a long-overdue catch-up

hello!

it's been way too long since i blogged, here or on the photo blog, so i decided to get back on the horse this morning. not much has been going on and a lot has been going on. it's been weird.

my anxiety and stress levels have been unusually and somewhat inexplicably high for the past few weeks. i haven't been sleeping all that well, and i'm still waking up most mornings gripped by transient anxiety. that is, i sort of wake up in a panic -- about nothing and everything at the same time -- but it gradually subsides. i also feel like i've been a bit low-grade depressed. 

last week, i had a horrible IBS flare-up. just pain. that's all i get when it flares. but MAN ALIVE is it ever unpleasant. terrible, unrelenting cramps that make me lose my appetite. when they strike, all i want to do is lie in the fetal position until they pass... which, sadly, often takes hours. then they stop on a dime. then i'm fine for several hours. then they return. this can go on for anywhere from three to seven days. last week's flare lasted six days, and i finally felt OK again this past saturday.

my writing has been in fits and starts. i'll have a really good run for a day or two, and feel like i've made strides, and then i either hit a (creative) wall or get distracted, and my progress train derails. i'm still trying to write for an hour a day, but it's been inconsistent. i find whenever i break my streak, it's hard to get it going again.

so, today, i'm trying to get things up and running. i figured a catch-up blog would be a good way to exercise my muscles a bit and to feel like i'd written something on this crisp monday morning.

in no particular order, then:

* i think part of my anxiety stems from this week's impending condo-board meeting. it'll be the first one since we unseated the president (who, if you recall, pitched a fit) and it'll be my first as board secretary. so, i'm responsible for the minutes of the meeting... which doesn't sound all that scary until you realize these are the official records of the corporation. they'll have my signature on them. they're legal documents. i think i've gotten into my own head too much lately, especially as far as this is concerned, and know that i've (mentally) blown this all out of proportion. after all, one of the former secretaries was in her late-80s (!) and frail when she had the job, and she managed it... so i'm pretty sure i can handle things just fine. still, i'm worried that the former president will, once again, get all rant-y come wednesday. hopefully, he doesn't. our meetings are long enough without extra time added on for tantrums.

* i've also been weighing whether being on the board is truly worth the headaches. it feels like we just keep moving from one crisis to the next, without any reprieve. it's been a LOT of work and taken up much more of my time than i ever thought it would. my term expires in october 2021, so i'll eventually need to figure out whether i want to re-up and run again, or just step down and let someone else shoulder the burden. 10 more official meetings, plus an AGM and probably at least a half dozen supplementary meetings, between now and then. there's something to said for being involved and being part of determining how our building runs -- i like having a say and ensuring that things are done properly -- but it's also been unexpectedly taxing.

* further to condo-related news, i've started wondering how much longer i want to live here. don't get me wrong: i love my place, love the neighbourhood. but i also know that it's going to get increasingly expensive to live here -- within the next couple of years, my monthly maintenance fees will hit $1000 or more... which means i'm spending $12K a year just to occupy my unit, and have water and electricity. that's a LOT and it will only continue to go up year after year. so, i've started asking myself if it's worth it.

* further to the further above: i've begun browsing houses for sale outside of toronto. living in the city makes sense for things like hot docs and TIFF, and proximity to YB and my parents. but, let's be honest, it could be YEARS before hot docs and TIFF ever resume in-person screenings the way they once did. and, even then, i don't know that i'll feel comfortable attending. i rarely go out, and don't imagine i'll be resuming my evening press-screening attendance again. proximity to the family is, however, important. but buying a house in toronto is impossible, cost-wise, unless i suddenly win the lottery. detached homes are welllll over $1 million and out of my price range. but nearby cities an hour or less away, like port hope -- and even ajax, whitby and oshawa, still have houses in the $400-600K range, which i *could* afford... with money left over, even. (the only benefit to the INSANE housing prices in toronto is the fact that my condo has almost doubled in value in the six years i've lived here, and would likely sell for almost $800K, as is.) so, i've spent more time than is probably healthy on realtor.ca lately. there, i've found properties like this one, or this one, or this one... none of which are "perfect," per se, but they're certainly interesting enough to make me start seriously weighing the pros and cons of staying/moving. more updates on this as time goes on.

* in family news, after years of thinking he knew better than his doctors -- and essentially following some or none of their medical advice -- it's looking like my father will need to be on kidney dialysis within the next year or two. his kidney function is extremely poor (again, due in part to him not really doing anything to prevent it from getting worse over the last five to ten years), so he'll eventually need a machine to clean his blood. the current plan is for at-home dialysis, which involves clearing out the master bedroom, having a home-dialysis machine installed (which has to be hooked up to plumbing, as well), to which my dad would hook himself up every night. it's a massive undertaking and one that's left my mom defeated because, lord knows, she's going to be the one having to manage all this. YB has been great -- shuttling dad to and from doctor's appointments and blood-work appointments every other week. but his "keep me alive, no matter what!" stance (mom told me he said he wants quantity of life, not quality) feels selfish to me, especially given his own apathy about following doctors' orders. 

* i have been woefully negligent as far as photos for the photo blog are concerned. most of the blame goes to the weather -- i typically take my photos while on my walks, but hot weather means what i wear is often pocket-less, so there's nowhere to stash my camera. plus, in summer, my "walks" are more run/walk combos for fitness, done in the early morning, so trying to carry a camera -- let alone stop to snap a photo -- is just unrealistic. and then, again because of the weather, i stay inside for the rest of the day. so, i have a small collection of shots taken over the past few weeks that i'll post later. hopefully, now that fall is on our doorstep and the weather is cooling down, better opportunities for walks with cameras will emerge.

* i'm finally getting my hair cut next week. it will have been almost a full year since the last time it was cut, and it is LONG. i'll be very glad to have a huge amount of it lopped off -- enough so that i might last another full year before needing to have it cut again.

interesting...

so, the new interface now works for me. i can see everything i need to see to create a post.

i can add a photo, like this one of a red chair...

and i can add a caption

but it's all still kind of weird and freaky. i HATE the new "photos" app, which is stripped of so many of the photo-editing functions that iPhoto possessed (including resizing images, adjusting sharpness, etc.).

i just keep reminding myself that it will take time to get used to the changes, to all the new stuff, and that soon it will feel ordinary again.

hmmm....

it's august 24th.

i've updated my operating system and all my browsers.

yet blogger is still allowing me to use the legacy interface.

i'm going to test out the new interface now...

a catch-up!

good grief. i knew time had passed since my last post, but i didn't realize THIS MUCH time had passed. i actually have a long blog entry that i wrote a couple of weeks ago but, for assorted reasons, i haven't yet posted it.

so, instead, a quick catch-up on stuff that's going on at present:

* i have been trying to stick to the hour-a-day-of-writing plan i posted way back when. it's been mostly successful, but i find i drop the ball on weekends when i'm typically not at home as much. it's a lot easier to sit down for an hour when i'm in my condo for 98% of the day.

* happily, i finished one screenplay outline. yay! but feel that the story is lacking something. it's fine, but not great, and it could use some more drama. as in: more intensity. more gasp-worthy moments. something to make people sit up and go, "oh, i didn't see THAT coming! i wonder what happens next!" right now, it feels a little middle-of-the-road and flat. so, i'm letting it percolate for a bit before i start the screenwriting component.

* while outline #1 percolates, i've moved over to outline #2. it's still in its infancy, but is very fun to write. it's a horror-fantasy-comedy, so there really are no rules in terms of what characters can do or how situations can unfold. i'm trying to push my boundaries and to stop stopping myself — i need to let my imagination go NUTS and conjure up the most insane scenarios or bits of dialogue or plot twists. right now, i feel like i'm still playing it too safe.

* also, in the spirit of willing something into existence, i'm designing a movie poster for outline #2, complete with my dream cast.

* about two weeks ago, i and a couple of other condo-board members removed our board president from his position. (we can't remove him from the board, but we can strip him of his title.) it was a long time coming, and is the best thing for the board and the building. but, man, the fit he pitched when we voted him out. it just reaffirmed that we made exactly the right decision. you'd think an adult's reaction to being told he's dismissive, argumentative and rude wouldn't be to immediately (and angrily) dismiss the claims, argue that he's right and we're wrong, and then call us names.

* as a result of the above chaos, i was super-rattled for a couple of weeks (before and after the ousting). i eventually became so fed up with feeling anxious that started investigating coping mechanisms for anxiety and stress, and actually started reading about crystals and spirit guides and the like. i know, i know, it all sounds woo-woo and loopy, but just researching those topics actually calmed my nerves. over the past week, i've been meditating more, taking Natural Calm (instead of my usual magnesium supplement) in the evenings and, thankfully, have finally been sleeping a bit better. it's all made me feel much better, too.

