutes. i was ready to get my wall fixed today so that i could prime the bathroom on sunday and put up the first coat of paint on monday or tuesday.

only... i discovered i had the wrong compound. the right product, but the wrong consistency. i thought i could just use what my mom had left over from a patching job she’d done recently, but i hadn’t read the product info carefully before borrowing it. so it wasn’t until i tried to apply it to the wall that i realized it wouldn’t work. at all. plastering: FAIL.

i was upset. not only had i spent almost an hour going to my place for nothing, i was still looking at another hour commute back. i’d wasted two subway tokens and two hours, and thrown off my reno schedule – the earliest i can plaster (with the correct product) will be sunday afternoon, which pushes everything else back after that. and, unfortunately for me, the heat and humidity return to toronto starting on monday, which means working in my un-air-conditioned apartment will not be fun and the drying time between patching and painting will be extended. scheduling: FAIL.

on my way back (after foolishly skipping lunch), i thought i’d stop at the beach library to check for DVDs, then pick up a few groceries and go get the ed’s ice cream because YB will be staying over with me tomorrow night. i’ll spare you extensive details of this hour-long endeavour and summarize thusly:

the library was completely picked over, so the only DVDs they had were the titles no one wants or everyone’s seen. library: FAIL.

when i stopped at the grocery store – ironically named “valu-mart” – i was aghast at their pricing. this is a fairly swanky neighbourhood and clearly price-gouging happens. they wanted THREE DOLLARS for one head of lettuce! not fancy lettuce, not organic, just a regular head of iceberg lettuce. other items had similarly inflated prices that i was not willing to pay, so i left empty-handed. groceries: FAIL.

if nothing else, i thought to myself, i will get some ice cream! it had been one of the things i’d looked forward to most about spending eleven days in this convenient-to-the-shop location, even though i knew it probably wouldn’t be cheap. i’d planned to buy two pints... until i got to the store and looked at the price.

$7.25.

PER PINT.

?!

their ice cream is good, but it’s not that good that i could justify paying almost eight dollars for one pint of it. i could buy a whole meal for that amount of money! ice cream: FAIL*.

(* though, as a treat, i may get myself a double scoop one day before i leave.)

by the time i got back to the house just before 3pm, i was hungry, sore, exhausted and annoyed. i had some snacks, chatted online with my brain twin, called my mom and slowly unwound. but i was feeling all teary and down. eventually, i decided maybe cameron frye really did have the right idea, so i put on my bathing suit and went outside for a swim... despite the fact that the weather was cool (but sunny) today, and the water was chilly. i didn’t wind up sitting on the bottom of the pool (too cold!), but i did swim laps for a while and felt better when i got out. i took a hot shower, made myself dinner and then sat down to watch TV.

i didn’t take any photos today, didn’t sit at the nook today, didn't do anything creative and didn’t write a thing save for this blog entry. but at least i ended the day with a small aquatic victory.

which i hope means a restful, nightmare-free sleep to come, and a great day tomorrow.

[edited to add: in a fitting end to the day, i just tried to look up a place called "the pie shack" -- which is nearby and which i thought might be something to check out next week or with YB. i googled it, clicked on the top link and discovered the site has been hacked and you're bypassed to a porn page. i realize dessert is *like* porn to me, but this was definitely not what i'd hoped to find.]

the morning in five words

i woke up early today.

the weather was blissfully cool.

the skies were beautifully clear.

too perfect to stay in bed.

before breakfast, out i went.

tree-lined streets were shady.

sun-dappled sidewalks were warm.

there were many adorable dogs.

i strolled along the boardwalk.

the lake water was still.

canada geese swam in groups.

people on benches drank coffee.

people at tables read papers.

joggers huffed and puffed past.

feet kerplunking on wooden planks.

cyclists whirred along paved paths.

playgrounds eagerly awaited their children.

last night's rain slowly evaporated.

the smell of pine wafted.

walkers like me just walked.

happy to trek in peace.

quietly inhaling the morning air.

the view from the nook

the nook

finding my way around

i am now ensconced in the house where i’ll be spending the next eleven days. i’ve decided the “writing retreat” portion of my stay will officially begin tomorrow.

today was all about the arrival – packing my things at home, figuring out which snacks i wanted to be sure to bring along, deciding whether i should take a sweater (i did) or flannel “home pants” in which to lounge (i did not). and then, once arriving here, it was getting my bearings and settling in. finding which drawer has the scissors and which one holds the extra ziploc bags, checking to see what the freezer had to offer and just walking around or sitting down to get comfortable. it still feels somewhat foreign and weird, but that's the way it is with any new environment at first.

i went downstairs to my writer’s nook and found a welcome note from my hostess on the desk. i sat in the cushioned rocking chair that seemed to have materialized since my debriefing – clearly, something to make that spot even more conducive to creativity. (unless i’ve completely forgotten that the chair was there all along. but i really don’t think it was.)

after unpacking, i went for a swim on principle, even though the skies were threatening rain and the water was a bit chilly for an overcast day. i reasoned that there’s a chance the weather might be cool for the remainder of my stay, so i wanted to be sure to get in at least one dip.

when it came time to make dinner, i opted for something easy and quickly cooked some pasta and homemade sauce i’d brought with me, then sat down at the giant kitchen island to eat with Big Brother. as an FYI: watching television in a room wired with stereo surround-sound is really freaky.

and now i’m getting ready for bed. first thing tomorrow: a walk through the neighbourhood to further orient myself.

then, in the afternoon, i’ll head down to the desk and see what happens.

the writing retreat

starting tomorrow, i’m going on a writing retreat.

it’s actually a housesitting gig for some friends, but i plan on using it as an opportunity to be out of my own environment and to see what i might be able to create if i sit myself down for a dedicated period of time each day to just write.

the house itself is gorgeous, with its own in-ground pool in a lush, landscaped yard. there’s an enormous deck with chairs and views of the downtown skyline, ideal for morning ponderings over breakfast, or evening musings as the sun sets, or just afternoon introspection beneath the canopy of tall, tall trees.

the neighbourhood is fantastic, and i’ll be within easy strolling distance of lake ontario, the boardwalk and myriad shops, parks and libraries... not to mention some of the best ice cream in the city.

i’ve already picked my key writing spot: a section of blissfully empty desk in front of wall-to-wall windows that look out on the idyllic pool area and backyard from on the ground-floor level. it’s in an area tucked under the deck, so it’s perfectly secluded and shaded, and is the kind of sublime, creative nook that’s a writer’s dream come true. i am really looking forward to working there.

i’m not yet sure what i hope to write while on this “retreat,” whether it’ll be one long piece stretched out over 11 days or 11 singular pieces, or a hundred limericks, or something else altogether. (if you have any suggestions or requests, please post them in the comments section!) it’s the habit of daily writing i plan to practice most, though, because i tumbled from that wagon a while back. to that end, i will be blogging every day, and i’ll have my camera with me to take what i suspect will be a ton of photos as i explore, meander and reflect.

what i wish for most is 11 days to reboot, recalibrate and get myself into a new, productive routine – writing and otherwise – that i can then pack up and take back home with me when i leave.

when the skies fill with wishes

a couple of weeks ago, i learned the plant responsible for creating wishes is actually milkweed.

oh.

at the time, the discovery sapped a little of the sparkle out of a phenomenon i’d always found so special and magical. i mean, i’d seen the weeds myself on my fall walks, and knew they spawned wishes, but somehow having the plant named matter-of-factly – categorized, labeled, known – weighed down their whimsy.

toronto is filled with wishes these days. they’re everywhere: floating through the downtown core, on streets, in backyards... you can’t step outside without a wish or ten drifting past. at least twice a day, i catch one, make a wish – different each time – and then set it free.

and, today, i witnessed what i can only describe as a blizzard of wishes.

it was spectacular.

beautiful.

awe-inspiring.

fascinating.

and something i’d never ever seen before in my life.

my mom and i were driving on a highway, and the field alongside the road must have been filled with milkweed because, as the wind kicked up, a massive flurry of wishes exploded into the air before us.