* corollary: when i'm stressed, gracie gets stressed. during the few weeks that i was a walking stressball due to the condo-board stuff, she was also "off." she wasn't eating properly, threw up a couple of times and started licking her back to the point that she's actually "mowed" a big patch of hair off. that, in turn, stressed me out more... which stressed her out more. and so on. now that i'm on a more even keel, her appetite and energy have returned, and i'm not stressed about her. if i can somehow get her to STOP licking her back (so that the hair can grow back), we'll be set. though, i suspect the licking is due to itchy skin, which is likely due to an allergy of some sort. but allergy testing is not in the cards in the near future.

* YB's birthday, on the other hand, *is* in the near future. it's on thursday and, once i finish this blog entry, i'll be starting phase 3 of her birthday-confection treat: homemade turtles. the caramel has been made, the pecans halves have been toasted, so next i'll wrap individual pecan halves in caramel and then put them in the freezer to firm up. after that, i'll melt some milk chocolate, then dip each caramel/pecan mound in to coat it. FYI: this batch of caramel might be the best i've ever made, so i'm upping the caramel-to-pecan ratio to create big gooey globs of tastiness.

* in just under a week, blogger's new interface becomes permanent. i still haven't upgraded my OS (and, thus, my web browser), so i fear i may not be able to post new content after the 23rd, and until such time as my computer and i join the year 2016 ('cause it's too old to upgrade to the OS of 2020).

preparation

back in march, when the pandemic first began, i -- like many others -- thought (hoped) it would wane over the summer. and maybe if people had been more cautious, wore masks, stayed apart, avoided restaurants and bars and parties, it might have. but it didn't, and now it's august and here we are.

canada's done a pretty decent job of tamping down infections and spread, but as the city of toronto enters phase 3 -- and bars, restaurants, movie theatres, gyms and the like all reopen for indoor business -- i fear it's only a matter of time before things go off the rails again. all one has to do is watch the nightly news to see evidence that people are selfish and clueless: huge parties, crowded beaches, packed nightclubs, no one observing any of the precautions that have been drilled into our heads for months. no face masks, no distancing, lots of reckless behaviour.

and, in about a month, schools will reopen.

gulp.

lately, i've felt like this period we're in now (in toronto, anyway) is a bit of a respite. stores are open and, save for disinfecting wipes, are fully stocked. in my opinion, we'd be wise to learn from what happened earlier this year and use this time to start prepping -- slowly and steadily -- for the fall and winter, and the very real likelihood that the world will once again need to shut down almost completely.

as such, i've advised my mom to start very gradually stocking up, a little at a time, on all the non-perishable things that vanished from store shelves in the spring, which she might need between now and, say, next april: dry pasta; canned and dried beans; rice; frozen fruits and vegetables; flour; toilet paper. right now, they're in abundant supply and my parents have a big "cold cellar" where they can store a HUGE volume of goods, so they have room to keep a winter's worth of stuff so she doesn't have to venture out unless absolutely necessary later on. better safe and well-stocked than sorry.

i've been doing that, too, to some extent. last week, i took mom to one of our go-to natural-foods stores in the west pole (vaughan), and i stocked up on all the vitamins and supplements i might need during cold-and-flu season... products which also disappeared quickly back in march and april. elderberry syrup and capsules, multivitamins, vitamin D. when i next visit a walmart, i'll be picking up some generic-brand nyquil, just so i have it on hand if/when i need it. i'm well-stocked with vitamin C, but will still buy a couple more bottles when they next go on sale. same goes for probiotics.

next week, i have my six-month check-up and cleaning at the dentist. my previous appointment in february happened juuuuuuuuuust as COVID-19 began to impact the world (back then, the virus didn't even have a name yet). i remember being asked by the receptionist whether i'd travelled abroad, whether i had any cough/cold symptoms, etc., but it was otherwise business as usual. thankfully, i know it will be very different this time. i have no qualms about visiting the dentist right now, either -- medical facilities are some of the safest places to be, IMO, since their protocols are strict and thorough. i feel pretty confident there won't be some maskless morons being allowed to wander around or groups of people congregating in the lobby.

in related news, i think i need to get my hair cut pretty soon. it hasn't been cut since october 2019. i usually go every six months, but the cut i would have had done in april obviously didn't happen. the salon i use opened back up at the start of july, but i'm planning to time my haircut so that, if needed, it'll last me through to next may or june. again, just in case everything has to close over the winter. so, maybe i'll book that appointment for sometime in the next couple of weeks, and opt for a cut slightly shorter than usual.

after that, the only other appointment i'll need to make is for my annual blood work, mammogram and wellness visit with my family doctor, which happens in february. (like the dentist, my last visit to the doctor happened right as the pandemic was declared.) i won't be attending what remains of TIFF this september -- the festival is trying to keep some kind of event running, but it just sounds like it'll be an expensive and disappointing mess. so, basically, i should be able to hunker down and continue to isolate myself socially for the foreseeable future, if necessary.

and, let's be honest, it's almost certainly going to be necessary.

colouring in the lines

when i'm working on a screenplay, it happens in stages.

first, the idea. this stage can take a very long time. often, i'll have the basic spark of an idea, which can strike at any time, but it's not really enough on its own around which to build a story. so i ruminate. i stew. i mull. i roll the idea around and around and around until some sort of narrative path makes itself known. i leave it alone and come back to it. this can literally take years.

once i have a solid enough idea ironed out, i start stage two: brainstorming. from that spark of an idea, myriad possibilities for characters and settings and twists and endings abound. it's a lot of mental noise, so i brainstorm a slew of options. sometimes, i'll do this with pen and paper. other times, i'll sit at the computer and just type. it's about getting everything out so i can sort through it and figure out the shape of the story, its key players and where it might all wind up.

that leads to the next stage, which involves building the skeleton of the story. writing out the key plot points. i usually do this out of order, writing down what i think the breakdown of scenes might be as they come to me. where/when is information revealed, any by whom, and under what circumstances? oh, geez, what about this secondary character -- don't i need a scene that explains who she is as a person? how will the story suddenly take a sharp turn, and how/where should that happen during the course of events?

and on and on and on. i write down as many possible scenes as i can think of -- sometimes just a sentence or two, and sometimes a more detailed description -- in one long list.

then i go through each item on the list, and copy and paste it into a new list that puts the scenes in order. it's a bit like alphabetizing -- i take a pile of mixed-up stuff and then organize it. thus, the skeleton is born.

after the skeleton is constructed, i review it to identify holes. because there are always holes. i drop in transition scenes to help the flow, and gap-fillers to add missing information, reinforce a theme or just bump up the action. it's a way to get the skeleton as strong as it can be because the next stage is one of my favourites.

the next stage is colouring in the lines. building the full outline from which the screenplay will be written. some writers can sit down and write a screenplay without an outline, but i like to know where my story's going before i launch my screenwriting software. without that outline in place, screenplays can meander, drag on, become directionless. i like to have a road map before i embark on the journey.

so, once the skeleton is finished, i go back to the start and, scene by scene, flesh out all the details. what actually happens in each scene? where are the characters, geographically and emotionally? who are these people? what are they *doing* in the scene (because no one wants to watch endless scenes of two talking heads onscreen)? how does this scene propel the action? what's the point of the scene? where's the conflict?

snippets of dialogue pop up and i jot them down. i get ideas for connections between scenes and note those so i don't forget when it comes to the actual screenwriting stage. i try to come up with settings that will provide visual and narrative interest -- what if i set this scene at a laundromat instead of someone's kitchen? could this scene be richer if it happened at night, in a deserted parking lot, instead of during the day on someone's front porch? what if i make this character a glass blower instead of a banker? etc.

while all the preceding stages are important, they're not quite as fun. they're the "work" part of writing a screenplay for me. developing the structure is, for me, the most challenging aspect of screenwriting and it has a more practical, functional, sterile quality to it.

but colouring in the lines is where my imagination can go nuts. it's where i find the meat and potatoes and sparkling pink lemonade of the story. it's where my characters come to life, and where their personalities -- quirks, hang-ups, tics, flaws, passions -- get filled out. it's also where brand new characters, new directions and previously unexplored ideas emerge... all of which help to make the story better. stronger. tighter. it takes a while, but it's so worth it.

right now, i'm in the colouring-in-the-lines stage of a screenplay. i'm about 1/3 of the way through, and have already realized that i forgot to give my main character any kind of best friend/confidante. (oops.) i'm sure it won't be the last realization of a missing component.

hopefully, i'll have this stage done by the end of next week, after which i can open up final draft and type the two words that signal the start of the final stage: "fade in."

uh oh... one more thing i can't do with my computer's outdated OS...

so, it seems that blogger has revamped its interface. it's all fancy and new... and, apparently, does not work with my mac's operating system. when i tried to create a new post, all i could do was enter a title.

nothing else.

there was nowhere to add body copy, no icons or buttons to click that might open up a dialog box in which to type words... nothing.

just: "title" and a "publish" button.

i tried everything i could think of, and then ultimately reverted to "legacy format" in order to create this post.

all this to say, i fear the day i will have no choice BUT to upgrade my OS is drawing very near. this will mean figuring out how to ensure all my software will still work (a lot of it likely won't) and that i'll somehow still be able to use my printer (drivers for which stopped being created by the manufacturer about eight years ago).

fingers crossed.

tarted up

to many canadians, butter tarts are as quintessentially canadian as maple syrup, hockey, poutine and good manners. they are a staple dessert in households, bakeries and restaurants across the country, and recipes for "the best butter tart EVER" are circulated amongst friends, posted online and passed down from generation to generation.

for the uninitiated, a butter tart is basically a flaky-pastry pie crust with a filling consisting of mainly of brown sugar, butter, vanilla and egg (the amounts of which vary from recipe to recipe). it's a bit like pecan pie minus the pecans... unless you get a butter tart with pecans, then it's a lot like pecan pie. only better. and, in a perfect world, a lot goopier. if the filling of a butter tart runs all over your fingers after you bite in, you know you've found a winner.

in canada, there are butter-tart competitions, butter-tart-only bakeries, and even assorted butter-tart festivals. people LOVE butter tarts.

some like their butter tarts plain. some like them with pecans. others prefer them with raisins, but those people and i will fundamentally disagree on this issue for eternity because raisins do not belong in desserts, and raisins in butter tarts ruin the butter tarts. that's right. i said it.

and here's the kicker: until about two years ago, i'd never, ever in my life had a butter tart before. at all. ever. EVER.

i don't really know why, except for the fact that i prefer cake to pie, and butter tarts always struck me as just being little sugar pies, so i never felt particularly curious about them or compelled to have one.

then one day, back when i was still working in an office, a colleague brought in a couple dozen homemade butter tarts she'd picked up on a family trip to an apple orchard. it was the middle of the afternoon, i had an intense craving for a sweet snack, so i asked one of my colleagues if she wanted to split one with me. (note: these tarts were BIG.)

we split it, i took one bite and... OMG.

"HOW HAVE I NEVER ENJOYED  THIS DELICIOUSNESS BEFORE?!?!?" i thought to myself.

i quickly headed back to the communal snack table and grabbed another one to take home.

from that day onwards, i became a butter tart connoisseur, seeking out the best ones i could find.

i tried multiple iterations of the generic six-pack you can buy at every grocery store in the land: unsurprisingly, they were disappointing. gelatinous filling, waxy crust, bland flavour.

i tried the pre-packaged singles (from some small bakery, the name of which escapes me) at mcewan: meh. not worth the price and only slightly better than the run-of-the-mill six-pack variety.

i tried the plain and bourbon-pecan butter tarts from a tiny local bakery: pretty good, but very small and very expensive.

and i tried the award-winning butter tarts from the maid's cottage up in newmarket: excellent, and worthy of every accolade they've been given. rich, flavourful, fantastically gooey... and, usually, STILL WARM FROM THE OVEN when you pick them up. so very very very good. and so filling that i find it challenging to finish one in a single sitting. (when i have them at home, i usually cut each tart in half and split it into two servings.)

but driving up to newmarket every time i get a hankering for a butter tart is unrealistic. not to mention time-consuming and ridiculous, given the distance. once a year or so, YB and i will pop in to grab some if we're in the area for some other reason but, for the most part, those amazing tarts have remained a once-in-a-rare-while treat.

UNTIL TODAY.

because today i discovered they're sold (frozen) to a shop around the corner from where i live. (OMG.) literally a five-minute walk away. FIVE MINUTES.

i have just now placed and order for a half-dozen, and am really hoping that once i warm one in the toaster oven, it'll be just as good as one i would have picked up from the mothership. we shall see.

on death and dying

today, my mother has a meeting with a lawyer to update her will, take ownership of my grandparents' funeral plot, make arrangement for her own funeral, etc.

perhaps due to the pandemic and/or the extra time she's had on her hands, getting her "affairs in order" has been a frequent topic of conversation over the past month or two. and, frankly, it's all done a number on my anxiety. it's likely part of the reason why, for at least the past month, i've been waking up ridiculously early each morning, feeling panicked.

ever since i was a little girl, the thought of my mother dying has terrified me. it's something i've worried about as long as i can remember. if i think about it too long, i start to cry. i have lost countless nights of sleep over my lifetime to this worry. back when i had a therapist, it was often the subject of our sessions.

and, as i touched upon a few posts ago, it's obviously something that grows more pronounced with each passing year, as we both get older. i'm no less frightened of the thought now than i was when i was five or 15 or 25. i don't feel any more "grown up," or more secure. and i fear the loss will be so devastating that i will not be able to recover from it when it happens.

i almost never even speak of it, let alone write about it, lest doing so somehow triggers some kind of cosmic event that turns my worst fears into reality.

when the thought arises, it's not too long before i'm drowning in what ifs about when it'll happen. how it'll happen. what if it was happening right at that moment that the thought arose? there have been many an instance when i had to fight the urge to call my parents' house in the middle of the night to make sure she's OK because i feared she had just died and this was my subconscious letting me know. seriously. sometimes, i've been that scared.

now, this extreme worry and catastrophizing is part of GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). deep down, i know this. rationally, i know that when it does happen, i can seek grief counselling, that it will be horrible but i will make it through, etc.

when my fears on this topic manifest themselves during the day, i can usually ground myself and distract myself and snap out of the panic spiral. i can think more clearly and logically.

but when those thoughts creep in as i'm going to bed or randomly in the middle of the night, forget about it. it'll be at least an hour or more before my brain calms down enough that i might actually be able to fall (back) asleep. late in the evening or in the wee hours of the morning, there is no rational thought. only worst-case scenarios and chest-crushing terror.

i mention this now because of the lawyer visit -- it's brought all these fears to the forefront of my mind much more often than they might otherwise be on any given day. i've been spending way too much time and energy thinking about death and dying lately... again, it's probable that the pandemic has also been amplifying the subject for me (and, likely, other people, too), so i'm gonna chalk some of it up to that.

my standard-issue life-long fears about my mother's death have been coupled recently with worries about my own mortality. during a phone chat with mom about funeral plots the other day -- not-so-fun fact: in the city of toronto, it costs about $700 to have a small urn-sized hole dug in a cemetery, and coffin-sized plots *start* at $12K! -- she asked me whether i wanted to buried with her and my grandparents, or elsewhere.

and i said, "well, it doesn't really matter, because other than YB, no one's ever going to visit my grave." and, i added, if YB goes first, then it really wouldn't matter where my remains ended up because there would be no one left to visit me, her, mom or our grandparents. neither of us have kids. we're not especially close (physically or figuratively) with our extended families.

so, assuming i live a good long life, when i eventually die, who's going to care? or care where i'm buried?

probably no one.

i mean, i'd like to think i'll have people in my life who'll be sad when they get the news (from whom?) that i've died, but will anyone truly *care*? (again, outside of YB.)

and that thought was a bit of an emotional blow.

then, of course, i've started to worry about *my* affairs -- to whom will i leave my estate? who's going to care about my photos or clothes or furniture or any material possessions? good grief, who's going to bury me????

and thus we've had several more sleepless nights. thanks, GAD!

thankfully, and once again during my waking hours, i'm able to calm myself down and think rationally. i remind myself: there are plenty of meaningful new friendships left to forge alongside the nurturing of existing relationships. there will be new paths (that i don't even know about yet) to follow. although i've spent my entire life single and have resigned myself to the fact that i will likely never have a relationship, who knows? the point, i tell myself, is not to dwell on *any* one possibility (good, bad or otherwise) because there is no telling how life will unfold.

heck, my condo building could blow up the moment i finish typing this sentence and all these worries will have been for naught.

::: pause :::

okay, still here. no explosion.

yay!

anyway...

this post has been somewhat rambling but i felt compelled to purge these thoughts this morning, however disorganized they might be. i'm hoping that maybe writing it all out will help. maybe telling myself (in writing) what i try to tell myself (in my head) when i'm gripped by anxiety might help the healthier perspective to stick. or maybe not. for now, i'd just be grateful for a really good night's sleep.