hundreds and hundreds of wishes flying past, caught on the breeze like dainty tufts of down. the sheer number of them, seemingly without end, was amazing. they just kept coming and coming, soaring free and taking their first breaths. soon, somewhere out in the world, they’d begin absorbing countless whispered hopes and dreams and prayers from the hearts of people like me. i felt very lucky to have been in the car, on that route, to behold that kind of unexpected splendor.

at first, i wished i’d had my camera with me so that i might capture this wonder of nature for others to see. and then i realized it was kind of perfect that i'd left it at home.

that, like a wish, this moment was ephemeral and rare and filled with magic; a fleeting but powerful experience, disappearing into the skies.

it's go time

i've been ruminating on a number of things since last thursday. but i'm staying over at my parents' house tonight, so spending a long time on the computer and working on a blog entry isn't in the cards at the moment.

suffice it to say: enough is enough, already. time to get going. continue the changes that i started early in the year (since i've sort of slacked off for the past month or two), and move forward instead of around in circles.

in the meantime, and so that you have something other than a lame placeholder to look at, i present you with the following photo of the insanely adorable stray (?) cat YB has befriended. it's made appearances in her yard several times in the past two years, but has suddenly taken a real shine to trix (no, she hasn't fed it). so, tonight, she snapped some photos for me, because i'd never been present for one of the cat's visits, and i am SMITTEN with this face:



more later.

caaaaaaaaaaaaaaakes

for my birthday, my friends ericanddan gave me a marvelous gift: cake. CAKE!

any cake i would like from this bakery's über-fancy, mega-elaborate collection. so many to choose from! i can pick a large cake, or a small one, or a pie, or petit fours, or a dozen assorted slices of whatever combo i dream up. it's a very exciting decision.

and i am pondering my selection very carefully.

love, loss and what i realized

yesterday, my mom and i went to a matinee of Love, Loss and What I Wore, a fabulous play in which five wickedly talented canadian actresses tell stories about life as seen from the shifting contents of a dress rack – that is, funny and poignant and spirited tales about women’s lives, spun around various items of clothing, shoes and accessories. thanks to a friend, we had amazing seats and the show was wonderful, as expected.

i knew going in that i would no doubt be affected by the material, but i wasn’t sure how much or in what way. nora and delia ephron penned it, based on the book by ilene beckerman, so i was confident the writing would be stellar and i was pretty sure i’d love the cast. i was fairly certain some of it would make me cry (it did) and that a lot of it would make me laugh (ditto), but i hadn’t really expected to get a life lesson out of the deal.

even though some of the vignettes were especially moving and powerful, and andrea martin’s hilariously epic rant about expensive purses is a brilliant explosion of marvelousness i so wish i’d written, it wasn’t until the very end of the performance, during a brief wrap-up by louise pitre, that i was metaphorically tapped on the shoulder with a message that seemed directed right at me. despite stories about breast cancer and prom nights and lady gays getting married, it was the proverbial fade to black that actually shone a light instead.

in her closing monologue, pitre’s character explains how and why she put these stories about her dresses and her history together as a gift for a few select friends and family members, and how it unexpectedly wound up being purchased by a publisher for the world to read. she talks about the personal nature of what she’d written, and how surprised she was that, despite the emotional specificity of her work, the stories were connecting with people universally.

and that revelation began reverberating for me... as it pertains to my own writing.

as many of you know, based on my oft-mentioned concerns and fears about exposing my thoughts or feelings or foibles to the world, i’m a pretty private gal. i like knowing (mostly) who’s reading what i’m churning out, especially when it comes to the more tender underside of who i am as a person. having those things revealed to strangers is a risky and scary proposition, and i always get a huge knot in my stomach when i think about some random anonymous reader browsing through the contents of my heart.

i tell myself those parts of me are too personal, too raw, too embarrassing, too intimate, too weird, too lame, too frivolous, too self-involved, too alien, too sad, too confusing, too silly, too different, too insert-whatever-adjective-you’d-like for anyone else to truly understand. i start to worry i’ll automatically be mocked or maligned or judged if i dare share any of them, and that i will promptly become the subject of derision or pity because i am so clearly alone in my experience. so i scurry back into my mouse hole and stress about it until i either don’t post sensitive material at all, or i take a deep breath, put something up and then hyperventilate emotionally until i can bump that entry down with something inconsequential.