[one funny story to take the edge off: apparently, when my mom was discussing funeral arrangements with my father last week, he told her he wants to be cremated and then have his ashes "scattered." she asked where. he said he didn't know. when she recounted this to me yesterday, i laughed and said, "well, if he wants them scattered at his favourite place, we can just dump them all over his recliner." fin.]

practice makes imperfect

lest you think blog inactivity means i haven't been writing: rest assured, i have been. every day, for at least an hour, as planned. just not blog posts. (i actually did write a massive blog post the other day that i was going to post, but ultimately didn't, because it deals with a condo-board issue that i don't want to jinx. so, it's saved as a draft and will be published when the time is right... probably in a couple of weeks.)

anyway...

for the most part, my daily writing practice hasn't really been yielding anything of note. i've been jumping from project to project based on which one is calling to me on a given day. and, sometimes, i've been using the ideas in my idea notebook to just write something new for a while.

but this routine has made me feel weirdly noncommittal to everything on which i'm working. by hopping from story to story, i feel a bit like i'm just spinning my wheels, killing time, fulfilling a duty, and none of the stories are actually going anywhere or evolving.

so, yesterday, i posted a question to facebook (and emailed it to a couple of non-FB writer friends of mine) asking for tips, tricks and suggestions from my writer/creative friends on how to actually FINISH something.

because it's fine to have a stack of great ideas or half-finished pieces, but what's the point if none of them ever wind up completed?

i got some really amazing, thoughtful replies packed with clever strategies and practical advice. the gist of it all, though, was pretty simple: you just gotta write. sit down and write. write write write. good, bad, ugly, rambling, whatever. just write.

thinking about writing is fine, but without actually DOING it, the thing you're trying to create will never exist. dreaming of how your novel or screenplay or short story or play or poem will be received is fun but pointless -- one friend sent me a great quote by martha graham that basically says, "that's not your job. your job is just to get the thing finished." (i'm paraphrasing, of course.)

one of my biggest hurdles is overcoming the inclination to edit what i've written while it's still a work in progress, rather than forging ahead, for better or worse, to get to the end of a first draft and THEN go back and edit. my brain starts second-guessing what i've already written, or stalls trying to figure out the best way forward through a scene or a moment or a piece of dialogue. or i just start feeling like what i've been writing is lame and "why bother continuing? i should just scrap this..."

what i need to do is just move forward with something. a bad plot twist, or no twist at all. a wooden monologue or a scene without any dialogue. one supertsra designer friend put it best, saying the way through creative blocks is just to do all the "dumb ideas" first. write them, design them, whatever... but get them out of your system. this allows you to proceed (rather than waiting for lightning to strike) *and* gives your brain room to let in a good idea. or a great one. or the perfect one. or maybe none of those, but at least you'll be able to get to the proverbial finish line of whatever it is you're working on. and that's what matters.

i have a new bulletin board hung up next to my desk. i was going to use it as sort of a vision board, on which to pin inspirational/motivational images or quotes or self-help reminders.

back when i was working in an office, i had an 8x11" colour image of a beautiful swimming pool posted on my cubicle wall. on it, i wrote "JUST JUMP IN" as a reminder to just do it, just go, just take the risk, etc.

it came from a realization i'd had while in florida one year. every morning, i'd go down to the pool just before 9am to swim. although the pool was heated, the water temperature was always somewhat chilly first thing in the morning. and, every day, i'd s-l-o-w-l-y inch my way in via the steps in the shallow end. it was a very very very gradual process that didn't make starting my swim any easier. going slowly didn't magically warm up the water. eventually, i'd just quickly dunk myself under to get the shock to my body over with, then proceed to swim. and after no more than a minute or two, the water felt totally comfortable. no longer cold.

i soon learned that by dunking right away (instead of the slo-mo pool entry), i could gain a couple of minutes of enjoyment and spare myself the "agony" of the gradual submersion. "just jump in" and get it over with already so you can move on!

then i realized that approach could be applied to life beyond the pool deck. as a self-critical overthinker, how much of my life and my work was being hampered by a slow, methodical, ultimately unproductive process? what if i just jumped in whenever faced with doubt or fear or really cold water?

so, the first thing i've posted on my bulletin board is a post-it that says: JUST FINISH. and, hopefully, it can serve as a reminder of what to do whenever i'm sitting at my desk, struggling to write and pondering what should come next.

now, i just need to find another great photo of a pool to pin beside it.

water: logged

i love swimming. i love being in water. i really really love pools.

it's been this way as long as i can remember. the smartest thing my parents ever did for me was enrol YB and me in swimming lessons -- every single summer -- starting when we were very young.

back then, in july and august, i probably spent more time at the local outdoor pool than i did at home during the day. hours and hours. swimming lessons in the morning, then back at the pool with my friends for public swimming in the afternoon *and* evening. i couldn't get enough. i have photo of myself from that time, my hair bleached almost white from the combination of summer sunshine and my near-constant saturation with chlorinated water.

the pool was an okay size -- big at the time, but relatively small now that i look at it with adult eyes. it was an outdoor pool and in direct sunlight from about 9am onwards until sunset. through my lessons, i learned all the key strokes, learned how to dive, how to tread water, and by the time of my final summer of lessons (i think i was maybe 12?), i was doing endless laps with ease.

the community pool of my youth (now with much fancier fencing than it had when i was a kid)

i still remember the change room -- a plain concrete space with a line of metal benchwork around its perimeter. no lockers, just coat hooks on the wall. three or four toilet stalls and sinks. that's it. there were two shower heads in the small path leading out to the pool deck. you were supposed to rinse off before stepping in the water, but i don't remember anyone ever doing that. we'd do a quick rinse on the way *out*, but even that was cursory. see above re: bleached hair.

after lessons, we'd go home for a few hours before returning when the public-swimming hours began. it was about a 10-minute walk from our house to the pool -- a walk we almost always took alone. dad would join us for the evening swims, after he got home from work. mom didn't know how to swim, so she'd sometimes come along and sit in the nearby park to read while we swam.

all my childhood summers were defined by that pool.

well, that pool and the one at my godparents' house. that one was a round, above-ground model with a little in/out ladder. you could jump in from the deck off the house. we visited once a year, always in early july, and almost always spent the bulk of those visits swimming. the adults stayed on dry land, but YB, my godparents' son and i would be in the water. we always had a barbecued lunch with cake for dessert. and they had a huge cherry tree in the backyard, so a big bowl of fresh cherries was usually on hand, too.

and, of course, anytime we went on a family vacation, we stayed in hotels or motels with pools. YB and i have swum in pools all across the U.S. big ones, little ones, dirty ones... we loved it.

winter swimming was divided between various locations. we'd often register for lessons at the indoor pool at a nearby high school, or drop in for casual swimming on occasion. weirdly, i can't remember a single thing about that pool, though. not what it looked like, how we accessed it, what the change rooms were like -- nothing. but i know we swam there!

we also swam at the indoor pool near the north york central library. i have very vague fleeting memories of that space -- i seem to recall a brown brick interior with small windows. the thing i remember most is that afterwards we'd always go to the mcdonald's just down the street on yonge for sundaes and french fries.

when that pool was torn down and replaced by the douglas snow aquatic centre, we swam there. that facility was massive and fancy, with an olympic-sized pool, waterslide, wading area, and giant whirlpool that was so big it had its own ramp in. there were second-story bleachers where mom would sit to watch us, and huge change rooms with lockers, showers and hair dryers. (fun fact: these are also the change rooms where YB and i each contracted a plantar's wart.)

douglas snow aquatic centre

we went to douglas snow for a few years but eventually our visits petered out and stopped. it got very busy, which made swimming less fun. the novelty wore off, and getting to/from the pool during the frigid toronto winters became less and less appealing.

my pool time dried up for many years thereafter, but was restored when i started going down to florida with mom for one week every may. the condo building where we've stayed for the past 20+ years has a lovely little pool that opens at 9am is usually completely deserted until about 10:30am -- which is when it's in full sun and the pool deck fills up with sunbathing parents and their obnoxious children.

the florida-condo pool (*sigh*)

so, there, i swim from 9am until about 9:40am, when i can have the ENTIRE POOL to myself. it's beyond heavenly. i can float undisturbed to my heart's content, or swim laps, or do weird arm and leg workouts. i gauge my swim time by the position of the sun -- when the sun hits the "3 ft." marker at the shallow end, i know it's almost time for me to get out. (there's also a big clock hanging nearby, but the sun is a more accurate indicator of when i'd need to apply sunscreen.)

swimming at that pool as an adult is just as magical and fulfilling an experience as swimming for hours on end in the community pool as a child. i feel the same excitement and joy now, at almost 50, when i see that sparkling blue water that i did when i was 10. and i feel the same reluctance to get out that i did back then. "awwww, mom! FIVE MORE MINUTES?"

missing that opportunity this year due to COVID-19 was tough. and i don't think the situation will be stable enough for us to visit near year, either. the public pools in toronto are just now starting to open again, but i'm not comfortable enough (yet) to venture into any of them.

in the meantime: today, YB and i will be visiting a friend of mine, who has a pool. and we shall swim in it. and i suspect it will refresh my body (it's gonna be sunny and near 90ºF today) and replenish my spirit in exactly the right way.

the new abnormal, episode one: the shopping mall

yesterday, i went to a shopping mall for the first time in more than four months.

malls here reopened a couple of weeks ago, mom had been itching to get out of the house, and my curiosity about what the shopping-in-a-mall experience might be in a COVID world was growing. on monday, YB had gone to a usually-quite-busy mall in her neighbourhood (also for the first time in months) and said it was deserted -- very few shoppers, empty but well-stocked stores, ideal for shopping.

so, i floated the idea of a tuesday outing to mom, which she enthusiastically supported. then, yesterday morning, i picked her up and, masks on!, off we went.

before heading out, i'd visited the mall's website to get a sense of what to expect upon our arrival. restricted access through certain entrances only, readily available hand-sanitizing stations, arrows on the mall floors/stairs to indicate in which direction you should be moving, etc. pretty standard-issue fare that didn't seem outrageous or too far removed from what we'd already grown accustomed to when grocery shopping over the past few months.

but to say the experience of stepping into a COVID-era mall was surreal is an understatement. it was like we were stepping into some bizarre post-apocalyptic mirror world.

we realized this as soon as we parked the car and headed towards the entrance of one of the mall's department stores. there are eight doors at this entrance, but four were locked shut. two sets of two doors each were open -- one set had huge signs that said "ENTER HERE," the other set was marked "EXIT HERE."

the second we stepped inside, we were met by a masked store greeter standing next to a hand-sanitizer station. cheerfully, he welcomed us and directed us to please sanitize our hands, which we did. no big deal. little did we know that this would be just the first of multiple sanitizing requirements throughout the mall.

some of the aisles in the department store had arrows, some did not. the mall entrance of the store was mostly closed, but they'd pulled back the security gate at both ends -- again, with big "ENTER HERE" and "EXIT HERE" signs to indicate how to go from the store to the rest of the mall. getting to the "EXIT HERE" gap meant navigating through the serpentine route of arrows the store had created in the cosmetics/fragrance section, where certain areas/counters were roped off and others left open for foot traffic. it took far longer than it should have for us to wind our way out.

when we did, we found ourselves in a relatively deserted mall. we'd arrived almost an hour after it opened, but the small smattering of shoppers made it feel like the whole place was still closed.

there were arrows ALL OVER the floors, but spaced in such a way that you basically had to walk right up to an arrow in order to determine which direction it was telling you to go. the perimeter of the mall seemed to have been set up like one huge mall-walking track -- you walked in one direction all along one side until reaching an end point, where you'd loop around and walk all the way back along the opposite side.

large open areas -- say, outside the department stores or in the mall's large atrium-ed centre court -- were free-for-alls. arrows criss-crossing paths in a very confusing and convoluted way. it was challenging for *me* to figure out where i should be walking, so i can't imagine how difficult it migh be for seniors or kids trying to follow along properly. i know it was making mom frustrated. and, of course, even in areas where literally going with the flow should be easy, we encountered morons who chose to deliberately walk against the tide.

mask use was good but not universal. last week, the city of toronto instituted a bylaw requiring that masks or face coverings be worn by EVERYONE in enclosed indoor public spaces. this includes all stores and shopping malls. but the mall we visited was just outside the city limits, and technically not required to mandate mask use. most people had them on nonetheless but, as ever, we saw various mask-free individuals (almost all of them were either teenagers or caucasian women in their 50s) wandering around.

the stores themselves were mostly open, but more than we expected remained shuttered, further enhancing the unsettling, not-quite-right vibe. at the entrance to almost every single one was a staffer holding a bottle of hand sanitizer or standing next to a table on which some sanitizer sat. we had to sanitize our hands over and over again at multiple shops. the staffers then frequently delivered their retailer's unique how-you-have-to-shop-here-now spiel before permitting entry.

change rooms are closed.

credit or debit payment only.

you can't try on clothes or shoes in the store.

you can't pick up items unless you intend to buy them.

if you do pick an item up, you need to notify a staff member if you're *not* going to buy it.

testers and/or samples no longer available.

and, in the case of bath & body works, explicit rules about not opening bottles, not smelling scents (in short: no sniffing!) and using a paper bag (which they provide) instead of a basket to carry your items through the store.

[as an aside, between the nitrile gloves, single-use masks, paper bags and the like, the waste created by the COVID-19 pandemic is astonishing.]

much like grocery stores, the shops all had plexiglass protection for cashiers. some cashiers wore masks, some did not. the few lineups i saw (at checkouts) were long enough that they acted as an effective shopping deterrent for me. i didn't need an old navy T-shirt enough that i wanted to stand in line for 10 minutes to pay for it.

many stores also had their own mask requirements. no mask, no entry. the mall was so empty that i didn't see anyone anywhere having to confront a combative would-be shopper refusing to wear one. most stores had maybe one or two shoppers, at most.

the only store that was "busy" was the apple store. there, a socially distanced line of at least 20 people was waiting to get in. and, while the shoppers waited, assorted apple-store employees were taking everyone temperatures AND taking everyone's information (name, address, phone number) down on iPads for contact-tracing purposes. i was surprised that this rather exhaustive process wasn't keeping more people from standing in line. i guess if you want an iPhone badly enough, you'll subject yourself to it... but imagine if you'd planned to just browse? no thanks.

the food court was, not surprisingly, a barren wasteland. all tables and chairs had been removed, and only a handful of fast-food outlets remained open in the massive, empty space. takeout only -- no sitting and eating. mom and i had initially thought maybe we'd grab a sub to share, but given the sparse number of shoppers and the likelihood that there hadn't been enough turnover in food items to ensure whatever we'd get would actually be fresh (and not, say, stale bread that had been baked a few days ago as opposed to baked fresh that morning), we decided to forgo a meal out and just eat at home afterwards.

after just over an hour, we left.

all in all, it was yet another depressing look at what COVID-19 has wrought. mom and i used to love spending a day out, just window shopping. but this? this was just sad. desolate. weirdly lonely.

on the drive home, mom thanked me for taking her out. she was still happy that she'd been out of the house for a while, but said, "that wasn't fun. i don't think i need to go back to a mall for a long time."

the week in review

so, my first week of the whole "write for one hour every day" plan went pretty well. most days, i actually wound up writing for more than an hour. not consecutively -- i'd usually write for an hour and a bit in the morning, and then another hour and a bit in the mid-afternoon.

much of that writing consisted of one of two things, or a combination of both: a blog post and/or brainstorming.

the blog posts are self-explanatory, and you can see the fruits of that labour below. i started to feel like i was suddenly tapping into a wealth of bloggy potential with my friday post -- i finished it and kind of went, "huh. that actually turned out better than i thought it would!" i was quite pleased with the result... which, of course, then rendered me a bit inert because i didn't know how to write something better the next day (yesterday).

that's the thing about a solid blog post: sometimes the next one is also solid, and sometimes you realize you have nothing at all to say.

hence: nothing said yesterday.

even today, i'm resorting to the old recap chestnut, which makes this more like a diary entry than a blog post. and it can get annoyingly self-centered and boring. just like it's doing right now.