but maybe that’s exactly what’s holding me back from growing as a writer.

fear.

worry.

insecurity.

doubt.

not surprisingly, the exact same things i think consistently hold me back as a human being.

and i have gingy to thank for that little epiphany.

despite a show filled with terrific banter and clever insight and heartfelt storytelling, those fleeting closing moments were the ones that resonated most deeply with me. the words slowly seeped into my core, gave me pause, offered up some food for thought and made me realize that, in keeping such a tight lid on what i write, perhaps i’m preventing exactly the kind of movement in my life, progress in my work and meaningful connection with others that i so desperately seek.

art class

i remember my high school art class.

i remember the long, cavernous, two-level space - the only one like it in the entire school - with its gallery-like balcony, students’ projects in various stages of completion scattered around, its buddha-like kiln and its stark walls hungry to display finished works.

i remember the ancient, rectangular tables and uncomfortable plastic chairs, neither particularly conducive to creativity and, perhaps, purposely installed so as to encourage girls to stand up and take to the easels.

i remember the decrepit stuffed birds, their ruffled and ratty feathers and creepy glass eyes, whose function was as grade nine sketching subjects but who’d been subjected to years of poking and prodding and mischief instead.

i remember the rows of wooden cupboards lining the walls under the balcony, and the cramped but bountiful supply room, all filled with endless paints and pastels and pencils and paper; a bottomless treasure trove of possibility and potential organized by medium and colour.

i remember the cubbies alongside the stairs, divided by year, each one holding a student’s bristol-board-and-staples portfolio, masterpieces in progress tucked neatly inside.

i remember the glass door to the grassy secret courtyard, also the only spot like it in the school, and the gorgeous stone wall on which we’d sit to discuss art or soap operas or life.

i remember the stainless-steel sinks, splattered with decades of acrylics from brushes being cleaned and hands being washed.

i remember the smells, of the oils and the varnish and the glue and the chalk, an aroma so distinct and recognizable that one passing inhalation in the hallway outside was like a breath of fresh inspiration. i remember how those smells would morph and twist depending on the season and the weather: damp and earthy when it rained, humid and sweaty come summertime.

i remember the textures and textiles, the weight of watercolour paper and the cool sheen of mosaic tiles and the satisfying sense of accomplishment after stretching and stapling a brand new canvas... even when unruly corners meant a slightly bumpy edge.

i remember the excitement of starting a new piece, of dreaming up ideas and toying with lines and experimenting with execution amid sweeping gusts of imagination; everything achievable, everyone filled with promise.

i remember my friends, the profound camaraderie of our shared experience and the endless laughter; the room reverberating with peals of delight and teasing and creative exploration as teenaged girls embraced the freedom of splashing around in an ocean of collective self-expression.

the actual classroom.
photo found online, unexpectedly, in a collection of alumni pictures.

pride and prejudice: the epilogue

the problem with writing deeply personal and revealing entries like the last one i posted comes afterward, in the form of how i feel about it and, eventually, what i’ll write next.

me sharing that much of myself is something that doesn’t often happen, and certainly not on the internet. even in my everyday life, it’s extremely rare for me to be that open all in one sitting, or even several sittings, and there are plenty of things i keep very, very closely guarded. unfortunately, my immediate response after sharing feelings openly is often regret and worry and thoughts of, “why did i share that?”, and that becomes its own rather effective deterrent.

as i’ve mentioned many times in the past, i find talking about feelings difficult and scary – i am perpetually petrified of being rejected or mocked or judged for them, and i know they can sometimes frighten people away. i try to be careful about how and when and why i let them free, and with whom, but i’m not always successful and they can, on occasion, come flooding out in a tidal wave of words. suppressing things – be they thoughts or feelings or fears or the essence of who we are – only works for so long before the wall gives way.