BUT... i figured i should write something. and i hoped that by starting to put words on my screen, better, more interesting words might appear.

it was VERY very hot in toronto this week. lawns and greenery are scorched and dry across the city, everyone with AC is hunkered down inside, everyone without AC is desperately seeking relief. i took my daily walks early in the morning and still got home drenched in sweat. gracie's been pretty lethargic, spending the better part of each day curled up in her cat-condo cubby.

i've been watching the final season and a half of "dark," an excellent german sci-fi/drama series that's sort of like a much much much smarter, more complex and WAY better cross between "the x-files" and "stranger things." the sprawling multi-generational cast is fantastic across the board, and the show DEMANDS that the viewer pay close attention at all times. this isn't a series for the casual viewer -- if you're not invested in what's going on and don't immerse youself in the dizzying amount of detail, you'll be lost and lose interest pretty quickly. the writing is strong and the storytelling smart. it's the kind of show i watch and think, "WOW. HOW did they come up with that?!?!"

as an aside: the series is also bringing back my own use/knowledge of german. as a child, my mom's mother -- who only spoke german to me -- took care of me during the day, so i was apparently quite fluent in german before i turned 4. i've lost most of it over the years, but watching the series has reminded me of words and phrases i recognize. so now, instead of calling "graaaaaaaaaacie, where aaaaaaaaare you?" when i want gracie to trot into a room, i say, "graaaaaaaacie, wo biiiiiiiiiiist du?"

oh, and back to the daily writing: as mentioned, i've also been brainstorming, which has been fun. i've been using the CD-song-title exercise and, in the process, have come up with almost 80 story ideas.

the ideas are the easy part. turning those ideas into something -- be a script, a short story, a poem, whatever -- is where i tend to falter. but, in the coming week, i might take one idea a day and just write it for an hour to see where it gets me.

things remembered

it was raining that day. and it was cold. it was december. i'd dressed up a little but not too much. i wanted to look nice but still feel comfortable. to feel like myself. or, myself with a slight upgrade. i chose to forgo my usual knapsack because i thought it would look unsophisticated, so i tucked my wet umbrella into a plastic bag -- and then into the over-the-shoulder bag i'd brought -- when i arrived. i was there first. nervous. excited. uncertain.

i think she got there almost on time. maybe she was a few minutes late -- enough to make me think maybe she wouldn't be coming. but she did come. i don't remember what we said when we exchanged hellos but, weirdly, i vividly remember checking our coats. the empty check-in area, handing our stuff to the young attendant. it all plays back in my mind like a music video: no dialogue, just fleeting images and feelings. my coat had a decorative lining, and i think she commented on it. or maybe i did. i know we talked about it before heading in. but, again, i don't remember what either of us actually said.

the museum was sprawling and empty. it was a weekday. i don't remember where we went first, but i think we took the stairs. i know we wandered from room to room, floor to floor, occasionally checking the map to see where we were and what might be around the next corner. the lighting was perfect: soft and dim, rendering everything kind of dreamy.

or maybe that's just how my mind chooses to remember it.

we talked. i know we must have talked. we certainly didn't spend all that time together in silence. but i have no memory of anything we talked about.

she looked at art. i looked at her.

part of me couldn't really believe we were there together. alone. just the two of us. i wanted so badly for her to fall for me in the same way i'd fallen for her.

she was beautiful. tall. whip smart. goofy. self-conscious. i felt awkward and fumbly around her. i hoped she hadn't noticed.

her birthday was coming up, and i'd brought a card. a friend had tipped me off to an out-of-the-way viewing gallery, so i made sure we somehow wound our way there.

we sat down on a small wooden bench, tucked into the cozy little space where we could hide in the shadows for a bit. i took out the card and handed it to her.

inside, i'd taped a 1981 penny, and had written "a penny from the year you were born, as an investment in your thoughts for the year to come." i thought it was clever and sweet. i wanted the gesture to have emotion and meaning behind it, but not so much that it might frighten her off.

i think she liked it. i don't remember how she reacted, actually, but i remember feeling distinctly disheartened that it wasn't the reaction for which i'd hoped.

there was no magical first kiss on the small wooden bench in that dimly lit museum viewing gallery.

we carried on.

the only things that stand out in my mind as far as the hours that followed are: the disappointing food we ate at the pub across the street afterwards, and saying goodbye on the subway platform just before rush hour started.

i waited with her for her train to arrive. she gave me a hug. i don't remember what either of us said.

we were going in opposite directions.

*  *  *  *  *

it's funny, i hadn't thought of that day in years.

then, last week, i was going through several large cardboard tubes filled with movie posters that i'd collected in my teens and 20s. i pulled out the contents of each tube and looked at every poster, deciding which ones to keep (precious few) and which ones to toss (so many -- why on earth did i ever buy some of these?!).

inside one of the tubes was a much smaller cardboard tube, clearly holding something much smaller than a movie poster. i had no clue what it could be. i pulled out the roll of paper inside and instantly remembered.

it was, indeed, a movie poster -- a scaled-down reproduction of a 1954 movie poster from france, for her favourite film of all time starring her favourite actress of all time. as i sat there looking at this piece of my past, i remembered how i'd sought it out by visiting multiple memorabilia stores in the city. i'd bought it all those years ago thinking that it would make a beyond-perfect birthday or christmas gift for her. i remember thinking how amazed she'd be that i found something so unique and so very her, and how excited i was to give it to her.

but, obviously, i never did.

as i rolled it back up, tucking it and all those memories back into the small cardboard tube, i wondered if she kept that card i gave her at the museum that rainy day in december, and if she still had that penny that was taped inside.

gracie and the giant poo

in a picturesque, leafy residential corner of toronto, in a cheerful condominium apartment filled with colour, lives a petite grey cat named gracie. she is five years old. and she is extremely cute. gracie, whose fur is floofy and very very soft, lives in the apartment with her mummy, who makes sure gracie gets food and water and treats and toys and brushies and LOTS of cuddles. they love each other very much.

gracie lives a very good life. she likes to take long, lazy naps that last for hours and hours. sometimes, she sleeps so deeply and her breathing becomes so shallow that she appears motionless, so her mummy checks to make sure gracie is still alive. one of gracie's favourite games is to *not* move, react or respond when her mummy is doing this, which causes her mummy to momentarily panic. then gracie opens her eyes and laughs and laughs. silly mummy!

gracie enjoys curling herself into small, cozy spaces to sleep, and it doesn't matter if it's summer or winter, hot or cold, sunny or snowy. sometimes, gracie tucks herself into an old cardboard box that used to have a lamp inside. sometimes, she chooses to nap in a plush hidey-hole with little illustrated birdies on the outside. sometimes, it's a carpeted cubby in her new pink tower. and, sometimes, gracie just stretches out her small, lean body as far as it will go, wherever she happens to be: the bed, the floor, behind the couch, on her orange cushion, in the furry green nap chair, wherever.

gracie loves to talk. and talk and talk and talk. every morning when mummy wakes up, gracie greets her with lots and lots of meows and chirps and purrs, telling her mummy all about her nighttime misadventures, the bugs she might have eaten, the raccoons she watched from the window as they scurried across the street, the dreams she had while she waited for a new day to start.

gracie always announces herself when she enters a room. sometimes, she lets out a big, bold, loud, "HEY! it's ME!" meeeeeowr. sometimes, she just makes a sad little "meow," as though she feels lonely or scared or wants a hug. gracie also talks whenever she jumps onto something, or jumps off of it. she meows when she's getting cuddles she likes and when she's had enough. she also likes to play "marco polo" with her mummy, and will call to her in a faint little meow until her mummy answers with, "yes?". and gracie ALWAYS wants to add her two cents whenever her mummy is on the phone. with anyone. talking about anything. that's why mummy's friends and family members and colleagues and financial advisors and telemarketers and the receptionists at the dentist's office and so many others have all heard what gracie sounds like. gracie likes to be heard.

gracie is smart and funny. she knows exactly how to get her mummy's attention and how to make her mummy give her lots of cuddles. gracie loves rolling over on her back and twisting back and forth like an inchworm. mummy knows this is gracie's way of signalling, "let's have cuddles now, please!" gracie also loves watching TV with her mummy -- usually, while sitting on mummy's lap or while curled up next to her mummy on the couch. if gracie could, she'd have cuddles all day, every day.

gracie has a collection of toys that she loves. there's mousie, bigger mousie, fishie, sushi 1 and sushi 2, sparkles, and -- along with assorted balls and catnip logs -- her two love-to-hate-them arch-nemeses: the big rats. these two rats are about half of gracie's size and she just *loves* grabbing them in a choke hold with her front paws and then kicking and kicking and kicking them with her back paws like an angry rabbit. gracie will chomp on the rats' heads because she can taste the catnip that's inside. gracie loves these rats even though she very clearly wants to rip them open.

gracie is a delicate flower with an even more delicate constitution. there always seems to be something not quite right with her. maybe it's genetic, maybe it's allergies, maybe it's nerves. her mummy doesn't know. sometimes, gracie gets something her in right eye, which makes it all teary and causes her to walk around like a cyclops, with one eye shut. gracie has a little mole over that eye, and sometimes her forehead gets itchy, so she scratches and scratches until she breaks the skin right near that mole. then, gracie looks like she got into a street brawl. poor gracie!

gracie's back muscles sometimes twitch, which is common in cats, but that makes her lick and lick and lick her back with her rough, barbed tongue, and she accidentally gives herself a haircut. gracie is already a fastidious groomer, who constantly makes sure every inch of herself is super-clean at all times, but these unexpected haircuts go a teensy bit too far.

gracie also gets "snoofly" on occasion, which is like being "sniffly" except that she repeatedly blows air *out* of her nostrils instead of sucking it in. gracie can be snoofly for days, and sometimes weeks... and then her snoofliness just disappears. when gracie is snoofly, her mummy calls her "snoofalupagus." no one knows for sure what makes gracie snoofly, but her mummy is pretty sure it's caused by stress. or dust. or pollen. or all of those things. or none of them.

gracie, like many cats, is very particular about her food. and even more particular about where her food bowls are placed. gracie will eat kibbles in the bowl in the kitchen but will NEVER ever eat her wet food there. in the mornings, she will eat her wet food in the foyer, next to the shoes. she usually eats about half the serving, and will then pick at the remaining half for a few hours thereafter... but only after her bowl has been moved to the middle square on a patterned rug about four feet from the shoes.

in the evenings, gracie prefers to eat her suppertime wet food in the living room. her mummy has yet to figure out the "right" spot in which to place the food bowl because gracie changes her mind daily. if her mummy puts the food down in the wrong spot, gracie will turn up her nose and immediately walk away, as though her mummy has served up a steaming bowl of rotting garbage. mummy moves the bowl... but it's still not right, so gracie refuses to eat. eventually, and in a different place each night, mummy finally gets it exactly right and gracie immediately dives into her dinner. her mummy figures this is yet another of the games gracie plays to entertain herself at mummy's (exasperated) expense. poor mummy!

every now and again, and much to her mummy's consternation, gracie decides she doesn't want to eat food at all. none of it. unless her mummy serves it to her by hand. and, even then, she'll only eat a little. these spells can go on for a day or a few days, and her mummy always panics. but, eventually and for no discernible reason, gracie's appetite goes back to normal and her mummy heaves a sigh of relief that a vet visit isn't necessary.

gracie is quite brave for a cat. at least, as far as noise is concerned. unlike her cousin larry, who often runs and hides when loud noises happen, gracie isn't frightened by big trucks driving past or thunderstorms or deafening renovations in a nearby unit. in fact, gracie doesn't really seem to notice these things at all.

sometimes, if there's a particularly unexpected or sudden noise she's never heard before -- like mummy accidentally dropping a fork into the sink -- gracie will jump and run away... but she comes back very quickly to investigate the source of this previously unknown sound. the only thing that really scares gracie is the vacuum cleaner, which gracie has nicknamed "the terror machine." gracie does not like it when mummy takes the vacuum cleaner out of the closet, but is learning to be less afraid of it. in the beginning, gracie would flee to a safe corner far away from the terror machine whenever it made an appearance anywhere in the apartment. now, she remains asleep (but alert) on mummy's bed until the vacuum is within a few feet, and only then will gracie trot away to another room while mummy finishes cleaning.

but what about the title of this blog post, you ask? i've saved it for last. you see, while she has an endless array of charming quirks, one of gracie's most unusual -- and remarkable -- traits can be found in her litter box.

because even though she is diminutive in size and occasionally eats like a bird, little gracie can produce some impressively giant poos.

her mummy is always shocked and amused when she finds one of these monster-sized poos in the litter box in the mornings. gracie always does one pee and one poo overnight, and then a second pee sometime during the day. every single day. despite all her idiosyncrasies, gracie is regular! so, her mummy always cleans the box first thing, and that's when these enormous-for-gracie poos -- which are almost as big as a mid-sized dog might produce -- makes her mummy wonder how good (and relieved) gracie must feel after producing and expelling such a dramatic deposit.

gracie's mummy figures these giant poos are likely a result of gracie's hairball-formula food and treats, which have added fibre to help cats get excess hair out of their digestive tracts more easily. plus, gracie is a good drinker, who has two big drinks of water each day, which help the treats and food do their job even more effectively. as you've learned, gracie grooms herself thoroughly, and her medium-length hair means she's probably eating a lot of what she licks. so, she needs these special treats and food, and these special treats and food are a bit like feline metamucil. if you, as a human, have never taken metamucil, this comparison will mean nothing to you. if you have taken metamucil, you know what it does to your poop. that's what hairball treats and food, and lots of water, do for cats.

so it was that today, our gracie delivered yet another giant poo. and, as her mummy scooped it out into a little neon-green bag procured from dollar tree, she smiled. at the poo and her personality-filled, persnickety, perfectly petite small friend.

a curious epiphany

a couple of posts ago, i described the intense anxiety that's been hitting me upon waking of late. and the stressors/stresses that crawl through my brain when i go to bed at night. the worries about the future, the panic about the present... and the sometimes-all-consuming dread about the unknown that lies ahead for pretty much every aspect of my life.

i'm not sure when or why it happened, but i had a weirdly insightful revelation yesterday that helped (a bit, anyway) bring the root of all that anxiety into focus a little: in recent months, when i've thought about the future, it's been through the lens of being in the present.

and not in a good way.

that is, when my thoughts have drifted to, say, my life two years from now or five years from now or whatever, i've been imagining myself being in exactly the same situation i'm in now... but with EXTRA stressors added to the mix. and, not surprisingly, that's amplified the panic.

apparently, my brain -- or my imagination or whatever governs these twilight-hours mental musings -- doesn't think any of the circumstances of my life will be any different in the future. it believes that two years from now or five years from now or whatever, i'll still be exactly as i am now, the same person dealing with the same issues in the same ways. unemployed and uncertain about when or where my next job will manifest itself. living in this condo and being on its board with the asshat condo-board president. dealing with a COVID-riddled world. and so on.

for whatever reason, my thoughts of the future haven't been framed in things like "oh, i'll have sold my first screenplay by then and the money will be rolling in!" or "i'll be working on an amazing project and feel creatively fulfilled!" or "i'll have remodelled my bathrooms and bought a new sofa!" or "the asshat president will long be gone!" or anything outside of the way everything exists right now.

so, i've been taking the stressful and uncertain place i'm at right now and just... imagining more stress and uncertainty added to it. NO WONDER I WAKE UP PANICKED.

sidenote: "catastrophizing" the future is a trademark of people with generalized anxiety. imagining the worst-case scenarios and then fixating on them as though the future is preordained to be terrible. i know this and yet didn't actually recognize i was doing it.

all that said, and despite this epiphany, i'm not actually sure how to thwart those thoughts completely. i know it will involve focusing on the present (in a healthier, more mindful way), taking steps to remedy some of the controllable-by-me problems of the here and now -- such as getting back into my writing routine so that i can finish, and then sell, some work! -- and probably developing some kind of improved coping mechanisms for the stuff that's out of my control. cue: the serenity prayer.

and i'm hoping that the act of writing it all down here will somehow cement this realization into my memory so that tonight or tomorrow morning or the next morning after that -- when my heart starts to pound and my chest starts to sweat and i feel way too awake for the time of day -- i can calm myself down more quickly and easily, get up (or get to sleep) determined to keep chasing those small goals, and start focusing on a future that feels more manageable and less terrifying.

morning walks

for many, many years -- probably almost 30 of them, in fact -- i've enjoyed going for big walks first thing in the morning. early in the morning. it's of course easier to do in the summer, when the sun is up by 5:30am and i can be out the door by 7. pre-gracie, i would often head out just after 6:00 (sometimes earlier), but that's no longer possible because she and i have a morning routine of cuddles --> treat --> playtime --> brushies --> litter-box cleaning --> breakfast (hers), which starts around 6 and takes about an hour.

anyway...

i love my morning walks because the world is still somewhat quiet. even more so on weekends. sidewalks aren't usually busy and neighbourhood roads are likewise fairly empty. it's just me out there with the squirrels and the birds and my thoughts (erm, the latter of which is not always a good thing). getting up early and heading out when everyone else is still sleeping also gives me a feeling of accomplishment -- if i do nothing else significant in a given day, at least i successfully completed my walk.

i love my morning walks because they make me feel like i'm prioritizing my health. last year, i interviewed a social-media influencer/content creator whose zest for life and creativity was infectious. he said that the first thing he does every day -- before breakfast -- is go outside for a bit to walk around barefoot, then he writes. he told me that he'd read a study somewhere that said you should spend the first hour of every day prioritizing what's important to you. for some, it's exercise. for him, it's creativity. (for me, apparently, it's become cat toys and temptations hairball treats, but fitness and creativity are close behind in hour two.) i like to make sure i've kept my heart rate up for a goodly amount of time, so the walks are usually about an hour long, sometimes up to 75 minutes, but almost never less than 45. in summer, i also like to make sure i get home good and sweaty -- i feel like i'm driving toxins and negativity out of my pores that way, and there's nothing quite as refreshing as a shower after a taxing walk/workout. plus, aerobic exercise is a good way to keep hormones balanced, and breakfast always tastes so much better when i'm pleasantly pooped and clean.