for me, writing is my main form of self-expression. it’s the way i communicate who i am and how i think, what i feel and where i’m at. it’s my heart on paper. or on your screen, as it were. more than anything, it’s the medium through which i seek understanding and being understood... which is probably why, when feelings-related writing happens, here or elsewhere, it becomes epic. suddenly, my desire for clarity and need for acceptance and tendency to be overwhelmingly thorough override any passing fancies i might have about brevity, and i just keep writing and writing to pour out whatever i think needs to get out until every base is covered.

then, when i’ve finished, two things happen:

1. i immediately start to wonder what the reaction will be. will you like it? will you hate it? will you like me? will you hate me? will you run away? will you listen? and, always always always, will you understand? not just what i’ve written, but me?

followed closely by:

2. uh oh. how do i follow that?

and wednesday’s post was no exception.

i started to second-guess what i wrote almost as soon as it went up, and questioned my decision to post it. i wondered if it was too much too fast, and what readers would think, and i even considered deleting it or moving it for a fleeting moment. but i didn’t, and i left it up for the reason i listed at the very end of the post – i’ve spent so many years and so much energy trying to be true to what i thought other people expected of me... but only very rarely and with much effort have i ever really been true to myself. and it’s time for that to change.

as for what would come next, blog-wise, i didn’t want to post something stupid or goofy as my next entry, and i wanted to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, that sure was a lot of heaviness i laid down two days ago. i have further thoughts on everything, but those might be feelings: the blog material. so i figured this transitional, explanatory message would suffice.

and i wanted to express my thanks to those who read, who commented and who, i hope, continue to return.

edited to add: i just discovered that "pride and prejudice" was my 800th blog entry. i didn't know that when i posted it, but it now seems perfect that it worked out that way.

pride and prejudice

two sundays ago, my mother, YB and i went to see my godparents. it was our semi-annual visit – my godparents come into the city to see us in january, and we go out to the country to see them each july. it’s something the whole family has done since i was a baby, though my father stopped tagging along many years ago, and it’s always been a day i look forward to come summer.

the routine is always the same – we arrive around 12:30pm, lunch at 1:00pm, coffee and cake around 4:30pm and back on the road by 6. we usually have the same meal (barbecued pork with potatoes, salad and some other hot vegetable), and the experience almost never deviates from its pleasant, familiar and well-worn path.

so it was that we sat down to lunch two weekends ago, as we’ve done dozens of times before. only what unfolded was unlike any prior visit.

some key background information: my godparents don’t know i’m gay – they’re in their 70s, i only see them for a few hours twice a year, and i’ve always thought they’d either figured it out on their own or that my mom (who’s known them since they were all teenagers) might have told them, because they stopped asking about boyfriends or relationships a while ago. we’re not close enough that i feel like it’s really their business anyway and, frankly, i’d long suspected they might not be the most tolerant when it comes to gay men and women, given their staunch catholicism. also, when people have a tendency to begin sentences with “i’m not a racist, but...”, followed by some kind of cultural generalization, to me it’s a sign their world view might not be as richly coloured as one would hope.

anyway...

as we ate, my godfather began telling a story about some right-wing pundit in the states (can’t remember which one) who’d done a radio interview and cited some bible verse from leviticus as part of her argument against gay marriage.

when he said the words “gay marriage,” i suddenly wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. i had no idea where his story was headed and i feared the worst.

in a very amused voice, however, he went on to describe all the clever rebuttal arguments emailed in to the station, telling this pundit that if she plans on quoting the bible and taking it at face value, then she should also stand by its rulings on trading oxen for wives, death by stoning, and every other archaic, ridiculous practice outlined therein.