i love my morning walks because, as i've mentioned before on this blog, they give me an opportunity to explore my neighbourhood. i try to vary my routes up and down different side streets, but i have two main "paths" that i generally follow (with occasional diversions along previously unwalked-by-me blocks) because i know exactly how long they'll take, and i don't want to cheat myself out of sufficient walking time. i walk up and down hills of varying inclines, along some streets that are deserted and others that are under construction. i try to choose streets with big shady trees and interesting houses, and i try to avoid the main roads, which are getting increasingly congested now that pandemic restrictions are easing, and more and more people are returning to work.

i love my morning walks because, over the past few months, i've come to "know" a number of fellow walkers, runners and cyclists who are evidently on the same schedule. though we don't actually stop to chat -- at best, we exchange passing "good morning!"s or nods -- i always get this weird sense of reassurance and familiarity when i see them.

there's the chubby, smiling, bespectacled old guy on the bike, who always gives me a friendly wave, nod AND cheerful "morning!" when he rides past me (usually about five minutes into my walk). once, i encountered him as he was leaving his house, which was quite a ways away from where our paths normally cross. he seemed surprised and said, "wow, you take a long route!", to which i replied (without stopping my stride), "yeah, and i still have more than half an hour to go!"

there's the lesbian couple, or maybe they're roommates -- at least, i assume they're a lesbian couple or maybe roommates because they're always together and look nothing alike -- always running with their two dogs. i usually see them about two minutes after the guy above, and they always smile and say hi.

there's a tall guy i've nicknamed "larry the loper" because of his long, deliberate strides and relaxed gait, which i can recognize from blocks away. he's young-ish but (i think) prematurely grey, and his big mop of hair and abundant beard makes me think he'll look very different once he goes back to his barber. we typically pass each other around the halfway mark of my morning walks, usually on the same stretch of road and almost always going in opposite directions. larry isn't overly friendly, but makes sure to give me a nod and a wave as he lopes past. fun fact: i never see larry when i go for weekend walks.

there are assorted older couples walking their dogs, some of whom are super-friendly while others remain silent when i greet them in passing. there are the boot-camp devotees en route to the grassy area in the middle of the track at the local high school, where they'll do burpees and squats and planks before retiring to one of the myriad starbucks locations in the area.

there's the 50something woman who's sometimes jogging, sometimes walking, but who always gives me a big enthusiastic smile and hello as though we're old friends. and there are the random women on their smartphones, strolling along sidewalks while having surprisingly loud (for 7am) conversations with whomever is on the other end of the line. they never acknowledge me, or anyone else, as they go. and i wonder: 1. who are they talking to that early in the day?, 2. WHY must it be at such an obnoxious volume?, and 3. why is it always women i see doing this in the mornings?

i love my morning walks because they get me out of my condo and into the world, even if only for an hour. during the pandemic, this has been especially important. without the morning walks (or, in the colder months, the midday walks), i'd be a complete shut-in. i do miss my big epic walks downtown or to the hot docs theatre or elsewhere in the city -- especially those that involve a photo expedition (see photo above from early march 2020) -- but unfortunately i won't be resuming those until i feel safer on the public transit i would need to get me home. or until i feel like i've developed the stamina to walk for 90 minutes in one direction and then turn around to walk another 90 minutes home. for now, i'll be staying local with the loper and the like.

one hour

in my ongoing -- and not yet entirely successful -- bid to get myself back into a daily routine of writing, i've decided to devote one hour a day to it. just one hour. it's a small, simple and (one hopes) fairly easily achievable goal. and, at the end of a year, i'll be able to say: "i spent 365 hours writing this past year!"

of course, i'm hoping that one hour a day will grow into maybe an hour and a half, or possibly two... or who knows how many hours if i were to get myself into The Zone and really be on a creative roll.

but, for now, one hour.

and that hour can be spent writing a blog post, a po-eme, a rambling stream-of-consciousness word salad... or working on a screenplay outline, brainstorming ideas or just playing around with some kind of writing exercise to get the juices flowing. [side note: one of my favourite exercises is to pick up one of my assorted music CDs and write a TV-guide-esque logline for each of the song titles, pretending they're movie titles or TV series titles or what have you. i've actually come up with some good story ideas that way! ahem... bringing those ideas to fruition -- and completion -- has been another, less fruitful, story, however.]

this whole "small goals" plan comes courtesy of a movie i watched last week. "brittany runs a marathon" is a sweet and charming little indie film currently streaming on amazon prime. it's loosely based on a true story, and centres on a directionless, overweight young woman named -- wait for it -- brittany (gillian bell), who decides to start running as a means of getting healthier. it seems like an insurmountable goal for our heroine.

one of her neighbours (the always terrific michaela watkins) is a super-fit, very-successful photographer and elite runner. when the two encounter each other, watkins' character is encouraging and supportive to the wildly uncertain brittany, and tells her that the way through difficult circumstances is to set small goals for yourself. stuff that you're pretty sure you can accomplish without overextending yourself or having to drastically change the way you live. by doing so, you help set yourself up for success, and your can gradually make your goals bigger and more challenging.

so, brittany's first goal is to run one block. and, based on the film's title, i'm pretty sure you can figure out just how big her subsequent goals become.

my first goal is to write for one hour. and i see from the clock that i still have about 40 minutes left, which is plenty for some further wordsmithery in some other form.

my-graines

once in a while, i get hit with a migraine. it happens maybe once a year or so, at most, and always starts with a blind spot appearing in my vision. that spot can be small, sometimes just a weird squiggly line of light in the centre of my field of vision that gets bigger and bigger until my peripheral vision on one side goes completely squiggly screwy.

other times, it's a bigger blind spot -- which i've tried to recreate in the image above -- that i immediately know is forming because i suddenly realize i can't read text properly.

regardless of how the migraine begins to manifest itself, i've come to learn that i have about a half hour of (painless) visual disturbances before the actual pounding headache begins. and, over time, i've learned that if i catch the migraine early and IMMEDIATELY take an extra-strength headache pill (containing acetaminophen, aspirin and caffeine) + half a can of Coke, i can dramatically lessen the migraine's intensity. sometimes, that medication/cola combo has even stopped a migraine from developing further, leaving me with just a very faint, dull aching in my forehead and behind my eyes and not the searing head pain that leaves me in bed in a pitch-dark room for several hours until it abates.

i think i was maybe 14 or 15 (maybe a bit younger?) the first time i ever had a migraine. i'd been outside, and came in because my head started to pound. soon, it was so severe that i started to worry something was very wrong. my mom took me to the ER (it was that painful), where they did some neurological tests to make sure i wasn't having some kind of brain hemorrhage, and then diagnosed me with a really bad migraine. fun fact: that ER visit was also where i learned that i cannot stomach demerol -- they gave me one for the pain, and i threw it up shortly thereafter.

after the above incident, migraines mostly stayed away until my 20s. then, occasionally and without any explanation, they'd pop up from time to time. a friend of mine told me that she used to suffer from them a LOT, but that regular aerobic exercise helped keep them at bay. whenever she stopped exercising for a spell, the migraines would inevitably return. so, i started getting regular (vigorous) exercise, and it seemed to work.

over time, though, the exercise-prevention strategy started to falter. i'd still get the occasional migraine even if i'd been regularly getting my heart rate up. and those migraines, however few and far between, once again just started popping up randomly. (or, seemingly randomly, anyway, as far as i can tell -- i haven't yet been able to identify any common denominators that might have triggered them.)

so it was that yesterday, about four minutes into my almost-daily one-hour power walk, my vision started to go a bit squirrelly. at first, i chalked it up to probably having glanced at a bright, sunny spot of neighbourhood, and waited for my eyesight to return to normal. but it didn't. so, i tried to read a street sign -- newp. blind spot. i thought maybe vigorous exercise might, on its own, tamp the budding migraine down, so i continued to walk for about another five minutes... before realizing that the blind spot was getting larger and obscuring my vision enough that it probably wasn't a good idea for me to continue marching through the neighbourhood. power walk: aborted.

i got home, took the medication/cola combo and a big drink of water, sat down and closed my eyes to wait for the pounding. but, thankfully, it did not arrive. i spent the remainder of the day working on condo-board stuff... which is its own special kind of headache.