“ah, okay,” i thought. “this didn’t go as awry as i thought it would.” i’d been convinced this pundit’s stance was going to lead into some anti-gay remark from my godfather, but it seemed like he was actually mocking her opinion. i exhaled.

then, in a more serious tone that i assume was meant to reassure us for some reason, just to make it clear where he stands, he added, “now, i don’t think homosexuality is right, and i don’t think gay people should be allowed to get married, but...”

and i honestly didn’t hear anything else he said after that. i think it was something about not taking the bible literally, as though that was the most offensive or inane thing about the pundit's view. my heart was pounding in my ears and my stomach had dropped to my ankles. i felt an anxious sweat start to break all over my body and all i wanted to do was get up and leave. the table and the house.

instead, you know what i did?

nothing.

not a fucking thing.

i was completely immobilized, physically and emotionally. i sat there, stared at my fork and didn’t say one word.

and i felt so deeply, deeply ashamed. more ashamed than i’ve ever felt before in my life.

not for being gay, although i’m sure that was somehow part of it, but for remaining silent.

nevermind coming out, i didn’t even challenge his point or try to open the discussion or use the opportunity to show them that “gay people” aren’t the "scary, different others.” they’re me. no, at 39 years of age, an adult, i just sat there like a complete coward and was fully disgusted by my own inaction. i'd never before been faced with homophobia, and i just froze. i felt like i was letting myself down, and letting down every gay man and woman i know. that i was, in that moment, shirking my responsibility, sprinting from a challenge with my fingers in my ears, and not only perpetuating prejudice but actually allowing it to prance around the dining room. just to drive the self-loathing home even more, it was pride day in toronto and there i was, turning my back on everything for which that day stands. it was awful.

neither my mom nor YB said anything, either. maybe they, too, were taken aback and didn’t want to cause an argument... or maybe they agreed with him. i really didn’t know. my sexuality has always been sort of a “don’t ask, don’t tell” type thing in my family – never discussed, never acknowledged. and, even though i came out to them 11 years ago (which wasn’t exactly celebrated), it’s not like i’ve ever had a girlfriend or brought a woman home to meet the family (which is a whole feelings: the blog entry in and of itself), so i really had no idea what their thoughts might be on such matters. but, throughout those 11 years, i’ve also never felt supported or accepted for that part of who i am, so it's not like i was automatically confident this would suddenly be an exception.

we finished lunch and moved on to lighter, safer subjects, conversation-wise, but i had no desire to spend any more time there. it was as though, with those two remarks, the entire environment had changed and became foreign. i looked at my godparents and it was like a chasm had just opened between us, like i no longer knew who they were and was looking at a pair of strangers... strangers who didn’t think i was “right.” they'd always been jovial, loving people, but here they were drawing a big, unfunny line in the sand and unknowingly but very clearly putting me and every other gay person on the opposite side.

i said very little to them for the remainder of the visit. thankfully, YB was having stomach pains from some medication, so we stayed inside and watched TV while everyone else retired to the sweltering backyard. everything on the agenda was also bumped up by an hour as a result, and we were able to head out just before 5. as we got into the car, my godmother knocked on the window and admonished me in her german accent, saying, “call once in a while!”, and i just kind of half-nodded. “fat chance,” i thought, and willed trix to drive off.

all the way home, i said nothing. i sat in the back seat, looked out the window and struggled to process what had just happened -- feelings upon feelings upon feelings, all bad, almost all directed inwardly at myself, and i tried not to cry. YB and my mom chit-chatted and made small talk, but no one said anything about the dining-table remarks, and it made me sink even lower in the car. i didn’t know if i should broach the subject, or express how upset i was, or just let it all go and swallow everything on my own. i wasn’t ready to have further condemnation laid upon me if my mom turned around and supported my godfather instead of me, even casually. i imagined her trying to get me to understand his argument, and i started playing out our conversation in my head... which just added to the inner turmoil.

trixie dropped us off at my parents’ house and then headed home. when my mom nonchalantly asked me about supper after we walked in, i broke. i ignored the question and, in that super-shaky voice you get when you’re trying hard not to start crying, sputtered, “i just need you to know that what [insert godfather’s name] said at lunch was really, really upsetting to me.”

after which, i actually did start crying.

i went on to explain how deeply ashamed and embarrassed i felt, how much i’d wanted to leave, and how unwelcome i suddenly seemed in a home that i’d known practically since birth.

and, much to my surprise, my mom said, “it upset me, too.”

she said she’d remained silent because she thought my sexuality was my business, and that she felt it wasn’t her place to out me to anyone. “i didn’t know if you want people to know,” she said.

i explained that it wasn’t a secret, and it isn’t something i feel the need to hide so she was free to tell whomever she liked, but that i didn’t out myself at the dining table partly because i was so stunned by the comments and partly because it instantly felt like the absolute wrong time and place to do so. maybe that was my cowardice talking, i don’t know, but i hadn’t been emotionally ready for that kind of situation and wasn’t braced for whatever argument might follow.

given that the “don’t ask, don’t tell” door was open, i wanted to find out where my mom stood in the bigger picture. “do you think the same thing he does?”

“no,” she said, and went on to add that she’s surprised that my godfather, for all his self-professed christian beliefs about loving thy neighbour, still thinks that way “in this day and age.”

now, i have no idea whether she truly believes what she told me or was just trying to make me feel better, since my sexuality is still something of an abstract concept for her and hasn’t been something she’s had to face in any kind of real, tangible way. but her words were enough for that day. out of a somewhat ugly incident, she and i were able, however briefly and awkwardly, to talk about something we don’t really ever discuss: who i am. and, even though i didn’t feel an iota of pride in myself, i was oddly proud of my mom in that moment.

i’m still not over that sunday, and even writing about it – which i put off and put off, and then started and stopped repeatedly – makes my stomach knot and my heart hurt. there’s a lot of processing and self-examination left to do, and issues about things like self-acceptance and self-esteem i obviously have to resolve within myself, so some of the above feels unfinished and unresolved.

as such, i wrestled with whether to write about it at all, because it’s so very personal and raw and revealing, and i remain extremely upset, ashamed and embarrassed by my own behaviour. even after choosing to write this story down, i debated whether it should i should post it here, or over at FtB, or just delete it altogether.

ultimately, i realized that hiding my thoughts and words, whatever they are or however i might be perceived as a result, would be just as wrong as hiding myself, and that constantly worrying about acceptance – either for what i write or who i am – is a hurtful, soul-crushing energy drain i can no longer afford.

so, there you go.

why

why

why is a thing
dense and ponderous and mighty
chaotic and untethered
bounding through the stillness
a jackhammer across a pond
every splash a question
drowning a weary mind

why is a thing
spinning and bucking and charging
bellows and whimpers
echoing through the expanse
a hurricane in a canyon
every wave a reproach
carving a fresh scar

why is a thing
knotted and gnarled and broken
thorny and difficult
clawing through the darkness
a branch against a teacup
every strike a doubt
chipping a fragile heart

why is a thing
twirling and swirling and tumbling
infinite and nameless
drifting through the ether
a sigh beside a sunset
every gust a puzzle
rattling a locked door.

© yepimawriter 2010

sliding doors

last weekend, en route to the suburbs, i spotted this message written beside a door on the subway .

i’d been lost in my own thoughts when my eyes wandered the car and found it, and something about it struck me in a really odd, profound way. so much so that i actually got a lump in my throat.

the more i looked at it, the more moving it seemed and the more wondering i did about the circumstances that led someone to take out a marker and scrawl that message on this tiny corner of the public transit system.

was it a message for a girlfriend? a wife? a friend? a relative?

who is adrienne? did she leave? did she die? what happened?

and what was the person who wrote it feeling?

was it a spontaneous decision or something planned? did he or she do it hoping adrienne would see it? does adrienne ride that route regularly? has she seen it already?

was it written in desperation? in remembrance? with regret? infused with one last hope?

there was just something so beautifully simple and pure about the gesture, and something strangely sad about it, as well. to miss someone is a very difficult thing, and to miss someone who doesn’t miss you back is even harder. is that what prompted this inked declaration?

“dear adrienne i miss you.” even the use of the period at the end of the sentence held meaning, i thought.

when the subway reached my stop, i got up to get off. and then, at the last moment, i suddenly felt compelled to whip out my camera to snap a photo of the note... as if doing so might somehow preserve the author’s effort or validate its emotion or just send out energy to the universe that said, “yes, someone noticed.”

the photo is out of focus because it was taken in a big hurry. but i kind of think the effect is weirdly appropriate – the rush to capture a lasting image of an immediate action, with the hope of carrying the author’s message just a little bit farther into the world.

the sun and the moon and the stars above

my horoscope for the weekend, courtesy of my calendar of lies:

"where are you? what makes you unique?
what are your dreams, and how can you make them come true?
the solar eclipse presents these queries so that you can research your answers
and then revise your priorities accordingly."

and, from free will astrology, my horoscope for the week:

"have you ever observed the rising moon with such a steady gaze that you've actually seen it move? have you ever sat yourself down in front of a rose bud during the hour it exploded into full bloom? those experiences have resemblances to a slow-motion burst of graceful growth that's unfolding in your own sphere. i hope you have the patience to give it your full attention, because that way it's more likely to express its potential completely. to enhance your chances of nurturing the subtle magic, remember and ruminate on the images your nightly dreams give you."

hmm.

heat relief

it rained today. a lot. and with that glorious rain came cooler temperatures. almost 10ºC cooler.

but the humidity has remained. as such, the thermometer in my apartment is inching down painfully slowly. which is to say: it's still quite hot in here. about 28ºC/82ºF. and humid.

but blogging shall resume. i have not yet decided whether to write about the homophobic remarks, but i probably will.

in the meantime, i've been tinkering with an entry on and off all day today -- i work at the computer until it gets too hot, then i put it to sleep for a while and come back a little later -- and will post that eventually. but other entries may show up before that one.

i'm just happy not to be melting at the moment.

heat alert

so, the humidex in toronto is 113°F, and is forecast to remain there for at least the next three days. heat advisories are in effect, smog advisories are in effect, air quality advisories are in effect. the city is like a big, gross swamp.

as such, i have relocated to the suburbs, and will be staying with my parents or YB until such time as mother nature goes back on her meds.

unfortunately, this means blogging time is cut down since i have to use my parents' computer... which is in the middle of the basement and, thus, not exactly a prime location for hours of work or privacy or introspection.

so, the entry that i wanted to write today will have to wait. it's about homophobia, and the sadness and disappointment involved when it rears its ugly head unexpectedly from someone you thought you knew. i'm not even sure i actually will write about it, or that i'll post it here. but if i do, it'll be after the heat wave passes and i can return to my own desk, in my own place, with my own thoughts.

in the meantime, air-conditioning and couch surfing with mr. poo.

fact

dreams and hopes and wishes
that are modest and whispered and delicate
are no less meaningful or precious or worthy
than the ones
that roar fiercely from a mountaintop.

canada day recap

* woke up to fantastically cold temperatures (about 53ºF) and bright blue skies. i LOVE a cool summer morning... especially since a heat wave is coming, starting sunday, when mother nature will lay humidity and highs in the 90s on toronto for at least five days.

* enjoyed a breakfast of (american) cranberry almond crunch cereal. watched the buffalo news and heard the wait at the border to cross into the U.S. was already more than an hour. at 8am. yikes.

* went to see my therapist to talk about the good, the bad and the feelings of my recent birthday.

* stopped at cold stone creamery on my way home to redeem my free birthday ice cream (the coupon was expiring today). i opted for coffee ice cream with an oreo mix-in. deee-licious! but i had to eat it indoors because it was still very breezy and brisk (albeit sunny) out.

* picked up a hamburger for lunch, and brought it home... where i ate it with some fresh carrots, a coke and the last 20 minutes of X2: X-Men United.

* decided to clean all my windows. this was a labour-intensive process that involved removing, washing (in the bathtub) and re-inserting all 12 panes. they were heavy and cumbersome and the whole thing took about 2 ½ hours... but it was totally worth it. they are now stunningly, beautifully s*p*a*r*k*l*i*n*g clean. (at least, until it next rains.) when i was finished, i was pooped.

* took a nice, hot shower and decided to put on my pyjamas. at 5pm. whatever.

* had cookies and milk and surfed job boards.

* wrote this blog entry.

* on deck for tonight: snacks, watching The Next Food Network Star and Boston Med, and then hitting the hay at 11.